Petals from the Sky (21 page)

“Thanks for your understanding, Michael,” I said, feeling truly grateful as well as disappointed.

“Meng Ning, while you’re in Hong Kong”—he looked at me, eyes full of tenderness—“also think about our wedding. If you don’t have another suggestion, I’d like us to be married in Hong Kong. So I think maybe you can start asking around about where we can have our wedding.”

That was not what I’d expected to hear. Marriage? My purpose in going back to Hong Kong was exactly the opposite—to give myself some time and space to think over carefully whether I really wanted to be married.

Michael spoke again, twiddling my engagement ring as if to remind me of our pledge. “I’ll miss you terribly while you’re in Hong Kong. So please come back soon.”

PART THREE

26

Form Is Emptiness

Y
i Kong’s smooth, beautiful face hangs over mine. Naked under the fiery redness of the setting sun, her head’s gentle curve appears unmistakably sensuous. Its luminous gold reminds me of the halos on the heads of Christian saints. But this is a halo around the finely shaved head of a Buddhist nun.

I knew this handsome image before me was as illusory as it was powerful. For I was but daydreaming in Yi Kong’s office in the Golden Lotus Temple. Although I’d visited her in the hospital, this would be the first time I’d seen her in this new place since the fire in the Fragrant Spirit Temple. Though it felt like coming home, my heart was so much changed that the temple seemed like my home in another life. In the past, coming to visit her nunnery had always been soothing; now it was unsettling.

A nun had told me earlier that Yi Kong was in a meeting and wouldn’t be back until after five-thirty. It was now only five, so I slipped out of her room to take a look at her new office compound. As I passed along corridors and peered in through partially open doors, I noticed that in the five years I’d been away in Paris, the Golden Lotus Temple had been expanded and transformed from an old, shabby eyesore into a grand complex with a Tang dynasty–style temple building as well as this modernized one. I had mixed feelings about the change. Of course I liked the comfort of air conditioning, elevators, clean restrooms. But the omnipresent computer terminals and the stark reception room with polished reproductions of antique Chinese furniture seemed unsuitable for a monastery. Besides, I also missed paper lanterns, peeling paint, rain-furrowed windows, long-burning candles, sun-bleached gateposts, and crumbling walls covered with intricately patterned ivy. From my early visits these had always been an entryway to a world of quiet imaginings and aesthetic associations.

After fifteen minutes, I went back to Yi Kong’s office, but she was still nowhere to be seen. So I strolled around the spacious room to look at her art collection, which had also grown bigger and better. The contemporary ceramic Guan Yin statue was replaced by a Ming dynasty one, exquisitely molded. On the altar, a gilded antique Buddha statue took the place of a wooden one. Other new acquisitions included two antique bronze incense burners, one in the shape of a lotus and the other a
qin
—seven-stringed zither. There were also antique altar cabinets, Pure Land paintings, Song dynasty vases, Ming dynasty furniture. The lively grain of the
huanghua li,
flowering pear hardwood, glowed reddish brown in the warm twilight. I ran my fingers over its smooth surface.

How hard had Yi Kong worked to achieve all this in five years? Wondering, I was soothed by the beauty of the art and the wisps of sweet incense mingling with the fresh scent of flowers.

This world had felt like home to me for so long. I let out a long sigh.

Then I saw the looming presence of a huge photograph of a statue of a seated Guan Yin. It faced a large window overlooking the train station and towering high-rises of Yuen Long. The photo, which I recognized as Yi Kong’s work, took up nearly the entire wall except for the space underneath where a
zitan
—red sandalwood—altar was placed. On this sumptuous shrine, abundant offerings of fruit were tastefully arranged in subtly contrasting yet complementary colors: bananas, papayas, mangos, oranges, pineapples, green apples, green grapes, melons—all set on high-legged silver plates. Ginger flowers, lilacs, lilies, irises, azaleas, and other flowers competed quietly in white vases.

Resting in the “royal ease” pose, the Goddess of Mercy’s right arm extended in a graceful curve with the delicate point of her elbow poised on her raised right knee; her left leg dangled. Patches of pink revealed themselves beneath her gilded crimson robe. I could almost see the multilayered drapery rise and fall, as if she were breathing with life and feeling, excited to be seen.

When Yi Kong saw me, would she ask me again the same question—
Meng Ning, when are you coming to play with us?

For ten years she’d been expecting me to become a nun in her temple. How should I respond this time?

