Learning to Eat Bitter

By Troy Blappert

Xiao Gui never believed what the villagers said about his family name Gui or Ghost being unlucky. After his mother disappeared, he thought maybe they were right. A chance to live and study kung fu at Shaolin Temple could be a way of changing his fate. It will require extraordinary strength and determination. Will he be able to change his life if

• Language: English
• Publisher: Schlisselthal
• Release date: Apr 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733666510

Troy Blappert

Troy Blappert has co-written many English language textbooks over the past 20 years with several different publishers around the world. He has also taught English in Taipei, Hong Kong, Seoul, Saudi Arabia, and in the United States. He studied fiction writing at the Writers' Program at UCLA, and he has a M.Ed. from the Institute of Education at University College London. He grew up in the New Orleans' area. His hobbies include Shaolin kung fu, tai chi, and reading. He has studied with three different Shaolin Wuseng or Warrior Monks over a ten-year period, which was the catalyst for this novel. He lives in San Antonio with his wife.

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CHAPTER ONE

The Unexpected Visitors

Xiao Gui and his father Da Gui busied themselves without talking. There was so much to do. The packed clay of their rammed earth home had crumbled in the earthquake. The tin roof somehow ended up underneath the last wall to fall. The house wasn’t much of a house, but it was all they had that reminded them of Xiao Gui’s mother. Some mornings, Xiao Gui would look to the spot where his mother slept thinking it was just a bad dream. In those awakening seconds, he felt whole before finding she was missing. He worried that without the house even those waking moments were lost. He had to rescue his mother. It was the only way for his life to be whole again.

Xiao Gui gathered firewood for cooking more out of habit than a pressing need. There was nothing to cook anyway. The crops had not grown this season. The old men in the village talked of the last great drought that lasted five months. Optimism was in short supply in his remote village in Henan province, China. The earthquake destroyed more than buildings.

Da Gui had salvaged a blue plastic tarp and strung it by the corners to several small trees and a bush just high enough to sit upright under. He sifted the debris searching for anything that could be salvaged putting things into the wok he unearthed. The blankets and clothes were located easily in the corner where the bed once stood. The two stones used to hold the wok over the fire for cooking were fine as well. He moved slowly as if there was nothing left to do.

Xiao Gui jumped when he heard the sound of rushing of leaves and branches. What was coming up the main path to the village? The village was located so high in the mountains that a road was too expensive for the dozen families of the village. People in the country don’t run unless something is after them, he thought. He laughed to see a row of bald men running in bright orange uniforms with white socks almost up to their knees held in place by black straps. They carried a large sack on their backs and plastic jugs in each hand. Xiao Gui froze as the first man in the line ran straight for him.

Do you need help? he said as he came to a stop.

I’m alright, Xiao Gui said taken aback. It had been two days since the earthquake.

Have you eaten? the bald man asked eyeing him with a smile.

No, not in two days, Xiao Gui said looking down at the dry earth. He had tried not to think about the hunger.

Da Gui ran over with his eyes wide in disbelief. Have you come to help? Do you have food and water? he asked.

Yes, sir, he said as he removed the heavy sack from his back and produced a sack of rice and handed it to Da Gui. The other men in orange started to crowd around and one handed Da Gui a large jug of water.

We are monks from Shaolin Temple, and we came to help dig out survivors and bring food and medical care to remote villages. Do you need help digging out anyone?

No, it is just the two of us, but the other villagers might need some help. They live up the path, said Da Gui pointing.

With that, most of monks turned and started running up the path, but the one who had spoken stayed behind.

Are either of you hurt? We brought medicine and a traditional medicine doctor, the monk said.

No, we are not hurt. Are you really Shaolin monks? Da Gui asked raising his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes like he was trying to negotiate a lower price in the market.

Yes, we are wuseng or warrior monks from Shaolin Temple. Many of us grew up in small villages in Henan like this one, and we want to help farmers who might not receive help because there is no road. The Henan government gave us the rice and water to give out, and the army is working in the large towns. There are so many people who need help now. I will go see if I can help my brothers in the village. I’ll come back later to check to see if you need anything else, he said and turned and sprinted up the path without a sound.

Da Gui explained to Xiao Gui that the wuseng of Shaolin were legendary for their kung fu and Buddhism. Who else could run up our steep mountain with a sack of rice on their back and a water jug in each hand? They must be real Shaolin; I would love to see their kung fu, he said looking up the path where they had gone.

Xiao Gui had never seen his father show such respect for anyone. His father respected only a few things in life: hard work, intelligence sharpened by more hard work, and doing what was right, which was even more hard work than the other two, he would say.

Is their kung fu better than yours, father? Xiao Gui asked.

Our kung fu is just a simple duck style taught from father to son. At one time, the duck style was practiced by many farmers, but most no longer teach it to their children. The Shaolin are known for many styles developed by the monks centuries ago. The monkey style, praying mantis, and staff forms are still taught at the temple to monks, he said as he prepared to boil the rice. He added a small handful of Euryale seeds. Congee or rice porridge is best for empty stomachs, and these seeds will strengthen the kidneys and stop the diarrhea, his father explained.

