My childhood efforts to identify
I peeked at Mother. She was still studying the pop singer with great envy and absorption, oblivious to a giggling teenage couple and a band of four marching housewives pushing by her.
“Ah, how beautiful she is, wearing all her fancy jewelry,” Mother said, hiding her bare hands behind her. “See, Meng Ning,” she said, her voice soaked with feeling, “Sally Yeh is still single, so nowadays you don’t have to get married to take wedding pictures. The newspaper says it’s fashionable for young women to dress as a bride only to look pretty and to take pictures as souvenirs. I think you should also take pictures like this while you still look young.”
I snapped, “But, Ma, I am not a pop singer, and this is just an advertisement.”
Mother’s face stiffened. “Of course you’re not a pop singer. You’re better, much better!” Then she sighed, muttering to herself, “
I pretended not to have heard her. She went on, this time staring right into my eyes. “Meng Ning, don’t act stuck-up and chase men away. And don’t be overly choosy so you end up getting only the leftover rotten apples at the bottom of a moldy crate.”
I remained silent. She gave me a chiding glance. “You’re very pretty and talented, so I really don’t believe there’re no men prostrating at your feet. It must be your attitude. You know the proverb ‘Gorgeous as the peaches and plums, cold as the ice and frost’?”
Seeing that I still didn’t respond, Mother plunged on: “I have taught you many things, but never to snub men, especially the good ones like doctors, lawyers, or even engineers.”
“Ma-” Suddenly Michael’s face, looming large, squeezed out all thoughts in my mind.
“What?”
I blurted out before I could stop myself, “Actually, someone has just proposed to me.”
Mother had a stunned expression, as if her teenage daughter had just told her that she was pregnant. “Really?”
“Yes.”
She studied me with a puzzled expression, ignoring a withered old woman pushing through the space between her and the shop window.
“Is it true?” A smile was gradually blooming on her face. “Then why didn’t you tell me earlier? Who is he?”
“He…he’s an American.”
“ABC?” She meant American-born Chinese.
“No, he’s…white.”
“You mean a white ghost?”
Although Mother looked happy having learned that someone had proposed to me, she didn’t look pleased that he was an “old barbarian.”
Because, in Mother’s opinion, foreigners were synonymous with wantonness and debauchery. When she was in a bad mood, they would even be carriers of an unspeakable disease. When I’d prepared my trip to the States, she’d said, “Ah, very brave, go to America and deal with barbarians. I’ll never have your guts, I don’t want to catch AIDS!” Of course she didn’t mean sex, but sitting on a chair someone with AIDS had sat on, that sort of thing.
“But, Ma, please don’t use that ugly word. Michael is very nice to me and-”
“Mic Ko?” Mother pinched her eyes into slits. “When did this Mic Ko propose?”
“A month ago.”
“How long have you known each other?”
“A few months.”
Mother snatched a paper fan from her handbag, snapped it open, and fanned impatiently. “Too quick! That’s typical American. Can’t wait, everything rush, rush, rush! Instant tea, instant coffee, instant sex, instant marriage, instant divorce! Can’t sit down for ten minutes to brew tea, spend another ten to appreciate the leaves, another five to smell its fragrance, and another five to sip. That’s why Americans have no culture, because they have no time!”
After Mother had finished repeating the tea instructor’s lecture and criticizing American culture, she paused to look into my eyes. “Ah, innocent girl. Love and marriage are never as simple as that. Don’t believe the Chinese saying ‘If you’re in love, you’ll eat your fill by drinking water.’ I suffered enough from that with your father. And if it’s with a barbarian, that’s worse. Americans always think everything in their country is better than ours, except Suzie Wong.”
She plunged on excitingly. “I had a friend who had a white ghost husband. Not only did he sweat like a coolie, he gobbled food like a refugee, roared with laughter like a huge broken bell struck by a lunatic, and embarrassed her women friends by washing his throat with wine and making gurgling sounds like he’s doing you-know-what. One time during a banquet when he got drunk, he glanced at the women and said, ‘How come when an old hag reaches fifty, she’s still horny,’ then, ‘Don’t worry if a girl’s ugly, as long as she’s handy.’”
Finally Mother concluded her harangue. “That’s what people end up with when they marry a
“Ma, but Michael is nothing like this. He’s a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Mother sneered. “Of what? Philosophy? Or poetry?”
“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, “
“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.
30. A Trip to China
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…”
