63~77

Pag 63

MY SECOND GOOD-BYE

The next few years were relatively peaceful noes at the academy. We kept learning and continued to hone our skills. Once in a while, we went back to the theater at Lai Yuen Amusement Park, watching in rapture as veteran players made age-old stories come to life. We grew strong and taller, advancing rapidly toward adolescence. Other kids joined our school, both boys and girls, and after they took their licks, we accepted them as one of us.

Master continued to rule us with an iron hand and an iron cane. Yuen Lung and Yuen Tai rode us with no more mercy than before, but we were old enough to take it, and once in a while, even dish it out.

My mother continued to visit me regularly, and even if I still blushed bright red when she pulled out her sponge and bags of hot water, I never once complained.

But I hadn’t seen my father for years. I received regular news about him from Mom, and occasionally she even brought his voice, captured on audio cassettes. The tapes came in brown packages signed in his neat but simple hand; each tape was an hour-long lecture about ways I could improve myself, mistakes I should avoid, and threats regarding what would happen to me if I screwed up. There was always a handful of wrinkled bills tucked in with the tape, and after a while, I started throwing away the tapes and just keeping the money.

It’s not that I didn’t think about my father; I did wonder what it was like down under in Australia, in a land of foreigners, full of strange creatures, like koala bears and kangaroos. We talked about it sometimes, late at night.

“D’you think you’ll ever get to go visit your dad, Big Nose?” That was Yuen Kwai. He’d picked up the annoying habit of using Biggest Brother’s stupid nickname for me. The first time he said it, I’d slugged him, which only resulted in his refusing ever to call me anything else. I’d gotten used to it.

“Dunno,” I said, rolling over onto my side.

“They have all sorts of animals down there,” he said. “Natives, too, I heard. They run around half-naked.”

That was an intriguing thought.

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“Girls, too?” I asked.

“That’s what I heard,” he said.

I wasn’t quite old enough to be interested in girls, but I was curious. The whole prospect—weird beasts, naked natives, and all—made me wish I could talk to my dad, even see him.

“You guys shut your mouths or I’m going to come over there and shut 'em with my fist,” grumped Yuen Lung from the far side of the room.

We shut up.

A few weeks later, Master asked me to stay and speak with him after dinner. I quickly ran through the day to see if there was anything he might have reason to smack me for, and nothing came to mind. Nothing he possibly could have found out about, anyway. I walked to the head of the table fairly confident that I wasn’t about to get a whipping. Still, I wondered to myself what it was he wanted to hell me. It was hardly ever a good thing to be noticed by Master.

“Yuen Lo, I have received a message from your mother,” he said, puffing on his after-dinner cigarette. “She will be visiting the academy tomorrow, so be ready.”

That was hardly news. It wasn’t her usual visiting day, but it wasn’t something Master would particularly care about, either. There had to be something else.

“Master?” I said, with a questioning look.

“Oh, yes,” he said, rousing himself from distraction. “She will be bringing your father.”

My father!

Was he back for good? Were they going to take me out of the academy? Would he take me to live with the animals and natives of Australia?

Or had he found out I was throwing away his tape recordings, and come here to deliver his lectures in person?

I gulped as Master waved me impatiently away. I hated the school, the training, the beatings, and even some of the students—but I’d worked so hard, and hadn’t even had the chance to perform” I wasn’t ready to leave. I wasn’t going to give up my future on the stage.

“What’s wrong, Big Brother?” It was Yuen Biao, noticing my black expression.

“Nothing,” I said.

“It’s not nothing,” he countered.

I sighed and filled him in.

“So you think he might be taking you away?” said Yuen Biao. I nodded.

“I wish my parents would come and take me away,” he said somberly.

I looked at him. He wasn’t the Littlest Brother anymore, but he was 

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still one of the youngest youngest kids at the school. And he really missed his parents; they hardly ever visited, although they showered him with presents and hugs whenever they did.

When I first realized that my life with Master wasn’t going to be the easy ride I’d hoped for, I hated my dad. I resented how he’d tempted me with visits and then trapped me here for good, and I wondered how he could abandon his only son to the wolves.

