The Kite Fighters (3 page)

His father frowned—as Young-sup had known he would. "Borrow your brother's reel, my son. He should be spending more time at his studies anyway. Perhaps next year you can have one of your own."

The refusal was disappointing but not unexpected. Young-sup had been fairly sure that he would have to think of another way.

Could he save the money? On the days when he and Kee-sup went to the marketplace, his father always gave them a few
won
to buy sweets. But a good kite reel cost many
won.
Young-sup calculated ... months, perhaps. He added the figures again and shook his head angrily. It would be close to a year before he could save enough. He wanted a reel
now.

Young-sup had been quiet for several days, trying to think of a solution. One afternoon his mother called to him.

"Your face is like a month of rain, my son," she teased gently. "What makes the clouds inside your head so dark and heavy?"

Like most Korean women, the boys' mother governed the household. With the help of one maidservant, she planned and prepared the meals, did the laundry, and cleaned the house. It was she who ordered the purchases of food, clothing, and other supplies. But, following tradition, she herself never left the house—nor handled
money. Her husband would give Hwang, the manservant, whatever money was necessary to do the shopping.

So Young-sup knew that his mother would not be able to help him and that even if she had the money, she could not go against her husband's wishes. But the problem seemed too great for him on his own, and he found himself confiding in her.

"I can't ask Elder Brother for his reel all the time, Mother. And besides, my kite is nearly finished. We each need our own reel."

She looked at him for a long moment. "I'm sorry, my son. But you must not walk around with your head down all the time. Who knows? If an answer were to fall from the sky, you would never see it!"

For her sake Young-sup tried to smile. An answer from the sky. If only it were that easy.

***

Young-sup fingered the few coins on a string in his pocket. They were not even one-tenth of what he needed for a good reel, but he could not resist strolling by Kite Seller Chung's stall while his father and brother spent the afternoon doing various errands.

Just to look,
Young-sup said to himself. He knew which reel he wanted. It was gleaming wood, wound with the finest silk line. He stared at it, stroked it gently, finally picked it up and held it. He imagined what it would feel like to have such a fine reel in his hand with his kite dancing at the end of the line...

"You choose well, young one." The kite seller's words broke into his thoughts. "That is one of my finest reels."

Young-sup nodded wordlessly. He put the reel down and turned away, his thoughts still full of kite and wind and sky.

Almost without thinking he looked up. It was a beautiful late-autumn day, perfect for kite flying. The wind was just right.
That reel should be mine,
he thought.
If the old kite seller could only see me fly, he would see that I deserve such a reel.

Suddenly Young-sup turned back to the kite seller's stall. An idea had come to him all at once, a foolish, impossible idea. But why not? What had he to lose?

"Honorable sir!" he called to the kite seller. "How is your business today?"

The kite seller shrugged. "The New Year is still months away—people have not yet begun to buy kites for the holiday. My best season is not quite upon me."

"How would you like it to begin today?"

The man laughed. "What are you saying, son of Lee? Do you have a way to make the New Year come more quickly?"

"No, but I do have a way to make more people buy your kites."

The kite seller raised his eyebrows. "My ears are open."

"If I were to fly a kite right here, in front of your stall, people would see it—even people far away. On such a fine day it would give many the idea of flying a kite ... and they would come to you to buy them."

The kite seller was silent for a few moments. Then he spoke. "Your plan has not one but two weak legs. First, there is not enough space in front of my stall to fly a kite. And second, even if there were, I am thinking that such service is not being offered for my thanks alone."

Young-sup bowed his head in respect. "The honorable kite seller is right in his second thought. I do wish to be paid—but not in money. And as to the first, I can fly a kite anywhere."

Surprise wrote itself on the mans face, for Young-sup's words were not spoken in a voice of idle boasting. "Just say that you
could
do it. How would you be paid, if not in
won?
"

Young-sup's eyes darted to the reel, then back to the kite seller's face. He did not speak.

"Oh-ho! So you think this service worth the price of the reel?" The kite seller spoke with both challenge and respect in his voice.

"How many kites would you think to sell today?" Young-sup asked.

"Today? Two, perhaps three. What are you thinking now, little flier?"

Young-sup took a deep breath. "I will fly a kite here. If you sell five kites today, the reel is mine."

The man countered with another offer. "For such a fine reel,
seven
kites. But that is not all. I see you do not have a kite with you, so you must use one of mine. If you damage it—no reel.
And
you must pay for the kite."

Young-sup bowed, and Kite Seller Chung returned the bow. The bargain had been made.

***

The market stalls had been set up in two rows, with a space between them for customers and foot traffic. The space was perhaps five paces wide. Young-sup would have to fly the kite in the small area in front of the kite stall. To stray in front of another stall would perhaps anger its owner.

Luck was with him that day; the wind blew down the length of the market, rather than across it, where its strength would have been blocked by the stalls. Young-sup took up the kite and reel offered him by the kite seller and stood still, as he always did, feeling for the wind.

The kite seller watched as the kite rose effortlessly. He did not smile, but if Young-sup had looked behind him, he would have seen the man's slow nod of admiration.

***

It took all of Young-sup's skill to control the kite within the confines of the space in front of the stall, but as time went on, he grew more accustomed to its limits. It seemed an eternity before the first kite was sold.

A man stopped in front of the stall, watched the kite for a little while, then bought one. His spirits renewed, Young-sup found that he could perform some of his favorite maneuvers. The kite's loops and twirls attracted more attention—and more customers.

