Waxing Moon (5 page)

6

Min lingered near the entrance while Nani presented a piece of paper wrapped in a cloth to Mrs. Wang. It was the name for Mr. O’s daughter.

Mrs. Wang unfolded the paper and placed it on the wooden bench. She looked at it for a moment. She guffawed suddenly and thundered, “Beautiful Flower! You can’t live on a name like that. It gives you no base to live on. Beautiful flowers last only one season.”

Nani sat in front of Mrs. Wang, looking at the writing upside down, and she followed Mrs. Wang’s logic and understood it.

“Well, let me put this away for now. I’ll get drinks for us.” Mrs. Wang got up and went to the kitchen. Nani motioned to Min, who was patting the dog, to come over and sit. He came over reluctantly but didn’t sit. He hadn’t officially been sent to Mrs. Wang. He had just tagged along with Nani.

Mrs. Wang brought out three bowls of a seven-grain drink. She drank half of hers at once, and then she encouraged them to partake of theirs.

“Was this all you brought?” Mrs. Wang asked, wondering about the payment for Jaya.

“Oh, Mistress Yee said she would send the fee to the nursing mother soon, Mrs. Wang. This afternoon, in fact, Mrs. Wang,” Nani said.

For some reason, Nani liked Mrs. Wang. She was fearless and loud and present.

“Sit down and drink,” Mrs. Wang said to Min.

So he sat on the stone step where shoes were kept, and he drank, watching Nani intently.

“Tell me something,” Mrs. Wang began. “When your mistress was dying—before I arrived, of course—I was with Jaya, whose son’s enormous head was stuck and wouldn’t come out. Anyway, what exactly happened that night?” Mrs. Wang gulped down her drink and stared at Nani.

“What do you mean, Mrs. Wang?” Nani asked looking puzzled.

“You don’t need to say my name at the end of every sentence,” Mrs. Wang said emphatically.

“I understand, Mrs. Wang,” Nani said. “I am sorry, Mrs. Wang.”

Mrs. Wang sucked on the roof of her mouth, but she realized that she wasn’t going to change the maid’s habit. She drank the last drop of her drink and encouraged them again to drink up theirs too.

“When your mistress was in labor and you thought she was dying, did you just watch her?” Mrs. Wang asked, looking at Nani critically.

“I didn’t know she was dying, Mrs. Wa—, I mean, I thought she was in pain because the baby was coming. But Mistress Kim asked me in the evening, a couple of hours before you arrived, Mrs. Wa—, my mistress asked me to go and tell Mr. O to fetch the doctor, but Mr. O had just entered Mistress Yee’s quarters. When I went to Mistress Yee’s quarters, her maid stood like a guard dog, blocking me from advancing. I told her I needed to tell Mr. O that my mistress was in need of medical attention, but she said that she would tell him herself. I waited around. And then,” Nani paused, looking uncomfortable and hesitant.

“And then what?” Mrs. Wang asked.

“And then,” Nani began to shed tears, “I went back to my mistress. She was delirious. I kept telling her that the doctor was coming any minute. But it didn’t seem she heard me anyway.”

Standing by the wooden pole that was holding the front part of the thatched roof, Min observed Nani dry her eyes and blow her nose. He wanted to comfort her but stayed still, scratching his head, stealing a glimpse of Mrs. Wang occasionally.

“And I still see her in my dreams. She always dies with so much blood all over her.” Nani sobbed now.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was time for her soul to leave her body.” Mrs. Wang turned to Min and asked, “Why don’t you do me a favor while you are here? Can you split some firewood for me?”

Min grunted briefly in agreement and began to chop a bundle of logs with a maul.

“Mrs. Wang, will you please not tell anyone what I just said to you?” Nani pleaded.

“Why, I am going to shout what you said from the top of the hill.” Mrs. Wang chuckled.

“I promised I wouldn’t breathe a word about this, Mrs. Wang,” Nani said, looking agitated.

“To whom did you promise what?”

“Mi-Mirae,” Nani stuttered. “Mistress Yee’s maid. She thinks she is a friend of Mistress Yee’s. And now Mirae bosses us maids around,” Nani grumbled.

“So did she ask you to promise something?”

“Well, not exactly. When Mr. O heard the news of Mistress Kim’s death after breakfast the next morning, he must have wanted to know why he hadn’t been informed earlier, and why the doctor hadn’t been called in. Mistress Yee had told me that I should say, if asked, that Mistress Kim had died suddenly, before we even had a chance to call the doctor,” she said, looking uncomfortable.

