Part 20 (1/2)

More seemingly impossible martial feats followed. One teenage monk performed One Finger Zen by ”standing” on only one finger. Another, after he'd moved his energy, defied gravity by leaping up to the ceiling in one bound. Toward the end, a white-haired, leather-skinned monk appeared out of nowhere, and concluded the show by licking a burning-hot iron shovel while maintaining perfect composure-the most difficult and m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic of all stunts.

I was flabbergasted by the feats, the agility of the human body, and the monks' perfect self-control achieved through kulian, kulian, bitter practice. But the little monks-how could they have acquired an adult's perseverance and discipline? I knew that not only do the monks carry out year-round training with no rest, they also have to abstain from s.e.x. The Shaolin Temple allows wine-imbibing monks and even carnivorous monks, but not s.e.x-indulging monks. They believe s.e.x will disperse their energy, distract their spirit, and so destroy their kung fu. Just as the nuns in Golden Lotus Temple believe that human pa.s.sion, illusory as it is, will destroy their concentration for higher deeds. Since I'd fallen in love with Michael and had s.e.x with him, was I also losing my bitter practice. But the little monks-how could they have acquired an adult's perseverance and discipline? I knew that not only do the monks carry out year-round training with no rest, they also have to abstain from s.e.x. The Shaolin Temple allows wine-imbibing monks and even carnivorous monks, but not s.e.x-indulging monks. They believe s.e.x will disperse their energy, distract their spirit, and so destroy their kung fu. Just as the nuns in Golden Lotus Temple believe that human pa.s.sion, illusory as it is, will destroy their concentration for higher deeds. Since I'd fallen in love with Michael and had s.e.x with him, was I also losing my qi, qi, my focus in life? my focus in life?

The performance ended with everybody clapping enthusiastically.

As Michael and I were heading with the crowd toward the meditation hall for zazen, zazen, sitting meditation, he asked, ”Did you enjoy the show?” sitting meditation, he asked, ”Did you enjoy the show?”

I nodded. It was cathartic for my present state of mind.

”But I didn't. It's militaristic, not peaceful.” He frowned. ”I'm not impressed by Buddhist acrobats.”

”I disagree.” My voice rose, and I felt combative, like the monks. ”That's what Hidden Virtue said during his introduction. Shaolin kung fu is more than fighting. It's art, philosophy, mysticism. Each routine has a symbolic meaning-a dragon leaving its cave, a golden c.o.c.k spreading its wings, a warrior embracing the moon, a hungry tiger climbing up the mountain...” My tone was getting tenser and tenser. ”So Michael, how can you just dismiss them as Buddhist acrobats?”

”Why do you sound unhappy?” Michael looked surprised. ”You've been acting strange ever since I got home. Is something wrong?” He paused, then asked tentatively, ”Are you still upset about my past with Lisa?”

”No, Michael, I'm fine.” I tried to appear calm, but my cheeks felt hot.

Right then Master Hidden Virtue came up to us and proudly asked, ”Dr. Fuller and Miss Du, how did you like our kung fu?”

Michael said, ”We loved it. It's wonderful.”

The Master said, ”This way, please, Doctor Fuller and Miss Du, meditation is about to begin.”

The meditation session was led by an octogenarian monk whose emaciated body and hollow-cheeked, coppery face made me think of a pile of dry sticks.

We sat down on meditation cus.h.i.+ons amidst the other partic.i.p.ants, and Michael, seemingly having forgotten our bickering earlier, leaned close to me. ”Meng Ning, this is Master Silent Thunder. Don't let his decrepit look deceive you; he has the sharpest mind I've ever known.”

I didn't care whether Silent Thunder's mind was sharp or blunt; I only knew that mine was now a killing field where all the monkeys were let loose-fighting against each other, slas.h.i.+ng stomachs, spearing throats, burning tongues. My head ached, my legs cramped, my body fidgeted on the cus.h.i.+on as if it were a bed of nails. I could hardly breathe, let alone concentrate. I peeked at Michael, but he looked as stable as a rock. Then I peered at Silent Thunder. With legs locked in the full lotus position like the roots of a heavily gnarled ancient tree, he looked as light and detached as a cloud. A tide of envy rose inside me.

I was still fidgeting until I felt my elbow poked. Michael cast me a chiding glance, then he said in a heated whisper, ”Meng Ning, you should stop that and concentrate on your breathing.”

The session seemed to last forever. Finally when it ended, Silent Thunder started to ”open a revelation”-lecture on Zen.

