Petals from the Sky (28 page)

I told Michael about my conversation with the monks while we, amazed, watched Detached Dust at work. Though slow in his movements, he transmitted his special energy, his whole being spilling happiness. He moved deliberately but with a carefree air, watering, pulling out dead roots, cutting off yellowed leaves. He seemed not to feel the hot sun over his head or the baking earth under his straw-sandaled feet. He chanted in a faint voice as he went about his work.

Michael exclaimed, “Amazing! I hope I will live to his age and stay that active.”

When Eternal Brightness came back to the room, I asked, “Shifu, don’t you think that Master Detached Dust should…retire?”

“I’ve begged Master many times not to work, but his reply is always to recite the Zen rule: a day without work is a day without food. So”—the young monk shrugged and smiled wryly—“there’s nothing I can do. He always tells me that by cultivating the garden, he’s cultivating the Way. So how can he stop?” A pause, then, “Master says that he’s the guest of wind and dust. And his mind the ashes of dead fire.”

We stood together watching Detached Dust.

Then Eternal Brightness spoke. “I must work also. Please stay in our temple as long as you like.”

Suddenly I remembered the stone inscription in the main hall. “Shifu, that inscription about the young man who fell in love with a village girl, then took refuge after she’d married someone else…”

The monk had already guessed my question. “That young man is my master, Detached Dust.”

I was shocked to hear this. “Oh,” I blurted out, “what a sad story.”

The young monk cast me a curious glance, then corrected me. “No. Master determined to cut off all attachment after he realized his folly of falling into the entanglement of human desire.” He pointed to the calligraphy and recited, “‘So I have looped around. From the preciousness of sensation to the harmfulness of being attached to it.’”

He turned to look out the window. “So look how happy Master is now.” He smiled. “Moreover, that’s why he lived to this ripe age.”

I followed Eternal Brightness’s affectionate gaze and saw Detached Dust now talking cheerily to an orchid.

“It’s Master’s habit to recite his mantra of Amita Buddha to the plants and rocks here. He believes they also have Buddha nature.”

I turned back to the young monk. “So, Shifu, is this also the same reason you’re…here?”

His face beamed. “Oh, yes. I am extremely fortunate, for Master was very strict in choosing his disciple.”

Just then the old monk came in, studied each of us, and split a big, panting smile. “Tomorrow is another day; I’ll take a nap today.”

Eternal Brightness hurried to help him go back to his room.

After I’d translated everything to Michael, he said, “No matter how hard monks and nuns try to cut off from worldly desire, love still sneaks its way back in.”

“What do you mean?”

Michael answered my question with another one. “The monk’s love story is inscribed here in the temple, right?”

Not wishing to further disturb the two monks, we took our leave. The young monk walked us all the way to the level land and the steps.

Michael and I bowed deeply with our hands together. I said, “Thank you, Shifu. We really appreciate your and Master Detached Dust’s hospitality.”

Under the warm sun, his tanned, healthy face seemed to shine with wisdom and detachment. “You’re welcome. Please come back and visit us again.”

“We certainly will.”

Michael asked me to tell him that he really enjoyed his bun and that he wished the Master good health and longevity.

I told the young monk and he said, “Thank you, but the master’s health and longevity depend on karma, not men’s wishes.” A pause. Then he added, “By the way, it’s master who cooked those buns, not me.”

We silently picked our way down the long flight of steps. I felt depressed to leave this separate world of the small temple and plunge back into the dusty world.

Michael took my hand. “Meng Ning, let’s hurry to the taxi. It’s going to rain.”

At the bottom of the steps, our taxi driver was fast asleep, curled up in the backseat. As we began to quicken our steps, the rain was already pelting mercilessly. We pounded on the door of the taxi, awakening the surprised driver, who quickly got out and let us, now dripping, into the back. Through the smudged window I watched the raindrops plunge, hiss, and bounce on the ground. I felt a rush of nostalgia. Their natural energy made me think of the two mountain monks. Their temple, though only up the nearby flight of steps, already seemed so distant. Would we have the chance to return to that simple beauty in this lifetime?

34

The Car Accident

A
fter the pleasant diversion of the Peach Blossom Garden, we were now finally heading toward the famous colossal Buddha carved into the Le Mountain. As we drove, the rain abated.

The taxi driver caught my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Miss, you and your friend had a good time up there?”

“Oh, yes.” I made my answer short, for I didn’t want to share my intimate temple experience with this stranger.

But the driver couldn’t keep quiet for long. As the car bounced up and down over potholes, he began to tell us stories about the big Buddha carved out of the Le Mountain. His eyes, flickering behind his thick glasses, kept peeking at us in the rearview mirror.

In a dramatic tone, he began. “Believe it or not, this Leshan statue is
really
a Buddha.” Then he paused, for suspense, I believed.

I asked, “What do you mean?”

“Ah, you’ve never heard anything about it?”

