Waxing Moon (11 page)

17

Mirae arrived at noon, when the monks were having their lunch in solemn silence in a small, dark room adjacent to the kitchen.

As she made her way down the freshly swept path toward the main hall, time frozen in the air, she could hear only her own uneven steps against gravel filled ground.

In the main hall, she sat against the far end wall and beheld the Buddha. Failing to conjure up the enlightened state she had experienced the most recent time there, she sighed, wrinkling her forehead. Her heart was a hollow place. The Buddha had no smile, the air was acrid, and all the objects in the room appeared deplorably worn out and filthy. There was a huge spider in the corner of the ceiling, suspended like a lonely acrobat. She pondered what she would like to be in her next life. Maybe a lady with many maids. Or perhaps the queen of China. No, a spider in a temple. Actually, she didn’t believe in future lives. Or past lives. Only stupid people did, she thought, and smiled bitterly.

Her legs felt wobbly from the long walk. Slowly, she slid down to the floor, making a Chinese character, “Big,” with her body, her arms stretched out horizontally, her legs slightly parted, and her eyes closed.

The dull and sorrowful sound of the bronze gong seeped in, filling the room. Afternoon meditation. A group of monks in their heavy drapes took careful steps to the altar room, above the stairs behind the main hall. She could imagine thirty or so bald heads in their huge robes, silently mounting the stairs. In a few moments, silence was restored. Mirae opened her eyes. The spider plunged and miraculously landed on an invisible place in midair. It knew exactly where it was going. Mirae sat up and surveyed the Buddha, whose glance, last time, had fixated on her from wherever she looked at him. Now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make eye contact with him. It didn’t matter. She no longer felt reverence for him.

What comforted her, though, was that she was anonymous there. That no one would pay attention to her was small serendipity. She hoped to stay there as long as she could. She suddenly felt curious to see what else was there in the temple. She knew only the main hall and the kitchen. She could explore the place without attracting anyone’s attention. She got up and slipped out and walked away from the main hall. She passed the enormous stone water tub which collected water from the hill through a bamboo pipe. A child novice arrived to fetch a pot of water. He glanced at Mirae as he walked back to the kitchen. Mirae kept walking without knowing where she was going. Passing the overgrown bamboo, she stepped into a clearing where she could see the surrounding mountains and the valley. The earth seemed to be on fire with fall colors. Her heart throbbed. She lingered there for a while, soaking in the scenery, until she heard the rumbling of a nearby voice. She turned and looked about to locate the source of the voice. Involuntarily, she walked toward the original part of the temple which had not been renovated since its construction centuries before.

Listening to the soft, soothing chanting from within, she sat on the stone steps and leaned her head against the wooden pillar. She had no doubt that it was the head monk inside. What was the question she had asked him? She couldn’t recall now. He had answered her with sincerity, as if she were a lady, an important person. He had treated her with respect. No one had ever treated her that way.

Down below the dirt path there was a small vegetable garden in which a few pumpkins were hiding under their leaves. She stared at them placidly, counting them. She paused, struck by an idea. She wanted to live there, among the monks. She wasn’t sure what she would do, but she wanted to live there. She could make pumpkin soup for the monks. She could garden, although she had no experience with gardening. She could do the laundry. But then, why should she wash the stinking laundry of the bald heads?

A drop of water hit her forehead. Immediately, large drops of rain began to fall, loudly, everywhere. Surprised, she looked about. The only place where she could stay dry was inside. She pulled off her shoes quickly and stood in front of the wood-frame door. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling self-conscious about her skin. At least the scabs were gone. Slowly, she opened the door and went in. The head monk, undisturbed, sat there, as if dead.

Closing the door, she stood, not knowing if she should sit. And if she did, where? She had expected the head monk to be surprised, or at least to acknowledge her, and to inquire after Mr. O’s health as a formality. But he didn’t even seem to have heard her come in. She wet her lips.

The room was small. Her breathing was the only sound. The head monk seemed to have drifted into a different world, where there was no entrance on her side, only an exit on his side. He was there but he was not there. She relaxed and immediately felt bored.

Inspecting his profile, she let the time pass. The best part of his face was his nose, and then she changed her mind. It was his lips. They were expressive even when they were still.

All of a sudden, she hiccupped. Covering her mouth and clenching her teeth, she tried unsuccessfully to stop hiccupping.

