The Kite Fighters

by Linda Sue Park

  The adults sat at one end of the room on cushions. One by one, each child came forward and bowed low, all the way down to the ground. Upon rising, he or she received a gift of money from each adult, with the child's age determining how much was given.

  Kee-sup, as the eldest son of the eldest son, began the ceremony. Each child took a turn, and with his mother's help even the baby bowed, causing great shouts of laughter from everyone.

  After the bowing ceremony ended, the games began. Children and adults alike played the board game yut, and throughout the day everyone collected "nines."

  Kee-sup had written the Chinese character for "long life" on a large piece of paper. He showed it to everyone and explained it to the younger cousins.

  "You see this symbol? It means 'long life' in Chinese. This"—he pointed to part of the symbol—"means 'life.' And these two parts at the beginning are 'nines.' That's why nine is lucky. The more nines you collect today, the luckier your year will be."

  The collecting of nines began.

  "I've picked up nine stones."

  "I counted nine birds in the sky."

  "I kicked the shuttlecock nine times without missing."

  Even the adults participated, with the boys' mother presenting a tray of nine different kinds of cakes, and their father giving each child a bag of nine nuts. And their aunt got the biggest laugh of all when she announced that she would change the baby's diaper nine times that day.

  Chapter Eleven

  The games and feasting would continue for fifteen days. But on that first day, as Young-sup was kicking the shuttlecock with his cousins, Kee-sup beckoned him, and they slipped away from the game playing.

  Kee-sup sent him to the kitchen for a bowl of leftover cooked rice. "Then find Hwang and ask him for a wooden mallet."

  "A mallet, brother? What for?"

  "Just go," said Kee-sup impatiently. "Meet me back in our room."

  When Young-sup arrived, out of breath and with mallet and bowl in hand, he found Kee-sup wrapping the pieces of broken pottery in a cloth.

  "Now tell me," Young-sup demanded.

  Kee-sup shook his head. "It will be easier to show you." He tied the corners of the cloth securely, put the bundle on a piece of paper on the floor, and took up the mallet. Then he smashed the bundle as hard as he could.

  There was a sound of breaking porcelain, muffled by the cloth. Kee-sup hit the cloth again and again. From time to time, he poked gingerly at the bundle. It took a long time and many blows of the mallet, but at last the pieces of pottery had been broken and ground almost to a powder.

  Kee-sup untied the cloth and left it on the floor. He cut a length of line from his reel, then took a few grains of rice from the bowl. With the rice on his fingertips, he rubbed and rolled the line repeatedly until it was coated with stickiness.

  "The broken stuff—spread it out on the paper," he ordered. Young-sup complied, using a spoon to scoop up and spread the ground pottery.

  Kee-sup held the line taut between his hands and rolled it in the powdered pottery until the center section of the line was well coated. He inspected it critically, rolled it again, and hung it up to dry. Young-sup watched all this in silence.

  Kee-sup tidied up the work area a little, then spoke.

  "When you cut your hand last night, it gave me an idea. If a single tiny piece of broken pottery could cut your hand, maybe a lot of them together could cut through a kite line."

  Young-sup's eyes widened in surprise and admiration. "That's a great idea—if it works."

  The boys each checked the line a dozen times that day. It wasn't until the evening that the heavy mixture of rice paste and powdered pottery was completely dry.

  Kee-sup held the coated piece of line and pulled it taut. Facing him, Young-sup held a plain piece of line. They crossed the two pieces and rubbed them against each other.

  Young-sup's line began to fray almost immediately. After just a few sawing motions, his piece was cut through.

  ***

  It was a triumphant pair that walked back from the hillside the next afternoon. Together they had coated an arm's length of Young-sup's line nearest the kite with the pottery-and-glue mixture and had let it dry overnight. They found that the cutting edge worked just as well in the air as it had in their room; Young-sup cut the lines of three kites in a row with no trouble.

  As they were busy congratulating each other, Young-sup had a sudden, sobering thought.

  "Brother. What if it's against the rules?"

  "Against the rules?" Kee-sup stopped in his tracks. "I never thought of that. You mean, maybe someone has thought of this before and it's not allowed."

  "We could ask."

  "But if we ask another flier, and no one has thought of it before, maybe he'll steal our idea."

  They stared at each other, their faces reflections of worry.

  All at once Young-sup thrust his kite at his brother. "Here—take my kite. I'll see you at home in a little while."

  He turned and ran off down the road.

  "Where are you going?" Kee-sup called.

  Young-sup turned back for a moment. "I've thought of someone I can ask."

  ***

  "Honorable sir!"

  Kite Seller Chung lifted his head. He was just leaving the marketplace after a busy day.

  Young-sup rushed up to him, panting from his run, and bowed politely if hurriedly. The old kite seller smiled at his eagerness.

  "What demon chases you, young flier?" he teased.

  "No demon, sir—just a question."

  "A question for me, I take it."

  Young-sup looked around them. The market was closing for the day, with many people brushing past them in their hurry to make last-minute purchases. He bowed again to the old man.

  "I do not wish to delay you, sir. Perhaps we could talk as I walk beside you."

  The old man cocked his head curiously and gestured his assent. They set out on the road away from the market and walked in silence until the crowds around them had thinned somewhat.

