Petals from the Sky (26 page)

“Oh, come on, Shifu, it’s not really an animal. No one from Hong Kong will see us here. Relax.”

“All right then,” she said, noisily biting off the monkey’s head.

Enlightened to Emptiness and I continued to lick and wander, following the flow of the crowd. My friend looked completely enthralled by the diversity and animation of the market. Her large eyes took in everything. Her pink lips let out excited oohs and aahs. So young and energetic, she really should have had some fun in the secular world before entering the nunnery. I wondered what made her become a nun at such a young age and whether she ever felt regret. Had she ever tasted the flavor of being with a man she loved?

Memories arose in my mind of strolling with Michael in the night market in Hong Kong. I remembered his hand reaching out to mine, his asking me to take him to see a Chinese opera with a happy ending, my teasing him about how I liked dogs, especially on a plate….

Then, we had been two strangers brought together by the fire. Now we were troubled lovers ten thousand miles apart.

“Miss Du—” Enlightened to Emptiness’s high-pitched voice awakened me from my reveries. “Let’s take a look here.”

We were now in front of a book stall crowded with several young people and teenagers. My friend immediately plunged into flipping through pages of old books and movie magazines as well as cheaply printed books on astrology, physiognomy, palmistry, and cooking.

As I was about to suggest that we leave, I found the young novice’s eyes shining bright and her lips moving soundlessly while she seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself.

I poked my head over her shoulder. “Shifu, what are you reading?”

Blushing, she tried to hide the book, but then handed it to me.

It was a martial arts romance comic book.

The blush still lingered on the young nun’s face. “I’ve never read anything like this before.”

“You like it?”

“Hmmm…sort of, but…I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Yi Kong Shifu.”

Her face beamed. “Yes, I do.”

The stall owner leaned forward. “Miss, I have other things very juicy. You want to take a look?”

Fearing that he might not have the discretion not to show something indecent to a nun, I tugged at my friend’s sleeve, whispering, “Shifu, let’s go.”

31

Great Protector of the Dharma

B
ack in my room in Circular Reflection Monastery, I found two letters on the desk. One was from the United States and the other from Hong Kong. So even before opening them, I’d already guessed the senders: Michael and my mother. Michael’s had been sent a week earlier.

I felt a bit guilty that I first opened the one from the States.

Dear Meng Ning,

So far you haven’t called me. I know you must be very busy, but please don’t forget about me.

Recently my heavy workload really seems to be getting to me. In the last two weeks, I flew to attend meetings in three different states: Arizona, Florida, and Texas—all boring places. Of course, one of the reasons I felt despairing was because you were not with me. Otherwise I’d have enjoyed the trips, no matter how tedious the meetings.

How’s your work in Anyue going? Please take very good care of yourself in such a remote place. Be sure to drink only bottled water. Don’t even brush your teeth with tap water. Also stay away from local doctors and hospitals.

Since I haven’t gotten a letter from you and you don’t have a phone, of course I wonder how you are. I really miss you and worry about you. Maybe you have written—mail from China takes a long time to reach the U.S. Or maybe you tried to call and it never got through. I know the connections from China to the States are horrible.

Please call me collect and write to me.

I love you.

Michael

PS. When you’re appreciating the beautiful landscapes and sculptures in Anyue, don’t forget to think of me.

After I’d finished reading, I pressed the letter to my chest and let out a sigh. The serenity I’d felt being tucked away in a remote part of China crumbled at the thought of Michael, far away in New York, lonely without me.

Next I ripped open the other envelope, slipped out the letter, and saw my mother’s large characters.

My beautiful daughter,

How’s your trip? I hope everything’s fine. But still, be very careful in China and don’t trust anyone there, nor any
gweilo
in America, not even this Mic Ko. Although he’s now your fiancé, he’s still a
gweilo
after all!

Your grandmother once told me that in all foreign devils’ eyes, the most desirable woman is a combination of a good cook in the kitchen, a polished hostess in the living room, a great fuck in bed (excuse the vulgarity). What exploitations! So now I’m glad that I’ve never taught you how to cook, that we’ve been too poor to own a house with a big, elegant living room for you to play hostess, that—as for the bed, all I can remind you is,
don’t forget the cup of water!
You must think your mother is crazy, for what couple would really put that between them in bed, let alone now that you’re engaged? But you better not slight an old woman’s wisdom, like I did when your father and I were very young (he nineteen and I nine) on a wonderful evening in May!