I understood better as I got older. There was no way Dad could have supported me and Mom if we’d all stayed at the Peak, and he couldn’t  have afforded to bring us all with him to Australia. The school was what was best for me at the time.

But now—it was a puzzling, mixed-up situation. I didn’t know what to think or feel anymore. I understood my father, but I resented him. I dreamed of escape, but I wanted to stay. What would I say when I saw him again? What should I expect from his unexpected reunion, and what would become of me?

All night long I turned these questions over in my head, coming no closer to finding. In the morning, I was given leave to prepare for my father’s arrival, scrubbing myself clean and putting on my best outfit—no longer my cowboy suit, which I’d long since outgrown, but a pair of faded blue pants and a fresh white T-shirt.

Washed and groomed, I sat at the long, wooden table in the practice hall, waiting with Master for the knock that would announce my parents.

The wait was awful. I could hear Yuen Lung screaming at the other students in the background, and wished I was practicing with them rather than sitting anxiously on the hard wooden bench, afraid even to shift my posture.

There was a soft thumping on the door. Master patted me on the back and led me to the entranceway. I opened the door, and for the first time in years saw the man who’d brought me into the world.

Australia had not changed my father much. He was still the same tall, stern man of my memories, with a few more lines on his face, and a bit more color to his skin. He seemed as awkward in my presence as I was in his, and we stood there staring at one another until Master beckoned my parents in off the stoop. He and my mother stepped inside, and Mom immediately put her arm around me.

We walked to the long table and sat down, as Master signaled for tea. Father sat on one side of me, and Mom on the other, with Master at the head of the table.

           “You’ve frown, Ah Pao,” he said, his voice gruff. “Maybe you’ve even outgrown your name.” He was right; now a skinny adolescent, I no longer deserved the baby name “Cannonball.” I was more like a rifle: lean, compact, and hard. 

Pag. 66

Master looked into my face and nodded in my father’s direction. His expression carried a suggestion: I hadn’t seen my father for such a long time. Shouldn’t embrace him?

I swallowed and turned to Dad, folding my arms around him in an unfamiliar gesture of affection. My father responded clumsily in kind. He’d never been one for demonstrations of his feelings—the softer ones, anyway—and clearly felt uncomfortable at his display. But Master seemed pleased, and my mother positively beamed at the sight.

My father cleared his throat, as if to change the subject. The tea arrived, giving us something to do with our mouths other than talk. It was a relief.

Mom was the first of us to break the silence. “Kong-sang, how are you doing in your studies?” It was the first time she’d ever called me by my given name, and it sounded strange from her lips. Bemused, I nodded, my expression blank.

“He is doing well,” said Master, saving me from having to respond. “He is not our best acrobat, or our best singer, or our best fighter—”

So much for my savior!

“—but he is sufficiently accomplished in all things, and nearly ready to advance to performance. You should be proud of your son.”

Master’s words were like treasure. I’d never heard him directly praise any of us, so hearing him tell my parents that I had been worth all of his effort brought a smile to my face. And the more I thought of it, the more I had to agree with him. All of my brothers and sisters had something in which they excelled—my brother Yuen Wah had good form, little Yuen Biao was a tremendous acrobat, and Biggest Brother was one of the most powerful fighter. I wasn’t the best at anything, but I was good enough at everything. I had no special talent—but that was a blessing in disguise. Because if I had been the best singer, then the teachers would have made me concentrate on singing. If I had been the best actor, then they might have made me specialize in acting. Instead, I got a chance to learn everything do everything well.

My father looked at me with surprise, as if he’d never expected me to succeed.

“Oh, Kong-sang, we are so very proud of you!” said my mother, squeezing me.

I was pretty proud of myself! Because the master had said something else that I’d nearly missed; he’d suggested that I was nearly ready to perform, to show off my skills in public. And that meant that my dream of the crowd, the audience cheering in the dark, was going to come true. Sometime soon. Unless…

Unless my parents took me away. My stomach flip-flopped, and the smile faded from my face. The dream, once so close, now gone forever.

