Petals from the Sky (29 page)

35

The Hospital

F
irst thing next morning, I took a taxi to see Michael in the hospital. The large establishment was shabby, crowded, and stank of medicine. Beds were everywhere, not only in the wards but even along the corridors. Careful not to step on an outstretched arm or leg, I walked to the nurse’s station and asked a skinny, bespectacled nurse the whereabouts of Michael.

“Bed number fifty-nine,” she said after flipping through a few pages of the thick registration book; then she scrutinized me for long moments. “You’re his girlfriend?”

I nodded.

“Then tell your boyfriend to be more cooperative with the doctors.”

“What did he do?”

She didn’t really answer my question. “Just tell him to show some respect for the second largest hospital in Chengdu.”

Michael was asleep despite the noise around him. His neighbors, a fortyish man and an old woman, were engaged in a loud conversation. I went up to his bed, put down a plastic bag of fruit I’d bought at a stall in front of the hospital, then quietly pulled out a chair and sat down beside him.

While my eyes were caressing Michael’s face, I was conscious of the curious glances cast in our direction.

Michael’s head was bandaged and his face and chest, exposed above the white bed sheet, looked as gaunt as a chiseled bust. I watched the slight quivering of his lashes and the soft rise and fall of his chest. Seeing his masculine body now weakened almost like a child’s, tears stung my eyes and rolled down my cheeks.

I’d been hearing all my life how the Buddha taught that life is uncertain. But it was different to see Michael, whom I’d blamed for always being in control of everything, now looking so fragile. Had it been just a little different, Michael would be as dead as Professor Fulton. Just as he lost his professor, I could lose him. As I was thinking, Master Detached Dust’s husky voice suddenly rang loud and clear in my ear.

Eat while it’s still hot.

Don’t wait till it gets cool!

Had the old, wrinkled sage’s words been intended as a Zen lesson for me?

Then a poem emerged in my mind:

Enjoy life to the full while you still can, never let the empty wine glass face the solitary moon.

But how to enjoy it to the full? It seems so clear in poems, but not in my life. Then I remembered Michael’s poem, “
All these thirty-eight years, all empty now, can the rest be full?”

I wiped my tears, then took off my Guan Yin pendant to hold it in my hand and, just when I was about to recite the Heart Sutra to protect Michael, the middle-aged man, who’d been watching me as had the old woman, threw me a question. “Miss, this
laowai
your friend?”

I nodded.

He grinned insinuatingly. “Your boyfriend?”

I nodded again, feeling annoyed.

Now the old woman chimed in: “Miss, you’re lucky to have a
laowai
boyfriend. Soon emigrate to America, huh?”

I really didn’t know how to reply, so I returned a wry smile.

She went on. “Lucky you, miss, your boyfriend’s handsome, too.”

“Thanks,” I muttered.
Please leave me alone!

Now it was the man’s turn. “But he’s not well-behaved. He refused to take medicine last night.”

“Oh, did he?”

“Yes. They were going to give him an injection, but he wouldn’t let them.”

I perked up my ears. “Then what happened?”

The old woman said, her cloudy eyes animated, “Your boyfriend had a big argument with the doctors and the hospital staff.”

“What did they argue about?”

“I don’t know.” Old Woman cast a glance at her comrade. “We only understand the doctors; don’t understand English.”

The man’s eyes brightened. “Finally the head doctor himself came, and tried to persuade your friend, but he screamed at the doctor.” He looked at me to see my reaction, then went on. “Head Doctor Zhou was very mad. Just stalked out. Assistant doctor upset, too. Said,
‘Hai, laowai
always means headache.’”

Now Old Woman looked at me and asked eagerly, “My daughter always wants to go to America—can your boyfriend give her English lessons?”

In order not to be rude, I said, “I don’t know; you better ask him yourself.”

“Good. Then you ask him for me when he wakes up.”

Now the man cast his comrade a chiding glance. “Old Mother, I think we should stop bothering this young miss.”

“All right, all right, I’ll shut up.” Pouting, she lay back on the bed, pulled up her blanket, and closed her eyes. Feigning sleep, I supposed.

The man unfolded his newspaper and began to read.

I took out the small book with the Heart Sutra that Yi Kong had given me and began to read it softly.

I’d been reciting and asking Guan Yin to grant Michael a quick recovery for I didn’t know how long, when I heard a weak, “Meng Ning.”

“Michael?” I put down my Guan Yin and the sutra on the bed.

Forehead wet with perspiration, Michael tried to sit up.

I grasped his arm. “Michael, let me help you.”

He looked at me. “Meng Ning?”

