I also felt stirred. Not only by all the powerful speeches and the rich and powerful, but also by the whole drama of life and death condensed in this cool, polished parlor. Michael and Lisa looked so sad and beautiful onstage, the important guests so dignified. And Professor Fulton, alive in their words, and yet so dead in his coffin. Even Michael, sitting onstage among them, seemed altered to me. I wondered: would he someday become one of these dignified, arrogant, silver-haired gentlemen?
Pondering all these matters, I was surprised when the audience started stirring and realized that the formal part of the ceremony was over. People were standing up, some making their way toward the lobby, others grouped together and talking in restrained tones.
Michael came to me right away and asked how I’d thought it went.
“You spoke very well.” I studied his face. “Professor Fulton must be very proud of you.”
“Yes, he was.” He looked at me fully. “Meng Ning, please come with me while I talk to people.”
“No, Michael,” I said, suddenly feeling defensive, “it’s awkward for me. I don’t know any of these people here.” I wanted to add I just don’t belong to this circle of the rich and famous, but stopped myself.
Michael’s eyes were pleading and his voice a little tired. “But please, Meng Ning.”
“No, Michael.”
“Meng Ning-”
“Why don’t you go talk now while I use the restroom. I’ll join you later.”
“All right.”
Inside the ladies’ room, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my heart no more at peace than before. While images of the stylish Lisa, Philip, and the elegant guests flashed across my mind, suddenly a voice broke into my thoughts, startling me. “I’m worried about you, Meng Ning. You look pale. Are you all right?”
It was Lisa towering over me in the mirror.
I did not know how to reply. I simply stared.
“You’re not going to talk to me-even at my father’s funeral?” She was smoothing her bronze hair with a small hawksbill-turtle comb.
“I’m fine,” I said at last, darkly.
“But you’re not, Meng Ning. Don’t fool yourself.”
My throat felt choked and I couldn’t utter a word.
“Can I do something?” She stared at me with concern.
Haven’t you done enough?
“No thanks, I don’t think so.” Although I still found it hard to be angry at those eyes, I managed to say, “Please leave me alone.”
“All right then, take care,” she said, dropping the comb inside her pocketbook and snapping it shut like a small explosion. “Thanks for coming to my father’s funeral.” Then, “Have you seen Philip and his very rich lady friend?”
Witch, I mouthed. Then I watched until the door closed behind her before I went inside a stall at the far end to quiet my clamoring mind. All these complicated relationships in the dusty world-were they worth it? Maybe I should have listened to Yi Kong all along.
My mentor’s words rang loud in my ears:
There is no real life other than that inside the temple gate. Life in the dusty world would only get people more tangled up, causing endless suffering. But life inside the empty gate would free you from karma.
And finally:
When are you coming to play with us? There’s lots of fun going on here.
I made up my mind-to go back home to Hong Kong.
Once outside the ladies’ room, I spotted Michael. He hurried up to drape his arm around me. “I’m tired. Let’s go home now.”
The day after Professor Fulton’s funeral, I told Michael I had decided to go back to Hong Kong.
To my surprise, he agreed. “I know it’s hard for you in a new environment, and you must have missed your mother, Yi Kong, and Golden Lotus Temple. So maybe it’s good for you to go back for a while.”
“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
Yi 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.