I’m fine in Hong Kong. But Hong Kong is not fine. Although you’ve never shown any interest in either politics or economics, I’m sure you must have heard about the stock market crash. Companies closed, workers fired, people committing suicide. One manager plunged his big BMW into the sea just outside City Hall. Every day, banks are swarming with people desperately trying to exchange Hong Kong money for U.S. dollars. The black market skyrocketed as high as $12 Hong Kong for $1 U.S. Can you believe that?

Enclosed is an article in the newspaper I just happened to read and I think it might interest you. Are you having such a good time thinking about this
gweilo
American Mic Ko that you forget about your own Chinese mother?

Worriedly yours,

Mother

PS. One more thing. If you really love this Mic Ko, go ahead and marry him quick, because Hong Kong is really doing very badly. Women can starve by marrying a doctor of philosophy, but never a Western doctor of medicine!

2nd PS. I almost forgot to tell you that your Mic Ko called many times and I only understood half of his English. Sounded like he was complaining about you not calling or writing to him. Having had enough of his nagging, I told him everything—when you’ll be back in Chengdu and the name of your hotel.

3rd PS. Do you not like this Mic Ko anymore? Or have you met someone better than him, like a Chinese Western doctor?

I muttered to myself, “Mother! Why did you give my schedule to Michael? I went to China to be left alone!”

Then my gaze fell on the newspaper clipping:

BIG SPONSOR DISAPPEARS, GOLDEN LOTUS TEMPLE
IN FINANCIAL TROUBLE

Au Yeung Wei, alias Sunny Au, Hong Kong billionaire and president of The Sun Real Estate Corporation, has not been seen since he left his luxury house in Clear Water Bay last Wednesday morning. A day before his disappearance, his company filed for bankruptcy. It was rumored that he is now in Europe, where he is said to have deposits of more than three hundred million U.S. dollars.
Among the many organizations that will suffer from Au’s disappearance is Golden Lotus Temple, of which, according to sources, he is the biggest supporter. It is reputed that he has, since 1982, donated over twenty-five million Hong Kong dollars to the temple after he had learned about its Golden Body. It is also reputed that he was so impressed by the imperishability of the Golden Body that he believed it to be his guardian goddess, not only for this life, but also for his future ones. He wanted the donations kept secret so he could be the sole donor and have all the merit for himself.
With his disappearance and his company’s filing for bankruptcy, the construction and expansion of the Golden Lotus Temple have also stopped. The chief nun, the Venerable Yi Kong, is still in Xian on a trip to recruit painters for the decoration of the Temple’s Hall of Grand Heroic Treasures, and is not available for comment.

As I read the article, I felt like a stone was pressing on my chest. Was it possible that Yi Kong, who always gave me the impression that she disliked and distrusted men, got her main support for her temple from a vulgar businessman? And had this Sunny Au become the main sponsor, or
hufa
—great protector of the Dharma—only because he thought the Golden Body was his guardian goddess?

Suddenly a thought hit me hard. Could the vulgar man I’d seen dragging his big bottom into Yi Kong’s office be Sunny Au?

Maybe the nuns’ world was much more complicated than I’d thought, or would want to admit. I remembered during our quarrel, Michael had said about Yi Kong:

You really believe she got all her donations to build a school, an orphanage, a nursing home, and to reconstruct the whole nunnery only from women?

Then:

If she has no idea what it’s like to be loved by a man, then how can she be so sure that that kind of love is illusory?

Feeling a headache coming, I reached out to turn off the bedside lamp, then plopped down on the bed. I flipped like a fish in a frying pan, but, exhausted as I was, sleep did not come for a long time.

The next day, since Enlightened to Emptiness would be going back to Hong Kong in the afternoon and I to Chengdu to sightsee, maybe do some research in the Sichuan museum, I invited her to have tea in my room. We took the tea bag provided by the temple and brewed ourselves tea with water from the temple thermos. Then we sipped the fragrant tea while chatting about this and that.

After a while, my friend suddenly asked, “Miss Du, your fiancé—he must be a very nice person, isn’t he?”

Although I’d told her briefly about Michael, I was still taken aback by this question from a nun. “Yes, he’s a very nice person, and very nice to me.”

“What does he do?”

“He’s a doctor.”

“Wow, a doctor, how nice.” She stared at me curiously. “What kind?”

“Neurologist.”

“You mean he fixes people’s brains?”

I chuckled and nodded. “I don’t know much about medicine, so I guess so.”

“Wow, he must be very smart to be in this specialty.”

“I think so.”

“Wow, Miss Du”—her large eyes shone intently—“you’re so lucky.”

