Monkey (14 page)

Malao really missed the white monkey. Part of him wanted to believe that his new friend would be waiting for him at the village, since that's where they'd been headed when they'd last seen each other. But another part of him wondered why the white monkey would even bother. After all, it had been shot trying to help him. Malao wouldn't blame the white monkey one bit if it wanted nothing more to do with him.

Malao sighed. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice that Fu had stopped on the trail.

“Ooof!” Malao muttered as he slammed into Fu. Fu didn't seem to notice. His head was cocked to one side and he appeared to be listening to something farther up the trail. Malao listened, too. After a moment, Malao thought he heard voices. Aggressive voices.

“Come on!” Fu said excitedly. “We're almost there!”

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Malao asked. “Those people don't sound very nice—”

“You'll see,” Fu said, grabbing Malao by the collar of his robe. “Follow me!”

As Malao followed, he paid close attention to the sounds ahead. To his surprise, the closer he got, the more it sounded like group kung fu drills back at Cangzhen.

Malao and Fu soon reached a wall of tall bushes that ran parallel to the trail. Fu motioned for Malao to stay close and pointed to a section of the bushes that had been trampled. It looked as if a horse had barreled through there. Fu walked through the trampled area into a huge square that was almost completely surrounded by the same tall bushes.

Malao followed Fu and saw nearly one hundred children practicing kung fu. The practice session was led by a large boy with intense eyes and wild black hair. He was tall and powerful, and his heavy gray peasant's robe
snapped
loudly with every punch he threw. Malao noticed immediately that the boy's hands were not folded into typical fists. Instead, they were crudely formed tiger claws.

Fu approached the large boy from behind. “Where did you learn to punch like that?” Fu asked. “You punch like a girl.”

Without turning around, the boy replied, “If you mean that my punches resemble those of the girl who lives next door to me, I'll take that as a compliment.”

Fu smiled. “She taught you well.”

The large boy stopped his punching and turned to face Fu. He grinned and slapped Fu on the shoulder. “You're amazing, Fu! How on earth did you escape?”

Fu nodded in Malao's direction. “My little brother helped me.”

The large boy raised his eyebrows.

Malao shrugged.

“My name is Ma,” the boy said to Malao. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Malao replied. “My name is Malao, but Fu likes to call me by other names. What was that last one you used, Fu?
Banana Brain?”

Fu shook his head. “I don't remember. But if you keep this up, the next one will be
Broken Monkey.”

Malao giggled and glanced at Ma. Ma wasn't laughing.

“Monkey?”
Ma asked.

“Ah, yeah,” Malao replied. “My name means ‘monkey’ in Cantonese. Why?”

Ma stared at Malao but didn't say a word.

Eager to change the subject, Malao said, “Hey, did Fu show you how to punch like that?”

“Sort of,” Ma replied. He looked at Fu and seemed to relax a little. “Fu showed each of us a different kung fu technique, and now we're teaching our moves to each other. It's really great.”

Malao laughed. “Yeah, I guess it would be if everyone was a giant like you and this overgrown pussycat. Tiger-style techniques are perfect for overpowering people. Unfortunately, most kids are like me—small.”

Ma's eyes narrowed. “The technique Fu taught me helped save a life.”

“Oh … I'm sorry,” Malao said, raising his hands. “I
was only joking. Well, half joking. If you'd like, I could teach you a few monkey-style techniques and show you what I mean.”

“Monkey-style?”
Ma said. “I don't think so.”

A small boy from the group suddenly called out, “I want to learn! Teach me!”

Malao grinned at the boy and released a dramatic sigh. “I'd love to teach you some moves, my friend, but I'm afraid I might not have enough energy. I'm famished.” Malao dropped to the ground, pretending to faint.

The small boy laughed.

“Just ignore him,” Fu said, shaking his head. “He'll get up eventually.”

The small boy laughed again. “I think he's funny!”

Ma looked at Fu. “What about you? Are you hungry?”

“You could say that,” Fu replied. “I haven't eaten anything since your mother's Greasy Goose.”

“What?” Ma said. “That was a day and a half ago! Hang on, I'll be right back. Four chicken buns coming right up.”

Malao snapped his head in Fu's direction and made a sour face. Fu called out to Ma, “Make that two chicken buns and two plain buns, please. Malao doesn't eat meat.”

“It figures,” Ma mumbled as he headed for the bun vendor's shop. “Monkeys are nothing but trouble. …”

A few moments later, Ma returned. “These are compliments of the bun vendor. He's very busy now,
but he said he will come see you later, Fu. He said he wants to ‘commend you for your bravery’ yesterday morning. He's impressed that you put your life on the line for the village.”

Malao glanced questioningly at Fu.

Fu shrugged. “Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime,” he said. “Right now, let's eat.” Fu turned to Ma. “Thanks for the food.”

“Don't mention it,” Ma replied.

“Yeah, thanks a lot!” Malao said. He dug in and finished off his buns in no time. He burped loudly. “Aahhh! Now, who's ready to learn some
real
kung fu?”

“Me!” shouted the small boy, along with several other boys and girls in the village square.

Malao looked over at Fu and saw that he was deep in conversation with Ma. It looked like they would be there for a while.

“Okay,” Malao said to the group of children as he stood. “I'm assuming you have all stretched out your muscles, right?”

“Yes,” the group replied.

“Great,” Malao said. “Did Fu teach you the Horse Stance? You know, the basic beginning position where you sort of squat down with your legs about shoulder-width apart?”

“Yes.”

