The Kite Fighters
Page 8
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.
Everyone knows his name, Young-sup thought.
Kim ... Kim ... Kim ... Kim ... More people joined in; the chant grew to a roar. KIM! KIM! KIM! It seemed to Young-sup that every single person in the park was shouting his opponents name.
He had never felt so alone.
Then, from somewhere in the crowd, Young-sup heard something else. Between the incessant beats of KIM ... KIM ... KIM, a single voice was chanting a different name.
KIM ... Lee ... KIM ... Lee ... KIM ... Lee ...
Young-sup could hardly believe his ears. The voice was small, but he recognized it at once. Young-sup knew his father must be shouting at the top of his lungs to make himself heard.
Another voice joined in—Kee-sup's.
KIM—Lee—KIM—Lee—KIM—Lee...
Lee. A whisper seemed to run through the crowd. The other fighter's name is Lee.
And a few at a time, voices added to the strength of the name until both resounded equally through the park.
KIM!
LEE!
KIM!
LEE!
KIM!
LEE!
Young-sup looked around in amazement. The blur of the crowd seemed to clear, and his eyes found Kee-sup again. Then he saw their father push through the crowd to stand at the front, some distance from Kee-sup.
KIM LEE KIM LEE KIM LEE...
The chant, almost a song now, had somehow broken the tension in the crowd. People were laughing and shaking their fists good-naturedly at each other as each group tried to outshout the other.
Young-sup caught his brothers eye. He nodded in their fathers direction.
And for a moment amid the noise of the shouts and the crowd, their three gazes met. It was then that the brothers saw the rarest of sights: a broad smile on their father's face, as he continued to shout their name.
***
The shouting had been born and grown in only a few moments. Young-sup looked again at the platform. This time he saw Kim Hee-nam approaching the judges.
I should go there, too, thought Young-sup. I should tell my side of the story.
But what was his side? He could not say clearly that the line had been cut before he fell out of the circle. I cut the line, and then I fell, he thought. No, I fell as I was cutting the line...
He did not know which had happened first.
If that is the truth, he thought, then that is what I must say.
Young-sup walked toward the platform. He saw that his opponent had finished speaking to the judges, who were now consulting with the King. A gong sounded, and the chanting crowd was suddenly stilled.
In dead silence, Kim Hee-nam walked back to meet him. Every face in the crowd was turned toward the center of the field. No one spoke; no one even seemed to breathe.
The gong sounded once more, its echoes merging with the blood pounding in Young-sup's ears. Then, to his astonishment, the other boy dropped to his knees in the deepest of bows.
The sudden roar that erupted from the crowd seemed to shake the very earth he stood on.
Young-sup had won.
He was the new champion.
Chapter Sixteen
Young-sup stood in shock, not knowing what to say.
Kim Hee-nam rose and spoke. "The line broke first. I know, because I felt it, and then I looked at you—just in time to see you fall. I told the judges. It was only fair."
Young-sup heard his words with one part of his mind. Another part was thinking, Why, he sounds ordinary—just like any other boy. Somehow I imagined that he would he different—prouder or fiercer, perhaps.
"We haven't met before. I'm Kim Hee-nam. You're a great flier. We should fly together sometime."
Suddenly Young-sup found his tongue. "I'm Lee Young-sup. I'd like that."
Hee-nam smiled. "By the way, what was going on in those first few rounds? I've never seen line cutting like that."
Young-sup laughed. "I'll tell you about it. It was my brother's idea..."
And the champions, new and old, walked off the field together.
***
Young-sup sat with his father and brother to observe the men's competition. It felt like years since he had thought of anything but flying, and he was startled to find himself ravenous. He ate enormously of the picnic lunch his father had brought. Seeing his appetite, his father stopped a passing sweet seller and bought several rice cakes.
"Slow down!" Kee-sup complained happily. "That's your third sweet, and I'm still on my first."
Young-sup grinned. It was wonderful to sit there with his mouth full of delicious food, watching the matches between the adult fliers. As well as he and the other boys had flown, he could tell that it would be many years before they would match the skill he was seeing now.
***
The final match ended with a line cut and a tremendous roar from the crowd. Now the King would speak to close the festival. It was over and would not come again for a whole year.
Dusk was falling as the gong sounded and the King rose; the crowd bowed on their knees.
"Rise, my countrymen," said the King, and as he spoke, the shouters began their work again. "I feel great pride today—pride in our traditions, pride in those who were brave enough to compete and those who came to support them. May our land and its traditions live for a thousand years!"
The people shouted their approval. The King waited for the applause and shouts to die down, then continued. "We were all fortunate today to see the best in kite flying. I bow to all those who competed, and especially to this year's champions. Lee Young-sup, winner of the boys' competition, and Ahn Sang-hee, winner of the men's, would you do me the honor of joining me here on the platform?"