  "Now, young flier. What is this question, the answer to which you believe I hold?"

  "It's about the kite festival, sir. About the competition."

  "Ah—the kite fights." The old man's eyes lit up with keen interest.

  "Yes, sir. It is said that there is little you do not know about them."

  The kite seller nodded. "True enough. I have been watching them every year now for more than half a hundred years."

  "Then you would know, sir, about the rules." Young-sup paused, his voice low and urgent. "My brother has a new ... invention. We wish to use it at the fights, but we need to know if using it would be honorable—within the rules."

  His companion frowned. "That is not one question, young flier, but two. Tell me about this invention."

  Young-sup described what his brother had done and how it worked. The old man stroked his chin thoughtfully as he listened, but when Young-sup described how easily the pottery-coated line had cut the lines of three kites in a row, he let out a single shout of laughter.

  "Ha! He is a clever boy, your brother. I remember him now. He used to come by my stall often enough last year, to ask questions about kite making. But I have not seen him for many months."

  They walked on in silence, Young-sup fidgeting anxiously at the man's side. At last the kite seller asked a question.

  "Could anyone—a flier without skill, for instance—cut down a kite with this special line?"

  Young-sup shook his head. "No, sir. The kite must be controlled correctly, and the motions to cut the line must be precise. It's just quicker, that's all."

  The man stopped walking and faced the boy. "Then here are my answers. Is this invention within the rules? Yes. There is nothing that forbids it."

  Young-sup drew a quick breath. The kite seller raised his hand as a caution.

  "But there is a more difficult question. From what you have told me, it is clearly a great advantage—perhaps too great. Yet you say that th
ere would be no advantage without skill. It is you yourself, and your brother, who must decide if it is honorable."

  Young-sup bowed in farewell and thanks. The old man returned his bow.

  "I will be watching for you at the competition, young flier. The best of luck to you, whatever you decide."

  Chapter Twelve

  The King dismissed his courtiers, then bounded down from the throne.

  "I'm so glad you came! I've been seeing your kites from the garden. I wanted to come out, but I couldn't. It's been so busy here because of the holiday."

  It was three days before the competition. Kee-sup and Young-sup had come to the palace on two missions: To fetch the King's kite for a few practice sessions and to discuss the use of the special line.

  They sat again in the small room off the throne hall. A servant brought a tray of sweets, the fanciest and most delicious the two brothers had ever eaten. There were cakes with honey and almonds, with pine nuts, with hidden pockets of sweet bean paste. It was hard not to be greedy.

  "Good, aren't they?" said the King when they had finished. "Special, for the New Year. Now, it looks as though you have something to tell me. And I have something to tell you. Who shall go first?"

  "You, of course, Your Majesty" Young-sup mocked.

  "Very funny. Well, I will, anyway. I have two things to tell you. First, I was thinking about last year's kite fights. I remembered that everyone was talking about the boy who won, because he had also won the year before."

  The King wrinkled his brow in thought. "His name is Kim Hee-nam. He will be your greatest competition. I don't think anyone else from last year can fly like you"—he looked at Young-sup—"and certainly no one else will have so fine a kite." Kee-sup nodded a tiny bow of thanks at the compliment.

  "The second thing. I know I made the right decision not to fly myself. But Kee-sup, you made the kite, and Young-sup, you will fly it. What am I doing? Nothing. I want to do something—even something little. So I've been thinking and thinking, and finally an idea came to me."

  The King rose from his cushion and crossed the room. On a shelf stood a lacquerware box. He lifted the lid, took something out, and brought it back to the table.

  It was a large hank of sky-blue silk line. The brothers touched it curiously.

  "It's the finest-quality line. I didn't get a reel, because I thought you would want to use yours." He nodded at Young-sup.

  "Why blue?" Kee-sup asked.

  The King's eyes shone. "That's the best part. I thought that a line this color would be harder to see, you know, with the sky behind it. If your opponents can't see the line very well, they may have more difficulty cutting it."

  Young-sup shouted with laughter. "An invisible line! What an idea!" And Kee-sup, too, was enthusiastic.

  The King was pleased. "Now, what did you want to tell me?"

  The brothers grew sober at once. Kee-sup explained in detail the process of making the pottery-coated line. Young-sup spoke of using it, and of his conversation with the old kite seller. He finished by saying, "We are flying for you, so we thought you should be the one to decide."

  The King folded his arms and furrowed his brow. He stared at nothing for a long moment while the brothers waited.

  "It's like this." The King spoke thoughtfully. "The best way to win is with a line cut, right? Not only because it's the most exciting, but also because its form is the finest. You don't have one kite crashing to the ground. Instead, the losing kite flies away. That's a much more dignified way for a kite and a flier to lose, don't you think?"

  Young-sup felt a quiet admiration for the King on hearing his words. He glanced at Kee-sup and sensed from his expression that his brother felt the same.

  The King continued, "I am thinking that this year using the line could indeed be a great advantage. But not next year. Next year everyone will be doing it." He grinned. "Can you imagine next year's competition? How exciting it will be!"

  So it was decided. Young-sup would fly the King's dragon kite, made by Kee-sup, on a pottery-coated sky-blue line.

  Chapter Thirteen

  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.