Mistress Yee hadn’t spoken to Nani. It was her maid, Mirae, who had brought her a pair of new shoes and told her to keep her mouth shut or else she would not live to see the last day of her destiny. Nani had rolled her eyes, flabbergasted, at the way Mirae had employed the authority of her mistress. She did inspect the new shoes as soon as Mirae had left. They were beautiful, but they didn’t fit her. Out of self-respect, she had to stop herself from running after Mirae and demanding a pair of shoes that fit her. In the end, Nani didn’t have to lie about anything, for Mr. O had not asked her about Mistress Kim.

Now Mrs. Wang was asking about her mistress, and Nani realized that Mistress Kim might have been saved had the doctor been called promptly.

Mrs. Wang changed the subject abruptly. “Your boy has a wart on the back of his hand.”

“He’s got warts everywhere,” Nani snapped, and then blushed deeply. She couldn’t face Mrs. Wang. Min had another wart on the heel of his right foot. She hadn’t meant to say “everywhere.” There was no way to prove her innocence, but Mrs. Wang did not look shocked.

“Take a dandelion by the stem, and rub the milky juice directly onto the warts for a week or so. They will go away like snow melts in the spring,” Mrs. Wang advised her.

Nani kept her glance away from Min, who was now stacking up the split wood by the chicken cage. There were fourteen new bright yellow chicks in the cage. Min widened his eyes like a child. With a corner of his mouth lopsided, he drooled because he forgot to swallow his saliva. Then a grin spread across his face.

Suddenly, Nani sprang up and said, “Oh, laundry! I need to boil the laundry. I must get back.”

“Don’t forget the dandelion. Warts spread. Even to other people,” Mrs. Wang said as Nani got up.

Nani blushed again. Min bowed down to Mrs. Wang and groaned to thank her for the drink. Nani, still blushing furiously, left with him.

7

Beyond the main gate of the temple there were two more gates. Between the second and third gates stood four hideous wooden guardians, two on each side, looking down on visitors with their colorfully painted, bulging eyes. One of them held an iron sword in the air as if about to strike the visitors if they were proven to be unworthy.

This was the second time that Mirae had visited the temple with her mistress. There was something eerie about the place. Now she began to dread spending an entire day there.

Mistress Yee stepped onto the temple grounds. The deafening silence sank in her heart, and she felt powerless. She wanted to feel superior at all times, but in the temple she was made to feel small. It was like stepping into a painting: she became frozen, voiceless, an unnoticeable part of the whole.

The novice monks with shaved heads walked around with their glances low, absolutely unaffected by her incontestable elegance and beauty. Mistress Yee didn’t matter. She was just another lump of moving flesh.

As she approached the main hall, she could no longer hear her own footsteps on the sandy path. Instead, the daily chanting of the Heart Sutra and the sound of the wooden hand bells rumbled steadily.

Mistress Yee passed the pagoda. Mirae followed slightly behind her. Mistress Yee took off her shoes and entered the main hall, where visitors were allowed to offer incense and meditate. A colossal brass Shakyamuni was seated in the middle, gesturing with graceful hands. Mirae arranged her mistress’s shoes before she took off her own shoes and followed her in.

A young monk was tidying up the cushions on the hardwood floor inside. The air, centuries old and well tamed, smelled different from the air outside. Mistress Yee didn’t like the smell. This room was like a cauldron of wishes and prayers of unfortunate people.

Mistress Yee began to kowtow. After the seventh time, she whispered to Mirae, even though no one else was present, to fan her. Inside was much cooler than outside, but Mistress Yee was having a hard time because of the heat of her own pregnant body. Mirae took out a fan from her pouch and began to fan her mistress drenched in sweat. After the twentieth time of kowtowing, Mistress Yee sat back down on the cushion and didn’t want to get up again.

“You do it for me,” Mistress Yee whispered firmly.

“What do you mean, Mistress?” Mirae asked, sitting down close to her.

“This is too hard for me. If I keep doing this, I might have a miscarriage,” Mistress Yee complained, pouting, and dragged her body toward the wall, so that she could lean against it. “Do it eighty-eight more times,” she ordered. Her voice echoed in the hall. Amitabul, with his head slightly bent toward the worshipers, appeared to be smiling mysteriously. Mirae met his eyes and was glued to his benevolent countenance.

“Don’t just stand there like a statue. Kowtow!” Mistress Yee shouted, disregarding the fact that she was in a sacred place.

