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.
Chapter Fourteen
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.
He returned to his place in line to watch the other matches. The second line cut of the competition was achieved by Kim Hee-nam. He used a similar technique to Young-sup's, but it took several tries before his opponents line was severed.
Young-sup's next two matches were nearly identical to his first. The striking appearance of the dragon kite combined with the swiftness of its victories had the crowd buzzing with excitement. With each match the row of contestants grew shorter. With each match the champion stood closer to Young-sup in the line.
***
After Young-sup's third quick victory in a row, the judges conferred briefly, then called him to the platform.
Young-sup told himself he had no reason to feel nervous. He reached the platform and bowed before the judges. The tallest judge, seated in the middle, returned his bow and spoke.
"Your line cuts are most impressive, young flier. We are all agreed that we have never before seen such an efficient display." Young-sup bowed again.
The judge continued, "We have been wondering if it is skill alone that enables you to cut your opponents' lines so easily."
With trembling fingers, Young-sup unreeled some of the line and held it before him. He forced himself to speak clearly, for he did not wish to appear to be hiding anything.
"The part of the line that you see here, Honorable Judges—it has been specially treated. It has been rolled in a mixture of glue and powdered pottery. It is this mixture that stiffens my line and gives it an extra cutting edge."
The judge gestured to a nearby guard, who took the kite and reel from Young-sup and brought them to the judges for closer inspection. The judges examined the line carefully, touched it gingerly, and whispered to one another.
Young-sup held his breath. The old kite seller had said it was not against the rules, but the three judges might still decide against him. It seemed like a long time before they handed the kite back to the guard again.
"We are agreed," the tall judge proclaimed, "that there is nothing in the rules that prohibits the use of such a line. We are also agreed that it would be unfair to make a ru
le about it now, with the competition already half over. Next year it may be a different story."
The judge paused and looked down at Young-sup. "The final thing that we are agreed on is that the cleverness of this line is matched only by the skill of the one using it." He nodded and bowed. "Fight on, young flier."
Young-sup took the kite from the guard and bowed his thanks. As he walked away, he felt wobbly and realized that his legs had been shaking like the leaves of a willow in the wind.
***
All eyes were on Young-sup as he entered the circle for his fourth match. The crowd, the judges, and Young-sup himself expected another swift victory.
But something wasn't right. He used the same technique as before, but after several attempts the opponent's line still held.
Young-sup tightened and released the line so his kite gained some height and was clear of the battle for a moment. What could be wrong? Was he doing something differently? There was no doubt that this opponent, having also survived three rounds, was highly skilled. Even now his kite was moving in for another attack.
Young-sup tried again. He released some line; feeling the slack, the dragon drifted back, its line rubbing the opponent's. The enemy kite seemed to duck like a boxer, with the other boy trying hard to accomplish the dual feat of avoiding Young-sup's line while knocking his kite. Finally, after two more hard-fought encounters, the opponent's line was frayed to a mere hair. And then the wind joined the fight on Young-sup's side, with a strong gust snapping the kite free.
Young-sup, suddenly exhausted, reeled in his kite. He picked it up and went back to stand in line yet again. On the way there he saw Kee-sup hurrying to his side.
"What's the matter?" Kee-sup asked anxiously. "What happened?"
Young-sup shook his head. "I don't know. I did the same as before—"
"Let me see." Kee-sup took the kite and reel and inspected them. "Look."
He was staring at the section of line that had been coated with the ground pottery. "It's nearly gone."
The glue mixture had worn away with each successive fight. Now there was hardly any of it left on the line, just a few rough patches here and there.
Young-sup looked frightened. "I never thought it might wear off."
"Neither did I."
"What now?"
Kee-sup spoke calmly. "What do you mean, what now? It's no different—you go out there and fly. Just do the best you can. You can win—even without the special line."
Young-sup tried to smile at his brother's reassurance, but inside he felt a quick flame of anger. He's not the one who's flying, he thought.
The knock-out contest was down to just four boys. If Young-sup won his next match, he would fight for the championship.
***
To the great surprise of both brothers the semifinal match was as easy as the first three had been. Once again it took only a few maneuvers to sever the opponent's line.
Kee-sup was waiting when Young-sup walked off the field. "What happened this time?"
Together, the brothers bent over the line. There were spots where the glue-and-pottery mixture still clung to the silk, a finger's width here and there. One of these spots must have made contact in the battle.
But all along the once-coated section, the sky-blue silk was beginning to fray.
Young-sup tested it, pulling tentatively at the weak spots. "It will probably hold—there's only one match to go. And if it does, those last little bits might be enough to help me cut his line."
Kee-sup shook his head. "It's not worth the risk. You need to get rid of all that weakened line and retie your reel."
"I need the special line, brother! This next match—it's Kim Hee-nam I'll be fighting."
"You don't need it. You can win without it."
"Against the others, maybe, but not him!"
Kee-sup took the kite and reel and laid them carefully on the ground. He began to untie the fraying line from the kite.