“Yes, Michael.” I touched his face and felt the bone. His cheeks were so sunken that it seemed to me his eyes were the only feature left on his face.

“How do you feel? How’s your head?” My heart sank when I suddenly noticed his bandaged leg. “What about your leg?”

“I had a terrible headache last night, but it’s not as bad now. My ankle is twisted.” Then he pulled me close, wincing as he moved his arm.

“I was told you had a fight with the doctors.”

“Not exactly a fight. I was just so frustrated that they wanted to give me an injection I didn’t need. So maybe I raised my voice a little.”

A silence, then I touched his cheek.

“When I woke up this morning, they served me some kind of meat porridge, so I refused to eat. Then when I asked for something vegetarian, no one understood me; they thought I was just being difficult. I felt completely helpless and scared. I’m a total stranger here and no one seems to care about me.”

“But I’m here with you now, Michael, so you’ll be all right.”

He went on as if talking to himself. “I remembered how my parents died when I was young, leaving me all by myself. Meng Ning”—he put my hand to his lips—“the thought that I might lose you was so unbearable….”

“But, Michael, I’m here and I’m all right!” I squeezed his large hand, which now seemed so vulnerable in mine. Then I felt something shift in my mind, something that perhaps I’d sensed but pushed out. I was no more the little girl protected and pampered in Golden Lotus Temple, but had to be a strong woman to help Michael recover in a place where he could not even speak to anyone but me. Overnight, our roles seemed reversed—now I was his guardian goddess, and he the child thrust under my protection.

One tear fell from the corner of Michael’s eye and spilled onto the sutra.

“Damn,” he groaned, picking up the book.

“It’s all right, Michael.” I took the book from him and examined it. The tear smeared right at the phrase “reflecting that all the five elements are but emptiness, transcending all sufferings.” I showed it to him. “See, Guan Yin says we’ll transcend all sufferings.”

“I hope so,” Michael said, looking lost in thought.

“I’m sure we will.”

For the first time that day he smiled and the dingy hospital room seemed brighter.

At that moment, I felt overwhelmed with love for him. Suddenly I was almost glad about the car accident. I finally saw a place in his life—for Michael was not totally self-sufficient as I’d thought. Maybe nobody is. Even Yi Kong needed Sunny Au, the fat, vulgar protector of the Dharma. While I looked down at his now almost boyish face, the fortune-teller’s words popped into my mind:

Inside you there’s a spring of young
yin
energy that you should put to good use by helping your friend…. He not only needs you, he needs the
woman
in you, not the little girl.

Just then Old Mother poked her head toward us and asked, “Miss, can you now ask your boyfriend if he can teach my daughter English?”

Her comrade pulled her back and chided her. “Old Mother, stop your nonsense and let this miss talk with her boyfriend.”

“My fiancé.” This time I corrected him.

Although Michael didn’t understand Chinese and had been in a rotten mood, he nevertheless smiled warmly at the two and said, “It’s all right.”

Old Mother threw another unexpected, irrelevant question. “Miss, you find everything you need?”

There was some silence before I said, softly, “Yes, and more.”

36

The Missing Temple

B
efore we left for Hong Kong, Michael and I decided to visit Master Detached Dust and Eternal Brightness in their hidden temple once more.

We took a taxi and went by the place where we thought we’d first seen it. But it wasn’t there. In one place, thinking we could see a corner of the old temple through a gap in the dense bamboo, we asked our driver to stop. Yet when we got out, to our disappointment, there was no sign of the path we had taken before. Unwilling to give up, we went back to the hospital to try to find our taxi driver. But he was not there. When we asked the porter at the hospital, he told us, “He left and we don’t know where he is. Anyway, even if you could find him it’s still no use, because I’m sure his license is already suspended because of the accident. Maybe they put him in jail.”

PART FOUR

37

Bad Karma

A
fter a few more days’ rest in Hong Kong, Michael felt well enough to go back to the States. Before he left, we’d talked about our wedding plans. Now I wondered why I had ever thought of breaking the engagement and leaving him!

Suddenly there were all kinds of things to do. I knew I would have to ask Yi Kong to officiate at our Buddhist marriage ceremony, but in the meantime I occupied myself making arrangements: printing of invitation cards, trying on bridal dresses, ordering the banquet at a vegetarian restaurant. I was also desperate to see Dai Nam. Once back in Hong Kong, guilt welled up in me that my own karmic entanglements had kept me from doing much to comfort her after her attempted suicide.