Malao grinned. “That's good. Keep practicing it because it's an important exercise. However, we won't be using it today.”

“So you're not going to teach us how to fight?” the small boy asked.

“Not exactly,” Malao replied. “I said I was going to teach you some monkey-style kung fu. Kung fu isn't always about fighting. In fact, most monkey-style followers don't even like to fight. They usually prefer to run away. Many times the winner of a fight still gets hurt, and I know I'd rather run away healthy than win a fight and end up with a broken arm or leg. The number one rule is to walk away from a fight, or run away if you have to. Understand?”

“I guess so,” the small boy said. “But what are you supposed to do if you can't run away? What if you have no choice?”

“If you're small like me, you have to be prepared to play dirty,” Malao said with a devilish grin. “If you ever find yourself in a corner and you're feeling afraid, show it. It will help make your opponent feel overconfident. And if you have no choice but to fight back, you should strike and retreat. No one can hurt you if you're not there. After a swift kick-and-punch combination, run away and don't look back. It is said that monkeys fight with four hands. That means use your feet and your fists simultaneously. Does that make sense?”

The small boy scratched his head. “Yes, but what kind of punch should we use? And what kind of kick?”

“You could use whatever Fu showed you, or you could make up your own. A lot of monkey-style
moves are made up as you go along, especially if you're attacking the eyes or throat. Just do whatever comes to mind first, then get out of there as fast as you can.”

“Could you show us some moves?” the small boy asked. “Please?”

Malao smiled and looked at Fu. Fu was still talking to Ma.

“Hey, Fu,” Malao interrupted. “How long do you think we'll be here?”

“I don't know,” Fu replied. “I don't want to stay too long. It's only a matter of time before Ying—”

Fu suddenly stopped talking. He was staring at the bun vendor's shop across the square. In front of the shop was a large man with long, tangled hair and a scraggly beard. One of his lower legs was bandaged, and he leaned on a crutch.

“I'll be right back,” Fu said hurriedly. “You stay here and conduct some more monkey business, Malao.” Fu nodded to Ma and raced off toward the man.

Malao shrugged and looked at the group. “Anybody want to learn how to make a Hammer Fist?”

M
alao was having a hard time concentrating. Though his students were eager to learn and he was excited to be sharing his knowledge with them, he just couldn't seem to keep his eyes off Fu and the large, scraggly man in front of the bun vendor's shop. It was uncanny how Fu's body style mirrored the big man's, and how often Fu and the man used the same gestures as they spoke. Curiosity soon got the best of Malao.

“Everybody keep practicing your Hammer Fists,” Malao said to the village children. “I'll be right back.” He scurried over to join Fu.

The large man stopped talking in mid-sentence as
Malao approached. He grinned and said, “Hello, little one. You must be Malao.”

“Aahhh, yeah,” Malao said. “And you are—”

“A friend,” Fu answered. “He's just a friend.”

The big man smiled and put his hand on Fu's shoulder. “I have been called many things in my time,” the man said to Malao. “But most recently people have been calling me the Drunkard.”

“Oh,” Malao said. “I'm sorry.”

The Drunkard laughed. “That's okay. I don't mind.” He looked at Fu. “I'm not really a drunkard, you know. I've been passing myself off as one the past several years because I've found that people tend to leave me alone this way. Since that's what I want, I keep the act going.”

“But why would you want to be left alone?” Malao asked.

“That, my little friend, is a very long story,” the Drunkard said. He looked at Fu again. “I have so many stories to share.”

Fu's eyebrows raised. “Do any of them have anything to do with being a warrior monk?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” the Drunkard replied.

“I knew it!” Fu said. “I knew you were a warrior monk when I saw you fight. How come you aren't living in a temple?”

“I left.”

“Why?” Malao asked.

“That is a very, very long story,” the Drunkard replied.

“That's okay,” Malao said. “I love stories! Especially stories about warrior monks.”

“All right,” the Drunkard said. “I left the temple because I fell in love with a woman. As you probably know, that's not allowed. We wanted to marry and start a family, so I had to leave.”

“Really?” Malao asked. “Are you still married?”

The Drunkard lowered his head. “No. She died giving birth to our first child. It's been quite … difficult for me.”

“Is that why you want to be alone?” Malao asked.

“Yes,” the Drunkard said. “Partially.”

“That's really sad,” Malao said. “How long ago was that?”

The Drunkard looked at Fu. “Twelve years.”

Malao's eyes widened.
Fu was twelve years old!
He glanced at Fu.

Fu looked down.

“Why don't I get right to the point,” the Drunkard said. “I've been thinking a lot about you, Fu. You remind me so much of myself. Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that I am the way I am partly because I grew up in a temple without ever knowing my parents—just like you. It had an impact on me. It still does, I suppose. If you don't mind my asking, do you ever think about your parents?”

Fu shrugged. “Not really. I always assumed they were dead.”

The Drunkard's eyebrows raised. “Why did you assume that?”

“Because I was taken to Cangzhen as a baby,” Fu said. “If my parents weren't dead, it would mean that I had been abandoned. What kind of parent would—”

Fu stopped suddenly and looked up. He blushed. The Drunkard blushed, too.

“I'm sorry—” Fu began to say.

The Drunkard cleared his throat. “No, I'm the one who's sorry, Fu.” He began to limp away.

Malao punched Fu in the arm. “Say something!”

Fu shrugged.

“Argh!” Malao said. “Stubborn Pussycat!”

The Drunkard hobbled around the corner of the bun vendor's shop without looking back.