Jeff Stone_Five Ancestors 02

by Monkey

  Frustrated, Malao stood and kicked a small pile of leaves beneath a large tree. His toes dug into something soft and slimy. He grinned.

  Lunch! Malao thought. He leaned over and carefully pushed the leaves aside. His heart leaped as he uncovered a cluster of mushrooms.

  All Cangzhen monks learned which plants and fruits were safe to eat, and mushrooms were no exception. Some types of mushrooms could make you sick or sleepy. Others were lethal. Great care was taken to make sure only the safe ones were served at the Cangzhen dining table. Malao was often recruited to scour the forest floor in search of mushrooms. He was confident these were not only safe, they were delicious.

  In a flurry of leaves and flying dirt, Malao picked several handfuls and set them aside. Then he rounded up enough dry twigs and tinder to start a small fire with his new firestone. Once the fire was going, he found two long sticks about as big around as his little finger and carried them to the stream, along with the mushrooms.

  Malao dunked the long sticks in the stream. He would use them as roasting skewers, and he didn't want them to burn. Sticks freshly broken off a living tree would have been better because they wouldn't burn as easily, but he didn't see a need to damage a perfectly good tree just to make his life a little easier.

  When the sticks were sufficiently wet, Malao stuck one end of each in the bank and began separating the large mushroom caps from their stems. He rinsed each cap in the stream before sliding it onto a skewer. The stems he tossed into the flowing current.

  In no time, the mushrooms were roasting over the open flames, filling the air with an irresistible aroma. So irresistible, in fact, that Malao soon found he had a visitor. The white monkey.

  Malao saw the monkey high in a nearby tree. It was staring at him with its single eye. A clump of matted hair and dried blood was stuck to one side of its head.

  Malao did his best to ignore the creature, but it kept staring. He knew monkeys normally ate mushrooms, so he assumed it was hungry. It was probably in pain, too. When Malao was down to his last two mushroom caps, he spoke to the monkey.

  “Would you like some?” Malao asked. He stepped away from the fire and held out the stick. To his surprise, the white monkey scurried down from the tree and cautiously approached him.

  Malao stood perfectly still, his arm outstretched. He had seen firsthand what kind of damage the monkey could do when it wanted to take a stick from someone.

  The monkey gently took the far end of the long mushroom skewer and slowly pulled it from Malao's hand. Malao expected the monkey to race off into the trees, but it didn't. It sat down and began to eat the remaining mushrooms.

  Unsure of what to do next, Malao just stood there. When the white monkey finished, it politely handed the skewer back to Malao. Malao couldn't believe it.

  He had an even harder time believing what happened next.

  The white monkey moved closer to him and rose up on its hind legs, its right hand extended. Malao reached out, too, and the monkey grabbed his hand. The monkey pulled Malao's hand to its nose and took a deep breath.

  Malao kept his eyes fixed on the monkey's mouth. He knew what lay behind those lips. The monkey's mouth began to part, and Malao fought the urge to yank his hand away. Something deep inside him told him to leave his hand right where it was. He was glad he did.

  The white monkey planted a kiss on the back of Malao's hand, then released it and raced back up into the tree. A moment later, the monkey returned with the decorated stick from Cangzhen in its teeth. It dropped the weapon at Malao's feet and scurried off into the treetops.

  Night had settled in, and Malao found himself still on the ground near the stream. He was too tired to try to locate a suitable tree to spend the night in, so he curled up at the base of a small willow. The low-hanging branches made him feel safer. He'd waited and waited for the white monkey to return, but it hadn't. He was disappointed. He thought he had made a new friend.

  Malao began to wonder what it would be like to go through life without any friends. He decided it might be a lot like going through life without any family. What a horrible thought.

  Malao twitched. He suddenly realized he might go through life without family or friends. After all, he was completely on his own now. Grandmaster was dead and his four brothers were scattered without any sort of plan to get back together.

  What if something happened to me right now? Malao wondered. Would anyone ever know? Would anyone even care?

