The Kite Fighters (10 page)

He returned to his place in line to watch the other matches. The second line cut of the competition was achieved by Kim Hee-nam. He used a similar technique to Young-sup's, but it took several tries before his opponents line was severed.

Young-sup's next two matches were nearly identical to his first. The striking appearance of the dragon kite combined with the swiftness of its victories had the crowd buzzing with excitement. With each match the row of contestants grew shorter. With each match the champion stood closer to Young-sup in the line.

***

After Young-sup's third quick victory in a row, the judges conferred briefly, then called him to the platform.

Young-sup told himself he had no reason to feel nervous. He reached the platform and bowed before the judges. The tallest judge, seated in the middle, returned his bow and spoke.

"Your line cuts are most impressive, young flier. We are all agreed that we have never before seen such an efficient display." Young-sup bowed again.

The judge continued, "We have been wondering if it is skill alone that enables you to cut your opponents' lines so easily."

With trembling fingers, Young-sup unreeled some of the line and held it before him. He forced himself to speak clearly, for he did not wish to appear to be hiding anything.

"The part of the line that you see here, Honorable Judges—it has been specially treated. It has been rolled in a mixture of glue and powdered pottery. It is this mixture that stiffens my line and gives it an extra cutting edge."

The judge gestured to a nearby guard, who took the kite and reel from Young-sup and brought them to the judges for closer inspection. The judges examined the line carefully, touched it gingerly, and whispered to one another.

Young-sup held his breath. The old kite seller had said it was not against the rules, but the three judges might still decide against him. It seemed like a long time before they handed the kite back to the guard again.

"We are agreed," the tall judge proclaimed, "that there is nothing in the rules that prohibits the use of such a line. We are also agreed that it would be unfair to make a rule about it now, with the competition already half over. Next year it may be a different story."

The judge paused and looked down at Young-sup. "The final thing that we are agreed on is that the cleverness of this line is matched only by the skill of the one using it." He nodded and bowed. "Fight on, young flier."

Young-sup took the kite from the guard and bowed his thanks. As he walked away, he felt wobbly and realized that his legs had been shaking like the leaves of a willow in the wind.

***

All eyes were on Young-sup as he entered the circle for his fourth match. The crowd, the judges, and Young-sup himself expected another swift victory.

But something wasn't right. He used the same technique as before, but after several attempts the opponent's line still held.

Young-sup tightened and released the line so his kite gained some height and was clear of the battle for a moment. What could be wrong? Was he doing something differently? There was no doubt that this opponent, having also survived three rounds, was highly skilled. Even now his kite was moving in for another attack.

Young-sup tried again. He released some line; feeling the slack, the dragon drifted back, its line rubbing the opponent's. The enemy kite seemed to duck like a boxer, with the other boy trying hard to accomplish the dual feat of avoiding Young-sup's line while knocking his kite. Finally, after two more
hard-fought encounters, the opponent's line was frayed to a mere hair. And then the wind joined the fight on Young-sup's side, with a strong gust snapping the kite free.

Young-sup, suddenly exhausted, reeled in his kite. He picked it up and went back to stand in line yet again. On the way there he saw Kee-sup hurrying to his side.

"What's the matter?" Kee-sup asked anxiously. "What happened?"

Young-sup shook his head. "I don't know. I did the same as before—"

"Let me see." Kee-sup took the kite and reel and inspected them. "Look."

He was staring at the section of line that had been coated with the ground pottery. "It's nearly gone."

The glue mixture had worn away with each successive fight. Now there was hardly any of it left on the line, just a few rough patches here and there.

Young-sup looked frightened. "I never thought it might wear off."

"Neither did I."

"What now?"

Kee-sup spoke calmly. "What do you mean, what now? It's no different—you go out there and fly. Just
do the best you can. You can win—even without the special line."

Young-sup tried to smile at his brother's reassurance, but inside he felt a quick flame of anger.
He's not the one who's flying,
he thought.

The knock-out contest was down to just four boys. If Young-sup won his next match, he would fight for the championship.

***

To the great surprise of both brothers the semifinal match was as easy as the first three had been. Once again it took only a few maneuvers to sever the opponent's line.

Kee-sup was waiting when Young-sup walked off the field. "What happened this time?"

Together, the brothers bent over the line. There were spots where the glue-and-pottery mixture still clung to the silk, a finger's width here and there. One of these spots must have made contact in the battle.

But all along the once-coated section, the sky-blue silk was beginning to fray.

Young-sup tested it, pulling tentatively at the weak spots. "It will probably hold—there's only one match to go. And if it does, those last little bits might be enough to help me cut his line."

Kee-sup shook his head. "It's not worth the risk. You need to get rid of all that weakened line and retie your reel."

"I need the special line, brother! This next match—it's Kim Hee-nam I'll be fighting."

"You don't need it. You can win without it."

"Against the others, maybe, but not him!"

Kee-sup took the kite and reel and laid them carefully on the ground. He began to untie the fraying line from the kite.

"I'm the one who's flying!" Young-sup protested. "Leave the line alone!"

Kee-sup shook his head and paused in his work to look up at him.

"You have to trust me, little brother. I know what you can do with a kite—even better than you do yourself. And do you know why?" Kee-sup grinned as he cut away the ragged part of the blue silk line. "Because you've never seen yourself fly."

***

As Young-sup reluctantly helped Kee-sup tie the last of the knots to secure the blue line once again, a shadow fell across the kite. The brothers looked up to see their father standing there.