The afternoon passed slowly; a second kite was purchased an hour after the first. By now much of the marketplace had heard of the bargain. A circle of onlookers gathered, watching to see whether Young-sup would win the reel.

Two soldiers watched the flying demonstration for a while, and one of them bought a kite. He teased and cajoled his friend into buying one as well. And the little audience cheered when another man stepped up to the stall and bought not one but
two
kites.

The sun slanted low over the market stalls. Young-sup's heart sank. It was time to go—and only six kites had been sold.

"The time is gone, young flier," the kite seller called. "I must close the stall and go home."

Young-sup bowed his head. Then he looked up at the kite again.
I did my best,
he thought.
What more can I do?
And he turned his attention to the final task: getting the kite down safely.

He played the line carefully, guiding the kite toward the narrow space between the stalls. Just a little more line to be reeled in now...

Behind him he heard quick footsteps. Then the magic words: "A kite, please, Honorable Kite Seller!"

Young-sup's heart leaped in his chest. He dared not turn around, as the kite was just now passing between the stalls. It floated gently down to earth before him. Quickly he reeled in the remaining line, picked up the kite, and turned back toward the stall.

A small boy in dirty, ragged clothes was pointing
to one of the kites. The kite seller looked dubious. "Show me the money, urchin," he demanded.

Defiantly the boy opened his palm and displayed a string full of
won
—more than enough for the kite he had chosen. The kite seller shrugged, took down the kite, and handed it to him. Joy shone in the child's face, and he dashed off again, disappearing beyond the crowd.

The kite seller reached for the precious reel and held it forth in his two hands.

"Well earned, flier," he said, and bowed.

Young-sup bowed in return. He exchanged the kite he had been using for the reel, and for a brief moment the eyes of the man and the boy met. The look they exchanged spoke of their love of flying; no more words were needed.

Young-sup looked around and saw his father and brother waiting at the edge of the marketplace. He walked toward them through the crowd, which was buzzing with the news of his accomplishment. Some of the people shouted or smiled as he passed, but he kept his head low and the reel at his side, for to display it or to acknowledge their praise would have been considered boastful.

Winning the reel was reward enough.

Young-sup dashed up the hill with his kite, at last attached to the shining reel. He waited impatiently for Kee-sup to join him.

As usual Young-sup helped his brother launch. Then he released his own tiger. For the first time the two striped kites flew side by side.

Both boys shouted with glee. Young-sup thought it was the finest thing he had ever done or seen—his tiger kite in the sky with the hard-earned reel in his hands. The brothers ran about the hillside until they were breathless. Then they stood and flew more quietly for a while, until Young-sup felt rested. He began running again, this time roaring like a tiger. Kee-sup joined in.

"Tigers forever!"

"Tigers rule the sky!"

A stern shout interrupted their roars. "Ho, you! On the ground when the King approaches!"

The two boys turned in amazement to see a soldier approaching them. The King? What was he talking about?

A few years before, His Majesty the King had died suddenly. The custom and law of the land dictated that his son become King in his place. That was the natural order of things.

Except that the son had been only eight years old.

It was the boys mother, the Dowager Queen, who ruled the country now with the help of many advisers. She would continue to do so until the young King reached the age of manhood. Meanwhile the boy did not govern. But he was still King.

Young-sup and Kee-sup knew all this; they had even seen the boy-King when he was paraded through the streets of Seoul after his fathers funeral. They remembered his solemn round face peeping through the trappings of his regally draped palanquin. They knew, too, that he was close to their age. But in that enormous palace, walled off from the city and guarded by soldiers, he seemed almost a creature from another world.

And now, here he was, on their hillside.

***

As the royal palanquin was lowered to the ground by the King's attendants, the brothers reacted at once as dutiful subjects. They knelt and touched their foreheads to the ground, to remain so until the King ordered them to rise.

But because of the kites, their bows were rather ... untraditional.

When Kee-sup went to his knees, he dropped his reel. At once it skipped across the ground, as the wind-aided kite dragged it along. Doubled over in an otherwise proper bow, Kee-sup twisted his neck in an effort to see where the reel was headed.

Young-sup tightened his grip on the smooth wood of his precious new reel—not for a million
won
would he have risked its being scratched or scarred. Instead, he knelt with the reel held straight out to the side, to prevent the line from getting tangled about his body.

He hoped fervently that he did not appear disrespectful, but his extended arm felt as conspicuous as a giant red flag. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Kee-sup trying to catch a glimpse of his reel, and he
knew that neither of their bows was perfectly correct. What would the King think? What if he were displeased—what would he say or do?

"Rise," the King commanded. Both boys stood up, keeping their heads bowed, but Young-sup stole a quick peek at His Majesty's face beyond the partially opened curtains of the palanquin. It was difficult to tell, but the King did not appear to be angry.

"So," he said. "It is you who hold the leashes of the tigers. I saw them from my garden."

Kee-sup answered. "Yes, Your Majesty."

"Ha!" The King gave a sudden shout of laughter and pointed at Kee-sup's reel. "You must make haste to catch it before it escapes!"

Kee-sup turned to go after the reel, turned back to the King, hastily bowed his head, and then ran down the hill.

But the reel had too great a head start, and Kee-sup could not catch it. The King turned to his guards. "You four! Assist him in the task!" The guards bowed their heads, then charged off in pursuit of the runaway reel.