Child of War

By Arthur Rabesa Jr.

Half Asian / Half American. Runaway orphan taken in by Village elder. Schooled in academics and the fighting arts. Given the name Ki by his teacher. Kis academic and martial arts skill become well established throughout the region. Kis meeting with the American, seeking his lost brother, jumps the stories action to another level. Their mission to find this lost sibling takes them throughout Southeast Asia. Its a hair raising adventure that just keeps getting hotter. If you like action and adventure you will love Child of War

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524675240

Arthur Rabesa Jr.

Retired Public School Teacher- 10th dan Uechi Ryu Karate - Author of "Kumite" The Complete Fighting Text - "Explosive Karate" - Fought for many years and still train and teach martial arts - To write about fighting and the training comes easy to the author. He has been doing it for 55 years. He is also married with two daughters.

Book preview

Part One

One

Get out of my way, Dung. I don’t want to see you here again. A swift kick usually followed. He was used to that treatment, but it angered him. Lepers were treated better, he thought. He had no name except what the street people called him. He was known as Dung by everyone. He was the square peg in a round society, and he wore it like a sign. He was what the western world called Amerasian – half American, half Vietnamese. There were many more like him in one holding center or another. He never liked these centers and ran away from each one, living on the streets and surviving the best way he could.

He had already survived bombed-out villages, hunger, disease, malnutrition, and the constant abuse. Somehow, he found food and shelter for another day when some kitchen workers were doing their nightly clean-up at the local eatery. This was a favorite spot of the street children. It provided them with some nutrition, although a more civilized child would vomit at the thought of it. The kitchen workers knew quite well that what they were throwing out was being picked up by the street people. There were plenty of these drifters to go around, and they came in all shapes and sizes.

Sometimes the kitchen help would find a dead one in the alley when they emptied the remains of a good business night, when death was the consequence for stealing another’s scraps. These people of no home could be very dangerous when it came to hanging on to the one thing they had: their survival. This child was no rookie in the taking care of number one category. He had earned his badge many times over.

He was eating some bread that a wealthy patron didn’t finish when a rat-like figure of a man decided he should be the one sampling the feast. This was very common – the big taking from the small. It meant days of hunger for some of the younger, weaker street kids. The rat man was dealing with a kid that took pretty good care of what he thought was his. Rat man was bigger and stronger, so there was no resistance when he grabbed the morsel from the small dirty hands. Rat man found himself a secluded spot in the dark alley and was about to sit down to dinner, but the kid had gotten very close when rat man hunkered down.

Before he could sink his yellow decayed teeth into the bread, his head felt like the building came down on it. Stunned, he lifted his eyes to greet a good-sized rock that put an end to his dining pleasure. The bread was taken from his skinny fingers and gulped down with the bloody rock still in the child’s other hand. After taking a few vegetables that came out of one of the side windows of the kitchen, a place to sleep was the next thing on the child’s agenda. By now, most of the usual places were taken, and it looked like he would have to spend the night wandering the streets with the local rodents, both two- and four-legged.

His wandering took him out of the city and into the less-populated section. This area housed the less affluent and elderly citizens. The nights were warm, so it was only a matter of finding a spot where he would not be seen. To be found sleeping might mean you wouldn’t see the morning sun. He spotted some small hut-like dwellings, and decided to try his luck at finding a spot behind one of them. After some careful investigation, he found a patch of dry warm earth at the rear of a small hut. Sleep came quickly, without nightmares or dreams of any kind.

Mornings came and went and this one would be like so many others – a day of avoiding authorities and seeking out new areas to pick some pocket, or find a quick handout, or so he thought. As he rose, he was startled by an old man. He was standing there waiting for the child to arise so he could tend his small garden. It seemed that the dry earth that made such a comfortable bed was in fact the old man’s prized garden.

I hope you slept well, said the old man.

The child simply sat there staring up at the old man, not knowing what to make of him. A few plants had been matted down from the tossing and turning of sleep. It seemed likely that the old man would be quite angry. He rose slowly, awaiting the kick, or the hand, that should be the remedy for the ruined plants. Instead, he saw a smile that started at the corners of the old man’s mouth and worked its way to his entire face. The tightness was leaving now, as he stared at the old man’s weather-beaten face.

I’m sorry about your plants. I’ll be glad to re-plant them if you wish. With all the violence that had passed through his young life, he was still very polite to most people.

That is a very pleasant idea, said the old man. My garden could use the hand of the one who ruined it. The old man looked deeply into the young eyes and said very softly, With your permission, I will make us some breakfast first. With that, the old man went into his house and began preparing the morning meal.

