He spoke. “One time, the great Song dynasty poet Su Dongpo went to visit his monk friend Buddhist Seal. After they’d finished meditating, Su Dongpo asked his friend, ‘What did I look like during meditation?’

“The monk said, ‘A statue of Buddha.’

“Then the monk asked Su Dongpo, ‘Then what do you think I looked like?’

“Deciding to tease his friend as well as to test his cultivation, Su Dongpo said, ‘A piece of shit,’ expecting the monk to be boiling with anger.

“‘Ah, what a pity!’ Buddhist Seal said, smiling gently. ‘In Buddha’s eyes everyone is pure and possesses Buddha’s nature. But if one’s eyes are smeared by shit then he can see nothing but shit.’”

Barely had Silent Thunder finished when the participants burst into laughter, breaking up the solemn atmosphere. The octogenarian’s deeply tanned face remained as dry as a stick.

I was still chewing on Silent Thunder’s “shitty” revelation when Michael and I stepped outside the Zen center and started walking toward the subway station. It was five in the afternoon and the street was crowded. Ahead of us, a young Chinese couple held hands and talked intimately between giggles. Michael and I held hands, but we neither talked nor laughed. Our minds seemed to be on opposite sides of the Pacific Ocean.

When we were waiting for the light to change, he said, sounding upset, “What is it, Meng Ning? I don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” My voice was as sharp as the monks’ knives.

His eyes looked wounded. “I’ve tried to be nice, but you’re acting like a stranger. You haven’t shown any affection since I came back last night. I can’t read your mind. Won’t you tell me what this is all about?”

“It’s because my mind is full of shit!”

The light turned green and we started to walk. When the crowd thinned, I pulled forward. Michael let go of my hand. He had to be really angry now. Afraid, I hurried back to him and took his hand. “Michael…I’m sorry.”

He looked at me, his gaze intent but wary. “Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”

But I remained stubbornly uncommunicative, bottling up all my feelings.

24. Men Are Nothing but Trouble

Back home, Michael led me to sit down on the sofa. “Meng Ning”-he looked concerned-“what is it? Please tell me.”

I surprised myself by uttering a bitterness I’d never known, nor experienced. “Maybe I should. But I don’t know whether I can trust you, Michael, or your professor, or…your monks.” I knew I was venting the anger caused by my encounters with Lisa and Philip on Michael. I knew I was being absurd. But I couldn’t help it.

Michael looked startled. “Have I been doing something wrong? I thought you enjoyed the martial arts at the Zen center, so now why suddenly bitter? That’s not like you.”

“Maybe from now on it is,” I snapped, then blurted out in spite of myself, “and I should have known it’s dangerous to be too close to the heart of a man, for it spurts nothing but trouble.”

But Michael didn’t get angry; he looked worried instead. “Why are you suddenly angry with men? I’ve never heard you talk like that before. What’s bothering you?”

“I think I should have entered the empty gate to be a nun…”

“What are you talking about? Can you shake yourself out of this?”

“No,” I said bitterly, blaming all my recent disillusionments and confusion and guilt on him. “Michael, I always wanted to be a nun. I never intended to love men, but to avoid them. Then you come along and toss my world upside down…”

He remained silent while staring at me, looking puzzled.

Though feeling powerless and knowing I was being unfair, I couldn’t stop my bitter talk. “Michael, it was never my intention to fall in love with you. I’ve always thought I’d be a nun like Yi Kong, or maybe a single career woman, instead of ending up being a jobless and penniless thirty-year-old spinster.”

Now Michael seemed really stung by my words. “Meng Ning, would you stop all this nonsense?!”

I hugged my knees and buried my face between them, ashamed of my attachment to Michael, my weakness, my meanness to him, my childish attack on men. And, of course, my near-betrayal of him with his ex-fiancée and his best friend.

But then when I looked up and met Michael’s penetrating eyes, my irrationality was fueled anew. “Michael, you have your professor and your meditation and the rich and famous in the art world.”

He swallowed hard, willing himself to calm down. “Why are you talking like this? You know I care about you. Besides, I don’t know why you hold a grudge against Professor Fulton.”

I retorted, “Because he acted cold to me. He hardly even glanced in my direction. He’s a snob.”

“Maybe he’s a bit of a snob, but he helped me through my difficult years after my parents’ deaths. It was he who introduced me to Buddhism and Chinese art, which is what brought us together.

“Whatever his faults, Professor Fulton has done a lot for me. Be honest, Meng Ning. Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to go to a VIP reception at the Met and get a glimpse of a Kennedy and the mayor of New York?”

I held my tongue, realizing what Michael had said was true.

He went on. “I’m not a social climber, if that’s what you think. But I do want to be a part of this art world. Because it gives meaning to my life. Not to mention the privilege of getting close to objects that outsiders wouldn’t even dream of having the chance to see. Meng Ning, it wasn’t easy for me to get myself accepted into this world.” He cast me a meaningful glance. “Professor Fulton has just met you twice. I’m sure he’ll like you; just give him a chance, OK?”

I nodded.

“Now tell me what you don’t like about the monks.”

Because Master Hidden Virtue was bulge-eyed and bucktoothed and his English was heavily accented. I wanted to say this aloud but knew how it would sound.

“Because they are boring.” That was all I could mutter.

Michael dismissed my opinion with a laugh.

Before he could say anything, I blurted out, “Besides, that Zen center is an eyesore. And it’s a bad influence on you-too much meditation.”

“Meng Ning, meditation is the core of Buddhism. It is what really trains your mind. How can you dismiss it like this?”

“You know what? I think you overwork your intellect with those monks. That’s why you’re so guarded and serious.” I was repeating what Lisa and Philip had told me.

Michael frowned. “What do you mean? I’m not withdrawn. Have I been neglecting you? Don’t I show my affection for you?”

“It’s not that, it’s…” Suddenly I remembered the fortune-teller’s saying:

Your friend also needs to build his yin energy, which he let run down. Although he’s orderly and well organized on the surface, his spirit underneath is restless. He needs more earth and water in his life to balance his fire and metal.

“You’re losing touch with your feminine side.”

“My feminine side?” He looked completely puzzled.

“Michael, you’re always in control.” Seeing that he didn’t respond, I ventured on. “Your life is arranged so perfectly that I don’t see any place for me.”

Michael seemed to be thinking deeply, then he said, his voice pained, “Why are you telling me these things? That’s not like you.”

He’d never sounded like this before and it made me worry. I knew I was being mean and unfair to him to cover my guilt. I’d never talked like this to anyone, but then I’d never even had a boyfriend. “Michael, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“But you just did.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Art has been my great solace in life. That is, until I met you. So how can you say that you don’t see a place for you in my life? You realize how that hurts me?”

“Oh, Michael…”

“Please understand.” Michael’s voice turned gentle. “Besides Professor Fulton, I’m also very grateful for the monks in the Vegetable Root Zen Center. Their meditation teaching helped me through a lot of the stresses in my life.”