  A story drifted into Malao's mind. A tale from the famous Shaolin Temple, whose former members had founded Cangzhen Temple more than a thousand years earlier.

  The monks at Shaolin had a long history of building pagodas to honor the remains of people important to them. It is said there was a special pagoda at Shaolin much smaller than the rest, built to honor a small boy. Legend had it the boy was helping the cook one day, but he failed to show up for the evening meal. During dinner one of the monks found a strange bone in his soup, and the monks realized what had happened. The boy had fallen into the enormous pot they used to cook the soup. The monks were so upset they built a pagoda to honor the boy.

  Malao used to think that was the funniest story he had ever heard, and he used to retell it all the time. But none of his brothers ever laughed. He was beginning to understand why.

  Something else Malao used to joke about no longer seemed funny. It was the Forgotten Pagoda, which was located within the Cangzhen walls near the front of the compound. Malao used to think it was hilarious that somebody had taken the time and energy to build it hundreds and hundreds of years ago but today no one remembered who was buried inside it. That wasn't funny, Malao now realized. That was sad.

  I should have helped Hok bury Grandmaster in the tree, Malao thought. A living pagoda—that's what Hok had called it.

  Tears welled up in Malao's eyes. He had never mourned anyone before because he'd always snuck away from the few burials that had taken place at Cangzhen while he was growing up. He decided it was time he learned how to mourn someone. After all, who would bother to mourn him if he didn't care enough to mourn anyone else?

  Maybe Hok could help me? Malao thought. Unless … Malao shook his head. Unless I offended him so much that he doesn't want me around anymore.

  Malao began to shiver uncontrollably. Inside his head, it seemed like he was sliding down a steep, muddy slope in the middle of a thunderstorm. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make it back to the top. He just kept slipping down, down, down. All he could think about was the family he didn't have—

  Or don't have yet? he realized.

  The rain began to slow in Malao's head. He remembered what the bandit Hung had said about finding his parents or maybe an uncle. Hung had been joking, but what if it were true? What if he did have some family members alive somewhere?

  Malao took a deep, cleansing breath, and his shaking subsided. The prospect of new family members was exciting, but he still missed his old family. Even though his brothers picked on him a lot, they would always stick up for him when things turned bad. Just like Seh had done. Malao thought it might be nice to join Seh, but he knew that was impossible after what had just happened with Hung.

  I'll go back and join Hok then, Malao decided. I'll apologize, and maybe he'll understand. That is, if I can find the way back to Cangzhen. … Malao shook his head. Why didn't I pay closer attention when I ran off?

  Malao felt thunderclouds begin to roll inside his head again. He closed his eyes and did his best to clear his mind with one of the meditation exercises Grandmaster had taught him, just like Hok had suggested. It took some time, but he eventually managed to push everything out except a single question that had been in his head much of the day. A question that somehow still made him think about family.

  Who was the man called Monkey King?

  He just couldn't remember.

  Malao yawned. At least he had managed to sweep most of the clutter from his head. He was beginning to understand why the older monks enjoyed meditating so mu
ch. It was very relaxing. With his mind almost empty, sleep soon overtook him.

  As usual, Malao's night was filled with vivid dreams. Dreams of slippery slopes and monkey kings. Dreams of pagodas and soup pots.

  And a particularly vivid dream about a large snake slithering over him, coiling itself tightly around his body as it swallowed his face.

  Malao woke in the dark, barely able to move, barely able to breathe. A firm hand covered his mouth and nose, and his arms were pinned to his sides. He twisted and turned and kicked and bit—but it was no use. His opponent always seemed to be one step ahead of him.

  When Malao realized this, he gave in a little. To his surprise, so did his opponent. The hand squeezing his face seemed to soften more and more as he struggled less and less.

  “Easy, little brother,” a voice hissed in his ear.

  Malao let his body go limp and the blanket of pressure around him released. The hand slipped away from his face, dragging a trail of snot across his cheek.