I stared at the soft cloth slippers on my feet, suddenly wishing that the

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day had never begun at all. “May I be excused?” I asked in a subdued voice. Master, deep in conversation with my parents, waved me away, and I slipped from the wooden bench to return to my brothers and sisters. They were taking a breather, their faces red with exertion. Yuen Lung was leaning against the wall, the master’s cane at rest against his shoulder.

“So, Big Nose, how are Mommy and Daddy?” he said.

I ignored the sarcastic tone in his voice. “They’re fine,” I said.

“Are you going away, Big Brother?” piped Yuen Biao, sitting with legs outspread on the practice floor.

“Dunno,” I said. “No one’s said anything.”

Yuen Lung laughed. “Nice knowing you, Big Nose. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass when you leave.”

I clenched my fists. “I ain’t going anywhere.” Not yet, I thought to myself.

“Yah, just admit it, you’re a washout,” he said. “Just like ‘Big Brother’ Yuen Ting.”

Get angry enough, and reason and training go right out the window. Every cell in my body screamed that I couldn’t pick a fight with Big Brother, that doing so would be against hundreds of years of tradition. If I so much as raised a hand in anger in his direction, any chance I had at a career in the opera was history.

Then I remembered that it was probably history anyway. So who cared?

“Listen, Yuen Lung,” I said, my throat constricting in anger. “I’m not gonna let you push me into doing something stupid right now. You’re still my big brother. But I swear to you, the first time I run into you outside of these walls, I’m going to kick your ass.”

Yuen Lung pushed himself forward, slamming the rod hard against the wall. “You little--!” he shouted. “Ya better bring an army, shrimp, ‘cause you’re gonna need one”.

“Don’t think so,” I said, with more courage than I felt.

“Yeah, I think so,” said Yuen Lung, his grin suggesting he was looking forward to the opportunity. The rest of the kids gathered in a semicircle around us, horrified and eager at the same time. No one had ever committed the crime of challenging a big brother. Which is also to say, no one had ever had the guts to challenge a big brother. Until now. And so…the students wanted blood.

Feeling sick, I suspected they’d get it—only it was going to be mine.

“Students!” said Master, his eyes flicking suspiciously back and forth between Biggest Brother and me. We quickly dropped our hostile expressions and fell in line with the other kids. “I wish to announce a special surprise. Mr. and Mrs. Chan have brought food for a celebration feast. Today, instead of afternoon practice, we will have a going-away party!”

The assembled students screamed their approval. Even Biggest

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­Brother, after throwing me a final rude gesture, relaxed his scowl and cheered—food being the ultimate peacemaker at the academy.

Only I stayed quiet.

“Hey, Big Nose, send me a picture of a koala,” said Yuen Kwai as he ran past me. “Or better yet—a naked native girl!”

It was all going the way I’d feared.

My opera life was over.

“Big Brother?”

Yuen Biao poked his head into the storage room, to find me sitting in my good pants on the dusty floor, my chin on my knees. I lifted a hand in greeting.

“What’s wrong?”

Yuen Biao came in and sat down next to me.

“Have you ever had a dream, Little Brother?” I said.

He cocked his head, thinking. “Sure,” he said. “I dream all the time. Mostly I have nightmares, though.”

“No, I mean like something you really, really want.”

Yuen Biao stared at the floor. “I really, really want to go home,” he said. “Back to my parents. Like you—you’re so lucky….”

“I don’t feel so lucky,” I said.

Little Brother looked at me in shock. “You mean, you really want to stay here? Why?”

“’Cause if I go, I won’t be able to do opera. Going onstage. The lights, the audience…you know. Being a star.”

With a strange laugh, Yuen Biao buried his face in his hands. “You think we’re really going to be stars?” he said, in a voice that sounded much too cynical coming from such a young mouth. “All we got to look forward to is more practice and more hurting and more screaming from Master, and maybe someday we’ll get to perform, but there are dozens, maybe hundreds of kids just like us out there.  And they all want to be stars, too. What makes us so special?”