The old monk's eyes swept across the room like a peal of silent thunder. When they fell on me, I felt as if my body were being brushed by the cool blade of a sharp knife. I shuddered.

He spoke. ”One time, the great Song dynasty poet Su Dongpo went to visit his monk friend Buddhist Seal. After they'd finished meditating, Su Dongpo asked his friend, 'What did I look like during meditation?'

”The monk said, 'A statue of Buddha.'

”Then the monk asked Su Dongpo, 'Then what do you think I looked like?'

”Deciding to tease his friend as well as to test his cultivation, Su Dongpo said, 'A piece of s.h.i.+t,' expecting the monk to be boiling with anger.

”'Ah, what a pity!' Buddhist Seal said, smiling gently. 'In Buddha's eyes everyone is pure and possesses Buddha's nature. But if one's eyes are smeared by s.h.i.+t then he can see nothing but s.h.i.+t.'”

Barely had Silent Thunder finished when the partic.i.p.ants burst into laughter, breaking up the solemn atmosphere. The octogenarian's deeply tanned face remained as dry as a stick.

I was still chewing on Silent Thunder's ”s.h.i.+tty” revelation when Michael and I stepped outside the Zen center and started walking toward the subway station. It was five in the afternoon and the street was crowded. Ahead of us, a young Chinese couple held hands and talked intimately between giggles. Michael and I held hands, but we neither talked nor laughed. Our minds seemed to be on opposite sides of the Pacific Ocean.

When we were waiting for the light to change, he said, sounding upset, ”What is it, Meng Ning? I don't understand.”

”Understand what?” My voice was as sharp as the monks' knives.

His eyes looked wounded. ”I've tried to be nice, but you're acting like a stranger. You haven't shown any affection since I came back last night. I can't read your mind. Won't you tell me what this is all about?”

”It's because my mind is full of s.h.i.+t!”

The light turned green and we started to walk. When the crowd thinned, I pulled forward. Michael let go of my hand. He had to be really angry now. Afraid, I hurried back to him and took his hand. ”Michael...I'm sorry.”

He looked at me, his gaze intent but wary. ”Please, tell me what's bothering you.”

But I remained stubbornly uncommunicative, bottling up all my feelings.

24.

Men Are Nothing but Trouble Back home, Michael led me to sit down on the sofa. ”Meng Ning”-he looked concerned-”what is it? Please tell me.”

I surprised myself by uttering a bitterness I'd never known, nor experienced. ”Maybe I should. But I don't know whether I can trust you, Michael, or your professor, or...your monks.” I knew I was venting the anger caused by my encounters with Lisa and Philip on Michael. I knew I was being absurd. But I couldn't help it.

Michael looked startled. ”Have I been doing something wrong? I thought you enjoyed the martial arts at the Zen center, so now why suddenly bitter? That's not like you.”

”Maybe from now on it is,” I snapped, then blurted out in spite of myself, ”and I should have known it's dangerous to be too close to the heart of a man, for it spurts nothing but trouble.”

But Michael didn't get angry; he looked worried instead. ”Why are you suddenly angry with men? I've never heard you talk like that before. What's bothering you?”

”I think I should have entered the empty gate to be a nun....”

”What are you talking about? Can you shake yourself out of this?”

”No,” I said bitterly, blaming all my recent disillusionments and confusion and guilt on him. ”Michael, I always wanted to be a nun. I never intended to love men, but to avoid them. Then you come along and toss my world upside down...”

He remained silent while staring at me, looking puzzled.

Though feeling powerless and knowing I was being unfair, I couldn't stop my bitter talk. ”Michael, it was never my intention to fall in love with you. I've always thought I'd be a nun like Yi Kong, or maybe a single career woman, instead of ending up being a jobless and penniless thirty-year-old spinster.”

Now Michael seemed really stung by my words. ”Meng Ning, would you stop all this nonsense?!”

I hugged my knees and buried my face between them, ashamed of my attachment to Michael, my weakness, my meanness to him, my childish attack on men. And, of course, my near-betrayal of him with his ex-fiancee and his best friend.

But then when I looked up and met Michael's penetrating eyes, my irrationality was fueled anew. ”Michael, you have your professor and your meditation and the rich and famous in the art world.”

He swallowed hard, willing himself to calm down. ”Why are you talking like this? You know I care about you. Besides, I don't know why you hold a grudge against Professor Fulton.”

I retorted, ”Because he acted cold to me. He hardly even glanced in my direction. He's a sn.o.b.”