stab of gratitude both for my privacy below and for the care of so many people above.
When the villagers were ready to rescue me, they threw down more quilts. Voices shouted, “Meng Ning, spread them out under you!” Then came the long rope and the basket. The voices hollered again, “Get in!” Slowly, I climbed inside and curled up like a baby in the womb. The people above began to pull. The ascent was slow, cautious, wobbly at times, but steady. People kept yelling, “Meng Ning, don’t look down!”
But I couldn’t resist the temptation. I wanted to take one last look at the little round corner that had unexpectedly given me moments of peace. So I leaned over and looked down. I didn’t panic as the villagers had feared. Instead, I felt great tenderness for a larger realm that I couldn’t yet name. I recalled the reflection of the floating clouds in the shimmering water, the third eye forever following me when I moved, the pregnant moon, the peeking stars, the murmuring tunes of the grass at night…
Then I was suddenly in daylight again, being pulled out of the basket by my parents, who were crying and shouting, “Oh, Ning Ning! Thank heaven you’re okay!” All the neighbors took turns to comfort and greet me. Right then, the firemen arrived. I was immediately rushed to the hospital for a checkup. The doctor said besides a few bruises and cuts, I was fine, and miraculously, not a single bone was broken. He bandaged my knees, gave me a tetanus shot, and said I could go home.
After that, I was considered an extremely lucky child. The blind fortune-teller said any person who had survived such an ordeal could only be a reincarnation of Guan Yin. The villagers held a celebration party for me the next day. They made offerings to the ancestors and gods, then they roasted pigs, butchered chickens, gutted fish, warmed wine, and ignited firecrackers. They also showered me with gifts: lucky money in red envelopes, clothes, toys, books, crayons, my favorite Cadbury Fruit & Nut milk chocolate, first quality tea leaves, wine, even gold and silver ornaments, and small antique statues. My parents’ hands were intertwined during the whole evening, their eyes resting tenderly on me.
While I was pampered like a little princess, the two boys who’d knocked me down the well during their game of police-chasing-thieves were severely punished-each had his bottom whacked ten times with a thick stick. My plea that I actually had a good time down in the well landed on deaf ears. The villagers thought I was just being nice and adored me all the more. My neighbor Mrs. Wong gave me the best Iron Goddess of Mercy tea with rose petals, and a roasted chicken like the one she had offered to Guan Yin. Believing that they’d share my good luck, several villagers went to buy lottery tickets. After the banquet, my father took all my lucky money and slipped out to the gambling house.
I almost wished I would fall into the well again, so that Father would stop gambling and fighting with Mother. So I’d always be loved and treated like a goddess. So I could be left alone with just Guan Yin in that quiet place underground.
A few days later, I ran into Mrs. Wong. She told me that near my house was a nunnery dedicated to Guan Yin; she regularly went to pay her respects to the gilded Guan Yin statue sitting on a golden lotus. I soon began to visit the temple after school. Surrounded by glimmering candles and the fragrance of long-burning incense, I’d look up and pour out all my heart’s troubles to the Goddess’s beautiful image. I’d also watch the nuns’ kind faces as they housed and nurtured the orphans, fed the poor, cared for the old, prayed for the dead. Like Guan Yin, the Goddess of Mercy, they plunged into the Ten Thousand Miles of Red Dust-the mortals’ field of passion-having sworn never to enter paradise even if only one soul was still left unsaved.
3. To Accumulate More Merit
Now inside the lobby of the Fragrant Spirit Temple, the line continued to move very slowly and people were starting to fidget. Electronic Buddhist music-the “Incantation of Great Compassion”- boomed from every corner of the monastery.
Because I had been too poor to afford it in the past, this was the first time I’d joined a retreat. I had little money, but I thought that at thirty, it was now or never. So I paid with the money I’d saved during my five years of study in Paris as a scholarship student and by doing odd jobs-assisting part-time in a small art gallery, sketching portraits for three francs each in Montmartre, and waitressing.
The temple quickly filled up with people of all ages, including quite a number of children. Some were sitting; others strutted around in their little black robes, their oversized sleeves trailing on the floor, making dry, brushing sounds. A few of the boys exhibited cleanly shaved heads; their pale scalps looked like strangely enlarged eggs under the hot July sun. Groups of men talked animatedly while waiting. I wondered what they were talking about, Buddhism or the stock market? Women whispered and giggled. Were they comparing the charitable deeds of the Goddess of Mercy to those of Princess Diana?
Next to a huge bronze incense burner a young couple gazed silently into each other’s eyes. After a while, the woman pulled out a tissue and wiped the moisture from the man’s face. The man gave her a grateful smile and patted her hand. Neither uttered a word. Buddhists say
It was finally my turn at the registration desk. A sour-faced woman with unruly wisps of black hair stabbed a meaty finger at my name on the thick registration sheet. “Miss Du Meng Ning, your fee for our Summer Buddhist Retreat is two thousand Hong Kong dollars. Have you brought your own Buddhist robe?”
