Monkey (4 page)

“Repent, soldiers! You must respect the dead! Bury monk and soldier alike before you next sleep. Mention what you've seen here to no one, or I will find you. I will hunt you down and devour your souls! I will seek out your wives and your children, your mothers and your fathers, your brothers and your sisters, your—”

Something warm brushed up against the back of Malao's thighs. He spun around and saw that a clump of grass hanging out the back of his robe had caught fire.

Malao yelped and scrambled back across the roof. When he reached the very edge, he jumped, his arms flailing. He felt a leaf brush against one hand and he clamped down tight, grabbing hold of a thick branch.
His momentum in full swing, he launched himself feetfirst toward the perimeter wall and landed smoothly in the center of the wide top. He jumped down to the ground outside the compound and began to roll before finally stopping to grind his backside into the earth.

His thighs and surrounding region still warm, Malao sprang to his feet and raced toward the tree with the hollow. The fire was out, but a thin trail of smoke followed him like a wriggling tail.

M
alao scurried along the massive arms of the elm tree that held the hollow. Pausing outside the entrance, he felt a gentle breeze blow across his backside. He twisted around and around in the moonlight, trying to get a good look at his singed robe.

“Whoa,” Malao mumbled. “I'm getting dizzy.” He giggled.

“Get in here!” Hok whispered from inside the hollow. “Stop playing around.”

Malao stopped spinning and wobbled inside. “Sorry,” he said as he plopped down across from Hok. “So what did you think?”

Hok sat perfectly straight with his legs crossed. He
stared at Malao, unblinking. “What did I think of what?”

“My performance back at the compound,” Malao said. “Wasn't I great?”

“I don't want to talk about it. You could have gotten us both caught.”

“Huh?” Malao said. “We didn't even come close to getting caught! Besides, I tried your idea first, and it didn't work. I needed to do something else. If it wasn't for me—”

Hok raised his hand. “The rocks would have worked just fine, Malao. You should have tried throwing a few more before you pulled your little stunt.”

Malao raised one hand, mimicking Hok. “Well, I happen to think you're upset because I didn't do
exactly
what you told me to do. You know how much you like being the boss.”

Hok shot Malao a stern look. “That's enough, Malao.”

Malao giggled.

“Why don't you go sit outside?” Hok said. “I need a few moments alone to think.”

Malao shrugged his shoulders and stood. “Suit yourself. I could use some fresh air, anyway. It's getting a little stuffy in here.” He giggled again and turned to leave.

“Don't go too far. I'd hate for you to get
lost,”
Hok teased. “Besides, I still need your help.”

Malao turned back. “Help with what?”

“With burying Grandmaster.”

Malao twitched. “What? Didn't you already take care of that?”

Hok shook his head. “No. When would I have had time to do it? He's only hidden. I need your help getting him up the tree—”

Malao's eyes widened.
“Tree?
What tree?”

“This tree,” Hok said. He tapped the floor of the hollow with his bare foot.

“Y-you want to stick Grandmaster inside this tree? W-why would you do that?”

“Because we don't have the tools or the time to bury Grandmaster in the earth. Inside here, it's just like a tomb. You can think of it as a living pagoda, if you like. Just like the Forgotten Pagoda within the Cangzhen walls. Only in this one, Grandmaster will be part of the cycle of life. As his body returns to its basic elements, he will help feed the tree. He would appreciate that.”

“Th-that's kind of … d-disgusting,” Malao said. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself.

“No, that's life,” Hok said. “Are you okay, Malao? You're trembling again.”

“I'm f-fine,” Malao replied. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. “I just need some f-fresh air—”

Hok stood and walked over to Malao. “Why don't you tell me what's bothering you? Are you afraid of Grandmaster's remains?”

“M-maybe,” Malao replied. “D-dead bodies make
me n-nervous. And you know how I get when I'm n-nervous.”

“There's nothing to be nervous about,” Hok said gently. “Death is part of life. It's natural. Just put your emotions aside. You'll be all right.”

“P-put my emotions aside?” Malao said. “H-how do I do that?”

“Try a meditation exercise. Remember what Grandmaster always used to say?
You must take control of your thoughts and your emotions, or they will control you”’

Malao shook his head. “H-how can I meditate at a time like this? B-besides, those exercises never work for me.”

“They work wonders if you give them a chance,” Hok said. “Cangzhen monks have used them for hundreds of years to separate themselves from their emotions. I'll do one with you, then we'll get Grandmaster. Okay?”

“N-no.”

“Why not?”

“N-no, Hok,” Malao said. “Please—”

Hok raised both hands. “Okay, okay. I'll tell you what, I'll go get Grandmaster myself, but I'd still like your help getting him up the tree. Why don't you go sit out on a limb until I return. We'll see how you feel when I get back, all right?”

Malao wiped the sweat from his brow with a shaky forearm and nodded.

Hok nodded back and drifted out of the hollow without saying more. He disappeared into the undergrowth.

Malao stepped outside and took a deep breath. The night breeze brought with it the smell of smoke from the Cangzhen compound. Malao began to shiver uncontrollably.

