The Kite Fighters (2 page)

A few moments later the kite plummeted to earth in a most undignified crash. Kee-sup trotted toward it. Over his shoulder he grinned and called, "It looks as if the
tok-gabi
is angry at
you
now."

Young-sup scowled. "That's not funny." He reached for the offending kite. But Kee-sup held it away from him, inspecting it carefully.

"Look—your crosspieces aren't the same length,"
he pointed out. He held the kite in both hands, pushing one side and pulling the other; with very little effort, the frame twisted crazily. "And the whole frame is unstable. That's why you're having so much trouble."

Young-sup sulked, but he knew his brother was right. "Let me have a turn with yours," he begged.

"Yes, all right. But I want to fly it first."

They untied the reel from Young-sup's kite and attached it to the tiger. Kee-sup stood at the top of the hill and fussed with the kite for a few moments, adjusting the line and reel. Finally he looked at Young-sup.

"I don't want this one to get bumped and torn like the seeing kite. Help me launch."

A launch was easier with two people. Young-sup held the kite and Kee-sup the reel. Young-sup released the tiger at the right moment, then watched as it soared into the air, sure and true, as if all tigers could fly.

***

Young-sup loved the feeling of a kite on a line. He liked the moment of launching when he stood perfectly still, feeling the wind at his back and the kite's desire to be in the air. He experimented constantly,
teasing the line this way and that, holding the reel different ways, even turning his whole body at varied angles, to coax the kite into following his commands.

The wind was always his partner, one he must strive to understand with the kite's help. Sometimes it was like a kitten, pawing gently at the kite, nudging it across the sky. At other times it was a big dog, friendly and eager but too rough in its play. It would bat and swipe and seem to shake the kite in its jaws.

On many occasions the wind died completely. At those moments Young-sup could feel the line slacken just before the kite began to fall. A lightning reaction, where his hands reeled in almost before his mind had finished the thought, would find a freshet of wind in another patch of the sky. Other times he discovered that the only way to stop a kite's fall was to give it
more
line, not less.

The kite was like a part of him—the part that could fly.

***

With the failure of his own homemade kite, Young-sup was forced to borrow his brother's tiger when he wanted to fly. Kee-sup was willing enough to share, for he had given up altogether trying to learn to launch a
kite on his own. Either his lack of skill or the naughty
tok-gabi
made his kite crash every time. Young-sup now helped with each launch, and Kee-sup repaid the favor by allowing him to have a turn with the tiger.

Despite plenty of opportunities to fly, Young-sup was not content. More than anything he wanted a good kite of his own. One afternoon as they walked home from the hillside, he silenced his pride and spoke. The words did not come easily.

"Brother, I was—I was truly a failure at making a kite. You made yours so well. Would you make one for me?" He hesitated, then went on. "It would be such fun to be able to fly together instead of taking turns. And the tiger is magnificent. It would be a great honor to fly one just like it."

Kee-sup walked on, looking down at the ground, and did not answer for a few moments.

"No," he said finally.

Young-sup opened his mouth to protest. Kee-sup held up his hand for silence, then halted there in the road to speak.

"I won't make one for you. But I'll
help
you make one of your own. You must make the frame, but I'll do the decorations for you, so it will look just the same."

In a rush of relief and eagerness, Young-sup agreed. But Kee-sup had one more thing to say.

"This time you must build the frame exactly as I tell you. A kite like your last one is just a waste of time. If you want a kite worthy of a tigers stripes, its bones must be strong."

***

The work was painstaking from the very start. Kee-sup insisted that Young-sup measure the bamboo sticks precisely. The first time, Young-sup was careless with the measuring string. He pulled it taut for one stick but less so for the second. After he had cut the sticks, he found that they were uneven. Kee-sup made him measure and cut them again.

If the knife slipped the merest hair, it was enough to make the sticks uneven. "Cut them again," Kee-sup ordered.

Time after time Young-sup had to clench his teeth so the words of frustration would not escape. But as the days went by, the kite's construction gained his interest. He began to see that the flying walked invisibly beside every step of the making.

"I know that you can see the wind and I can't," Kee-sup said jokingly, "but we both know what it's
like—how strong it can be. The frame must be just as strong."

Young-sup nodded. He knew the thrill of seeing how light sticks of bamboo and mere paper could be the wind's equal.

The angles and corners where the sticks met received critical attention. Kee-sup showed him how these were the most vulnerable points. If time and care were not taken on the joints, the first stress of the wind against the paper could misalign them. The smashed grains of cooked rice they used for glue were messy and seemed to get everywhere. Often Young-sup found that his very fingertips were stuck together.

Even the simple bridle was a lesson. "The points where you attach the line must be placed so," Kee-sup explained. "If it is fixed to one side or the other—even a little—the balance will be wrong. The line will pull harder on one side."

"I felt that with my first kite," Young-sup admitted.

Bit by bit the frame was completed. Then Kee-sup turned his attention to the paper. Young-sup was delighted as the work progressed. Kee-sup was making the pattern of stripes subtly different from his own tiger kite, so that the kites looked similar but not the same.

Like brothers.