“No,” I answered abruptly. Still savoring my other-worldly experience, I wanted to be left alone.

Michael asked, “Meng Ning, what did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing? He surely is talking a lot.”

The driver asked, “What did your
laowai
friend say?”

“He wants to know what you said.”

He chuckled and paused to think. “Ah, so your
laowai
friend hasn’t heard anything about it neither, eh?”

“I don’t know, but one thing I’m sure about—” I could hear irritation in my own voice. “My old barbarian friend knows more about Buddhism than you do.”

Instead of being offended, he smiled, his large, neurotic eyes locking my gaze in the mirror. “Ah, but I don’t think so. I’m sure he doesn’t know the fact that this Leshan statue is a real Buddha.”

Feeling really annoyed now, my voice raised an octave. “Driver, just tell me what this ‘Leshan statue is a real Buddha’ is all about.”

Michael took my hand. “Meng Ning, what’s the matter? What did he say to annoy you?”

“Nothing.”

Just then the driver spoke again. “When I say the statue is a real Buddha, I mean that it’s alive with a spirit.”

Now he had my attention. He paused to wet his thick lips, the color of coagulated blood. “During the Cultural Revolution, many times people tried to destroy the Leshan Buddha, but all failed.”

“What did they do?”

“They climbed up the statue—that is, the mountain top—and tried to chop off his head.”

“But that head’s the size of a small house!” I’d seen many pictures of the famous Buddha.

“No, not that, miss.” He chuckled. “It’s because each time they tried, something happened—a comrade fell off the mountain and got killed; another seized by a panic so that he had to be carried down the mountain; yet another one had a massive heart attack and died on the spot. Finally the vandals agreed that chopping was impractical. A new idea was born; they climbed up the statue and tied sticks of dynamite around the Buddha’s head—”

“Oh, no! Then what happened?”

Michael turned to me. “Please translate what he said!”

“Shhh! Let me hear the whole story first.”

I prodded the driver: “Then what happened?”

“Be patient, miss. That’s what I’m about to tell you.” He took time to wet his lips, swallow hard, and after that, plunged on. “Then, when they tried to detonate the dynamite, it thundered. It had been a fine day, but suddenly there was a bolt of lightning!” He struck the steering wheel sharply. “And—”

Michael jolted. “Meng Ning, what happened?”

“Quiet, please, Michael, would you please let him finish?”

“I want to know what he’s saying.”

I ignored Michael’s remark while searching the driver’s eyes in the mirror. “And what?”

“And it struck everybody dead. Dead!” He spat out the window, then he lifted his hands from the steering wheel and stretched them wide apart, his excited voice echoing in the small confines of the car. “Their corpses looked like huge, roasted sausages!”

“Oh, my God!”

Michael’s voice, now very upset, rose next to me. “Meng Ning, when you talk to him he takes his hands from the steering wheel—better stop asking him things. The road is still wet and slippery.”

Just when I was about to warn the driver, deafening honks exploded. To my horror, I saw a car speeding toward us from the opposite lane. Our taxi swerved sharply and we all skidded to the side of the road.

Our driver stuck his head out and hollered, “You son of a bitch! Couldn’t you wait to register with the King of Hell?!”

The other driver shot him a murderous look. “You dead man!”

He shot back, “Fuck your mother and stop driving like a lunatic!”

After that, he resumed driving, while casting a triumphant smile toward us in the rearview mirror.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Michael; then he patted hard on the driver’s shoulder. “Would you please concentrate on the road and drive more carefully?”

The driver turned to ask me, “What did your
laowai
friend say?”

Before I could answer, Michael was fuming again. “Meng Ning, won’t you tell him not to turn his head back, but instead look at the road ahead?!”

I told the driver and he said, “All right, all right. Miss, tell your
laowai
friend not to worry; I’m a very experienced driver.” He added with a casual air, “I talk to my passengers all the time and nothing’s ever happened.”

A brief silence followed. I took the opportunity to translate to Michael everything the driver had told me about the Buddha.

Michael listened intently, and then, to my surprise, dismissed it with a laugh. “It’s not at all Buddhist. Buddhas don’t kill people.”

Not wanting to incur Michael’s wrath by distracting the driver, I kept my mouth shut.

But not the driver; he spoke again. “Miss, you know that the Leshan Buddha always responds to people’s wishes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Many years ago before it was built, boats, when sailing past this mountain, had capsized. Then the villagers decided to carve a Buddha out of the whole mountain to subdue the devils. And after the statue was built, there have been no more accidents.”

I translated this to Michael. He said, “It’s nice that people believe that, but I think it’s just coincidence.”

“Michael, you’re too scientifically minded. I like the idea.”

“Actually, I sort of like it, too.” He smiled.