I put my arm around Yuen Biao, who was sobbing gently. “Hey, Little Brother, don’t cry,” I said, trying to sound comforting. Even if I felt like joining him. “You know what makes us special? We’re the best, that’s what.”

Yuen Biao looked up and smiled, wiping his eyes.

“And I don’t care what happens. If my parents drag me away, I’ll jump off the plane. I’ll come back here, find you, and we’ll go become stars together.”

“I saw some kids doing backflips in the street last time we went to the park,” Yuen Biao said. “People were giving them money.

“We’re better than them,” I asserted. “We could get rich!”

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“No more Master,” he said.

“No more Biggest Brother,” I responded.

“I guess this is what you’d call a dream, huh, Big Brother?” said Yuen Biao.

I laughed. “Nah, a dream is when you eat until you’re sick.  And that’s what we’re gonna do right now.’ Grabbing Yuen Biao’s hand, I pulled him out of the storage room and down the corridor, toward the sound of clicking chopsticks and clattering dishes that signified a party under way.

Pag 70

THE LITTLE PRINCE

When I went to sit at my usual place in the middle of the long wooden bench, I was led by my father to the head of the table, where I sat next to Master facing my parents. It was the first time I’d been honored this way since my “honeymoon” years before.

The table, usually bare, had been covered with a rich cloth. The simple dishes of stir-fried vegetables and steamed fish we were used to were nowhere to be seen; you could almost hear the wooden planks groan as they supported platters of roasted duck, huge steaming tureens of tofu-and-watercress soup, pork knuckles braised in soy, and thick yellow noodles in brown sauce. Master had opened a round jug of plum wine and was drinking small cups of it in honor of my mother and my father. In a rare gesture of magnanimity, he even poured tiny amounts in glasses for the big brothers and me, and led us in toast.

“To our special guests, Mr. and Mrs. Chan, who have so graciously provided this feast,” said Master, raising his cup. We drank from our glasses, swallowing the thin brown fluid.  Yuen Tai coughed as the deceptively sweet wine burned its way down his throat, and Biggest Brother broke out into hearty laughter as he slapped his choking friend on the back.

Master ignored the faux pas. “And now, we have a special announcement about our brother Yuen Lo,” he said, returning to his seat as my father rose from his.

“Master Yu,” he said haltingly. “Good students of the China Drama Academy, I thank you for taking care of my son.”

He put his hand on my mother’s shoulder.

“I have come back to Hong Kong to do something I wish I had been able to do years ago…”

I tensed in my seat. This was it.

“I am bringing my wife Lee-lee to Australia.”

Master nodded. The students looked at one another in confusion. And I—I found myself unable to breathe. My mother!

Mom was going to leave. I would be alone, truly anole, for the first time. And as much as I’d been embarrassed at the teasing of the other boys when Mom had visited, I couldn’t imagine what life would be like without her.

I thought back to my earliest memories, of Mom ironing as I played in

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the washtub. Of being cradled in her arms as she waved away mosquitoes and sang me to sleep. Of her smile, and soft hands, and gentle voice. I pushed away my plate, barely hearing my father as he continued to talk.

Yuen Lung and the other elder students looked at one another. What did this have to do with the academy?

But my father wasn’t finished.

“And so, Master Yu, I want to ask a special favor of you,” he said. “Since neither I nor my wife will be here in Hong Kong, I would like you to consider adopting our boy as your godson.”

I gave a start and looked up. So did the other students. Adoption!

Master looked at my parents and then at me. “Though he is not the best behaved of my students, I think there is potential in this boy,” he said. “I will agree to adopt him.”

Yuen Lung and Yuen Tai gritted their teeth. Me, the master’s godson! This was too much! But there was nothing they could do. Master had made his decision.

My heart was pounding, and my head seemed filled with noise. What could this mean? I began dinner prepared to pack my bags; now, I found myself being given a position of unprecedented honor.

But one thing was certain.

I was here to stay.

We finished dinner in shocked silence. As the dishes were being cleared and the other students drifted away in groups, discussing the weird new state of events, master took a small red box out of his pocket.

