The Man With The Iron Fists

by Steve Lee

  Chang Fung stepped nimbly aside and Tod tasted sand. He scrambled back to his feet and stood catching his breath, eyeing the Chinaman suspiciously. How the hell was he supposed to get close enough to hit him when he kept jumping around like a trout out of water?

  Chang Fung stopped moving.

  "Alright, I will be still. Now hit me!"

  Stepping closer, Tod aimed a punch at his stepfather's chin. It never got anywhere near the target. He found his fist firmly wrapped up in yellow fingers.

  "Again," said Chang Fung, relaxing his grip.

  As he tumbled to the ground, Tod wondered how anyone could get his knee up that high, let alone block a punch with it.

  Arms whirling like a windmill, Tod tried everything he could think of, even both fists at once. It was no good. The hard ground greeted his backside once more after Chang Fung had swept the boy's legs from under him.

  "That is enough for today… now we rest." Chang Fung helped the boy to his feet. "Now do you see what can be done with inner strength and the knowledge of Kung Fu?" he asked. Tod ruefully nodded as he sat down in the meditation position and crossed his legs.

  "Tell me more about this Kung Fu," he said.

  Chang Fung squatted down beside him.

  "It is perhaps as old as the mountains. But our people trace it back to a temple at Shaolin in Honan province. The temple was burned down over a thousand years ago, and no more Kung Fu was ever taught there. But some of the monks escaped and showed its secrets to others. And so it was passed on, from father to son…"

  "One thing I don't get," said Tod puzzled, wrinkling his nose, "and that's why a bunch of monks wanted to learn how to fight. That's not like any monks I ever heard tell of…"

  The question pleased Chang Fung and he smiled thinly.

  "The martial arts were never intended to kill or wound, my son, but like all things they can be misused. The monks were taught Kung Fu as part of their spiritual training. Mind and body cannot be divided. It's no use sitting for hours on end in meditation to develop your mind if you let your body wither from neglect. They must be developed together in harmony… as we shall do."

  "How?"

  "Every morning, we will rise at dawn and meditate. Then, before continuing our journey, we shall practice the basic kicks and punches." Tod sighed. It sounded like it was going to be a long long time before he could smash rocks and dodge punches like Chang Fung. And he didn't like that bit about not being able to kill or hurt people. That was the part that interested him.

  "What I'd like to know," he said, "is what Kung Fu means?"

  "There are many meanings," said Chang Fung slyly, "but the one most favored is 'hard work'."

  "That figures," said Tod.

  * * *

  Ten days later, Chang Fung found what he'd been looking for — flat land with rich, well-watered soil where his plants could thrive. The Pacific winds would cool the hot sun and bring rain, and in winter, when the winds blew cold, a forest of pines would bear the brunt and shelter the delicate young trees.

  The house took two months to build. Time passed quickly and the work seemed light because of the joy felt by Chang Fung and his family. As they worked, the Chinese sang, drunk with happiness. Tod shared their joy as best he could. They had struggled after their dream and made it real. He was glad for them. But his own dream of revenge was not so easily satisfied. The ball of fire in the dark of his mind flamed as fierce as ever.

  Its heat burned through the morning meditations. It pushed him into the training exercises with the dedication, of a fanatic. It allowed him to discipline his body, master his reflexes. It propelled him toward the day when he would be a match for Chang Fung, the day when he would ride the vengeance trail.

  * * *

  "My hand!"

  Tod's face was screwed in pain as he gasped the words, stumbling back from the wooden dummy he had been punching.

  Moving close, Chang Fung firmly grasped his wrist and straightened the boy's fingers, wringing a tortured cry from bis lips.

  "Make a fist," said Chang Fung, his expression grimly dedicated. Tod watched his fingers slowly close. He winced.

  "Make a fist!"

  Gritting his teeth, Tod clenched the fingers into a ball.

  "Hit the dummy!"

  Tod stepped towards the dummy, raising his fist.

  "With your injured hand… hit it hard!"

