“Welcome back to the 13th Annual Heart-and-Soul Calligraphy throwdown! Greetings from Belgium—Goedenmiddag! Three contestants lined up for the last leg of the day, and if you’re just tuning in, you’re missing a hell of a show.”

“That’s right, Bob. We’ve seen it all today: high artistry mixed with drama, heartbreak, and… well, let’s review what’s gone on before. Bob?”

“What we’ve seen today is nothing short of phenomenal. First, there was Polina Aksamit from Viciebsk, Belarus—wow, that was a mouthful!—placing strong with her partner Ilya Cress. They worked very well together, blending their bold Cyrillic background with, I wanna say, almost dreamy strokes. Less Japanese and more Korean, if I can play armchair ethnographer for a moment.”

“I think you’ve nailed it, Bob. Quite poetic! Though I’m sure we’ll get some phone calls on that one, heh.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, Chet!”

“I’m surprised you still have a job!”

“You and me both. After Polina we saw Li Biyu—or Biyu Li, I guess we’d say, for our American viewers—from Chengdu, China. She entered the scene in 2012, leaping straight into a silver medal, then taking gold the next year. Hell of a girl, and some kudos go to her partners, Li Bolin (no relation) and Liu Genghis.”

“Genghis? Really?”

“C’mon, Chet, we used up all those jokes in 2013. Don’t start this up again”

“And then she just dropped off the map, didn’t she, Bob?”

“That’s right. She left the circuit and stayed pretty low-level until today when she and her new partner, Lau Guowei, commanded the audience’s attention with… I can’t describe it as anything else but violence. What do you think, Chet?”

“I’m gonna have to back you up on that. As you can see in the replay, Li’s approach is dominant and precise, as though she’s been practicing teaching the paper who’s the boss ever since she left the competition in ‘13. Bold strokes, thick and bright red, and… there, just look at Lau’s face in this pass. He just stares straight ahead! Doesn’t even flinch! Such control.”

“Up… down, then up… and the big finish, that tight hook… nails it!”

“And that’s the end of Lau Guowei. Zàijiàn!”

“Next up, we had Cécile Beauchene from Rennes, France. Beautiful woman. Look at her poise as she takes the stage. Chin up, spine straight, those white robes flowing from her arms.”

“Poetry in motion, I daresay, Bob.”

“She didn’t place last year, but Mme. Beauchene scored much better in today’s match.”

“I just gotta say something at this point. What I like about Cécile’s performances, last year and today, is that she brings that touch of today-ness to the competition, you know? So many people fall back on traditionalism and… okay, I’m going to make some enemies here, I know, but I like the shake-up Cécile brings. I do!”

“Honestly, I don’t think many here would disagree with you, Chet. As we can see in this clip, she has selected… I don’t have it in my notes…”

“I gotcher back, Bob. ‘Le Vent Nous Portera,’ by pop group Noir Désir.”

“Thanks, Chet.”

“I believe that came out in 2001.”

“Not in my country! Heh, heh. So yes, Cécile integrated this truly lovely song into her routine, and… yes, here, look at that dance she’s doing.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. Everyone else stands there like angry statues, swiping and stabbing at the paper, but this lovely young woman from northern France, she’s using her gown to her advantage, swaying and turning like that. Just amazing.”

“And it doesn’t seem to hold her back at all, you know, get in the way of her calligraphy. She’s got her partner, Achille Denis, firmly in hand. Viewers will remember Denis was convicted of art fraud in 2015… ironically.”

“Well, she has to! Look at the way he broke in the third ligature. Let’s slow down the play-by-play… She’s running up that upstroke… she steps back to rock on her heel, then draws her arm back for the, uh, the arm right in the center… and there. I don’t know if he broke his leg or what, but he lost all his concentration and started screaming bloody murder. That’s how it looked to me.”

“That was quite a setback for Mme. Beauchene, and the judges thought so, too. Look at those scores…”

“That poor girl.”

“She saved the performance by finishing, but she lost a lot of her nuance, her controlled nuance, what with the way Denis kicked and squirmed. I don’t know if that was because she was distracted…”

“I’m guessing it’s because his leg was floppin’ around.”

“Mmph. That’d do it.”

“Still, if she wanted to come over and dance for me like that anytime, I wouldn’t say no. Heh, heh.”

“Stay classy, Chet. Hey, maybe you’d like to assist her with her next year’s competition? I’m sure she wouldn’t say no to that.”