The boys had to halt work on the kite for a few days. A soothsayer had been consulted and had chosen a propitious day for Kee-sup's capping ceremony. The boys' mother kept them busy with a hundred different chores to prepare for this important rite.

On the day chosen by the soothsayer, the family dressed in their finest clothes and assembled in the largest room of the house—the Hall of Ancestors. The room sparkled with cleanliness. Porcelain vases of fresh flowers brought bright spots of color to each corner. The finest scrolls had been hung. And the tempting smell of the food for the celebration feast drifted through the whole house.

Kee-sup knelt in front of his father, who then untied
the silk cord that held the boy's hair in a single long braid. Kee-sup's hair was unbraided, and a little hair oil was smoothed into it. Then his father combed the hair upward, tugging and pulling the comb through the tangles.

Young-sup watched closely. He had never seen a capping ceremony before. He thought it must hurt Kee-sup whenever the comb was yanked free. But not once did he flinch or wince, and Young-sup wondered if he would be able to be as stoic when the time came for his own capping ceremony.

Kee-sup's hair was twisted upward and around itself until it formed a smooth knot on top of his head. The topknot was tied firmly in place with silk thread.

Kee-sup rose to his feet and turned to face his father. On the low table before them lay a finely woven horsehair cap. His father placed the cap carefully over Kee-sup's topknot and tied the silk ribbon under his chin. It was a plain narrow ribbon, such as those worn by the unmarried or by ordinary men. Semiprecious stones or silver beads on the ribbon indicated a family man of substance and wealth; the chin strap of the boys' father was strung with coral beads.

Then Kee-sup bowed to his father, a formal ceremonial bow, all the way to the floor on his knees. He
rose and went to stand before the stone ancestral tablets. Bowing again, he thus honored the spirits of his ancestors.

The formal bows took a long time; Young-sup's thoughts drifted like a leaf on the water. He wondered how things would be different for Kee-sup after today. Some things, he knew, would be just the same. He sighed inwardly, thinking of the trips up the mountain.

Several times a year his father, as the eldest son of his family, made the journey to the mountainside gravesite of his ancestors. There, a ceremony was held to honor their spirits. Four years ago, when Kee-sup passed his tenth New Year, he had begun making the trip as well.

Watching Kee-sup make his bows now, Young-sup felt a flicker of anger, though he was careful to keep it from showing on his face.
It's not fair,
he thought.
I've passed eleven New Years already. Why can't I go?

The most recent trip had taken place in the last moon, as part of the festivities for the Great Autumn Feast. Young-sup had summoned his nerve on that day and asked his father for permission to join the worship party. "Perhaps next time" was the reply.

Young-sup had been forced yet again to imagine what the trip was like. One might see a tiger, or a bear, or at least a deer. There might be secret caves to explore. And surely there would be big trees to climb—bigger than those that grew around the city. Young-sup knew that there was a lovely stream near the gravesite; Kee-sup had told him about picnicking there.

And Kee-sup hadn't even wanted to go! At the time he had been hard at work on his tiger kite. Young-sup recalled his brother's sullen face as he left for the trip. It was beyond understanding—Kee-sup could work on his kite any day. A trip to the mountains was special.

***

The capping ceremony was not yet concluded. On the table lay a new jacket of white linen. The boys' mother had spent many hours sewing nearly invisible stitches into the fine, closely woven fabric.

Kee-sup shed his grass-green jacket, and his father helped him into the new one. Children wore bright colors; when a boy became a man, he donned the white clothes of adulthood. His father tied the ribbon at the front of the jacket in a one-loop bow, and Kee-sup's transformation was complete.

His father faced the rest of the family, with Kee-sup by his side.

"See my first-born son!" he announced. "Today he is a man."

Young-sup rose with his mother and sisters. All of them bowed down low to show respect for Kee-sup's new position.

The capping ceremony was symbolic of a young man's readiness for marriage; in fact, many families included it as part of the wedding ritual. As Young-sup knelt with his forehead low, he considered why their father had chosen this moment for Kee-sup to be capped. It was probably a way of reminding him of his upcoming responsibilities. Young-sup knew that the thought of the royal examinations was never far from their father's mind.

***

After the celebration meal the boys crossed the courtyard together. Young-sup kept glancing at his brother.

"What is it?" Kee-sup asked finally, annoyed.

"Nothing." Young-sup giggled. "You just look different in that cap, that's all."

"Ha! Well, you'll be getting one in a few years
yourself, you know. And stop laughing at me. You're supposed to show respect now."

"I know, elder brother. But if you think I'm going to be bowing to you all the time, you can just forget it."

Kee-sup bellowed in mock anger and chased him into their room.

With his own tiger kite nearly finished, Young-sup faced another problem. He needed a reel and line.

Kee-sup's reel had come with the seeing kite. Both brothers thought that perhaps Kee-sup could make a basic reel, but the best reels were more than simple spools. In skilled hands, they were designed to let out or bring in line quicker than the eye could follow. Only a craftsman could precisely position the spindles for the correct balance, and such labor commanded a high price. In addition to the reel, Young-sup would need line, and good silk line was costly.

Young-sup went first to his father and asked him for the money to buy a reel and line.