Poison Flowers by Nat Burns Read Free Book Online

her. I am positive she will not talk to you.”
    Marya sighed and stood, smoothing her trousers. “Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. Actually, I had planned to stop by her studio anyway to check on something else, so I’ll take the assignment.”
    “Good luck!” Marvin called after her. She heard Emily laughing as the door to the newsroom swung closed behind her.
    To her delight, she found Dorcas Wood’s
dojang
easily. It was located south of town on Rosemont, Schuyler Point’s main street, just before it turned into the main highway leading to North Myrtle Beach. It was a low, wide, severe building, but someone had obviously done a lot of work on the structure. It was landscaped and freshly painted and a large central sign bore the English translation of taekwondo as the name of the
dojang
, The Way of Hand and Foot.
    She parked her car in the crowded parking lot and, fetching up her slender reporter’s notebook, strode confidently toward the door, expecting to impress this Dorcas Wood completely. As soon as she entered however, her righteous conviction began to evaporate, blown away by so much mystic wind.
    The front lobby was wide but not deep. A desk, uncluttered and simple, stood to the left. Mounted on the wall in front of her, on either side of the two black-enameled doors leading into the
dojang
proper, were ten framed pictures. Their familiarity tugged at her, and she was drawn over to them as if riding on well-oiled wheels. The pictures, painted in the Chinese calligraphy style, with a brush and black ink, stretched along that entire wall, five on each side of the door, each in a matching shiny black frame.
    She knew these, as did every martial artist worth his salt. These were the legendary ox-herding pictures, graphic representations of the Zen master’s search for Buddhahood.
    The first image showed a tree-bordered field of grass. To one side swept a graceful willow tree; a sparkling river, bounded by large boulders, raced through the picture behind it. Off to the far right side, almost unnoticed, stood a small girl child, one tiny hand lifted to her mouth in indecision.
    The second painting was almost identical to the first except now the girl child held a length of rope in her small hands and was following an ox that was partially visible in the trees.
    In the next one, the girl was attempting to pass the rope around the neck of the wild beast, but it was a struggle, as the ox appeared to be pulling away.
    As the story unfolded in the next paintings, the child captured the wild ox and tamed it, eventually playing music on a flute with the docile creature at her feet.
    Marya strode slowly along the rank of paintings, her eyes glued to the various nuances of meaning until she reached the final one, a large circle, empty but full of the no thing, the one thing that martial artists seek. She knew then that this school was the one true school that she had been looking for since starting her training so many years ago. From the absence of trophies in the lobby, she knew that competition and winning tournaments was not what this school was about. Instead, the paintings, representing man’s battle with his undisciplined self, let her know that the taekwondo students at this
dojang
were on a spiritual quest as well as a physical one. Sudden happiness washed through her.
    “Hello. May I help you?” The strong voice came from her left and she saw that a uniformed woman had entered the lobby from a side door and was bent at the desk writing something in a large notebook.
    “Yes, thank you. I’m looking for Dorcas Wood.” Marya approached the desk.
    The woman raised up to look at her with cautious slowness. She lifted eyes of a clear cornflower blue. They were familiar eyes. Marya realized that she was the woman from the beach, the one who had rescued her that first night in town. These eyes were serene but wary as they studied her, recognized her.
    Marya studied her right back and realized again what a