The Kite Fighters (9 page)

It was the last day of the New Year celebration—the day of the kite festival. Kee-sup and Young-sup walked the road to the royal park together. Their uncle's family had departed the day before, and their father had sent word from his room that he would join them later.

Since the day of the confrontation with Kee-sup, their father had not spoken of the kite festival. Both boys knew that it was not because of his normal reserve. Behind his silence lay great disapproval.

But the brothers were determined not to think about that now. Kee-sup carried the King's kite, attached with the sky-blue line to Young-sup's reel. The day before, the line had been carefully prepared. Part of it had been coated with the special mixture of rice-paste glue and powdered pottery. Then Kee-sup had tied the line, using the usual four-leg bridle, so that the coated section was attached near the kite itself.

Young-sup carried two small "wishing" kites, his own and Kee-sup's. The wishing kites would be used as part of the kite festival.

What crowds there were as the boys approached the park! Gaily decorated stalls along the road sold food, drink, kites, and toys. Everyone was in high spirits; friends called out to one another and boasted of their kites and their flying skills.

Fearful for the King's kite, Kee-sup sometimes had to raise it straight over his head to keep it from being damaged in the crush. At last they reached the great open space in the center of the park where the festival would be held.

As they walked about in search of a place to sit down and rest, Young-sup realized his brother had just spoken to him. He looked up, embarrassed. "Sorry, brother, I didn't hear you. I've been counting my steps—by nines."

Kee-sup grinned. "I've been counting every nine people we pass." The brothers laughed, no longer alone in their anxiety.

In the center of the open space two large circles
had already been marked on the ground. At the far end of the field a long, low platform had been built, and a silk tent erected on it. This was the temporary throne room from which the King would observe the day's festivities.

For the moment the throne stood empty, but as the brothers drank tea and rested from their long walk, a soldier mounted the platform and struck a mighty blow on the brass gong that stood at one end.

Immediately the crowd of thousands stopped whatever they were doing—talking, eating, drinking, flying—and dropped to their knees. After a second gong a splendid procession entered the park: a host of scarlet-clad soldiers, followed by the royal palanquin and then many more soldiers. Once the palanquin had passed by, a subject was allowed to rise to his feet, so a great wave of movement rippled through the crowd as the people rose, several dozen at a time.

The King mounted the platform to address the crowd. As usual at such large gatherings, there were soldiers stationed throughout the park to serve as "shouters." The first of them stood quite near the platform, where he could hear the King easily. He would call out, repeating the King's words to the crowd surrounding him and to the next shouter, who
was standing farther away. Each shouter would repeat the King's words until even the far reaches of the crowd had heard them.

"My people! I greet you on this fifteenth day of the New Year. May our ancestors bless our land and our people in the year to come, with good fortune for all!"

As the King paused to let the shouters do their work, his words echoed through the great park. Young-sup looked around at all the solemn, attentive faces and felt a secret pleasure at the thought of having the King as a friend,

"He sounds very 'royal,' doesn't he?" Kee-sup whispered. Young-sup grinned, knowing his brother shared the same thoughts.

The King was speaking again. "It is my first official act of this New Year to open the kite festival. I honor our traditions by performing this duty with the release of the first wishing kite."

A stirring of surprise rolled through the crowd as the King's words spread, for it had been expected that, as in years past, the wishing kites would
close
the festival, not open it.

But the King paid no heed to the murmurs in the crowd. One of his courtiers handed him a small kite and reel. Tied to the line was a bit of oil-soaked rag.
The King stepped to the edge of the platform and waited as the courtier lit a fire-stick from a lantern and touched the rag with the stick, setting it aflame. The courtier then helped the King launch the kite.

As the kite rose, the flame burned through the rag. The crowd watched in silence until the rag had burned enough for the flame to reach the line. Then the line itself burned through, releasing the kite.

The enormous roar that rose from the crowd seemed to push the freed kite higher and higher into the skies. Like all the other wishing kites, the Kings kite had been painted with the Chinese characters "Bad luck—go!" Tradition had it that the kite would carry away a whole year of misfortune.

Then the King raised his arms and nodded at the crowd, which burst into activity as people prepared to launch their own wishing kites. Some kites had bits of rag or sulfur-paper tied to their lines. The brothers' wishing kites were attached to short lengths of line rather than a full reel and would be released when all the line had been let out.

At a signal from the King, a guard hit the gong, and the wishing kites were launched. More than a thousand of them rose into the air, at first jostling and bumping one another like the people in the
crowd below, then finding more space and sky as they were released.

Disease. Hunger. Unhappiness. As the kites flew off like a huge flock of strange white birds, it seemed truly possible that all the unlucky things in life were being carried away.

***

Now the King declared the start of the kite-fighting competition. Boys fifteen years of age or younger would compete first, followed by the men. For a time there was great confusion. Soldiers cleared the competition field and formed a line around the edge of it to keep the spectators back. Competitors were told to line up on one side of the field. Three judges joined the King on the platform to observe the fights.