  “That's disgusting!” Seh said as he climbed off Malao in the darkness. He wiped his hand on Malao's shoulder. “Don't you ever blow your nose?”

  Malao giggled and sniffed loudly. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his orange robe. “That's what you get for smothering me in my sleep, you sneaky snake. How did you find me?”

  “I saw mushroom stems flowing down the stream earlier,” Seh said. “I thought they might be from you, so I walked upstream. Sorry I didn't come sooner. I had to wait until dark before I snuck out.”

  Malao rubbed his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to check on you,” Seh said, slinking to the ground. “That was some fight you had with Hung. He moaned and groaned the rest of the day from the beating you gave him.”

  “He deserved it,” Malao said.

  “Of course he did,” Seh replied. “I had to beat several bandits senseless myself before the gang stopped attacking me. I didn't even do anything to provoke them.” Seh paused and looked off into the darkness. “Did you hear something?”

  “No,” Malao said. He rubbed his bald head and stretched. “Why would you want to join a gang of bandits?”

  “I'm hoping to earn their trust so that maybe they'll help us. They're very powerful, you know.”

  “They're bandits, Seh. Why would they help us?”

  “They aren't ordinary bandits. I think with a little time—” Seh stopped and stared off into the darkness again. “Did you hear that?”

  “No,” Malao said. “I didn't hear a thing. And I don't believe you came out here just to check on me. I know how sneaky you are. What are you really up to?”

  “Listen, I can't talk long,” Seh said. “Do you have any news for me? Tell me, quick.”

  Malao paused and blinked several times. “Grandmaster is dead.”

  “What?” Seh whipped his head around to face Malao. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” Malao replied. “I helped Hok retrieve the body.”

  “Hok! Where did you see Hok?”

  “At Cangzhen.”

  “But Hok was the one who pushed hardest for us to run and then separate,” Seh said.

  “I know,” Malao said. “Hok really surprised me when he snuck up on me while I was spying on Ying.”

  “You returned to spy on Ying?” Seh asked. “That's pretty bold, little brother.”

  Malao smiled. “Yes, it is. But not as bold as what Fu did. He swiped the dragon scrolls.”

  “What?” Seh said. “I can't believe I missed all this. Fu? Are you sure? Ying said that he sent his number one man to get those scrolls. You mean to tell me that that overgrown pussycat defeated Ying's number one soldier?”

  “I guess so,” Malao said.

  “Amazing,” Seh said. “I didn't know Fu had it in him. Did you or Hok happen to see Long?”

  “No,” Malao replied.

  “Me neither.” Seh paused. “So is Hok … okay?”

  “Yeah, Hok is fine. Why?”

  “No reason,” Seh said, looking sideways. “What are you going to do next?”

  “I was going to try to find my way back to Cangzhen and see how Hok is doing. Do you want to come with me?”

  “Well … no. I'm going to stay with the bandits and…” Seh's voice trailed off. He listened, then shook his head. “Look, Malao, I've got to get back.”

  “Wait,” Malao said. “Do you know why some of the bandits have Cantonese names? I mean, doesn't that seem strange to you? And what's going on with their leader, Mong? I know I saw him with Grandmaster at Cangzhen several times.”

  Seh looked sideways again. “I have no idea what you're talking about, Malao. Now, I really need to—”

  A twig snapped and Malao sat up straight. He glanced around but didn't see anything. He looked over at Seh.

  Seh was staring in the direction of the sound. After a moment, he whispered, “I need to get out of here, Malao. I don't sense anyone, but I can't take any chances. Good luck, little brother.”

  Malao opened his mouth to say something, but Seh had already slipped away into the night.

  Malao shrugged his shoulders and curled up beneath the small willow tree. He closed his eyes to welcome sleep again and grinned as he thought about Seh's exit. Seh was always so dramatic.

  Hidden in the thick underbrush several paces from Malao, Mong also grinned. He, too, turned and slipped away into the night.