  Tod stared at the dummy's blank face. It seemed to be laughing at him, mocking him with a great red twisted grin. He recognized it… and smashed his fist into the grinning face. Clown! The pain shocked him but he struck again and again before hitting the ground unconscious.

  * * *

  When he woke Hsiao Yu was dabbing his forehead with a cool damp cloth.

  "Chao Yu," she murmured, her face creased with sorrow. Tod had long gotten used to hearing her call him by her dead son's name.

  Behind her, he saw Su Fan watching him, looking pale and concerned. Chang Fung entered and moved toward him, pushing Hsiao Yu aside. She sobbed. Mother and daughter held on to each other.

  Chang Fung forced Tod to his feet and led him back to the dummy.

  "When that fist has hit the dummy twenty times," he said, "then we will rest."

  Hesitantly, Tod took up the practice stance. He threw the first punch…

  * * *

  He hit the dummy thirty times. When he had finished, the bandage round his hand was soaked red. Tears had cut long trails through the dust covering his cheeks.

  Chang Fung put his arm round the boy.

  "In Canton, I broke my hand in training not once but three times. Always my teacher made me carry on. Not just for twenty blows but for the rest of the day. His reason was simple — if a man is trying to kill you, you cannot stop for pain."

  Tod tearfully inclined his head in agreement.

  "Look at my hand," said Chang Fung, holding it out for inspection. Tod looked. The skin was hard, calloused, ugly.

  "If you wish to develop the Iron Palm, my son, you must be prepared to suffer pain, much pain. Before we are through you must strike heated gravel with your bare fist and smile as you do it…" Chang Fung lowered his arm.

  "You were lucky, Tod… you only dislocated one small bone. I put it back into place while you were unconscious. It will hurt for awhile… but tomorrow, you train with it again, as usual."

  Following Chang Fung back into the house, Tod looked at the bloody bandage on his fist. When he'd stood in front of the dummy, he didn't think he could throw another punch with that hand if his life depended on it. Then something had affected him, a new powerful force that gave him the courage to smash the broken hand against the hard unyielding surface of the wood…

  Inner strength.

  3

  The seasons chased each other in quick succession and the trees they'd planted grew tall. So too did Tod Sloane. His shoulders broadened and muscles filled his lean frame. His voice deepened and hair darkened his face and body. Chang Fung watched with approval as his adopted son fast grew into a man.

  Tod practiced daily. Chang Fung taught him the use of the sword and how to defend himself against attack with a wooden staff. And the correct way to throw the shooting stars, small metal stars with deadly sharp points. There was always something new to learn.

  One evening, Chang Fung returned from a visit to town with a gift for Tod — a Colt Dragoon with belt and holster.

  Tod examined the big pistol doubtfully.

  "I never reckoned on havin' to carry a gun," he said, "when I've got fists and feet to do my fightin' for me."

  Chang Fung smiled at him appreciatively.

  "A noble thought, my son, but sadly one that is old-fashioned. Back in the Middle Kingdom there are still few guns. There a man may yet look his enemy in the eyes as they fight, armed only with their minds and bodies. Here it is no longer the way." The Chinaman eased himself into his favorite chair.

  "In America, men have grown apart from each other," he continued, "even in their fighting
. Your skill in the martial arts will make lesser men envious. They will try to harm you without putting themselves in danger. Then you will need a gun. Besides, it will sharpen your eye and focus your attention and," with a smile, "help fill our bellies…"

  So every morning Tod banged away at tin cans and a grinning face painted on a post. And, he practiced Kung Fu…

  * * *

  Lightning-fast, Tod threw first one punch, then another, a series of flurrying blows faster than the eye could follow. A left… then a right… a left again… the blows snapping in and out in a precise pattern, varying from long blows to short as Chang Fung backed away from him. Relentlessly, Tod pressed forward, always attacking to the center of the body.

  Yet always he found his blows blocked, deflected, cast aside with effortless flicks of the wrist. Such was Chang Fung's mastery that with only one arm he was able to blunt each razor-like attack and, finally, to counterattack with his feet.