Young-sup's eyes met his brother's for a brief moment, then Kee-sup looked down and touched the kite's red-and-gold scales one last time. "Fly well, brother."

Young-sup nodded but could not speak. He took the dragon from Kee-sup and began making his way through the crowd to the fighters' line.

The competition would be run knock-out style. The fliers would fight two at a time; the loser would be eliminated, and the winner would get back in line to await the next round. Each round would see the elimination of half the fighters, until only two were left. These two competitors would fight for the championship.

Although thousands of men and boys had come to the park that day, most of them would not fight. Only a few dozen boys believed they possessed the necessary skill to fight before the King himself. No boy or man would have considered fighting unless he were truly expert; to display oneself poorly at such a gathering would bring great dishonor to one's whole family.

Young-sup found himself in the middle of the line. He looked quickly at the boys and their kites. Not one of them held a finer kite than the red dragon; indeed, it had already drawn many admiring glances.

The boy ahead of him nodded a greeting. "See that fellow down there, the tall one?" He indicated a boy a full head taller than Young-sup himself standing near the end of the line. "That's Kim Hee-nam, the champion. He has won the competition two years in a row. No one else has ever done that. I hope I don't have to fly against him."

Immediately, Young-sup's interest sharpened. He studied the champion closely. The tall boy's face was
calm and emotionless, unlike the anxious expressions of most of those in the line. His kite was plain cream-colored paper, and he held it almost casually. Everything about him indicated confidence in his own abilities.

Kim Hee-nam,
thought Young-sup,
I hope I do fly against you.

***

In the first several fights none of the competitors attempted a line cut. A fighter was eliminated in one of two ways. Either he lost control of his kite because of bumping or knocking by the opponent, and the kite dove to the ground; or, in his attempts to maneuver, he stepped out of the white chalk circle. Most of the fights were several minutes long, although a particularly hard-fought battle might last a quarter of an hour or more.

Posted near each circle was a soldier whose sole responsibility was to watch the feet of the fighters. The soldier held a bamboo stick with a red silk square tied to one end, which he raised high in the air if a fighter stepped outside the circle. Young-sup felt a little sorry for these soldiers, who were never able to look up and watch the excitement of the fights.

At last Young-sup reached the head of the line. The
boy behind him, against whom he would fight, looked to be about his age and size; Young-sup had glanced at him surreptitiously several times. His face was fierce and determined, and his kite well made, with a fine reel.

The boy who had spoken to Young-sup won his match when his opponent stepped out of the circle. The gong sounded to end that match and begin the next. Young-sup walked onto the field. His stomach felt a little peculiar and his head a little light. Later he would barely remember getting to the circle—somehow he was just there, holding his kite and reel and awaiting the signal to launch. He and his opponent bowed to each other, and the match began.

Launching the kite with its ground-pottery line had proved a bit tricky. Because of the danger of getting cut, Young-sup had to use extra care when he threw the kite into the air. But the hours of practice repaid him, and his launch now was flawless.

As the dragon kite rose, the sunlight illuminated its gold-washed scales. The glowing color and the fact that it seemed to fly without a line drew murmurs from the crowd. Young-sup smiled to himself. The King's blue line was indeed difficult to see against the blue of the sky.

Young-sup maneuvered his line and glanced at his
opponent's kite. It was moving into position to bump his own.

The start of each of the preceding matches had followed a similar pattern. The fliers had concentrated on getting a sense of the wind and their opponent's skill and strategy, and there had been little fighting in the first few minutes. Young-sup knew that this match would be different.

He positioned his kite just below his opponent's. Then, holding the reel in both hands, he rapidly drew in some line. The tightening of the line caused the kite to rise quickly. As it rose, the line crossed that of his opponent's and rubbed against it.

The boy glanced quickly at Young-sup; it was unusual for a flier to attempt a line cut so early in the match. Besides, the technique was difficult to execute. The strategy meant that Young-sup's kite was at all times very near and below the opposing kite and might easily be knocked down. The opponent was looking for such an opportunity and did not move his kite away.

The dragon kite rose and fell, obeying the commands of the line as Young-sup reeled in and released, reeled in and released. He counted to himself. Two times, three, four...

On the fifth try he made the cut. As the other kite broke free of its line, the dragon kite jerked and seemed to watch it fly away.

Young-sup stole a quick look at his opponent. The boy stood in shock, with his reel trailing a limp line. For a moment Young-sup felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the depths of surprise and unhappiness on his opponent's face.

The match had been won and lost in less than a minute.

When the crowd recovered from its surprise, shouts and applause broke out for the first line cut of the day. Meanwhile, dozens of small boys waited at the far end of the park, downwind of the competition field. As the losing kite sailed off, the stampede began as each raced to be first to reach the kite and claim it for his own.

The gong sounded; Young-sup and his opponent bowed again, first to each other and then toward the King's platform. Young-sup dared not meet the King's eyes for fear of somehow giving away their secret alliance.