The head monk opened his eyes as if he had come alive from a dream. He said something, not to Mirae, but to the world he had just left.

Clearing her throat, Mirae began to speak, only to end with a loud hiccup.

The head monk rose, clasped his palms, and bowed obliquely to Mirae. She rose, too, and said, “I am sorry to have disturbed you.”

His eyelids slowly peeled back, baring his eyes. Mirae dropped her head because she didn’t want to surprise him with her disfigured skin. Heat suffused her cheeks. “I have been struck by chicken pox,” she confessed.

The head monk acknowledged this by dropping his eyelids briefly, and then he made his way out.

Mirae stepped in his path. She was not sure what she was doing. But she mumbled, “I need to talk to you, if that’s all right.”

He stopped and she sat down in front of his feet.

He sat, too, and looked at her, his eyes full of calm compassion.

“I would like to live here. I will do anything. I will cook and clean,” she said rapidly.

There was silence. The monk seemed not to have heard the urgency in her voice.

Staring at his face, lean and smooth, she could feel the age of what was holding his body, the core of him, the unreachable realm. A thousand years. She thought of the house snake who was supposed to live in between a roof and a ceiling, generation after generation, looking down on the life cycles of the inhabitants. Finally, one day when it shed its skin for the millionth time, it would become human and take over the house.

“What about your duties at Mr. O’s?” the head monk asked.

Mirae’s eyebrows shot up. She almost laughed. She had expected him to say something different, something profound. But what he had said was mundane, boring, stupid.

“I am not a slave. My post as a maid can be terminated. I am there because I have nowhere to go, but if you let me live and work here, I will be very happy,” Mirae said, imagining herself standing triumphantly in front of Mistress Yee, asking to be released forever.

“How old is this idea?” the head monk asked gently.

“I beg your pardon?” But as soon as she spoke, she understood his question. “I was sitting outside, listening to your chanting. It occurred to me that I would really like to come and live here,” she confessed, lowering her head.

The head monk smiled and said, “Do you remember the rain a few minutes ago?”

Mirae, puzzled, raised her head.

“It is gone now. If you go outside and look up at the sky, you wouldn’t know that it had just poured. What comes so suddenly often goes away in the same manner. Living in a temple is not difficult, but living away from the world is not easy. One must not make a quick decision, for the mind doesn’t always know what is best for one,” he said. He got up to leave the room.

Mirae was unhappy. He was so stubborn. She had meant what she said. It wasn’t one of her whims. Couldn’t he see her face? Everyone was whispering about her skin behind her back. How could she live on like that?

She pulled his robe and cried, “Please, Illustrious! I am torn inside. I am on the verge of going mad. I hate my life. I hate my mistress. I hate the way I look now!” She wanted to shake him to make him pity her and embrace her.

He stood there like a tree, planted deep, its roots gripping into the earth, strong and immovable. This wasn’t the first time that a woman had come to unburden herself to him. Surprisingly many women had opened up to him, with various agonizing problems, all overwhelming to them. Mistress Kim also had spoken her mind to him. He still remembered her clearly. She had come often, once a month, to meditate, to be away from her daily life. Her demeanor, unhesitating and precise, yet gentle and feminine, had struck him. When she sat in the meditation hall, his desire to go and catch a glimpse of her was intoxicating, but instead he fidgeted in the altar room and then took a long stroll to miss her departure. One day, he entered the meditation hall like a shadow, and she heard him come in. She didn’t turn around but spoke to him resolutely. She wanted to know if it was easy to live away from the world. He hesitated, his forehead perspiring with cold sweat, not knowing whether the question was directed to him or to herself. “I am glad you don’t answer me,” she said. “I will not trouble you again,” she added. And she had never come back. That was some years before. The last thing he had heard was that she had died while giving birth. He had burned incense and prayed for her afterlife for forty-nine days, as requested by Mr. O. But the thought of her didn’t leave him, even after the forty-ninth day. She would appear in his dreams. And he would say that it was not hard to live away from the world, now that she was no longer in it. He would wake up and lament his shortcomings.