“Yuen Lo, come over here,” he said, opening the box. Inside was a glittering gold necklace. I bent my head, and he fastened it around my neck. “From this day on, you are like a son to me,” he said solemnly. My parents looked on with unrestrained pride.

I guess I should have been happy. After all, I would have my chance to make it on the stage, to win the applause I knew was mine. And I would do it not as a no-name player, a ragged unknown boy, but a Master’s godson—the “prince” of the school. It was a position any of my big brothers would have given their left arms to receive.

But I was beginning to remember the challenge I’d thrown down to Yuen Lung, when I was certain I was on my way out. If he had it in for me before, this would be the straw that would break the camel’s back—and possibly my neck.

I looked at Master. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

I was doomed.

Pag 72

EVERYTHING HAS ITS PRICE

So there was a black cloud over my head as I set off with my parents for the airport. I knew this would be the last time we’d all be together for many years, but the swift turnarounds of the past few hours had left me—usually known for having a big mouth to go along with my big nose—completely speechless. Dad must have been doing well in Australia, because instead of the bus, we took a taxicab, the three of us squeezing into the backseat.

My mom wanted to tell me how much she would miss me. I wanted to reassure her that I’d be okay, that I’d make her proud. My dad wanted to say something, anything that would seem appropriate, given the situation, but I guess he was as tongue-tied as I was.

Finally, he broke the silence, “Will you be all right alone in Hong Kong?” he asked.

I nodded again.

And then Mom, overcome with emotion, lurched forward and told the cabdriver to stop. With a jerk, he pulled the car over, turning to shout at my mother for scaring him half to death and  nearly causing an accident—but she’d already thrown the door open and pushed her way outside. Neither Dad nor I had idea what she was doing, and after a moment’s hesitation, we both made a move to go after her.

Then we saw her weaving back through the crowd, in her light wool coat and cotton dress, her hands weighted down with a red plastic bag of fruit. She struggled to pull it into the cab after her, and then almost shyly presented it to me. I looked at the bag, and at my mother, and it was like a dam broke inside me. I let the bag slip to the floor of the cab and hugged her, squeezing her with all of the force of my thin young arms. I felt a soft pressure on my shoulder, and I knew it was my dad, adding his own restrained display of emotion to the tableau.

The car pulled into the airport, with the three of us still in that pose. Dad paid the driver and sent him off after retrieving Mom’s baggage from the trunk. And then there was an endless wait on line, and papers exchanged and passports stamped, and then the parade down the long white corridor to the exit gate. Mom’s bags were heavy; after all, they contained everything she owned. I struggled with two of them, while my father

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carried the others, refusing to let my mother trouble herself even with the lightest of her possessions.

“This is it, Kong-sang,” my father said, as we reached the queue of strangers bound for Australia. Through some of the passengers were foreigners, many were Chinese: men, women, and even little boys and girls boarding the plane, headed for vacations or new lives in that unusual, unfamiliar place. Mom embraced me one last time, and told me that she would always be thinking of me, to take care of myself and not worry her. Dad patted my head, and then pressed some money into my hand, telling me to use it to buy admittance to the airport viewing platform, where I’d be able to watch their plane take off. He probably suspected I’d just use it to buy candy, but not this time.

I watched as the back of my father’s had disappeared through the gate, and saw my mother briefly turn her face and smile, her eyes full of tears. And then I ran like hell down the corridor to make it to the viewing platform, caroming off tourists and knocking businessmen aside in my rush. The man at the turnstile looked at me like I was a dangerous lunatic; still, he took the cash I handed to him, and simply watched as I pounded my way up the spiral staircase.

I was feeling very strange. Like there was a wall of stone in my heart, blocking something significant. I didn’t know why, but getting to the platform in time to see my parents’ plane take off was suddenly the most important thing in the world.

Breathless and rumpled, I made it to the top of the rower just in time to see my mother and father’s plane taxi down the runway. I was alone on the platform, and the thick double-paned glass cut off the sound of the engines and the screech of rubber tires. In utter silence, the plane picked up speed, lifting its nose, and pulled away from the ground, fighting against gravity.