  Malao woke the next morning when the sun began to warm the willow leaves above him, sending heavy drops of dew cascading onto his forehead. He wiped his brow and walked to the stream for a quick drink, then built a small fire and scoured the area for more mushrooms. It didn't take him long to find some. It took him even less time to prepare them. Soon the heavenly aroma of roasting mushrooms filled the air.

  To Malao's surprise, the white monkey appeared again. But instead of lurking in the treetops, this time it came down and sat right next to him beside the fire. The monkey scratched the large scab on the side of its head. Malao winced.

  The monkey winced, too, mimicking Malao. Then it crossed its legs and sat up straight, just like Malao. It looked at Malao with its one good eye as if waiting for a reaction.

  Malao laughed and handed the white monkey one of the two long skewers he had prepared. He expected the monkey to gobble down the half-cooked breakfast, but the monkey held the stick out and continued roasting the mushrooms over the flames, just like Malao was doing.

  Malao grinned and the monkey seemed to grin back. The monkey scooted closer to Malao. Malao and his new friend sat that way long after they had finished cooking and eating.

  “Well, my friend,” Malao finally said to the white monkey, “I've got to get going. You can come with me if you'd like. Unfortunately, I don't know how long I'll be gone because I can't remember how to get there.”

  The monkey looked at Malao, concern written across its face.

  Malao laughed. “Don't worry, I'll be fine. Too bad you can't show me the way to Cangzhen.”

  Upon hearing the word Cangzhen, the white monkey began to jump up and down, chattering excitedly. It pointed into the trees.

  “You can't be serious,” Malao said. “Do you really know the way?”

  The monkey stopped jumping and cocked its head to one side. It looked confused.

  Malao grinned. “I knew it. You don't understand me, do you?”

  The monkey continued to stare at Malao as if waiting for something.

  Malao sighed. “I thought so. I'll never find my way back to Cangzhen.”

  Once again, the white monkey got excited. This time, it grabbed Malao's hand, squeezed three times, and raced off into the trees.

  Malao shrugged and followed.

  Malao ran for what seemed like forever. He had long since stopped trying to keep up with the white monkey in the treetops. Instead, he traveled on foot as the monkey tirelessly raced from tree to tree. Malao's neck grew sore from looking up.

  By early evening, the terrain began to look familiar. Malao climbe
d up to the monkey's side, and they traversed the treetops together. From that point on, Malao led.

  They stumbled upon the large hollow elm sooner than Malao expected. When they were still some distance away, Malao took cover behind the trunk of a large oak, just in case. The monkey curled itself into a tight ball next to him.

  A moment later, Malao realized hiding wasn't necessary. He could feel Hok's intense gaze burrowing through the trunk, seeking him out. Malao climbed around to the front of the oak. There was Hok, poking his head out of the hollow and staring directly at the spot where Malao was hiding. Malao waved.

  Hok leaped from his perch and glided through the treetops. He landed next to Malao.

  “I was afraid you wouldn't return,” Hok said. “I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have pushed you to do something you weren't ready to do. I'm sorry.”

  Malao lowered his head. “There's no need for you to apologize. I'm the one who should apologize for running off like that.”

  Hok reached out and raised Malao's chin with a pale finger. “Don't worry about it, little brother. Are you feeling okay? You don't look so good.”

  “I'm fine,” Malao said. “Just a little tired. And a little sad, I guess.” He looked over at the hollow. “Where is Grandmaster?”

  “He's in the tree,” Hok replied.

  “You got him up there yourself?”

  Hok nodded.

  “But there aren't any stains on the trunk or the ground or anything.”

  “I was very careful,” Hok said. “Would you like to see what I did inside?”

  “Um … I …” Malao's voice trailed off. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I would like to see.”

  “Good,” Hok said. He patted Malao on the shoulder. “You can bring your little friend, too, if you want.”

  The white monkey poked its head out from behind the trunk and looked at Malao. Malao shrugged.

  Hok grinned and launched himself toward the hollow. Malao and the white monkey followed. Once inside, Malao looked around.