One morning I took the MTR to Mong Kok, and from there changed to the train out to Golden Lotus Temple. I hurried past the stone garden and headed straight to Dai Nam’s dormitory. To my surprise, I found her room empty. Alarmed, I half ran to the temple’s new office compound to look for Enlightened to Emptiness. The young novice was arranging photographs of Guan Yin paintings on the desk. After we’d exchanged greetings and pleasantries, I plunged in and asked her about Dai Nam.

“The week after I came back from Chengdu, Wonderful Countenance Shifu left for China.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Nothing special. Shifu refuses to talk.” She frowned. “Shifu told us—in writing, I mean—that she wanted to go back to China to practice closed-door meditation.”

“Did she say exactly where she was going?”

“No, you know Shifu…but don’t worry, Miss Du. I’m sure she’ll turn up again someday.” Then she pointed to a photograph depicting a white-robed Guan Yin leaning on a rock by the river and asked, “You like this? This is Yi Kong Shifu’s favorite Guan Yin painting. She’s now in Suzhou. She said she’d see you later.”

I was not really listening and barely glanced at the picture. My heart started to pound. I hoped Dai Nam was not trying to imitate the now mummified Revealing Mystery, who hadn’t spoken, eaten, nor slept for her last fifteen years.

I thanked Enlightened to Emptiness, quickly left the office, and strolled to the stone garden. To relax, I inhaled the smell of the lush vegetation, appreciated the smoothly shaped stones, and listened to the poetic murmuring of the fountain. Then I realized I was not alone in the garden. The old woman, Chan Lan—Dai Nam’s great-aunt—was sitting on my favorite carp-viewing bench. My heart raced. Maybe she knew where Dai Nam was. I hurried to sit down by her side. A trail of bubbles spread out along the water as a fat carp surfaced and flapped its tail as if to greet me.

“
Ah-po,
how are you today? Why aren’t you practicing
qigong?”
Energy exercise.

Chan Lan smiled her toothless smile. “Just finished.” She leaned close to stare at me. “Are you the pretty, unmarried girl?”

“I’m unmarried, but…I don’t think I’m—” I patted her hand. “You have an excellent memory,
Ah-po
.”

She shook her head. “No good now, used to be excellent, can remember my grand-niece’s birthday, the date she arrived in Hong Kong, the date I paid one thousand dollars to buy her passport…” She stopped.

I seized the chance to ask, “You mean Dai Nam? How is she? Where is she now?”

“No good. Doesn’t talk and went to China.”

“Because she wants to practice meditation on the mountain?”

“No.” Chan Lan chuckled. “She went back to see her boyfriend.”

This was not what I had expected to hear.

“
Ah-po,
I think you’re mistaken, for she doesn’t have a boyfriend. She’s a nun!”

Chan Lan nodded emphatically, like a child trying to prove her innocence when accused of lying. “She does; he died long time.”

I muttered to myself, “Dai Nam went to China to see her dead boyfriend?”

Chan Lan turned to stare at the fountain, her gaze becoming abstract. I forced myself to keep quiet and wait for her to speak again. Only the sound of water and an occasional croaking of a frog interrupted our silence.

“She was nineteen, the boy much younger, only fifteen. Poor couple! No good!” Her voice sounded as shrill and excited as a five-year-old’s.

I asked softly, fearing that if I acted too eager I’d scare her out of talking, “I’m so sorry…how…did this happen?”

Chan Lan looked at me; her eyes flickered mischievously. “You don’t know?”

“No, I don’t. Please tell me. I’m her friend from Paris.”

“Ah, Ba Li, yes, of course, my niece hates Ba Li. She said no good, too cold, no friend, no money, only arthritis—”

“But,
Ah-po,
you were telling me about Dai Nam’s boyfriend.”

Chan Lan’s shrill laughter pierced through the humid air. “Ah, yes. See, my memory no good now. I used to remember my niece’s birthday, my daughter’s death day, my—”

“Ah-po,
Dai Nam’s boyfriend, how did he die?”

“Ah, sad, very sad.” Chan Lan scratched her scanty white hair with her clawlike fingers. Then she hid her mouth with her hand and whispered into my ear, “Drowned.”

My heart flipped, then suddenly something connected. “Was he drowned while swimming with Dai Nam to Hong Kong?”

“Yes, yes, miss, you’re so smart.” Chan Lan turned to look at me directly. “Swam seven times together and failed, succeeded at the eighth.”

I was confused again. Was that boyfriend of Dai Nam’s dead or alive?

“But,
Ah-po,
didn’t you just tell me that he was drowned?”

Again she nodded emphatically. “Yes, but body arrived.”

