Nicola Griffith - Always

“No. It’s cool.”

“Good.” I let them consider that for a moment. “So how did it feel, to get hurt?”

“Painful.” She made a careful face and everyone smiled in sympathy.

“Do you feel more vulnerable?”

“I guess. More jumpy anyhow.”

“More scared, deep down, or less?”

“I don’t know.” She thought about it. “Both, maybe. I mean, I sure wouldn’t want anyone to hit my nose again anytime soon. But the notion of being hit somewhere else is less scary than it was. Kind of. I mean, it hurt, but it, like you said, it gets better. It’s just a… a… It’s not the end of the world.”

“Or your good looks,” Nina said.

The smiles were rueful, and I understood that Nina’s remark wasn’t entirely a joke. For them looks mattered as much as permanent disability.

“But what’s it like?” Jennifer said. “To get whomped like that?”

“And, Katherine,” I said, “what was it like to do the, ah, whomping, even though it was accidental?”

“Awful,” she said. “I felt sick.”

“So did I,” Tonya said.

I let them sit with it. It was an inescapable fact: getting hurt hurts. Several of them stared desperately at the floor. Perhaps I would donate a large sum to Crystal Gaze so that future classes could at least stare at a nicer carpet.

“Omelets,” I said.

“Oh, no,” Pauletta said. “Please tell me you’re not going to give us that crap about breaking eggs.”

“Crap. I see.” Cliché, possibly—but I didn’t know how else to describe it. Which annoyed me. “Tell me, then, how you make an omelet.”

Silence. Nina cleared her throat. “Egg beaters?”

Despite my irritation I almost smiled. “Someone broke those eggs.”

“Yes, but not me.”

“Those eggs get broken. Yes or no?” I looked around the group. “Yes or no?”

Reluctant nods.

“To learn to walk, you have to fall down. To make an omelet you break eggs. To defend yourself from physical attack, someone gets hurt. Yes or no?”

More nods, one or two Yes es.

“Nothing is free. Nothing is magic. You get out what you put in. Risk and reward. Suze, help me move the mattress to the other wall.” We lifted it away and there lay ten gourd-sized piñatas. I picked up the nearest, crimson painted with gold donkeys and stars, and shook it in their direction. “That rattle is a single poker chip. On it is a number that corresponds to an item on this list.” I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket. “On this list are ten items. A day at Gleam, the day spa. Dinner for two at the Horseradish Grill. Hundred-and-fifty-dollar gift certificates from places like Saks and Tiffany’s and Teuscher. Mostly luxuries, but not all.” I’d included certificates from Chevron and Kroger. “You give me the chip, I give you the corresponding gift certificate. The only rule is that you have to use a naked body weapon to break the piñata open.”

“Won’t that hurt?”

“It might,” I said. “You won’t know until you try.”

“And they’re just piñatas, right?” Pauletta said.

“Plain old papier-mâché. I broke one myself yesterday.” And that had been so satisfying I’d broken another two and had to buy more.

“Did it hurt?” Jennifer asked again.

“Only one way to find out. Would you like to go first?” I tossed her the piñata ball. She dropped it. It didn’t break.

She picked it up tentatively and shook it. “Don’t people usually break these things with sticks?”

“Usually. There again, they’re usually blindfolded, too.”

“It should hang from something.”

“If you like.” I pulled a piece of string from my other pocket, glad I’d spent the time combing the city for the kind of piñata with two little holes at the top for string instead of the cheap kind with the hook.

“Well, how else do I hit it?”

“Entirely up to you.”

She cradled it in her arm and patted it as though it were a puppy that might have rabies. “It’s hard.”

I nodded.

“It will hurt if I hit it.”

In reply I pinned the list to the door with the thumbtack already pushed into the wood. “Take a look and see if you think it’s worth it.”

Nina was already looking at the list, with Christie standing by her shoulder. “Jimmy Choo!” she said. “If you don’t break that ball, I will.”

But Jennifer was hugging it possessively.

“Think of all your body weapons,” I said.

“Give me that,” Nina said.

“No,” Jennifer said. “But you could hold it for me, so I can hit it.” She gave it to Nina.

“If you hold mine for me next.”

“Think of—”

“Not like that,” Jennifer said, completely ignoring me. “In front of you.”

“—the room. Think of—”

“Like this?” Nina said, holding it against her stomach.

“Okay.”

They weren’t listening. I shrugged. They couldn’t do themselves too much damage. There were no corners, no rough edges, no dangerous metal hooks to tear skin.

They’d formed a circle with Nina and Jennifer at the center, just like children at a birthday party. Nina snugged the piñata more firmly against her belly and set her back foot to prepare for the punch. Ready to take one for Jimmy Choo. Jennifer began to breathe and bounce around on her toes like a boxer.

“Hurt it,” Suze said.

“Kill it.” Kim.

I wished I’d thought of bribery weeks ago.

And with a thin, gull-like cry, Jennifer hit the piñata with her fist. Nothing happened.

“Love tap,” Pauletta said. “Get closer. Kill it.”

Jennifer set her chin and hit again, harder. “Ow!” She shook her hand. “Think Jimmy,” said Nina.

“Ow,” Jennifer said again, but absently, and stepped in close and hit it again, and it buckled. “Ha!” Whack. “Ow!” This time she scowled.

“Oooh, now she’s pissed,” said Pauletta, and Jennifer was.

“Ow!” This time it was more accusation than complaint, and she threw a series of unscientific, uncoordinated, but totally committed punches, and she screeched like a herring gull fighting with a crow. The piñata crumpled and she seized it from Nina and shook it until the chip fell out. She snatched up the glittery disk. “Four!”

“Number four,” Christie said from the list on the door. “That’s wine .com.”

“Champagne!” Jennifer said, then looked at her reddened knuckles.

“Worth it?” I asked.

“Totally!”

Nina picked up a green-and-blue piñata and tossed it to Jennifer. “My turn.”

The rest of the class closed around them, like punters at a cockfight. Three minutes and scraped knuckles later she had the caviar. “I’ll trade with whoever gets the shoes,” she said with a satisfied smile.

“No way,” said Kim, “those shoes are mine. Me next.”

“What about your nails?” Tonya said.

“Shoot.” Kim stared at them a minute. “Anyone got any clippers?”

“Wait,” I said. “Think. What other body weapons do you have?”

“Elbow,” said Christie.

For the inexperienced, elbows were difficult to use accurately, and even a beginner could generate enough power to break a nose or a cheekbone.

“We’ll hang this one,” I said, and produced the string again. Soon the piñata was hanging from the bag frame, swinging gently.

“Kick it,” Suze said suddenly.

“Knee-high or lower,” I said.

“No, seriously. Give me one of those.”

“Which?” Christie said.

Christie tossed her the orange piñata. Suze caught it, and without pause threw it in the air, and on the way down, just before it hit the floor, she kicked it as though going for a forty-yard goal. It burst in a spectacular shower and a yellow chip tumbled slowly, inevitably to lie faceup on the carpet. Number six. Jimmy Choo.