The chilled air wafted in as the head monk opened the door. Mirae stood helplessly watching him leave. His feet slithered into his wet slippery shoes. She called out to him feebly, but he walked away vigorously, his wet feet squeaking. As soon as he arrived at the kitchen, he devoured a luscious and juicy persimmon. He stood in the dark kitchen and looked at the small rectangular window. The world outside was burning orange. Placing a few persimmon seeds into a vessel where the kitchen monk saved the seeds of fruits, he sighed regretfully. It wasn’t Mirae or Mistress Kim who disturbed him. It was his mind that was doing the disturbing. He left the kitchen and walked back to where he had left Mirae.

Only a missive in Mr. O’s handwriting awaited him. He sat on the stone steps and looked up at the sky with his eyes closed. The light penetrated his eyelids. He saw orange and black dots swarming in a vast ocean in his eyes, making him feel warm and buoyant. A pair of fluttering lips met his. He kept his eyes closed and his body still, lest everything fall apart like a puffball in the wind. But the lips didn’t linger. He opened his eyes and there was no one. All he saw were fat pumpkins haphazardly spread out in the vegetable garden, scrutinizing him with their invisible eyes.

He opened the letter from Mr. O, but it was actually from Mistress Yee, asking him to pray for blessings on her future baby and her health, and she also mentioned that she would come and see him soon.

18

Mirae came down the mountain hurriedly. Her legs wobbled by the time she reached the market place. She no longer thought about her visit at the temple or the head monk or how she begged him to allow her to live at the temple. Mistress Yee entered her mind. And Mirae realized she had no one she’d call a friend in the entire world.

A few shoppers and peddlers meandered. A blind man, dressed in rags, began to sing poignantly. A crowd of people gathered around him. Mirae joined them. She observed the daughter of the blind man, young and pretty and filthy.

From the opposite side of the crowd, a brawny man, probably a farm worker from his dark complexion, stared at Mirae intently. She blushed deeply, feeling dry in her throat. An old woman, drunk and cheerful, stepped out in the middle and danced to the tune of the blind man’s song. People clapped and cheered. The dark-skinned man on the opposite side was inching toward Mirae. In a moment he was not too far from her. The crowd momentarily applauded at the end of a song. The blind man took a bow, and his daughter picked up the coins from the cloth spread in front of her father. The crowd dispersed immediately, and the man lingered, his devouring gaze still fixed on Mirae. She suddenly turned around and walked toward the restaurant district. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner. She found herself in an alley. From behind he grabbed her shoulder. For a while they stood, facing each other with ravenous stares. Then, he pulled the knot at her bosom to untie her upper garment. She slapped the back of his hand lightly. He pressed against the mud wall. Her breathing became heavy, and his became a groan. He touched her face, and she was wondering what he was thinking. He smirked, and all of a sudden, Mirae was sure he despised her for her scarred skin, and she felt ashamed of her appearance. She pushed him away angrily. Unprepared, he flew and landed on the ground, slightly scraping one of his fingers. He grinned, licked the blood on his finger, and shot her a glance. His neck was flushed.

“Don’t come near me,” Mirae warned him.

“That’s not what you want to say,” he said, quietly.

“Stay away from me or else,” Mirae squealed, extending her arm like a shield.

“Whoa,” he said, and snorted. “You led me to this alley, and you let me untie your knot, and now you say, don’t come near me? That’s not going to make you a lady, is it?”

He was filthy, Mirae realized, and he stank too. She was disgusted. Quickly retying the knot of her upper garment, she tried to walk away from him. But he grabbed her skirt and chortled.

“Let go!” Mirae shrieked.

He scowled and pulled at her skirt, which came off easily. She stood in her long white underskirt, baffled.

“You see, you planned this. I know all about girls like you,” he said, grinning broadly.

“Give that back to me!”

“I will. Only after we settle our business here,” he said, looking obviously pleased to see her at a loss and worked up.

“I am going to scream. Give that back right now!” she demanded.

“Go ahead and shout. The crowd will gather and wonder how in the world you and I ended up here. I will tell them you led me here and offered your skirt. We will be bound together and dragged to the court. You know what the sentence is for a maid who seduces a decent man? You will be flogged in public, if not worse. If that’s what you want, go ahead and scream. Scream away!” He approached slowly.

Retreating, Mirae tripped over a stone and fell on her buttocks. She looked up at him fiercely with the instinct of a murderer. She picked up the stone, which was really too small to kill anyone with, and she got up, holding it tightly in her palm with all her strength.

