Michael turned and spotted me. Lisa also spotted me and our eyes met; she cast me a knowing smile as if we’d been sharing the profoundest secrets under heaven. I imagined her saying, “You liked what we did the other day, didn’t you? Admit it.” And now she smiled as if suggesting we were allies performing tricks behind Michael’s back.
My heart clutched and I disliked her bitterly at this moment. I pretended not to see them and quickly walked behind a crowd.
Then I heard a familiar voice emanating from this small gathering of tall, expensively dressed men. I looked up and saw a familiar face-Philip Noble.
Oh heavens, my heart started to beat hard and loud like a battle drum. Would he see me? When I tried to move away stealthily I bumped right into the man next to Philip.
The man turned and looked; I had no choice but to mutter a soft “Sorry,” and hurry away.
From the corner of my eye, I think I saw Philip turn and look. But then he turned right back to talk. Did he see me? Or did he feign not seeing me?
Just then the funeral director asked the crowd to move into the next room and be seated.
The ceremony was very well organized, with many speeches by celebrities in the art world, collectors, deans and professors from the most prestigious universities, directors from Sotheby’s and Christie’s, the president of the Met…
After that, it was Lisa’s turn. Even though I sat in the third row, I still craned my neck to follow her as she approached the podium. Several men’s eyes widened as they watched her black silhouette, like a gilded devi, glide by in the eerie funeral light. She had not relinquished jewelry, but pared it to a mere bracelet-the ruby-eyed panther biting its tail. Silence fell in the hall as people, mesmerized, intently watched her limp her way onto the podium. Then, breaking their voyeuristic trance, a cry arose. Lisa had stumbled. Michael and one dignitary onstage dashed to her rescue. They helped her up, steadied her, and held her by the waist and shoulders. As a pang of jealousy seized my heart, Lisa regained her balance. She thanked the two men with a nod, then limped-now very noticeably-to the microphone.
“Don’t worry”-she smiled a little shyly-“this may be my way to be enlightened.”
Nervous laughter exploded in the audience. It seemed that people liked the daughter as much as they had liked the father. Clearly the fall had brought out an affecting vulnerability that set off her fierce beauty and strong physique. Moreover, Lisa’s speech turned out to be vivid and touching. Instead of praising Michael Fulton directly, like the others had, she told us anecdotes about him that made him seem very human and appealing.
When Lisa finished, tears glistened in her eyes. I looked around. In the front row, the curators and professors and the art dealers looked at her appreciatively. The middle-aged woman behind me wiped her tears and sighed. Then, to my unease, Philip Noble’s alluring face entered my vision. Head lowered and expression tender, he was listening intensely to an elegant woman of indeterminate age. Then he looked up and smiled a little. Did he see me? Heart beating quickly, I quickly turned back to the stage and saw Michael’s warm, sad eyes keenly searching for mine.
Michael’s speech, though a little less eloquent than Lisa’s, was equally moving. He recounted how Fulton had “adopted” him as a son and generously shared with him his knowledge of Buddhism and art. And how, without the professor’s teaching and sharing, he, as an American, would have never aspired to the refinements of a Chinese scholar-gentleman: lighting incense, sipping fragrant tea, appreciating delicate scroll paintings, reciting Zen poems. Toward the end, he said, “I believe the karma of knowing Professor Fulton will continue for the rest of my life. I am forever indebted to his kindness.”
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.