“You mean…” I felt a small explosion inside me as I spat out, “Dai Nam carried his body all the way to Hong Kong?”

“Yes, strong girl, eh?” Chan Lan touched my arm with her bony claws. “Carried body and swam for many miles.” She leaned close to whisper into my ear, “Not only that, only half body arrived.”

“How come?”

“Other half eaten by sharks. Bad sharks!”

My eyes stung. “Then how come the sharks didn’t attack her?”

“Dai Nam lost him midway. Swam back for him but only half was left. Half still better than nothing, right, miss? So Dai Nam carried the shark’s leftover dinner to Hong Kong. Hard trip, eh? But she had to because she’d made a promise.”

“What promise?”

Chan Lan chuckled, then covered her mouth. “Miss, do I have bad breath?”

“No,
Ah-po,
you’re fine. Please tell me what promise Dai Nam made to her boyfriend.”

Something like a giggle wheezed from the space between her few teeth. “Ah, you don’t know?”

Now I was starting to think of throwing this centenarian to the sharks. But then she spoke in time to relieve my frustration. “They took an oath that they’d swim together to Hong Kong. If one died, the living one would still carry the other to freedom.” Suddenly Chan Lan looked sad. “Ah, shouldn’t have sworn like this—bad luck—so it did happen!”

I patted her hand. “But it’s all over now,
Ah-po
.”

“Hai!”
Chan Lan sighed. “If the man hadn’t died, my niece wouldn’t have become a nun.”

Of course. Then Dai Nam would have gotten married and had children, many many.

“Is that why she became a nun?”

“You bet. She said very painful. She told me if she is a nun, she won’t attach.” Chan Lan studied me for a few seconds. “Miss, you’re smart; do you think they should make that promise?”

I didn’t respond. I was immersed in my own thoughts. Now all the puzzles about Dai Nam seemed to be falling into place. The strenuous cultivation of nonattachment. The agitation behind her seemingly emotionless face. The attractiveness hidden under her plain, oversized clothes and thick glasses. The cold demeanor to seal in her mental turmoil. Burning off her fingers to show nonattachment. Forcing open her third eye to be able to see ghosts—perhaps her boyfriend’s ghost. Her black-painted room. Her awkward squatting poses. Even her suicide attempt was not because she’d broken her vow by eating the wrong cake, but because she was still suffering.

Only at the moment she had pushed herself to the threshold of death was she relieved of her pain.

Buddhists say “to die in order to live.” Suddenly I felt a swell of great compassion for my friend, together with admiration for her love and courage.

I turned back to Chan Lan. “
Ah-po,
since Dai Nam’s boyfriend is dead, how can she go to see him?”

“Yes, yes, of course she can!” Chan Lan nodded her head like a pestle hitting on a mortar. “Boyfriend’s grave overgrown with weeds. She went back to tend to it. Gone—three years’ mourning. Also, my nephew—her father—died.”

Now I understood. Chan Lan must have confused Dai Nam’s departure for China now, with her departure a few years ago.

I put one of Chan Lan’s stray hairs into place. “Dai Nam must have loved her boyfriend very dearly.”

Chan Lan spoke again in her shrill, girlish voice. “Yes, yes. She told me the only man good and bad to her in China.”

“What do you mean, good and
bad?
”

“Ah, you don’t know?” Chan Lan’s eyes twinkled. “He ruined her face when he was a kid; then he repaid his bad karma by being nice to her.” She made a face. “But then he was drowned, so still too much bad karma unpaid!”

I felt a jolt inside. So Dai Nam’s lover was the little boy who’d slashed her face for no reason and left her with the big scar?

Right then a nun approached us, smiling generously and beginning to tease her. “Ah, Chan Lan, you’re gossiping again. Don’t you know it’s time for lunch? The other
ah-pos
are all waiting for you.” The nun turned to me, still smiling. “Sorry, miss, it’s time for lunch; maybe you can come back and talk to her later?”

As the nun helped Chan Lan to leave, I put my hands together and bowed slightly to both of them.

Chan Lan waved her bony hand, chuckling. “Miss, get married soon and have children, many many.” When she was a few steps away, she turned back. “When you grow old, it’s still better than talking to the four bare walls!”

The nun chided her affectionately. “
Ai-ya!
Chan Lan, stop lecturing others all the time!”

Watching the nun’s and Chan Lan’s receding backs, I felt tears roll down my cheeks. Michael’s image emerged clearly in my mind. Again the clouds vanished and the full moon shone, silently reminding me that life is fragile and true love hard to find.

I swore that I would never let go of Let-Go-and-Be-Carefree.