A long meditative silence followed. Then the driver spoke again, this time turning back to stare directly at me. “Miss, if you ever have a chance to look this Leshan Buddha straight in his eyes, you’ll find that they’ll follow you wherever you go. Besides, if you stare at him long enough, you can see that he smiles—”

“Meng Ning. Is there some way you can convince him to keep his eyes on the road?”

After I’d translated to the driver, he chuckled. “Miss,
laowai
are famous for being nervous. Tell your friend to relax.”

“Why don’t you pay attention—then my friend will relax,” I said, then translated to Michael.

“Good,” he replied.

I started to translate our earlier conversation, but our driver turned back again, with a wide grin that showed a jumble of yellowed teeth. “Oh, miss, don’t you worry about me. I started to drive thirty years ago, probably before you were born—”

Suddenly Michael screamed, “Watch out!” and pulled me toward him.

I saw a tall truck, like a mountain wall, crashing toward our taxi at full speed. In a split second, I heard frenzied honks, squealing of tires…

I didn’t know how long I remained unconscious, but when I opened my eyes, the whole world seemed tilted. People—like phantoms—moved, talked, and hollered around our taxi in slow motion.

The driver, his glasses cracked and his forehead cut and bleeding, turned and muttered something comforting, but his words were lost in the buzzing and bustling of the people around us. My bones felt as if they were broken. Before I had a chance to gather up my thoughts, I saw rivulets of blood streaming from underneath me onto the floor.

I shrieked, “I’m bleeding!”

The driver spoke, his hand dabbing his forehead with a blood-stained handkerchief, “It’s not you, miss. I think it’s your friend.”

It was then that I realized the blood was not mine, but Michael’s. He sprawled next to me, unconscious.

I reached to touch him with my trembling hand. “Michael…”

But he didn’t answer me and his eyes remained closed. A nerdy-looking man, his body half inside and half outside the car, was trying to stop Michael’s bleeding with a filthy rag. Several others milled around giving useless suggestions.

“Oh, my God, Michael, Michael…” I touched him, but soon my mind was numbed by the quickly growing group of people now hovering around the car like vultures.

The driver got out of the car and moved toward me in the backseat. “Don’t worry, miss, I think your
laowai
friend will be all right. I never hurt anyone with my driving.”

“Shut up!” I yelled. “If you’d paid more attention—”

I lifted Michael’s head, laid it on my lap, and gently rocked.

“Don’t move him!” someone yelled as more people crowded around us to watch—as if we were animals on display.

Then I heard sirens wailing. Two policemen rolled up and got out of their car to look at us. Another police car arrived and more khaki-uniformed policemen jumped out and started to direct traffic. The crowd grew as thick and dark as the coagulating blood.

One fiftyish woman gestured wildly. “My heaven! Blood spilled out of the
laowai
like a slaughtered pig!”

A teenager slashed the air with a wide arc of his arm. “Wow! The truck driver flew up in the air just like a stuntman!”

I cried more.

Our taxi driver yelled to them, “Why don’t you both shut up!”

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I kept holding Michael and involuntarily began to recite Guan Yin’s name.

Right then the ambulance’s piercing sirens overrode the crowd’s noise. Several uniformed men jumped down from the vehicle and got to work. They put Michael and the truck driver on stretchers, threw blankets over them, then carried them into the ambulance. After that, they helped the taxi driver and me in. Then the ambulance sped away and brought us to the hospital.

To my great relief, Michael finally woke up. But because of all the commotion, we couldn’t really hear each other talk. I felt a huge weight lifted from my chest when the doctor told me that his life was not in danger. He had a sprained ankle and a big cut on his scalp, which took twenty stitches to close, but fortunately, the X-rays showed no skull fracture. Because he had been unconscious, the ER doctor decided to keep him for observation.

I only had a few bruises and scrapes. After a wait of two hours, a young doctor in a stained, off-white coat quickly bandaged me and told me I could leave.

But I was not finished with the accident yet. Two policemen came and took me to the police station to give details of the accident and to verify both Michael’s and my identity and the purpose of our trip. After that, I went back to the hospital. Michael, though awake and lying in bed, looked very weak and ill at ease. He asked where I’d been, and when I told him, he looked both angry and touched. “Meng Ning”—he reached to grasp my hand—“I’m sorry you have to go through all this.”

A silence. Then when I was about to say something comforting, he’d already fallen back to sleep. While I stared at his bandaged head and his shrunken face, I kept telling myself that now I was no longer a young girl protected inside the Golden Lotus Temple. That I was a woman responsible for Michael’s recovery. That I had to be strong. Now, in China, where it was just him and me.

The hospital staff wouldn’t allow me to stay overnight to keep Michael company, so I left the hospital at ten. A young nurse was kind enough to help me call for a taxi back to the hotel.

I cried my heart out in the dimness of the car. The driver, a fierce-looking man, scrutinized me in the rearview mirror and spat out, “You all right?”

I shot back, “Just let me cry in peace, will you?”

To my surprise, he shut up.