A pause. Then I asked, “Shifu, you mind if I ask you something personal?”

She shrugged. “No, I have no secrets.”

“How old were you when you became a nun?”

Her answer came as a surprise. “I was raised in Golden Lotus Temple.”

“Were you? Then how come I’ve never seen you there?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Really? I have no memory—when?”

“One time I came into the library when you and Yi Kong Shifu were looking at some paintings. Then Shifu introduced me to you.”

“She did?”

“Yes. She said, ‘Miss Du, meet our Little Cookie.’”

Now I vaguely remembered that plump little girl who’d loved cookies and who’d often peeked in the library to stare at Yi Kong and me. “Oh, I can’t believe it—” I stared at the very slim young woman in front of me. “So you’re Little Cookie!”

She nodded and smiled shyly.

I asked, “Oh…but you weren’t an orphan, were you?”

“No. But my parents had seven kids, all boys except me. My father died young, my mother was always sick, and I was very naughty. So my grandmother, who decided everything in the family, made up her mind one day that I should be sent to live in a temple. She said this would help not only to discipline me, but also cast away bad luck, not to mention that it’d accumulate merit for the whole family.”

“But, Shifu”—I scrutinized her—“I don’t see any mischief in you, not at all.”

“But that was what my grandmother thought.”

“For example?”

“I once rubbed our cat’s fur backward and pinched his tail.”

I laughed.

My friend continued: “Another time I forgot to feed our pigeon so it died, its insides eaten away by mice, leaving a hollow shell. When my grandmother saw the dried-up bird, she hit me and screamed, ‘Bad luck, a big black hole!’”

We laughed at this, then I asked, “Did your mother miss you?”

“Oh yes, she did, very much. When I was small, she visited me in the temple all the time, sometimes even stayed with me overnight without letting the nuns know. Then two years ago when I was fifteen, with my mother’s consent, they shaved my head to become a nun.”

After she’d finished her story, we remained silent. Then a question slipped out of my lips before I could stop myself. “Shifu, did you ever have a boyfriend?”

“Of course not!”

I studied her smooth skin, oval face, and large, curious eyes. “Do you ever…regret that?”

She seemed lost for an answer.

“I’m sorry, Shifu. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked such a secular question.”

“It’s all right. You’re a nice person, Miss Du. I don’t mind.” She paused. “Well, I suppose my answer is, I…I…have no idea.”

That made sense.

“Hmmm, maybe I…” She bit her lip. “I really don’t know.” Then she added, her face flushed like a tomato, “Oh heavens, Yi Kong Shifu hoped I’d persuade you to take refuge, and now see how I failed!”

Did she? But knowing Yi Kong’s unyielding personality, I shouldn’t be surprised. Now I suddenly realized that letting me see the Golden Body and sending me here were to lure me back to the empty gate! She even wanted me to donate Michael’s engagement ring to her temple!

Although she’d never imposed, Yi Kong’s wish that I would be a nun in her temple was as clear as the twelve scars atop her bald head. As a nun she couldn’t openly object to my falling in love and getting married, yet even here, over eight hundred miles from the Golden Lotus Temple, I could feel her pull, persistent as ever, toward the empty gate. She would think of it as compassion; she didn’t want me to fall into the burning hell of human infatuation.

That’s why “form is emptiness” was Yi Kong’s favorite quote from the Heart Sutra. For, she taught, human passion, like all other forms on earth, will eventually turn into emptiness. When we see that all human suffering is caused by the impermanence of form, we are led to develop compassion. And for her, compassion was the most important thing in life—not shallow passion, like romantic love.

Maybe we can cultivate emptiness, but still live in the world of form. Maybe even have a boyfriend. Or maybe, after all, I didn’t have to be a nun
to be a nun
.

Now I looked at Enlightened to Emptiness and remembered what it was like to be with Michael, to be kissed by him, to feel his warmth when I lay next to him in bed. Yes, no matter how our future would turn out to be, it’s fortunate to have, at least once, a man in your life.

Then I ventured another question. “Shifu, do you like being a nun?”

“Yes, this is the only life I know.” She smiled, then added, “But sometimes I also feel fed up with all the rules.”

“Such as?”

She started to recite quickly. “We can’t eat food in overly large mouthfuls. We shouldn’t open our mouths when the morsel has not arrived. We can’t eat food making the
susasu, thutyut,
and
phuphphuph
sound.”

When I started to laugh again, she said, “Wait, Miss Du, I haven’t finished. We, not being ill, will not make excrement, urine, phlegm, or snot on green grass.”

Then we collapsed in laughter.