Then, with a roar, it turned and elevated, and disappeared into the clouds.

It was only then I realized that tears were running in uncontrollable streams down my cheeks. In that screaming silver bird were the last ties I had to my blood and my memories, my innocence and my childhood. There was an entire world in that plane. A would I no longer belonged in, and that I’d never see again.

And what did I have instead?

I fingered the gold chain around my neck, lifted the heavy bag of fruit over my shoulder, and headed back down the stairs, back to the only place I could now call home and the only people in Hong Kong that I could call my family.

When I got to the school, Master squeezed my shoulders roughly and welcomed me back. Then he lifted the gold chain from around my neck.

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“With you running around so much, you might lose this,” he said. “I will keep it in a safe place for you.”

And he did. So safe that I never saw it again.

I didn’t see my mother for many years after that. Not until I’d reached adulthood, and by then she was older, a little grayer and more fragile than in her prime, as I’d known her. We kept in touch, through the tapes that she and Dad continued to send, and occasionally through letters. My mother had no education and couldn’t read or write. So every time she sent me a letter, I knew it wasn’t in her hand. But if anything, that made it even more special to me, because to get that letter written, she’d had to spend her free time cooking or cleaning for other people, doing special favors for people who were better educated than she was. They would write her words, and they would read what I sent back, explaining the characters and describing the scenes I related. I thought of her crying as I told her of the exhausting practices and the struggles I had to gain the skills I needed to succeed. I never told her about the beatings, the discipline I received from Master and from the big brothers, but I knew she knew. And when I read her words, or listened to her voice on tape, sitting in the storage room behind the back staircase that led to Master’s quarters, I’d cry too, letting tears run down my face just as I had when I saw her and Dad fly away that day at the airport.

It was always the same. “I miss you,” she would say. “But you’re a big boy now. Listen to Master. Be good. Make sure you keep clean, and eat well.” But the heart in those words shone through, building a bridge that crossed an ocean, a bridge of shared tears.

As I grew older, and more unwilling to lose myself in my emotions, I started to set the taped messages aside, promising I’d listen to them later. The tapes gathered dust and piled up in the storage room. I never found the time. And one day, I realized they were gone. To this day, I don’t know what happened to them. There’s a piece of my history with my parents that will always be missing. All my fault, and something I’ll always regret.

When I arrived back at the school, I realized that I was stepping across the threshold as a different person from when I left. My master’s declaration of my adoption couldn’t help but change things somehow. Or would it? Maybe it was just a gesture to comfort my mother before she left. Maybe everything would go back to the way it was before. Like normal—if it could ever have been called normal.

As usual, I was wrong. It was dinnertime when I arrived, and the long table was lined with expectant faces awaiting the evening meal. We’d eaten so much at our lunch feats that you’d think we wouldn’t be hungry

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again so soon, but food was so precious at the academy that we’d eat like goldfish, until we died of overstuffing, if we had the opportunity. There were plenty of lean times to make up for the very few chances we had to act like pigs.

All eyes were on me as I walked toward the table, headed for my customary place.

“Yuen Lo,” said Master. “Where are you going?”

I stopped in midpace. “To sit down and eat, Master.”

“You are now my godson,” he said. “From now on, your place is here.”

I walked like a zombie to the seat next to Master, as Yuen Lung shifted his weight over and made room.

“Pass Yuen Lo the fish, Yuen Lung,” said Master, returning to his meal. Biggest Brother looked like he wanted to dump the dish over my head. If we’d been in a cartoon, there would have been steam shooting out of his ears. But with Master a few feet away, he didn’t make a move to hurt me as I knew he wanted to—a kick under the table, a stray elbow jab, a chopstick in my eyeball.

This, of course, only made him angrier. It was remarkably fun to see him so frustrated, sitting there like a big fat rice cooker building up steam. As I took the head of the fish—the best part—and started to shovel food into my mouth, I decided that I could get used to this godson thing. I couldn’t have gotten deeper under his skin if I’d slapped him across the face.