It was a few minutes before the boy joined the old man. Never had he witnessed an act such as this by a complete stranger. He sat on the small oval rug that covered a small section of the home. As he sat there, his eyes caught sight of the strange area to his left near the only window. It was almost as if it did not belong to the rest of this small house – it was much cleaner, and had a polished wooden floor, with walls of strong hard wood. There was also a floor-to-ceiling mirror, which puzzled the child. He had never seen a mirror so large. He wondered what the old man did with it. Maybe he liked to look at himself, he thought, and smiled slightly. Near the wall there were some poles with rope woven tightly around them and sunk deeply into the ground.

The old man brought the morning meal as the boy continued to survey the small house. He noticed how worn the area in front of the mirror and poles were. He had learned to be observant of everything, for a misplaced thought might mean hunger, or worse.

This is not much, but it will be good for your insides, said the old man. This snapped the child from his observations and brought him back to reality and his hunger. The meal was simple but good. Rice, vegetables, and a cup of broth brought the hunger to a stop, for a little while anyway.

As he was cleaning the small number of dishes and pots, he watched the old man very carefully. He was pleased with the old man’s kindness, but there was something very different about him. He was sure-footed and moved very quietly; his strength was far more than it should be for someone his age. The boy watched as the old man went about his daily morning chores. He stopped his work and stared as the old man ripped some small trees from their roots, then snapped them into smaller pieces. He piled them neatly into one section near the fire pit. The child finished the cleaning quickly, for he wanted to watch the old man more closely.

By now the old man had noticed his curiosity, bringing the slow smile again. You like work so much that you wish to watch it endlessly?

I will be happy to assist you with your work if you wish, responded the child.

You are respectful, and I wonder where you learned this manner, said the old man.

The child did not respond, but began to tug at the small trees outside the rear wall. They would not respond to his grasping, pulling method.

The old man laughed out loud as he watched his young guest tug at the small but tough trees. Enough, cried the old man. Please allow me to show you, for I fear you will kill yourself, and how would I explain that? He reached down with an arm that was frail-looking and wrinkled from the years of the sun. With a snap so quick it was almost a blur, he ripped the small tree from the ground.

The boy spoke first. Is there anything else that you wish done before I leave?

Looking up from what seemed like daydreaming, the old man said, Where will you be off to?

No one ever cared if he were dead or alive, and he did not know how to respond. I never know, but I suppose I’ll walk back into the city. I usually can find food and shelter there.

The old man nodded before speaking. Do they have gardens there, and old men to feed you?

There was a thoughtful silence again, but this time both of their thoughts seemed to run together. An old man and a small, dirty orphan. Quite a pair indeed. Finally the old man spoke. I am getting old and tired, and I could use a young back and mind.

The boy smiled, and thought he could not remember ever smiling or feeling that strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew his life was about to change, and it had to be better than the streets. Are you asking me to stay?

Ah, I knew your mind was quick, said the old man. He had a dry wit that took the boy back a little. He didn’t know if the old man was joking or scolding him.

I will work hard, sir, and try not to get in the way.

The old man looked at the boy and said, So, it is sir now and not old man. That is a good beginning. It is to pass on what I know. Do you want to learn? Not waiting for an answer, the old man continued, First lesson is now. We will not refer to each other as ‘old man’ or ‘young one’.

I have no name, at least not a real one. On the street I am called ‘Dung.’ I really don’t care for it, but what I am called doesn’t matter.

Dung is good for my garden, said the old man. Maybe your night’s sleep will be good medicine for some of the weaker plants.

This brought an outright laugh from the boy. He could not remember ever laughing out loud. The old man makes me smile and laugh– maybe this is a good place for me, he thought.

You will call me Teacher Trung. By what name should I call you?

The boy pondered the question for some time. While he thought, the old man sat on the oval rug and thought also. They glanced at each other from time to time with puzzled expressions. I cannot find a name that I like or respect, said the boy.

Respect! What do you know of such a word? asked Trung.

I will not choose a name that offers no respect, said the boy as he sat taller now.

Yet you are called ‘Dung,’ a most disrespectful name.

Yes, teacher, but I didn’t choose that name. I don’t know who my parents are, but I am certain their name was not Dung. The boy smiled as he said this and they both laughed at the statement. Looking at Teacher Trung, the boy spoke. I would like you to give me a name, Teacher. The mood was very portentous and heavy as they watched each other. A child of no roots and an old man who wished to teach the hidden secrets of his ancestors.

At last Teacher Trung stood and looked down at the boy. I will give you the most respected of all names. You will be called Ki. You will say proudly, ‘My name is Ki.’

Two

Lau Trung sent Ki out in the early morning to sell some of the vegetables that they had picked. Ki was very happy with his new life. It had taken on a new meaning, one of purpose. As he ventured into the city, the quietness of the small village seemed like another time and place. Although only a short distance separated Teacher Trung’s house from the city limits, it seemed like Ki had entered another world. The ways of the streets snapped back into Ki’s mind.