Mirae held her palms together earnestly and went down and up, down and up. She prayed not for the son of Mistress Yee, but for her own sake. She looked up whenever she could to the smooth face of Buddha and cried out inside herself. She didn’t want to be a maid; she wanted to be a lady; she wanted to have her own maid, who would fan her, who would kowtow instead of her if she got too tired. Tears and sweat mixed and dripped from her chin.

Mistress Yee, leaning against the wall, dozed off several times. Each time she awoke, she saw her faithful maid performing her duty. Some time later, at the sound of the dull gong that echoed through the valleys of the surrounding mountains, she awoke completely and found no one but Buddha himself, looking down at her sarcastically. His right hand seemed to point outside through the westerly entrance.

Making adjustments to her stiff limbs after having sat in the same position for a while, she got up slowly, furiously. The light outside was blinding. Someone was talking in a voice, deep and low and soothing. It was the head monk in his gray robe, with his wooden beads in his hand. Mistress Yee never liked any of the stupid monks, for they didn’t discern her extraordinariness. Seeing her maid conversing with the head monk—with whom Mistress Kim had had a profound relationship and whom she had accused Mistress Kim of having an illegitimate relationship with (which her husband had refused to hear about, as if she had gone mad)—her blood churned. She almost fainted. Mirae was conversing with the monk as if she understood what the baldhead was saying to her. They were standing by Sari-tower, where the calcified remains of the great master from the sixteenth century were interred.

Mistress Yee walked gingerly toward them, feeling a little dizzy and nauseous under the direct sun. When she drew close, they didn’t turn to acknowledge her presence. A few moments later, after Mirae bowed to the monk and he chanted a short prayer, they looked at her. Mistress Yee didn’t greet them. She bit her tongue. She exhaled looking around at the five magnificent green mountains that enveloped the temple. A volcano was bubbling inside her, but it wasn’t the right moment to erupt. Without the annual donation from her husband, this temple wouldn’t sustain itself for very long. She could have slapped Mirae for having left her alone, but she was a little intimidated by the luminous atmosphere around the two, who behaved as if they understood a secret that was unavailable to her.

“May I inquire about the wellness of Mr. O?” the monk asked with his eyelids cast down.

Mistress Yee raised her eyebrows to stare at the monk. She could have strangled him for not asking after
her
health. The monk bowed slightly and began to walk away.

Turning crimson with internal fire, Mistress Yee decided to faint, and she fell on her maid to cushion her impact. Mirae uttered a cry of surprise. The monk turned around and didn’t panic. He came over at the same pace as he had walked away, lifted Mistress Yee, and carried her easily in his two arms to the main hall. Mirae followed, realizing that her mistress was fully conscious.

The head monk, carrying Mistress Yee in his arms, was reciting something unintelligible. As he laid her on the floor, Mistress Yee felt his breath on her face. She could smell the man in the monk. She badly wanted to open her eyes and see how close this monk was to her face, but she decided not to. Mirae came in and assisted him by bringing a cushion for her mistress’s head to rest on. He asked Mirae if she could bring a bowl of cold water for Mistress Yee from the water fountain.

While they were alone in the main hall, the head monk began to speak in his deep voice. But it wasn’t clear whether he was speaking to Mistress Yee or to himself.

“There exist three poisons in life: desire, anger, and ignorance. One poison is the root of the other two. To attain enlightenment, you must swallow the root of your poisons, so that you die. You die many times to attain the enlightenment of Buddha.”

Mistress Yee opened her eyes and looked up at the monk. He sat near her, with his eyes closed, and his palms met each other near his chest. Now, from below, she could see the packed muscle of his shoulders beneath the robes. His lips were reciting to keep his mind occupied, or unoccupied. Still lying down on the cool wooden floor, Mistress Yee said challengingly, “What is the root of
your
poisons?”

The monk opened his eyes but didn’t look at Mistress Yee.

“Did you hear what I said? How many times have you had to swallow your poisons to be the way you are? And how many more times will you have to swallow them to get to where you want to be?”

For the first time, the monk met Mistress Yee’s burning eyes. He saw her small feet extending out from under her long silk chiffon skirt. He clenched his teeth and began to chant something—anything—with his eyes closed.

“I wonder what you see when your eyes are closed,” Mistress Yee said, getting up. She heard Mirae taking her shoes off outside.

“Please, give the water to the illustrious one. He must be so thirsty from carrying me,” she ordered her maid.

Mirae carried the water carefully and placed it in front of the monk. He was still chanting with his eyes closed, his forehead beaded with perspiration.

Mistress Yee said, “Let us leave. I have learned so much from the master. I will practice dying every day, as he has set an example for me today.” She bowed toward the monk in an exaggerated manner and then left the hall, smiling triumphantly.