  Tod, in midpunch, suddenly found his legs swept from under him.

  "A good attack, my son," Chang Fung praised, "but even in attack it is necessary to keep your mind on defense."

  "I'll say," said Tod, brushing himself down.

  "So far, we have concentrated on the way of the White Crane," said his teacher, clapping his hand on the youth's shoulder. "It is one of the best methods of defense because it relies on moving forward and attacking. But there are other styles… more styles than a man could learn in three lifetimes! You must learn some of these too so you will know how to counter them when they are used against you. We will start with the Tiger Claw and the Way of the Eagle."

  The Chinaman showed Tod how to make the tiger claw — palm thrust forward, fingers bent like claws. Tod watched him demonstrate, clawing and slashing at invisible enemies.

  "You see, the tiger claw is very good for catching your opponent's blow and turning it aside. Then, with your other hand, you can attack… either smashing him with the heel of your hand or scratching at his face."

  Chang Fung's hand raked the air.

  "Just like a tiger," admitted Tod.

  "No, you will not be like a tiger — you will be a tiger!"

  * * *

  A new distraction appeared to compete with his training for Tod's interest — Su Fan. Of course, she'd been there all along. It was just that Tod had never taken too much notice of her before. He'd played with her and teased her and a few times made her cry. But mainly he looked on her as a likable nuisance who kept getting in his way. After all, she was only a girl. It was this last fact which had previously kept him at a distance that now began to appeal to him.

  As he was walking home from the woods one afternoon carrying a pair of freshly killed quail for the stewpot, Tod saw a movement down by the river. He moved to investigate, taking care his approach wouldn't be seen.

  It was Su Fan, unbraiding her hair down by the water's edge.

  He opened his mouth to yell something mildly insulting, but the way her silken hair fell about her shoulders in a soft black torrent silenced him. He stepped back behind the cover of a tree.

  She was going to bathe.

  He knew he should leave, knew that it would be difficult to explain his presence if she saw him or if Hsiao Yu came by.

  She was unbuttoning her tunic. He turned to go. But as he went, he looked over his shoulder and after that it was impossible to leave.

  There was more to Su Fan than her quilted tunic suggested. A lot more. Her budding breasts were firm, a shade paler than the rest of her slim golden body. The cold made the pink-tipped nipples stand. Breathless, Tod watched her pass her hands over her breasts, cup them proudly… she seemed to be admiring her new attractions almost as much as he was.

  Her loose trousers followed. The black triangle between her legs startled him. He'd seen her naked before, of course, but the last time had been two years previous. Then she'd been plump and hairless, a silly little girl, giggling and splashing. Now she was grown-up. Complete. Lean legged. A woman. Desirable.

  Su Fan waded into the river and began to swim. Tod silently left.

  He found it difficult to put aside the memory of those pink-tipped breasts. Or that triangle of soft curls, starkly black against the butter smoothness of her thighs. He began to pay Su Fan more attention than he had before, considerably more. And, in turn, it seemed she was paying him more heed. Never before had she shown such interest in his training…

  * * *

  "Tiger Claw!"

  Hooking his fingers into claws, Tod switched smoothly to the new position, scratching, raking, stabbing.

  As he lashed out, he caught brief glimpses of Su Fan watching him from the house. It seemed to put more spirit into his movements.

  "Eagle form!"

  His hands swooped, hovered, dived, struck!

  Was that admiration in her face? Or just plain interest?

  "Drunken Gods!" Chang Fung yelled. "Concentrate, my son, concentrate!" Tod lurched right and left, eyes rolling, face screwed up like a madman. He stumbled, pitched to the floor, rolled, leaped in the air, landed on his feet, spun round…

  To an outsider, his wild actions would seem like those of a drunkard. But every movement was carefully chosen, perfectly timed… when an enemy thought you were too stupid to fight, you had him!

  "Enough," said Chang Fung. "Rest now, Tod."