I can't do it,
Malao realized.
I just can't.

He leaped into an adjacent tree. Then another and another. Fueled by nervous energy, Malao raced into the night. When he was tired from jumping tree to tree, he ran. When he was tired from running, he walked. In no time, he was hopelessly lost. Out of breath, his eyes filled with tears, he eventually found himself at the bank of a small stream.

Malao dipped his hands into the cool water and sloshed them around in an effort to relieve his callused palms. It helped some, so he stepped into the stream to cool his bare, aching feet. Extremely thirsty, he bent over to take a long drink, then stuck his face into the flowing water and left it there awhile, soothing his puffy eyes.

After some time, Malao stood and walked upstream until he came to a large willow tree. He climbed into it and nestled himself in a large forked branch, hidden from below by a curtain of newly formed leaves. Exhausted and alone, he drifted off to sleep.

L
ate the next morning, Malao woke to four eyes staring at him. The eyes blinked, then disappeared behind a wall of willow leaves.

Malao sat up and poked his head through the leaves. He saw two brown macaques racing off through the treetops. A troop of more than one hundred was moving toward the same stream he had waded in before climbing the tree and falling asleep.

After what he had been through, Malao was in no mood to tangle with a monkey troop. Sometimes macaques could be aggressive. Malao hopped to his feet, and a tremendous racket erupted beneath the willow. He looked down and saw three monkeys standing around the base of his tree, scolding him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Malao noticed a fourth monkey approaching. It was pure white and larger than the others. It looked like it might weigh almost as much as Malao did. The white monkey began to pace back and forth on bent legs and straight arms below the willow, its thick thigh muscles and forearms bulging. It barked out orders, and different groups of monkeys responded accordingly. Some drank from the stream, while others kept an eye out for danger.

As Malao stared, the white monkey looked up at him and bared its teeth. Malao saw that it had only one eye. He also saw that it had four razor-sharp fangs, each as long as his thumb. He knew what those were for. Malao grabbed hold of the decorated stick tucked into his robe and began to pull it out.

The white monkey zeroed in on the movement. Its icy eye locked on Malao's. The other monkeys stationed beneath the tree stared, too.

Malao stopped. He knew he usually reacted aggressively to aggressive actions like someone raising a weapon, so he decided to do just the opposite. He slowly removed his hand, leaving the weapon hidden. Then he sat back and did his best to relax.

To Malao's relief, the monkeys below relaxed, too. The white one even stopped pacing. Still, the white monkey and the enforcers remained beneath the tree with their eyes glued to Malao.

Malao scratched his head. The monkeys’ behavior confused him. He had never seen a group of macaques as militant as this. And he had certainly never seen
monkeys on the ground keeping an eye on a potential enemy in a tree. It was usually the other way around.

The white monkey barked once. At the stream, a group of mothers stepped up to the water's edge with babies clinging to their bodies like large brown clumps of thistledown. Behind the mothers, two young monkeys played roughly. Malao noted how their attacks and defensive maneuvers mirrored the movements he made during his training exercises. Like him, the monkeys’ arsenal included an unlimited combination of tumbles, jumps, dodges, sweeps, feints, and strikes.

The young monkeys were both about the same size, and they seemed equally matched. However, Malao knew that most monkey-style kung fu techniques had been developed with the assumption that your opponent would be bigger and stronger than you. These techniques helped him tremendously when fending off his larger, older brothers in both formal sparring matches and everyday roughhousing. To help him close the gap even further, Malao had trained extra hard. He had had to make up for what he lacked in size with quickness, accuracy, and stamina.

Monkey-style kung fu was very demanding, but Malao had pushed through all the pain—often pushing himself until he dropped. Literally. One of the most grueling exercises he performed was called Monkey Rope training. It was designed to develop strong back and shoulder muscles, which are critical for the swinging movements central to monkey-style kung fu. Malao would climb a thick rope hanging
from the top of Cangzhen's tallest tree, using only his hands. He would then climb down again, still using only his hands. And then he'd climb back up. And then back down. Over and over until his hands bled.

To make matters worse, Grandmaster would sometimes stand on the ground at the end of the rope, watching. After Malao made ten or eleven trips up and down the rope, Grandmaster would begin to swing the rope wildly in an attempt to throw Malao off. Grandmaster was usually successful. Malao would fly through the air, frantically grabbing at tree branches as he tumbled back to earth. Fortunately for Malao, he always managed to grab hold of something with his aching hands before it was too late.

Still, Malao had always felt that Grandmaster would have somehow managed to catch him if he had ever plummeted to earth. As strange as it sounded, Malao knew part of him would miss Grandmaster always pushing his skills to their limits.

Downstream, the farthest group of monkeys began to chatter frantically. Their mood swing was contagious. The rest of the groups screeched and shrieked in succession before racing downstream to join the mayhem. With the white monkey in the lead, the group of enforcers below Malao's willow raced off, too.

In the distance, Malao heard a voice cry out, “MONKEYS! MAN THE CARTS!”