As he traveled along the busy streets, hands were making Ki’s load lighter. Finally, Ki spotted a hand reaching for one of the vegetables in the cart. Ki quickly brought the stick he carried down on the unsuspecting fingers, which was met with a howl that made passersby turn to notice. Seeing that it was only a beggar, they went on their way.

You broke my fingers, Dung-eater! screamed the street thief.

My name is Ki, and you will call me by that name, announced Ki firmly. Ki noticed the thief holding his fingers near his groin. I am sure Teacher Trung would be upset to know his garden harvest was being stolen by the street people, said Ki. Ki did not expect what followed, which bewildered him.

The injured beggar rose slowly from his hunched position, and bowed meekly. Are you employed by Lau Trung? asked the thief.

He is my teacher, answered Ki. The man looked at Ki for a long moment. Ki did not know what would happen next, so he tightened his grip on the walking stick and brought it to waist level, but the man suddenly left.

Ki thought, I guess he wanted to keep his other hand so he could steal elsewhere. What happened next let Ki in on Teacher Trung’s standing with the people. Ki knew there was something different about the manner and assuredness of the old man, but it was a mystery to him. Shortly thereafter, four men stood before him with some vegetables – the others who had helped themselves earlier. They looked at Ki in a different way than in the past, and bowed before placing the vegetables back in the cart. Ki said nothing, but stared in bewilderment at these men.

Finally, one spoke. We did not know these vegetables belonged to Lau Trung. They stepped back slightly and bowed slowly.

Ki was astonished by this act. The street people would never do something like this, and yet it happened. The four men turned and slipped into the foot traffic of the city. Many thoughts entered Ki’s mind now. He thought that his teacher might be someone with a dark past. Maybe a leader in the ever-present black market. He didn’t know what to make of this whole unusual occurrence.

Ki pulled his cart along some of the busier areas of the city, hoping to sell even a small amount to impress his teacher. He managed to sell a few vegetables to some of the merchants, who were always looking to cut out the middle-man. Some were sold to passers-by who fondled each vegetable before buying it. Ki was doing pretty well on his first day as a businessman. He managed to sell most of the vegetables, and it wasn’t difficult. Ki was very pleased with himself, and the thought of the street thieves slowly vanished.

As Ki started his journey back to his new home, he noticed something out of the ordinary. He expected the usual looks and abuse that seemed to follow him everywhere. However, this morning, things were different. People glanced at him differently. Ki was greeted with slight bows of the head as he made his way out of the city limits. An old bent man tried his best to bow but was having a difficult time doing so. Ki dropped the handle of the old wooden cart and moved closer to the old man. There was no fear, no anger, just a large amount of curiosity.

Ki reached for the old man’s elbow to assist him in rising. Why do you bow to me, old man? asked Ki.

We have heard that Lau Trung will share his knowledge with a young street orphan. You have been pointed out to us, answered the old man.

I am grateful to be taken in by such a well-known citizen, but I do not know of him. Could you please tell me of him? asked Ki.

Three

With that, the old man backed himself off the path and eased down onto a fallen tree. Ki pulled the cart off the path and joined the old man. He sat very still and waited for the old man to get settled.

It was a few minutes before the old man spoke. He began, Lau Trung is a much-respected man. He knows many things about many things. Listen to him closely and you will learn. You are very fortunate to have such a teacher. No one has entered his home in many years, and to see him is very rare. As the old man spoke, he traced lines and circles in the ground with a stick, seemingly unaware of Ki’s presence. Ki did not intrude upon the old man’s silence.

The old man continued, "After the death of Lau Trung’s wife and son, he disappeared for some time. No one knew where he went, and he was feared dead. His family was killed by the government’s police for speaking up against their policies with the people. Many people listened to Lau Trung, and he had the attention of the political leaders. It is told that Lau Trung could no longer walk the streets for fear of being set upon by the police.

"It was after a fierce encounter one afternoon that Lau Trung became a hunted man. As I recall, Lau Trung was speaking to a group of listeners when he was set upon by the police. Many innocents were injured that day, but many of the uniformed attackers were injured by Lau Trung. He is very skillful in handling encounters such as this, which was not known by most people, and I imagine it was quite a surprise to the government enforcers as well.

Lau Trung was unlike anyone I had ever seen. His blows rained down on the attackers with great swiftness and power. Some of the attackers escaped, but most were left lying in the street. Lau Trung could not return to his home because he knew the police would look for him there. We hid him in our homes for many days until word reached us of the killing of his family. The old man moved the stick in wider circles now, and became silent once again. It seemed painful for the old man to speak of this.

Ki suddenly felt uneasy as he waited for the story to continue. He knew the old man was getting his thoughts in order before speaking again. The old man looked at Ki as he continued. "They destroyed his family as a punishment for his actions. The news spread quickly through the population. The politicians thought that Lau Trung would now be weakened and freely offer himself to the police. It was also a warning to the people, and Lau Trung was to be made an