  Gratefully Tod relaxed, catching his breath.

  Su Fan ran from the house with a damp towel. Smiling, she wiped dust and sweat from his face and chest. Their eyes met…

  Chang Fung's kick thundered into his side and Tod sprawled back into the dust.

  "Keep your mind on your training, my son — nothing more!"

  * * *

  Their opportunity came several weeks later. Chang Fung was taking several crates of freshly picked fruit into Santa Ana and Hsiao Yu wanted to go along to choose some new curtain material. Side by side from the doorway, Tod and Su Fan watched the wagon rattle down the trail. When they were out of sight, Tod turned to her and put his hand on her waist.

  There was pleasant outrage in her soft almond eyes as she returned his gaze.

  "Now, brother," she cautioned.

  "Hush, sister," bringing his lips close to hers. Their mouths touched, merged…

  * * *

  Later they lay flesh to flesh on the bed, entwined in each other's arms. It had all been very simple, thought Tod, very natural and without any of the awkwardness he had feared. Their bodies had known all along what to do and they'd just let them do it. For the first time, he felt he understood what Chang Fung had been trying to tell him about the balance of opposites… the two merging perfectly into one… the yin entwined with the yang.

  Tears glittered in Su Fan's jade eyes. She had felt sharp pain as he thrust through her innocence but this was not the reason for the tears. Afterward, she had felt the spirit of childhood spread its wings and rise from her and then she had wept from the loss of it. And from the release.

  "Making love," she sighed. "In China we call it the battle of the flowers…"

  Smiling drunkenly, Tod stroked a breast, kissed a soft nipple that budded hard between his lips.

  "Everything in the garden looks rosy to me," he said.

  Su Fan punished him with a pinch, then slid her hands over his moist body, enjoying the warm pressure of his weight. Looking down she could see their bodies squeezed together, mirroring each other, hers honeyed, his the color of ghosts.

  "Silver on gold," she murmured, closing her eyes, writhing herself against his hardness.

  Her legs slipped down on either side of the bed, the lotus unfolding…

  * * *

  Like twigs, the wooden poles snapped apart under Tod's fastmoving assault of feet and fists.

  "Good, my son… good. All mine cleanly broken!"

  Chang Fung nodded his head in approval at the splintered stubs protruding from the ground.

  "Even in my youth, I could not do such a feat so well — or so quickly."

  The C
hinaman sat cross-legged on a patch of grass. His hair was now gray and his body no longer as straight as it had once been. Tod joined him.

  For some time Tod had suspected that he'd learned all Chang Fung had to teach him. True, the training continued: the sparring exercises and the daily practice against the poles, the wooden dummy, and the punch bag. But all this was old ground, already covered and perfected.

  Now that he was nineteen, Tod felt the time had come to start tracking down the clown and his gang. The desire for revenge was still as hot within him as ever. Yet his purpose no longer seemed so clear as the day when they'd buried Jim and Martha Sloane. New loyalties had sprung up to weaken the old. There was Su Fan… and Chang Fung and Hsiao Yu who had saved him, sheltered him and brought him up as their own son. He owed them a debt. Maybe a bigger debt than he could ever repay. And now he was thinking of running out on them, probably never to return.

  It was a tough choice.

  And another doubt gnawed at his mind. When he'd first started his training he'd seen Kung Fu as an instrument for revenge. Then, slowly, he had realized that you couldn't draw strength from Kung Fu without respecting its teaching. And the teaching said revenge was a selfish purpose that could bring misfortune and defeat.

  There didn't seem to be any way out.

  "There's something I've heard you say…" Tod began, "Heaven and Earth are ruthless…"

  Chang Fung completed the saying for him:

  "And treat the beasts like straw dogs. The wise man is ruthless and treats other men like straw dogs. Wise words, my son," said Chang Fung.

  Tod shook his head. "I don't get it," he said. "You're always telling me never to use Kung Fu for anything selfish like getting my own back on someone. But this guy is supposed to be a wise man and he says you gotta be ruthless…"