"Sean McMullen - Pacing the Nightmare" - читать интересную книгу автора (McMullen Sean)

fast. There had to be some stylistic subtleties that only came with time.
"But there must be something that I can do," she pleaded. "How did you solve this problem when you
were at my level?"
"It was never a problem with me. Just be patient, and keep training."
I had fobbed her off, I had scored a cheap point. It would return to haunt me.
The break is over, and the sensei calls for good rows. Before the formal re that begins training proper
there is the conferral of belts. The orange belt who broke the board is called by name, and he walks
forward to be given a certificate and a green belt.
The sensei calls another name. "Melissa Jennison."
I almost gasp, and my heart sinks. She has caught up with me, she is being awarded her black belt
early. That can be done without formal tests in exceptional cases, and Melissa is exceptional. She takes
her belt from the sensei, they bow, and everyone claps. What will become of humanity now? I must--
"Greg Carter."
Me! I must stare and gape like a gaffed fish for a moment. I walk to the sensei, step forward, take the
belt and certificate, shake hands, step back, we bow to each other, the class claps, and I walk back to
my place. Everyone stands patiently as the three upgraded karatekas drop to one knee, undo their old
belts and put on the new. Mine is a black belt with two red stripes. Second Dan! While pacing Melissa I
had not noticed my own style improving.
There are two belts that most karatekas remember particularly well: yellow, because it is the first step
up, and black because of what it symbolises. Not so for me. Second Dan is the scrap of driftwood
thrown to me just as I had reconciled myself to drowning. The sensei addresses the class.
"Melissa and Greg are excellent students, hard working and dedicated. They are models that everyone
should watch. Greg, will you train white belts tonight, please?"
The beginners stand in five ragged lines. At the formal re some bow with exaggerated depth, others
just give an embarrassed nod.
"Greg is a tutor at University," the sensei continues. This is reassurance for the beginners, it tells them
that I am well-educated and responsible, not some psychopathic streetfighter. "At first you will find
training hard to keep up with, and you will ache all over. It becomes easier after a few weeks. You must
never let yourselves lapse. Karate is all about continual improvement, and the moment that you begin to
feel comfortable is the moment that you have to push yourself harder. Tonight you are going to learn a
few points of etiquette, then work on stances and blocks. I want you to give these basics close attention.
They can mean the difference between a pass and a fail in gradings, and could even help you win your
division in the kata competitions."
Except if Melissa is in your division.
"Greg, your class."
When Melissa was a green belt she carried off both prizes in her division, and finished with more
points than the winning black belt. That was enough for the sensei. She was awarded her blue belt the
next week.
***


Our club runs film nights every month, generally of 20th-Century martial-arts classics. It was at a
double bill of Enter The Dragon and Yojimbo that I discovered another change in Melissa. As usual she
had bailed me up in the foyer during the interval to complain about sloppy choreography in the fighting
scenes.
"There's something wrong with the projector, too," she added. "Every time the action became
interesting the image broke down into a series of still pictures."
That simply had not happened, unless... My realisation of what might have really happened came as a
cold, stabbing sliver of fear: she could distinguish the projector's 24 frames per second.
"I want you to come back to my lab," I said urgently. "Now."