Then I saw Yi Kong saunter toward the office building, face flushed, gray robe swaying in the summer breeze and shaved head gleaming under the sun. My heart kept knocking hard. Was my true karma to be a nun in her temple? Or was I just confused about the world?
You could have become a nun years ago, but you didn’t. Michael’s words rang loud in my ears.
Yi Kong looked tired yet cheerful. Unexpectedly, her presence filled my body with the happiness of the Dharma, as it had so many times before in my long years of visits to her temple. But the last five years had affected her perhaps as much as they had me. I was sad to notice that her skin looked weathered and her gait was slower. I hated to recognize that my mentor was, like us all, yielding to the passage of time.
Yi Kong, Depending on Emptiness.
A woman.
A nun.
A celebrity nun.
A celebrity nun running the biggest Buddhist temple in the last British colony.
Had she been content living behind the heavy temple gate for twenty-nine years? But wasn’t her beaming countenance the proof of a positive answer? Besides, if everything in this world is but an illusion, what is real happiness after all?
She entered the room, saw me, and smiled. “Meng Ning, sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Yi Kong Shifu, don’t worry. I’ve been enjoying your exquisite art objects.”
“The temple’s art objects,” Yi Kong corrected me as she seated herself behind the enormous black wood desk adorned with curios. Gingerly, I sat facing her-and the Guan Yin posed in royal ease.
“I’m glad you like them. I’ll show you more later. Now let’s have tea.” She picked up the teapot with three of her tapered fingers and poured us both full cups. “How’s everything?” she asked, then set the teapot down with a delicate sound.
“Fine, thank you.” The scalding tea tasted slightly bitter, yet pure. I lifted the cup to my nose and inhaled the stimulating fragrance. Floating in the apple green water, the emerald leaves joined and parted to form intricate patterns. Was there a sign of my fate hiding among these pretty shapes? Was it the right choice to forsake the empty gate and plunge into the Ten Thousand Miles of Red Dust? A married life over enlightenment? I closed my eyes to absorb the sensations of the steam moistening my face and warming my heart.
“Very good tea,” I said.
“The best,” Yi Kong corrected me again.
“What kind?”
“Yunwu, from the Lu Mountain of Jiangxi province.”
Yunwu, cloud and mist. Didn’t she have any idea that yunwu is a subtle variation of another word, yunyu, cloud and rain, meaning lovemaking?
Suddenly, I could feel the weight of Michael’s perspiring body, followed by a vision of Lisa’s heavy bosom and her atrophied leg, then Philip’s helplessly handsome face and pained expression… I shuddered.
“Meng Ning, are you all right?” My mentor cast me a look of concern mixed with suspicion.
“I’m fine,” I said, feeling the heat on my cheeks. Quickly I changed the subject. “How are you?”
Now I looked at her composed face, feeling both guilty and sad. Why didn’t she act more affectionately toward me-as she had when she lay on the stretcher after the fire?
“I’m fine as long as the Fragrant Spirit Temple is fine. I’m relieved that nobody got hurt in the fire.” Yi Kong sighed. “Hai! But the five thousand three hundred twenty volumes of the Tripitaka…anyway, thanks for your help.” Then she changed the subject. “How was Paris?”
“Good.” I condensed my answer to one word for I knew she was not really interested in anybody’s business in Paris.
“What’s your plan now?”
“Nothing special yet.” I really didn’t know how to respond.
“Good.” She paused, then went on. “Since you’ve gotten your Ph.D. and we are going to add a lot of artwork to our temple after its reconstruction, you can help us as our consultant. Think about it.”
“Thank you. I definitely will.” Married or not, I needed something to get my career started. Still, I felt disheartened. Why had she given the post of assistant to Dai Nam? Why hadn’t she waited for me? Had she already known that I wouldn’t need it anymore?
Yi Kong studied me intently. “You look good.”
Her eyes rested on my cup. I followed her glance to the discovery of a lipstick mark, moist and tender as in the memory of a sensuous kiss. My cheeks felt hot as I remembered how Michael’s lips had pressed on mine, sending ripples all over my body. Yi Kong had never seen me with makeup before. How could I have forgotten to not put it on today?
“Thank you. You, too. Are you still as busy as ever?” Anxiously, I tried to distract her; she liked to talk about the temple and her projects.
Her face glowed. “Yes, but as you know, work in the temple never ends. People always tell me to relax and do things slowly, but how can I? So many Buddhist treasures either vanish or are damaged in China every day.
“That picture of the monks chanting in a temple in Tibet that I photographed six years ago-do you remember? When I went back last year, the temple was all gone, mysteriously burnt, not a trace left behind.
“As I planned to leave for Shanxi to record the chanting of a ninety-year-old monk-the last one who knew a particular style-I learned that he had just died from choking while taking some Chinese herbal soup for longevity. The news arrived two days before I was to leave. So how can I slow down when I see these precious traditions disappearing before my eyes? On the contrary, I have to work faster.”
Yi Kong stopped. “Oh, I’ve been all immersed in my own talk. Are you hungry? I’ll ask the chef to cook something for you. Today we have very fresh tofu, bamboo shoots, and mushrooms.”
“Thank you very much, but I had lunch before I came.”
She squinted at me. “Do you still eat meat?”
“I’m a part-time vegetarian now,” I said, avoiding her gaze.
“Ah, part-time!” Yi Kong exclaimed.
I blurted out, “Shifu, although my mouth is not completely vegetarian, my heart is.”
Yi Kong smiled, then spoke jokingly. “Ah, that I don’t know, but I’m sure you have a tongue rolled not in vegetable oil, but in pig fat.”
I felt my ears on fire.
Sensing my embarrassment, she picked up from her desk a round clay incense burner and changed the subject. “Let me show you my little treasures here. This one is a rare Ming piece from an antique store in Kyoto. See how the lid has several small holes? When you burn incense inside, the smoke coming out through them smells exceptionally good, since it is the essence extracted from all the fragrance inside.
“Besides, the meandering smoke is such a pleasure to look at, like cursive calligraphy forming in the air. If you meditate on its ever changing lines, you’ll gain more insight into the transience and impermanence of life.”
Yes, like Professor Fulton’s death, and even the kitten’s. Was the professor now contentedly stroking the kitten in Amida Buddha’s Western Paradise?
Yi Kong went on. “You’ll also feel calm just by looking at the graceful shape of the burner.”
She handed me the container. “Feel the smooth and subtle cracks on the surface; it’s very soothing.”
True. It felt like her creamy skin, which I’d once touched after the fire. I felt embarrassed, but my hands refused to leave its comfortable form.
Next Yi Kong showed me a small ceramic teapot made to resemble a Buddha’s Hand citron, the shape and deep purple color of which reminded me of eggplant, a favorite dish in the monastery. Two rows of calligraphy on its round belly read:
FLOWERS CAN LISTEN AND UNDERSTAND,
AND STONES CAN BE AMIABLE.
“Very nice-a stone can be likable. I love the idea,” I murmured while peeking at my engagement ring. I’d meant to leave it at home before I left for the nunnery, but had completely forgotten to do so.
“Stones are indeed charming,” Yi Kong said. “But not just the idea. I would also like to collect stones, you know, like those in a scholar’s study. Besides being appreciated as objects of art, do you know that stones can also be served as food?”