I didn’t want to lose Yi Kong’s friendship, nor Michael’s love. I wanted both the fish and the bear’s paw. But how would I have the luck, or the wisdom, to keep both?

Feeling a slight headache coming, I stepped closer to the enormous picture, made a deep bow to the Observer of Worldly Sound—the name given to Guan Yin because she always listens for cries of help—then put my palms together and whispered a prayer.

Another half hour had passed. With a lacquer tray in hand, a very young nun timidly peeped through the half-closed door. I beckoned her to enter. She smiled carefully, so as not to reveal her teeth. Soundlessly, she set the tray on the table and placed the objects one by one onto its shiny surface: two lidded teacups, a teapot with steam escaping from the lid, a small, pale blue ceramic plate filled with an assortment of nuts and a larger one with fresh fruits.

I watched this young novice with pleasure.

While every personal relationship now seemed impermanent and fragile to me, youth suggested a contrasting picture of life as simple and everlasting.

She possessed a native grace; things bloomed in natural order and charm under her slender, pale fingers. I was quite sure she was also conscious of her poise and took pride in doing things in adagio, so that she, as well as her guest, could watch her delicate fingers’ choreography.

Why hurry? There is no time limit in a temple, just living in the bare moment, the here and now.

The table now displayed a lush spread of food. Concluding her delicate ritual, the young nun took a white handkerchief from her loose gray robe and dabbed her well-shaped bald head.

She addressed me respectfully. “Yi Kong Shifu said she would be with you in a minute and apologized for the long wait.”

I smiled. “Oh! Not at all. Tell Shifu to take her time.”

Still standing, she smoothed her long robe with elongated fingers. “Shifu is in a meeting to discuss the art work of the temple.”

“Ah, that’s a huge project.”

“Yes, she’s also organizing her painting and photography exhibition, a Buddhist art festival, a Zen play, and a retreat.”

I widened my eyes to show amazement.

The young nun gushed with pride. “But don’t worry, Shifu is always full of energy.” She bowed to me before she left. “Please have some tea and fruit.”

“Thank you. What’s your name?” Seeing that she was so young, the word
Shifu,
teacher, just refused to come out of my mouth.

“Wu Kong.” Enlightened to Emptiness.

“Just like the Monkey King in
Journey to the West
?”

“I’m afraid so.”

We both laughed. Like her mistress, she had perfect, white teeth.

I made a slight bow to her. “Thank you very much, Wu Kong Shifu.” I hoped she was too innocent to notice that this time the word finally slipped out from my mouth with a bantering tone.

Still smiling, Enlightened to Emptiness closed the door with a crisp click and disappeared.

How wonderful to be so young, even as a nun.

Then I saw Yi Kong saunter toward the office building, face flushed, gray robe swaying in the summer breeze and shaved head gleaming under the sun. My heart kept knocking hard. Was my true karma to be a nun in her temple? Or was I just confused about the world?

You could have become a nun years ago, but you didn’t.
Michael’s words rang loud in my ears.

Yi Kong looked tired yet cheerful. Unexpectedly, her presence filled my body with the happiness of the Dharma, as it had so many times before in my long years of visits to her temple. But the last five years had affected her perhaps as much as they had me. I was sad to notice that her skin looked weathered and her gait was slower. I hated to recognize that my mentor was, like us all, yielding to the passage of time.

Yi Kong, Depending on Emptiness.

A woman.

A nun.

A celebrity nun.

A celebrity nun running the biggest Buddhist temple in the last British colony.

Had she been content living behind the heavy temple gate for twenty-nine years? But wasn’t her beaming countenance the proof of a positive answer? Besides, if everything in this world is but an illusion, what is real happiness after all?

She entered the room, saw me, and smiled. “Meng Ning, sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Yi Kong Shifu, don’t worry. I’ve been enjoying your exquisite art objects.”

“The temple’s art objects,” Yi Kong corrected me as she seated herself behind the enormous black wood desk adorned with curios. Gingerly, I sat facing her—and the Guan Yin posed in royal ease.

“I’m glad you like them. I’ll show you more later. Now let’s have tea.” She picked up the teapot with three of her tapered fingers and poured us both full cups. “How’s everything?” she asked, then set the teapot down with a delicate sound.

“Fine, thank you.” The scalding tea tasted slightly bitter, yet pure. I lifted the cup to my nose and inhaled the stimulating fragrance. Floating in the apple green water, the emerald leaves joined and parted to form intricate patterns. Was there a sign of my fate hiding among these pretty shapes? Was it the right choice to forsake the empty gate and plunge into the Ten Thousand Miles of Red Dust? A married life over enlightenment? I closed my eyes to absorb the sensations of the steam moistening my face and warming my heart.