His father knew many traditional herbal recipes for health, and he was forever putting something into their meals. It could be a stringy bit of inner bark boiled for hours to release a foul flavor or plant roots that preserve the taste and texture of dirt to strengthen some organ. It was something most people did when they were sick, but few were enthusiastic as his father. Xiao Gui pretended to be interested in his father’s old recipes, but he always wondered why none of the recipes included honey or something that tasted good. Xiao Gui’s mouth watered as he waited to eat. He was familiar with hunger. It had always been a part of his life, but this time was different. They didn’t know if they would survive this time. Xiao Gui dug out two bowls and spoons from under the house. The congee warmed him from the inside, and he felt his shoulders relax. The stress of hunger was almost as bad as the actual stomach pains.

After eating, they both stretched out under the tarp for a nap. A sack of rice was enough food for a few weeks. They grew sleepy with full stomachs. Da Gui pulled the sack of rice under his head like a pillow. This should protect it from animals while we sleep, he said as he tucked it under his head. Xiao Gui placed his head on a corner of the sack too. The heat of the day and hum of insects lulled them to sleep.

Xiao Gui awoke with the noise of leaves crunching next to his head. He awoke in time to see a foot coming under the tarp towards his father’s head. He grabbed the ankle as it moved towards his father. The big foot only bumped Da Gui awake in time to see Xiao Gui pulling the ankle and foot farther under tarp and the man attached being dragged under the tarp. Da Gui tensed his right hand into a fist, and he rolled over with a punch directly between the kicker’s legs and the man let out a high-pitched scream and curled into a ball.

Da Gui couldn’t see the second man, but Xiao Gui saw two legs from under the tarp behind his father and shouted. There’s another one.

Da Gui rolled backwards to see the two dirty pant legs disappear for a moment, and they were replaced with white sneakers and high cotton white socks of a Shaolin monk. Xiao Gui and Da Gui scampered out from under the tarp just in time to see a neighbor who had been knocked down by the monk getting up from the ground.

The neighbor swung a shovel at the monk who pulled his knee high and shifted his foot inward slightly. The shaft of the shovel shattered against the muscle that parallels the shin in a loud crack and a shower of finger sized splinters appeared. The monk did not flinch or show any reaction at all to the strike, but he rotated his hip and the falling foot struck the farmer’s shin. The strike was fast and decisive, and the farmer’s shin broke with the sound of a twig snapping and the farmer crumbled to the ground under his own weight on the broken leg. The monk turned quickly to Da Gui and asked with calmness, Are you both alright? These two came to steal your rice. I followed them when I saw them take the shovel and sneak out of the village heading this way. There is no reason to sneak around with a shovel unless you intend to use it as a weapon or use it to dig up something that doesn’t belong to you.

Shifu, thank you for helping us again. We can never thank you enough for all you have done for us. Please stay and visit with us a while, said Da Gui.

You two go back to your village and tell the monks that I broke your leg for trying to steal the rice and the doctor will set your leg. If you lie about what happened, my brothers will be very angry once I tell them, the monk directed. The farmer who kicked first helped hold up the one with the broken leg, and they moved slowly up the path to the village cursing under their breath at their bad luck of meeting a Shaolin.

Why do your neighbors come to steal your only food? Are they your enemies? the monk asked.

No, not really. Last year, the farmer with the shovel’s wife and my wife went to sell blood to the blood truck on the road. We all sell our blood here to pay for the school fees for our children. That day, I was sick, so I didn’t go. Our wives never came home, said Da Gui taking a deep breath.

The farmer thinks that if I had gone that day, we’d still have our wives. We think our wives were kidnapped and sold off to other farmers far away. Some areas have more money than brides. The police told us that sometimes women disappear here. Sometimes, they run away for a new life, and sometimes they are snatched and sold. The police couldn’t find our wives and so we wait for them to return if they can, said Da Gui.

That is horrible that someone would steal a mother from her family, but this is not the first time I have heard this. Some people will do anything for money, no matter how many people are hurt. You will stay then and rebuild your house and plant when drought ends. Will you have food to eat after the rice is gone? the monk asked.

We won’t have anything until the rains come, and we can plant again. We want to leave, but if we go south my son wouldn’t be able to go to school because he wouldn’t have a resident card. At least here, he goes to school when we don’t have to use the money to buy food, Da Gui said.

You have a brave boy, he grabbed the man’s foot when he tried to kick you in the head, the monk said smiling at Xiao Gui.

I taught him our simple family duck kung fu. He practices every day since we don’t have enough money for him to go to school now, but I am no Shaolin, his father replied.

Let me see your kung fu, boy, the monk said rising from his seat on the ground. I was about your age when I went to live at Shaolin.

Xiao Gui assumed a serious look, and he did the four forms as fast and as well as he could, but it was hard to make duck forms look powerful. When he did a waddle walk in the form, he heard the monk laugh. He pushed each kick higher and jumped farther knowing that a true master watched.

Not bad, let’s see your basics. Do what I do? and the monk took up a mabu or horse stance. His calves were parallel to the ground and his back rigid. They stayed in this painful stance for ten minutes.

Xiao Gui’s legs began to shake, but he did not straighten his legs, and he maintained the stance. The monk stood and brought his right foot up to his head while standing on the left and snapped it down and