[unintelligible]

“And I think that brings us up to speed. Up next, we’ve got the Russian team, Oksana Vasiliev coming here from Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, and−”

“Oksana. Is that a common name? I’ve seen at least three webcam girls named Oksana.”

“How do you still have a job, Chet?”

“Oh shit, did you pick that up?”

“Better and better, Chet. Anyway, back to the… oh no, looks like we’ve got some upset. Can you see what’s going on from where you are, Chet?”

“Yes, as you said, there’s some kind of fracas going on at the Russian table. Oksana—I’m gonna blush every time I say that, from now on—hasn’t even taken the stage. She seems furious.”

“It looks like the judges are coming over, trying to calm her down?”

“Let’s see if I can find an interpreter… Ah, okay, here we go. It looks like Oksana is upset with her partner. What was his name, Bob?”

“Maxim Volkov, Chet. He was charged with corporate embezzlement, but chose to compete here rather than going to jail.”

“Oh, that’s what they’re saying. You won’t believe this, but she’s actually bowing out of the competition! The judges are trying to talk her back into taking her turn, but…”

“What seems to be the source of the conflict, Chet?”

“Blood doping. Oksana is upset that Volkov wasn’t doping his blood.”

“There’s no rule against that in the competition, as we all know. This has come up before.”

“Right, but Oksana is insisting… she can’t get the color she wants, if Volkov doesn’t have enough red blood cells in his system. Have you ever heard of such a thing before?”

“That shouldn’t make much of a difference. An abundance of red blood cells isn’t going to alter the hue in any noticeable way, not from where the judges are sitting. And they have great eyes, they’re very… they’re very… they scrutinize a lot. Hell of a time for my words to fail me!”

“Yes, that’s what the judges are saying, there’s no penalty… but Oksana’s insisting on the purity of her art, so I’m told. And there she goes!”

“Ladies and gentlemen at home and around the world. Oksana Vasiliev of Nizhny Novgorod has just stormed out of the auditorium over the protests of the judges and her coach. If they can’t get her back…”

“She punched one! She just punched a judge, Bob, and he’s not getting back up!”

“That’s it for our gal Oksana, I guess.”

“His nose! It’s just lying against his face!”

“Any word on her partner, uh, Volkov?”

“Oh, right. I’ll ask.”

“While he’s doing that, ladies and gentlemen, and in lieu of the extra time we have what with the Russian competitor’s walkout… well, let me tell you about the paper our competitors are using tonight.”

“It looks like Volkov is a little beaten up. Oksana did a number on him, too, looks like, so they’re just gonna take him out right here.”

“This is a real setback for Russia, but I guess Oksana knows what she likes and nothing else will do. So this paper that all these lovely calligraphers are using, you can see what looks like large canvas frames on easels−”

“Oh, heads up, Bob. It looks like the judges are hustling the next competitor on up. What’re we looking at here?”

“Next up… Pauletta Farrington of Steelmantown, New Jersey. Mrs. Farrington was a late registration, but I guess she’s something of a spitfire and used to getting her way. Is that inappropriate to say, Chet?”

“I don’t know, Bob, but looking at her expression, I definitely wouldn’t want to be in her way for anything. Who’s the little guy with her?”

“That is… oh, you’re gonna love this, Chet. This is her ex-husband, Israel Farrington, and he does not look happy!”

“He does not, Bob! Can you blame him? She is just not taking any chances with him: he’s tied up in what looks like must be one of his old ties, a nice silk number.”

“That’s an English tie, Chet. You can tell by how the stripes run: from the heart to the sword.”

“Is that what that’s about? I never knew. So we’re looking at some money, then?”

“Yes, and that makes for a very bitter divorce, I’m sure. Some of that money must’ve gone to shrinking him down for this competition. Not quite by the book, as you know. Usually the ‘brushes’ are chosen from hardened and recidivist criminals from around the world, as only the toughest men can stand up to these demands, and when they’ve got no hope of parole−”

“This is how they leave their mark, Bob!”

“I was avoiding that one, Chet.”

“Mrs. Farrington’s still getting signed in and set up. Why don’t you talk a bit about the paper we’re using at the Heart-and-Soul Calligraphy competition?”