We were still without a new tutor, so Master declared that, following dinner we’d have a special practice to make up for what we’d missed during the day. As I stretched in preparation for the workout, Yuen Lung went to take his position at the front of the hall. I felt his foot come down on my toes with crushing weight as he crossed before me. I stifled a yelp.

“So, shall we bow to you now, Your Highness?” he whispered at me under his breath. “Guess you’re now the ‘Price.’ That’s my tribute. Plenty more where that came from.”

Not good.

And then training began.

“Today we will focus on forms and positions,” said Master. We groaned to ourselves. This was one of the most difficult aspects of Chinese opera: the striking of poses that had to be held with absolute stillness, often for minutes at a time. Sometimes, during practice, if Master thought that we were slacking off, he’d call out “Don’t move!”—and, regardless of the position in which we found ourselves, we would have to freeze until he gave us the signal to continue. An unlucky student who moved a limb would instantly pay the price of Master’s displeasure, as the cane came out and slapped the errant arm or leg. Stumbling out of position would demand even worse punishment: kneeling at the head of the class, pants down, as

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Master deliberately and harshly applied the rod to the wretched student’s backside. And, of course, the rest of us would have to maintain our frozen positions.

We stood quietly in our rows, wary of what the practice would bring.

“Yuen Lung, lead the students in basic forms,” Master said, crossing his arms, his eagle eyes ready to spy the tiniest of errors.

“Okay, let’s go!” yelled Biggest Brother. “On my count: one, two, three, four!” Punch, sway, turn, punch, kick…

“Stop!” shouted Master.

We froze in place, our legs high in the air. Master walked slowly around us, watching for signs of movement. Seconds, then minutes went by, and our brows began to swat, knees to feel weak. Somehow, everyone managed to stay upright on one leg.

“All right!” he said, finally, “Everyone can move—except Yuen Lo.”

The other students collapsed in relief, dropping their legs and panting. I gritted my teeth and remained immobile, my heart pounding and my muscles stiffening. Master stood expressionless before me, ignoring the increasingly desperate look on my face. And then he motioned Yuen Lung over.

“Bring me the teapot, Yuen Lung,” he said. Biggest Brother nodded and headed for the kitchen, moving with unusual slowness. By the time he returned, I could feel my stomach beginning to buckle, and my left leg, the one on which I was balancing, was a mass of pain.

Master poured himself a cup of tea, and sipped it, relaxing as his face was framed by steam.

I wanted to scream.

“Now that you are my godson, you have to set an example for the others,” he said, finishing the tea and pouring himself a second cup. “When your brothers and sisters train, you will train twice as hard. Everything they learn, you will learn twice as well. You will make me proud, because that is what I expect from my own children.”

He then leaned over and carefully balanced the cup of tea on my leg.

“If you spill any tea, you will be punished,” said Master. “And godson—when you are punished, you will receive twice as many blows.”

Standing to the side with the other students, Yuen Lung suddenly looked like it had turned into the happiest day of his life.

The teacup fell, splashing hot liquid as it shattered.

Mas looked at me, shaking his head in disappointment, and making a familiar gesture with his stick.

At least kneeling on the floor gave me a chance to rest my legs.

Things only got worse from there. During handstand practice, Yuen Kwai was caught taking a covert rest, and was hit twice with Master’s stick—once for each leg that was leaning against the wall.

Pag 77

Then Master came over to me as I displayed my perfectly erect upside down form…and hit me four times.

“Sine you are my godson, his failure is your failure, and his punishment is your punishment,” said Master. “It is up to you to set a better example.”

Yuen Lung couldn’t help but let out a sudden guffaw at my plight, and Master came over and gave him a quick slap with the rod.

And then I got two more slaps.

“Do you see, Yuen Lo?” said Master. “From now on, every time there is punishment, you will be punished…only twice as much. I am trying to teach you the merits of responsibility. You must share your brothers’ and sisters’ joys, and also share their pain. Now, everyone, take a rest.”

I knew better by this time than to think that Master’s words applied to me. Legs straight, I thought to myself. Arms steady. No wobbling. Legs straight, arms steady…