“By the way, whatever happened to your skin?” he asked derisively, coming closer, burping up the fermented smell of rice wine.

Swallowing her saliva, Mirae hurled the stone at him, which landed on his forehead, producing a sound like an acorn falling on hard ground.

He growled and covered his forehead with his hand. At seeing his palm smeared with blood he narrowed his eyes. His upper lip twitched. Then he spat. “This is a bad day for you and me,” he declared, grabbing her by the wrist.

Mirae shrilled and kicked him in his groin. One of her shoes slipped off and flew away. He grabbed between his legs, groaning. She ran as fast as she could. It was dusk and there was no one in the market place.

The earth was restless, Mirae could feel, as she heard the rustling of the tall grass by the field under the immense and darkening sky. She made her way down the steps that led to the creek and sat on the flat rock where women beat their laundry. She dipped her hands into the water and splashed it on her burning face. It had been a long day. She cleaned her neck and her shoulders and wet her hair to keep it down. A large lump was settling in her chest, and it wasn’t a very good feeling. Cursing the gods, she got up and walked up the steps. She realized how late it was. Mistress Yee might slap her, but then she was going to tell her that she had gotten lost, and the rain had come which had prevented her from descending the mountain promptly. She could make up some other stories, which would let Mistress Yee know that she had nearly lost her life carrying out Mistress Yee’s errand.

A figure drew near her when she got up to the grassy area. It was a man, tall, broad-shouldered, and walking stealthily.

“Who’s there?” she uttered, stopping, holding her breath.

It was Min, the dumb boy. Mirae sighed with relief and said, “You frightened me! Should have said something.” Then she remembered that he was mute. She laughed hysterically. It was just the dumb boy. There was nothing to fear.

Min stood there, staring at her, unmoved.

“Doesn’t she ever laugh at you like this? Nani, I mean. How are you?”

She observed his shoulders, and his log-like arms. Until then, she had never really noticed him, even though they had lived in the same household serving the same master. He spat and motioned with his hand that Mirae should hurry home.

“Did you come looking for me?” she asked, taking a confident step toward him. His whole body exuded a pungent odor of alcohol. Mirae frowned, holding her nose with one hand and fanning with the other in an exaggerated manner. She laughed ridiculously.

Min lowered his head, as if to examine his straw shoes. His large toe on the right side was peeking out. It wiggled in an attempt to go back inside. Abruptly, he turned around and walked toward the house where they both belonged.

Mirae sprinted after him, whispering something to herself, her white teeth glinting. When she caught up with him, she grabbed his shirt from behind and pulled him toward her. Unexpectedly, he fell backward and landed on the grass, and he didn’t move. Mirae tapped him on his side with her foot to see if he was conscious. He groaned. She collapsed next to him and lay down. He didn’t move. She sprang up suddenly and complained that the ground was cold. She sat on him like a horseback rider and boldly touched his chin. He felt hard. She giggled. She examined his face, feeling amused. Nani would kill her if she found out about this, she thought. She giggled again. Just because he couldn’t talk it didn’t mean that
she
needed to be silent. “Hey, dumbo,” she said, and then she didn’t know what else to say. How did one talk with a man who couldn’t talk? She tittered. Impulsively, she untied his shirt, laughing uncontrollably. She didn’t know what she was really trying to do. She fell on his chest, burying her head under his chin, still laughing. He shook her and grabbed her buttocks in his hands. Sitting on top of him, she rocked like a little boat in a tempest, docked between piers. Clutching at his shoulders, she looked up at the sky, where millions of gems sparkled. The sight was fantastically entrancing. All of a sudden the stars were falling and then the field in front of her shimmered in wet silvery sequins.

Min heaved and groaned like an animal in pain. Mirae looked down and saw his face as if for the first time. Then she laughed like a mad woman and he pushed her aside and got up. He walked away without looking back. Mirae grabbed her last shoe and threw it at him, but he had already walked too far. She watched her legs, as if they weren’t part of her own body. Ignoring the dripping blood on her thighs, she stood up, fixing her clothes roughly and straightening her hair. Then she realized she had cried; her cheeks were wet. She sat again on the grass and thought about what in the world she had just done. She was a little ashamed because it was Min the dumb boy she had shared this experience with. He wouldn’t be able to talk about it. It made her feel slightly better. She got up and walked home.