Young-sup ducked his head shyly; all around him people were nodding and smiling at him. Some called out brief congratulations to his father. Kee-sup grinned, clapped Young-sup on the back, and gave him a shove toward the platform. Young-sup almost shoved him back but stopped himself. Instead, he bowed his head.
"Older brother, I thank you. I could not have achieved this victory without your assistance." A little wave of surprise washed over Young-sup as he realized that he had spoken to his brother so respectfully not just because their father was present. The words had come unbidden because they were true.
Kee-sup nodded in reply, looking pleased and embarrassed. And as Young-sup turned away and walked to the platform, he felt his fathers pride and approval like a warm breeze.
Young-sup stepped up to bow before the King. The King looked at him quickly, their secret friendship dancing in his eyes. Young-sup knew they would meet again soon, when he and Kee-sup returned the dragon kite to its rightful owner. And, he hoped, many times after that.
He stood on one side of the King, with the men's winner on the other.
"No warrior ever fights alone," the King said, "and neither did these two fighters. However great their skills, they could not have achieved what they did today without help."
As the King's
words reached them via the shouters, the crowd buzzed and murmured in puzzlement. Young-sup wondered if perhaps the King were about to reveal their partnership.
"And so," the King continued, "I now also honor those who helped them. The valiant dragon of the boys' competition was made by Lee Kee-sup. And Kite Seller Chung made the splendid fish that honored the men's competition. I request that both of these great artists join us here."
Young-sup wanted to shout for joy. Kee-sup and the old kite seller mounted the platform and stood beside their fliers. All four of them bowed to the King and to one another.
Kite Seller Chung nodded at Young-sup. "Well met, young flier." Then he turned to Kee-sup. "The dragon is truly a work of art. It is a kite I would be proud to call one of my own."
Kee-sup bowed again. Young-sup felt a warm glow all through him on seeing his brother at his side—a glow as red and gold as the dragon's scales.
The King continued his speech.
"I wish you all to recall the old story of the great general Kim Yu-sin. A thousand years ago, when he fought against a foreign invasion, his warriors saw a shooting star in the skies. As you know, my people, a shooting star is a very bad omen. The general's troops were discouraged. They felt sure they would lose the coming battle.
"But Kim Yu-sin was as clever as he was brave. He made a very special kite. To this kite he fastened a small lantern. He flew the kite that night, and his soldiers thought that the light was a new star in the sky. A good omen! With their spirits renewed, they won the next day's battle and defeated the invaders."
The crowd cheered wildly. The old story was a great favorite, especially on such a day.
As the King was speaking, two hundred soldiers had been quietly dispersing themselves throughout the park, two by two. One soldier in each pair held a kite, and they waited now for their King's command.
"I close this year's kite festival with a special ceremony. In honor of all kite fliers and kite makers, may our ancestors smile upon you until we meet again next year." Young-sup realized that this was why the King had opened the festival with the wishing kites; he had something else, something new, planned for the closing.
Guards stepped forward and gave small kites to the King, to Kee-sup and Young-sup, and to the kite seller and his flier. Each kite had a tiny lantern attached to one of the crosspieces. The guards lit the lanterns, and one of them helped the King launch his kite.
The crowd watched as the kite rose and faded into the darkening sky, until only its lantern light showed. Then the gong sounded. The soldiers who were scattered among the crowd launched their lantern kites to follow the King's.
Young-sup helped his brother launch, watching until Kee-sup's kite was well on its way. Then he released his own lantern kite. It was the last to join the silent fleet in the sky.
Young-sup looked out over the crowd for a moment. Thousands of faces, as far as he could see, were turned skyward. Then he, too, looked up.
More than a hundred lantern lights glowed in the heavens, like stars that were almost close enough to touch. They floated, drifted, sometimes clustered together. Young-sup stared hard, trying to make out which lantern light was on the end of his line.
He gave the line a gentle tug. Far overhead one of the lanterns bobbed and winked in response.
Young-sup smiled, sure now of the light that was his own.
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Author's Note
The boy-King in this story is based on an actual historical figure. King Songjong ruled Korea from 1469 to 1494. The Sillok, the official transcript of court activity, records that one of Songjong's acts as King was to mandate that junior ministers were free to voice their opinions to the court, even if their ideas conflicted with those of their superiors.
The use of the colored kite line comes from an observation made by Stewart Culin in the late nineteenth century. In his book Korean Games, Culin says that royal kites were flown on a sky-blue line.
It is not known if the use of ground pottery or glass on kite lines originated in Korea; China and India also lay claim to the discovery of this technique. In modern competition the rules are always clear as to whether glass line can or cannot be used. Todays kite fighters coat several different sections of their lines so they always have a fresh cutting edge.
With the modernization of Korea in the twentieth century, Western ideas and culture have taken their place alongside the old Korean ways. Some of the Confucian teachings, such as ancestor worship, have declined in popularity with the spread of Christianity. But other traditions have proved more resistant to change. In most Korean families today the first-born son still bears the responsibility of maintaining the family name and honor, while to some extent the other sons must make their own way in the world.
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