“I’ll do just that, Chet, thanks. The founders of the Heart-and-Soul Calligraphy competition searched all over the world for a very special paper. They discovered the perfect recipe being developed in a specialty handmade shop in Luang Prabang, Lao PDR. As you can see in the digital close-up being called up right now, it’s more than just a rough surface: it closely resembles the abrasive contours of sharkskin. The methods of making this are closely guarded by the Lao government, as this has proven to be a boon for the local economy.

“The constitution of this paper does not bleed with any dye, holding it fast in place, allowing for clean, crisp strokes when needed. Additionally, the rough texture strips flesh right away and keeps going, and that’s how these talented women get the most blood from their ‘brushes’, our word for their partners.

“I guess I don’t need to remind anyone that these decidedly unsavory international criminals have been shrunken down for the Heart-and-Soul Calligraphy meet by an astonishingly lucrative Sino-Russo-Saudi military-industrial complex with a technology just as closely guarded. They shrink these no-chance criminals down, and in the hands of these highly disciplined artists, they contribute everything they have to these beautiful works.

“The artwork, of course, is judged on three points: 40% calligraphy, 40% poetic quality, and 20% performance. An excellent example of performance for a ‘brush’ would be today’s earlier show by Lau Guowei, the gang leader. Held still as a rod, never flinched, right up until the end of his life. That is what the judges are looking for, and that’s what they’ll ding Cécile Beauchene on, unfortunately. Now, how’re we looking over there, Chet?”

“Farrington’s taking the stage now, as you can see. There was another hiccough in her registration, but, uh, she straightened them out. Never mess with a Jersey girl, Bob!”

“Not on my life.”

“And here we go. The music comes up, Mussorgsky’s “Night On Bald Mountain”, and… oh, she’s really going to town on her ex-husband.”

“It looks like she’s going with katakana for her poetry. Not as subtle as we’ve seen before, but as the violins pick up, I’m getting the sense she’s not going for subtle.”

“That she’s not, Bob. Her feet are spread in a power stance—I think that’s a ‘horse stance’ in some forms of martial arts—and she’s attacking the canvas like she’s mad at it. Her expression… her mouth is set, not twitching or anything, but her eyes! Wow, I don’t even like to stand this close to her.”

“Her form is impeccable, however. From here it looks like… oh, I can’t repeat that. Our translators assure me that there is very little nuance here: she’s not even attempting a poetic format. She’s only writing something very crude about her ex-husband.”

“And he’s not doing too well, Bob, lemme tell ya. Between the canvas wearing him down to his knees at this point, and the firm clench her little fist has on his body, she’s not getting any points on performance. I’m calling it. Oh, listen to that little guy scream.”

“This is… this is kind of a travesty, Chet. Here comes security. What’s she doing now?”

“She’s laughing, Bob. I can’t read katakana, but the lines are thick and angry, though the form is perfect. And… oh, she just popped the remainder of her ex-husband straight down her throat. Security has her, she’s struggling to swallow… he wasn’t dead, Bob. She didn’t wait until… oh, this is a dark day for the 13th Annual Heart-and-Soul Calligraphy competition.”

“I really have to apologize to our viewers for showing you that. This is a simulcast, so there’s no time for editing incidents like this. I would like to remind our viewers that normally the Heart-and-Soul Calligraphy competition is very respectful toward the remains of its ‘brushes’, collecting their little bodies to be planted in the base of the very lovely spruce trees surrounding the Koninklijke Academie van de Kalligrafie, just outside Châtelet, Belgium, where today’s competition is being held.”

“There she goes, Bob. Head held high, laughing, flanked by armed guards. Well, between her and Oksana’s little tantrum, that certainly narrows the pickings for today’s competition, wouldn’t you say?”

“Not in so many words, Chet, but you’ve got a point. I wonder if this is going through the mind of Tova Grahn. Originating from Malmö, Sweden, Grahn is a schoolteacher who specializes in calligraphy. She’s studied Arabic, Welsh, Chinese and many other styles.”

“A lady as talented as she is lovely! Look at her, Bob, she’s gotta be 6’ 2” if she’s an inch!”

“And with her she has brought−”

“Good lord, she’s a goddess.”

“Her ‘brush’ is her current husband… wait, can this be right?”

[unintelligible]

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is shaping up to be perhaps the most unusual day in all 13 years of the Heart-and-Soul Calligraphy showdown. First we had that cancellation by the Russian competitor, and then that ghastly New Jersey artist… and now I apologize for saying ‘husband’. Grahn’s wife, rather, is an American named Bridget Parker, and she’s not a criminal. It seems she’s been diagnosed with cancer, and it recently metastasized, so she… oh, wow. She volunteered to be shrunken down for this performance.”