They rose slowly and stood before him. He nodded. "The kite is well made."

Kee-sup bowed. "Yes, Father."

"And so far it has been well flown."

He has been watching.
Young-sup thought. "I have done my best, Father."

"But you are not yet finished."

"No, Father. This last round..."Young-sup groped for words. "It's Kim Hee-nam. He has twice been the champion before."

His father shrugged, almost imperceptibly. He gestured for Kee-sup to join him. Young-sup took the kite from his brother and watched as they moved toward the crowd. Then his father turned back for a brief moment.

"You are a Lee," he said. "Honor the name."

The gong sounded for the final match. Kim Hee-nam strode out onto the field, his head steady and his face calm. As Young-sup tottered out behind him, his insides were boiling and freezing at the same time, and the terror he felt seemed to be screaming out with every step he took.

His brother was watching. His father was watching. The King was watching. The judges ... the guards ... the crowd of thousands ... Young-sup's mind whirled back to the moment when Kee-sup had cut and cast away the last bit of treated line. It was as if he had thrown away Young-sup's chances of victory as well.

The judges gave the signal to launch. Suddenly Young-sup felt as though his body were pushing his
confused and frightened mind aside.
You watch,
said his arms and legs and hands,
we know how to do this.

***

It was true. Young-sup felt as though his mind had gone to sleep, or was just watching, while his body made all the familiar, much-practiced motions on its own. Side by side, almost simultaneously, the red dragon kite and the plain white one rose into the air.

The white kite attacked immediately, its flier wasting no time. It knocked fiercely at the dragon kite.

The dragon dodged and twirled, its scales flashing in the sun. It dipped below the white kite and drew closer in its first attempt to cut the line.

The white kite swung away and hovered just out of reach, as if teasing the dragon to follow it. But the dragon had found a favorable patch of sky and wind and remained where it was.
Patience,
the kite seemed to whisper.
Wait here.

The white kite charged again, and this time it bumped the dragon. The attack continued, with the white kite knocking the dragon lower and lower and following each time for another hit.

He's not going for a line cut,
thought Young-sup.
He's trying to make me crash instead.
Rapidly he loosened the line. The crowd gasped as the dragon seemed to feel the extra slack and veered out of control.

But the slack was what the dragon needed to turn in a new direction. It now had room to find a fresh burst of wind, and it recovered from its dive, climbing higher and higher until once again it flew proudly level with the white kite.

Again and again the white kite attacked, tipping and bumping the dragon. Again and again the dragon recovered. Young-sup had no idea how long they had been flying. It was all he could do to keep his kite from crashing. He was reaching the end of his strength.

***

As Young-sup turned in his struggle to keep the dragon aloft, he caught a glimpse of his brother out of the corner of his eye; Kee-sup had pushed his way through the crowd to the edge of the field.

Enough, A
voice came to Young-sup from somewhere—from where? Was it the wind or the kite, talking to him? Was it the
tok-gabi
again?
Enough of this. It's time, you know. Cut his line—you can do it, no one better. You've never seen yourself fly.

It's Kee-sup,
Young-sup thought.
He's right here with
me—he's talking to me somehow.
And his strength came back to him as he remembered that more than anyone else it was his brother who deserved his best efforts now.

Young-sup reeled in a little line; the dragon responded to the increased tension by climbing higher. It was now above the white kite. Then he released some length and the dragon drifted back, its line dragging against the opponent's.

Once, twice, three times ... The white kite moved sideways, trying to escape. Four, five, six. Young-sup could hardly feel where his hands ended and the reel began. Line in, the dragon rose. Line out, the dragon fell. Each time the kite lines crossed and rubbed.

Young-sup shifted his feet as the dragon followed the white kite. Seven, eight, nine.
Surely his line must he frayed.

Just a few times more
... Young-sup's whole body leaned and strained, every fiber of his being intent on the battle in the sky. Ten, eleven...

The twelfth attempt, and then a gust of wind.

Young-sup lost his balance and fell to his knees outside the circle just as the white kite snapped free.

***

The soldier's red flag shot up into the air. Pandemonium broke loose. Everyone was shouting.

"The line broke first!"

"No! He fell out of the circle first!"

"It happened at the same time—the very same moment! I saw it!"

The judges had risen at once and were standing in a tight group on the platform. Young-sup staggered to his feet. Above him the dragon kite still flew, unconcerned about the madness below. Automatically Young-sup began to reel it in.

Next to him his opponent was also reeling in—an empty, kiteless line. Kim Hee-nam strode off immediately, without the customary closing bow.

Bewildered, Young-sup picked up the dragon and stood uncertainly in the middle of the field. What would happen now?

A guard from the platform hurried onto the field. He beckoned the soldier with the red flag who had signaled Young-sup's fall out of the circle. The soldier trotted to the platform to speak with the judges.

From a distance Young-sup tried to read their conversation. The soldier was shaking his head,
No.
What did that mean?
No,
the line wasn't cut in time? Or
No,
he hadn't seen what happened?

The noise from the crowd was rising. Excited spectators, jostling and arguing about the result, pushed against the soldiers along the edge of the field. Young-sup searched the crowd for Kee-sup and his father, but the faces seemed to blur into a mass of shouting and confusion and noise.

Someone in the crowd started to chant. "Kim ... Kim ... Kim..." Other voices joined in, a few at a time.