"I'm the one who's flying!" Young-sup protested. "Leave the line alone!"
Kee-sup shook his head and paused in his work to look up at him.
"You have to trust me, little brother. I know what you can do with a kite—even better than you do yourself. And do you know why?" Kee-sup grinned as he cut away the ragged part of the blue silk line. "Because you've never seen yourself fly."
***
As Young-sup reluctantly helped Kee-sup tie the last of the knots to secure the blue line once again, a shadow fell across the kite. The brothers looked up to see their father standing there.
They rose slowly and stood before him. He nodded. "The kite is well made."
Kee-sup bowed. "Yes, Father."
"And so far it has been well flown."
He has been watching. Young-sup thought. "I have done my best, Father."
"But you are not yet finished."
"No, Father. This last round..."Young-sup groped for words. "It's Kim Hee-nam. He has twice been the champion before."
His father shrugged, almost imperceptibly. He gestured for Kee-sup to join him. Young-sup took the kite from his brother and watched as they moved toward the crowd. Then his father turned back for a brief moment.
"You are a Lee," he said. "Honor the name."
Chapter Fifteen
The gong sounded for the final match. Kim Hee-nam strode out onto the field, his head steady and his face calm. As Young-sup tottered out behind him, his insides were boiling and freezing at the same time, and the terror he felt seemed to be screaming out with every step he took.
His brother was watching. His father was watching. The King was watching. The judges ... the guards ... the crowd of thousands ... Young-sup's mind whirled back to the moment when Kee-sup had cut and cast away the last bit of treated line. It was as if he had thrown away Young-sup's chances of victory as well.
The judges gave the signal to launch. Suddenly Young-sup felt as though his body were pushing his confused and frightened mind aside. You watch, said his arms and legs and hands, we know how to do this.
***
It was true. Young-sup felt as though his mind had gone to sleep, or was just watching, while his body made all the familiar, much-practiced motions on its own. Side by side, almost simultaneously, the red dragon kite and the plain white one rose into the air.
The white kite attacked immediately, its flier wasting no time. It knocked fiercely at the dragon kite.
The dragon dodged and twirled, its scales flashing in the sun. It dipped below the white kite and drew closer in its first attempt to cut the line.
The white kite swung away and hovered just out of reach, as if teasing the dragon to follow it. But the dragon had found a favorable patch of sky and wind and remained where it was. Patience, the kite seemed to whisper. Wait here.
The white kite charged again, and this time it bumped the dragon. The attack continued, with the white kite knocking the dragon lower and lower and following each time for another hit.
He's not going for a line cut, thought Young-sup. He's trying to make me crash instead. Rapidly he loosened the line. The crowd gasped as the dragon seemed to feel the extra slack and veered out of control.
But the slack was what the dragon needed to turn in a new direction. It now had room to find a fresh burst of wind, and it recovered from its dive, climbing higher and higher until once again it flew proudly level with the white kite.
Again and again the white kite attacked, tipping and bumping the dragon. Again and again the dragon recovered. Young-sup had no idea how long they had been flying. It was all he could do to keep his kite from crashing. He was reaching the end of his strength.
***
As Young-sup turned in his struggle to keep the dragon aloft, he caught a glimpse of his brother out of the corner of his eye; Kee-sup had pushed his way through the crowd to the edge of the field.
Enough, A voice came to Young-sup from somewhere—from where? Was it the wind or the kite, talking to him? Was it the tok-gabi again? Enough of this. It's t
ime, you know. Cut his line—you can do it, no one better. You've never seen yourself fly.
It's Kee-sup, Young-sup thought. He's right here with me—he's talking to me somehow. And his strength came back to him as he remembered that more than anyone else it was his brother who deserved his best efforts now.
Young-sup reeled in a little line; the dragon responded to the increased tension by climbing higher. It was now above the white kite. Then he released some length and the dragon drifted back, its line dragging against the opponent's.
Once, twice, three times ... The white kite moved sideways, trying to escape. Four, five, six. Young-sup could hardly feel where his hands ended and the reel began. Line in, the dragon rose. Line out, the dragon fell. Each time the kite lines crossed and rubbed.
Young-sup shifted his feet as the dragon followed the white kite. Seven, eight, nine. Surely his line must he frayed.
Just a few times more ... Young-sup's whole body leaned and strained, every fiber of his being intent on the battle in the sky. Ten, eleven...
The twelfth attempt, and then a gust of wind.
Young-sup lost his balance and fell to his knees outside the circle just as the white kite snapped free.
***
The soldier's red flag shot up into the air. Pandemonium broke loose. Everyone was shouting.
"The line broke first!"
"No! He fell out of the circle first!"
"It happened at the same time—the very same moment! I saw it!"
The judges had risen at once and were standing in a tight group on the platform. Young-sup staggered to his feet. Above him the dragon kite still flew, unconcerned about the madness below. Automatically Young-sup began to reel it in.