Mingmei Yip - Petals from the Sky

“Ma, didn’t you just worry that I would never get married? So aren’t you happy now that someone has proposed?”

In the shop window, the golden twilight glistening in the reflection softened Mother’s visage; sometimes I could see my face in her older one. Her robust figure turned more supple; even the deep purple suit she wore now spoke with a softer hue.

“Hai!” Mother sighed. “Meng Ning, of course I’m glad you’re getting married. But…I’m also afraid.”

“Of what?”

“That you’ll be…unhappy”-she let out a long sigh-“like your mother.”

A long pause. Traffic whizzed by. Restless people and speeding cars kept passing through her in the glass.

But Mother was fine. For nothing can hurt a soul in a mirage. As no one can steal the moon reflected on a river.

Mother had the same expression when she watched Beijing opera with me when I was a child. Now I certainly understood why she liked the painted-face actors so much, but got so upset when I aspired to be one.

However, I still couldn’t fathom the way she loved me, even though I had shared the same roof and nearly the same face with her for thirty years.

Now in the shimmering reflection of the shop window, our eyes parted as swiftly as they had touched, like a pair of kissing fish. I gazed at my own face and found my thirty-year-old mother there, whispering to me all her girlish dreams, eyes fresh.

I wanted to love her back as much as she loved me, and much more.

I touched her elbow. “Ma, don’t worry.”

“Hai!” Mother sighed again. “I’m a very careful person, but see what happened to me with your father.” She put a strand of my hair in place.

My mother could be very difficult in her own way, but despite being of the older generation, she had only occasionally nagged me about finding a husband.

Her remarks about the fish bones, about Sally Yeh, and today about the story of the fish spirit were the few times she had hinted marriage to me.

If I had not misread her face pattern, nor misinterpreted her dreams.

I said after a long silence, “Ma, although I said yes to Michael’s proposal, I might still”-I swallowed hard-“break the engagement.”

Mother’s voice shot two octaves higher. “Turn down a doctor? Are you crazy? How many girls will be befriended by a doctor, let alone asked to be married?”

A middle-aged man cast us a curious glance.

My cheeks felt hot. I stammered, “I mean…Ma, I’ll be careful…I mean, if Michael turns out to be bad, I can…always get a divorce.”

Mother spat, “ Choi! Daigut laisi! It’s bad luck to talk about divorce before you’re married!” Daigut laisi means “great prosperity and luck,” to counteract anything bad that’s been said.

“Ma, calm down. People are staring at us.”

“Then watch your mouth and stop saying unlucky things.”

“All right, all right.”

We resumed walking along Waterloo Road and I began to tell Mother, amid the intense heat and noise, everything about Michael. Except, of course, my recent baffling experiences in New York, my confusion. After that, I took the engagement ring that Michael had bought me out of my purse.

Mother looked at the stone with envy. “Beautiful, excellent fire!” she exclaimed, then asked timidly, “Can I try?”

“Of course.” Right in the middle of the busy boulevard, I slipped the ring onto her fourth finger, but it was too small, so I took it off and slipped it onto her little finger.

My eyes stung when I saw a big smile bloom on her face. “Ma, anything more that you want?”

“I only want my daughter to be happy,” she said, giving me back the ring.

My trip to document the art of grottoes in Anyue was scheduled to last for a month. Michael was not very happy upon hearing the news.

Across eight thousand miles, I could clearly sense disappointment in his voice. “Meng Ning, I know I can’t stop you from going. But please take very good care of yourself and don’t make me worry.”

When he asked for my address and phone number in China, I said, “I’ll be staying in a temple and there is no phone. Anyway, I’ll try my best to find a phone to call you from time to time.”

His voice suddenly turned distressed and alarmed. “You mean I can’t reach you, not at all?”

“But don’t worry, Michael, I’m traveling with nuns and Guan Yin. We’ll be protected. Anyway, you have the temple’s address, so you can write to me.”

This time I really wanted to be left alone, not only to concentrate on my work, but also to clear my mind to make the most important decision in my life.

On October tenth, Enlightened to Emptiness and I took a flight from Hong Kong to Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan, and from there, a seemingly endless ride in a decrepit van to the Anyue grottoes.

Long before the van ride was over, any jealousy I’d felt toward Enlightened to Emptiness had dissipated. She was too innocent and too young for me to harbor such feelings toward her.

The driver, Mr. Qian, a volunteer from the Circular Reflection Monastery where we were going to stay, asked whether this was our first trip to China.

Enlightened to Emptiness uttered an excited “Yes!”

I said, “I’ve only been to Guanzhou…”

“Then you’ll be surprised to see the differences in the north,” he enthused, “and I’m sure you’ll like it.”

But I was not so sure. What slipped past us among the sparse trees were low gray buildings decorated with two different kinds of banners: official admonitions such as Let’s build a civilized China, and Marry late, have one child, or unofficial ones: clothes, towels, bed sheets, blankets, underwear, all fluttering lazily in the air. I saw a motorcycle pass with a large wicker basket containing dozens of chickens, squealing and flapping, their feathers scattering in the air while the vehicle drove toward their ill-fated destination. A boy was smoking in front of a store, under the watchful eye of his admiring father.

I soon dozed off.

At two o’clock in the afternoon, we finally arrived at the town and then, after another fifteen minutes’ ride on a narrow winding path, the Circular Reflection Monastery. A fortyish nun with a round face came to answer the door. Mr. Qian introduced us and we exchanged bows. The nun, Compassionate Wonder, split a wide grin. “Our Shifu has been expecting you two the whole day. She’s been very excited to have visitors from so far-me, too.”

On our way to the dorm, Compassionate Wonder said, “You two are our first guests from Hong Kong. Our humble temple is brightened by your visit.”

I almost chuckled. What was the big deal to have someone from Hong Kong? But I put on a smile and said, “I’m flattered.”

Enlightened to Emptiness immediately threw in, “And I’m honored.”

Compassionate Wonder let out a hearty laugh. “Ah, so Hong Kong people also have a glib tongue!”

Enlightened to Emptiness and I were led to different dorms: she was to live with the other nuns while I, a lay person, took a room in the dorm for Buddhist guests. I unpacked, took a shower, and then we were served snacks. Since my friend refused to break the monastic rule of no eating after noon, I was the only one to enjoy the steaming buns and fragrant tea in the Fragrance Accumulating Kitchen.

Around three, Compassionate Wonder took us to see the abbess, Beckoning Invisibility Shifu. I took an instant liking to this sixtyish, plump woman. Always smiling, she seemed to be soaked in the endless joy of the Dharma.

While Compassionate Wonder was busy serving tea and snacks, Beckoning Invisibility, her small eyes darting between my friend and me, said, “I was told many times how beautiful Hong Kong is, and today I finally have the chance to greet someone from there. How wonderful.”