“We’re setting a new precedent with today’s competition, looks like.”

“I’m not sure how this is legal, frankly, Chet. But the judges have accepted it and Grahn’s taking the stage.”

“She’s holding her wife in her hands… you can see she’s extending her arms out, almost offering her wife up in prayer, if I had to guess. Now she’s turning to the paper, assuming the position, one foot before the other… oh, now what’s going on?”

“I can’t see clearly from the table, Bob. Can you get in there and see if you can find out something?”

“Stage techs have handed her a lavalier microphone… I take that back, they’ve handed Parker the microphone. Oh, she’s going to do the singing.”

“Parker’s going to sing while Grahn’s painting with her? I can’t believe this!”

“Oh, no… this is an oldie. This is ‘If’ by Bread, going way back to 1971. Oh boy, this is gonna be a hard one.”

“If a picture paints a thousand words, then why can't I paint you? The words will never show the you I've come to know...”

“It looks like Grahn is taking her first strokes. She’s going with a Persian script today, there must be a reason for that. I can hear Parker’s voice very clearly. It sounds like she jumped on a note for a second there but recovered quickly. I can’t imagine the discipline, the self-control it takes to sustain a note like that… and she’s a beautiful singer, Parker is, that’s clear. But to sing like that while your feet are being scraped away by a hundred tiny blades, essentially…”

“Grahn’s control is masterful… thin entries and then broad, dramatic swoops for very full-bodied characters… she’s remarkable. I haven’t seen this much… well, this much emotion poured into a work of art like this… in recent memory, anyway. Oh, my sweet lord. Little Parker’s rubbed down to her ankles, and she just does not stop singing. She just does not stop, Bob.”

“Our translators are working on what Grahn is rendering… yes, it’s Rumi. Oh no, it’s Rumi. Ladies and gentlemen, I just have to… I may have to step out for a moment, if this is going where I think it is. I’m sorry for my lack of professionalism, but their story, this lovely couple… and Rumi…”

“And when my love for life is running dry, you come and pour yourself on me...”

“I’m right there with you, Bob. This song’s got a special place in my heart, I don’t mind telling you. The words… oh, you can hear them. I can’t repeat them without getting choked up. I’ll just… I need to get some water.”

“They’ve got to take this one for performance, Chet. I’ve never seen anything like this. That beautiful singing voice.”

“Grahn is not handling this well. I don’t know if you can see this from where you are, but… her arm is straight, her posture is letter-perfect, but… her eyes are fi−… they’re filled with…”

“It’s okay, Chet, we get it. ...Okay, there goes Chet, he just needs a moment, ladies and gentlemen. I think that’s totally understandable in light of this highly unique performance. I just do not know how she keeps her letters so exquisitely shaped… with everything she’s going through. Grahn shifts her grip just for a split second, that must mean Parker’s nearing her hips on the paper.

“How much longer can this song go on…

“The judges… excuse me. The judges are on the edges of their seats. I think they’re holding hands. Parker’s amazing voice is just ringing throughout the auditorium, the spectators here are… oh, bless their hearts, they’re just a mess. We’re all losing it here, viewers. I don’t know if you’re feeling it at home, but what’s going on here…”

“...Then one by one the stars would all go out, then you and I would simply fly away.”

“And now Parker climbs to that final note, rising… Grahn sweeps up on the last glyph… Immaculate timing. Immaculate, perfect timing. If they don’t sweep away with gold after this, why, there’s no justice in the world, I’m telling you.

“Grahn is frozen in position, little Parker lying still in her hand… she’s dropped the mic. I mean, I didn’t mean… Grahn’s turning toward the spectators and raising the little body of her wife, and… oh, right across her robe. A bright red stripe, from… from heart to sword. This remarkable woman, no, these remarkable women. I don’t think any of us will forget this day.

“The judges are rising, they’re embracing her. Grahn is clasping her little wife to her chest… they’re allowing it. Security isn’t making her surrender the remains. Grahn is just barely holding it together as she leaves the auditorium. I just don’t have the words, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll be back with the judges’s tallies and the results of the 13th Annual Heart-and-Soul Calligraphy competition after these messages.”

Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere; they’re in each other all along. —Rumi