“Very good tea,” I said.

“The best,” Yi Kong corrected me again.

“What kind?”

“
Yunwu,
from the Lu Mountain of Jiangxi province.”

Yunwu,
cloud and mist. Didn’t she have any idea that
yunwu
is a subtle variation of another word,
yunyu,
cloud and rain, meaning lovemaking?

Suddenly, I could feel the weight of Michael’s perspiring body, followed by a vision of Lisa’s heavy bosom and her atrophied leg, then Philip’s helplessly handsome face and pained expression…. I shuddered.

“Meng Ning, are you all right?” My mentor cast me a look of concern mixed with suspicion.

“I’m fine,” I said, feeling the heat on my cheeks. Quickly I changed the subject. “How are you?”

Now I looked at her composed face, feeling both guilty and sad. Why didn’t she act more affectionately toward me—as she had when she lay on the stretcher after the fire?

“I’m fine as long as the Fragrant Spirit Temple is fine. I’m relieved that nobody got hurt in the fire.” Yi Kong sighed. “
Hai!
But the five thousand three hundred twenty volumes of the Tripitaka…anyway, thanks for your help.” Then she changed the subject. “How was Paris?”

“Good.” I condensed my answer to one word for I knew she was not really interested in anybody’s business in Paris.

“What’s your plan now?”

“Nothing special yet.” I really didn’t know how to respond.

“Good.” She paused, then went on. “Since you’ve gotten your Ph.D. and we are going to add a lot of artwork to our temple after its reconstruction, you can help us as our consultant. Think about it.”

“Thank you. I definitely will.” Married or not, I needed something to get my career started. Still, I felt disheartened. Why had she given the post of assistant to Dai Nam? Why hadn’t she waited for me? Had she already known that I wouldn’t need it anymore?

Yi Kong studied me intently. “You look good.”

Her eyes rested on my cup. I followed her glance to the discovery of a lipstick mark, moist and tender as in the memory of a sensuous kiss. My cheeks felt hot as I remembered how Michael’s lips had pressed on mine, sending ripples all over my body. Yi Kong had never seen me with makeup before. How could I have forgotten to not put it on today?

“Thank you. You, too. Are you still as busy as ever?” Anxiously, I tried to distract her; she liked to talk about the temple and her projects.

Her face glowed. “Yes, but as you know, work in the temple never ends. People always tell me to relax and do things slowly, but how can I? So many Buddhist treasures either vanish or are damaged in China every day.

“That picture of the monks chanting in a temple in Tibet that I photographed six years ago—do you remember? When I went back last year, the temple was all gone, mysteriously burnt, not a trace left behind.

“As I planned to leave for Shanxi to record the chanting of a ninety-year-old monk—the last one who knew a particular style—I learned that he had just died from choking while taking some Chinese herbal soup for longevity. The news arrived two days before I was to leave. So how can I slow down when I see these precious traditions disappearing before my eyes? On the contrary, I have to work faster.”

Yi Kong stopped. “Oh, I’ve been all immersed in my own talk. Are you hungry? I’ll ask the chef to cook something for you. Today we have very fresh tofu, bamboo shoots, and mushrooms.”

“Thank you very much, but I had lunch before I came.”

She squinted at me. “Do you still eat meat?”

“I’m a part-time vegetarian now,” I said, avoiding her gaze.

“Ah, part-time!” Yi Kong exclaimed.

I blurted out, “Shifu, although my mouth is not completely vegetarian, my heart is.”

Yi Kong smiled, then spoke jokingly. “Ah, that I don’t know, but I’m sure you have a tongue rolled not in vegetable oil, but in pig fat.”

I felt my ears on fire.

Sensing my embarrassment, she picked up from her desk a round clay incense burner and changed the subject. “Let me show you my little treasures here. This one is a rare Ming piece from an antique store in Kyoto. See how the lid has several small holes? When you burn incense inside, the smoke coming out through them smells exceptionally good, since it is the essence extracted from all the fragrance inside.

“Besides, the meandering smoke is such a pleasure to look at, like cursive calligraphy forming in the air. If you meditate on its ever changing lines, you’ll gain more insight into the transience and impermanence of life.”

Yes, like Professor Fulton’s death, and even the kitten’s. Was the professor now contentedly stroking the kitten in Amida Buddha’s Western Paradise?