I hadn’t. But if I chose to be a nun, I would be wearing the
Moreover, I would also be given a Buddhist name. I wondered which would suit me best: Observing Mind, Solitary Light, Enlightened to Suchness, No Dust, or Empty Cloud? I hoped I wouldn’t be given the name of my great-great-grandfather’s daughter-No Name.
“Miss, have you brought your own Buddhist robe?” the registration woman repeated, waking me from my reverie. “It’s fifty dollars.”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry, since I’ve just come back from Paris -”
“All right, you don’t have one, no need to explain.”
The woman turned to search hastily among a pile of plastic-wrapped packages, pulled one out, tore it open, shook out a robe, scrutinized the inside collar, and handed it to me. Her quick action manifested like the single brush stroke of a Zen painting.
I carefully counted and handed her the money.
She frowned. “Don’t worry, miss, even if you pay more; it’s a donation to the monastery, and you’ll accumulate more merit for yourself.”
She emphasized the last word by raising her already loud voice. Was she trying to amplify the same benefit-nobody-but-yourself message to the people waiting behind me, or was it a self- interested version of the ancient wisdom, “To lose in order to gain”?
I turned and saw in the line behind me a lanky middle-aged man, a young woman talking rapidly with an elderly one, a couple with two bored-looking teenage boys, and two young girls, holding hands and giggling. I smiled at them, but all ignored my cordiality. What should I expect? Buddhist retreat or not, I was in Hong Kong, a city notorious for rudeness, crowding, and money craving. Then why had they come to the retreat? The woman’s words clanged like a bell in my ears-To Accumulate Your Own Merit. They saddened me; I’d never thought of joining the retreat to accumulate merit. I had come only to test my karma to be a nun.
Right then, something stirred outside. A shaft of sunlight dappled the temple’s rooftop. The amber tiles appeared to be rising and falling, resembling golden dragons in flight. A young nun floated by, her bald scalp glistening under the hot sun, her robe fluttering in the breeze. She looked happy and peaceful.
Had great-great-grandfather’s daughter No Name really been unhappy as a nun?
“Of course,” Mother had once said. “Since the day she entered the nunnery, she was never seen again. She refused to receive any visitors, not even her parents. They could only communicate with her through other nuns. And she refused to talk about anything but illusion, delusion, and emptiness. No Name died of brain cancer at twenty-eight. On her deathbed, she instructed that her body be cremated. So the nuns took her ashes to a high mountain and scattered them into the air. Her relatives said that was her karma-to have entered the empty gate so she would become emptiness.”
Mother had made a face. “But isn’t it funny that, if she thought about nothing but emptiness all day, she would die with her brain
I let out a sigh.
The registration woman studied me with a worried look. “Miss, are you not feeling well?”
“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.”
“Good. Sorry to inquire, but I don’t want any trouble during the retreat. It’s already so busy, and we don’t have enough workers. You understand?”
I sighed again. This time she ignored me as she scribbled out a receipt, tore it off the pad with a threatening
I took the receipt and began to peruse the map to find where the meditation classes would be held. Immediately I was interrupted by an angry cry; I looked up and saw her fingers waving like an eagle ready to attack.
“Wait, wait! Miss, one of your five-hundred-dollar bills is fake.”
“What?”
She fluttered the note, her face pinched like a bun. “This bill is fake!”
The people behind me now seemed suddenly awake. The lanky man eyed me suspiciously. The young woman stole glances at me, while whispering to her friend. The two young girls, blushing, stared at their feet. The two teenage boys laughed uncontrollably. I imagined-despite the risk of bad karma-smacking their faces with a sharp
In order to get the most from my scanty savings, I’d asked a friend’s friend to exchange the Hong Kong dollars on the black market in Paris ’s Chinatown. But how could I tell this to the registration woman?
Now she threatened to either cancel my registration or inform the temple. She thrust a pudgy finger at the long queue. “As you can see, miss, we can’t afford to waste time with this hoax.”
“Ma’am, there’s no hoax-”
“I mean what I say, and I only tell the truth. Now the truth is that your money is fake.”
Just then the foreigner I’d noticed before stepped forward and asked in English, “You need help?”
I looked at him and hesitated.
He asked again, his voice full of concern, “Something wrong? Can I help?”
Before I’d even decided what to do, I blurted out to him in English what had happened, as well as where and why I’d obtained the money.
He pulled out his wallet, fished out a five-hundred-dollar bill and laid it down on the counter, and then, looking very stern, said to the woman, “I think this is just a misunderstanding. This lady was cheated. She’s…my friend, and I’ll pay for her.”
Seeing that he was a foreigner, the registration woman flashed an obsequious grin and said in English, her voice now full of warmth, “Thank you, sir.” Then she addressed a young nun by the counter in Cantonese. “Shifu, would you please take this miss to the dorm?”
She turned back to me. “This Shifu will take you to your room.” Her grin was still stretched wide on her face. “Miss, sorry about the misunderstanding. No hard feelings, eh?”
I ignored her while extending my hand to thank the foreigner, feeling confused yet nevertheless grateful. “I’m Du Meng Ning. Thank you so much for your kindness. I’ll pay you back as soon as the retreat is over.” I looked at his eyes and noticed they were green.
