by Mingmei Yip
My stay at the temple was likely to be a long one so I had no inclination to rush my arrival there. I wanted to enjoy Peking for a few more days. On the top of my list of soon-to-be-forbidden pleasures was a luxurious meal that would not be allowed in the nunnery.
The Longevity Restaurant was very famous and I decided to spend some of my dwindling funds on a last sumptuous dinner there. The eatery was an old one with dark furnishings and dim light. I ordered several of their most renowned dishes and set about eating them with relish. Then I looked across the room and my enjoyment vanished. A group of men were sitting around talking loudly, eating, tossing the bones on the floor and drinking toast after toast to each other. They made an unpleasant intrusion in this elegant setting but that was not what bothered me. Two of the men, I was almost certain, were Fung's bodyguards! They did not seem to have noticed me since my table was in a dimly lit recess. But this gave me scant comfort. Did their presence mean that Fung was also in Peking? Alarmed, I realized I was hardly any safer here than in Shanghai. I had no mood now to finish my abalone in oyster sauce or the spicy fish lips. I did gulp down what was left of my shark's fin soup to strengthen my bones, then paid quickly and left.
Back in my room at the inn, I collapsed, sobbing. It seemed that I could never be free of Fung's evil. If only I had been able to kill him, I'd be safe now and would not hate myself for letting my father's murderer continue to live under the same sky with me. But at least I'd mutilated him by shooting his ear off. I did take some pleasure in imagining him trying to explain his missing ear.
That night, I barely slept, and as soon as the gray dawn entered the window, I jumped from bed, gathered my sack of possessions, and paid the bill. I climbed into a waiting rickshaw, gave my destination, then slumped back and drew my shawl around my face. In my anxious state, the ride seemed to go on and on. Now, Mother's temple would at least be safe, for I didn't think Fung or his men would ever come for me inside the empty gate. But even this did not leave me free of worry. I'd been forced to fit myself to life in a prostitution house and was now forced into the life of a nunnery. The first change had been extremely painful. How would this one be?
Finally the coolie grunted, "Lotus Temple. Get out. Pay now."
I dragged my bag through the main gate, stopped the first nun whom I ran into, and asked about Wonderful Kindness.
The round-faced nun smiled. "The Abbess has been back for a while."
"Can you show me where her office is?"
The nun pointed to a subtemple under two ancient pine trees. "Abbess's room is on the third floor to the right."
I put my hands together and made a deep bow. "Thank you," I smiled, then hurried toward the green clusters.
The door was left ajar, so I peeked in. Mother, her face pale and her scalp shining like a light bulb, was shuffling piles of papers spread over a large wooden table.
As I was about to knock, a soft voice rose in the air. "Venerable Mother Abbess Wonderful Kindness, this miss asks for you." I turned and saw the same nun whom I'd just talked to in the courtyard.
The young nun pushed open the door and signaled me in. After that, she went straight to stand protectively behind her venerable my mother abbess.
I set my luggage on the floor. Mother looked up and our eyes met. Pangs stabbed my heart. It had been barely a month since we had last seen each other, but Mother seemed to have aged a lot. Her face was paler and those once luminous eyes now looked like two dried-up wells. Or two dusty windows, reflecting nothing in life but images of continual suffering.
She waved a bony hand. "Please be seated, Miss Hu."
Miss Hu? Didn't she recognize me as her daughter?
"Ma-"
"Miss Hu, I would like to be addressed as Wonderful Kindness. Miss Ma was my lay name, which I've abandoned for a long time."
Wonderful Kindness. I would certainly like her to show a little kindness toward her daughter. And Miss Ma, what a clever lie! But I was almost relieved by her impersonal behavior. At least I now knew how I was supposed to behave around her. Since she resumed her role as a "business nun" and preferred our meeting to be businesslike, I'd start with business myself.
"Wonderful Kindness Abbess, I've recently moved from Shanghai to Peking permanently. I'd like to know whether I can stay in your temple for a short period of time ..."
Mother looked surprised, even pleased. Just as my heart was responding to the happiness blossoming on her face, her expression changed again. Now looking serious and detached, she turned to ask the young nun to bring us tea and snacks.
After the nun was gone, she turned to me. "Xiang Xiang," she said, the flicker in her eyes betraying emotion behind her bland expression, "so you've finally decided to join me and become a nun?"
She sounded so eager that I had to lie. "Ma, I'll certainly consider it, but for the time being I need time to think and reorganize my life."
"That's fine. Of course you can stay here as long as you want. But tell me, will you still . . . "
"Ma, don't worry, I'll never again set foot inside a turquoise pavilion."
To my surprise, Mother reached her scarred hand to pat mine.
I knew my face looked blurred to her eyes as hers did to mine. I also knew that, after all these years, we'd become experts at not letting our tears fall-the most prestigious prostitute couldn't afford to mar her makeup and reveal her true feelings; the most revered nun could not afford to let people know of her worldly affections.
Just then the young nun came back with a tray set with a teapot, two lidded cups, and small plates of dim sum.
Mother said, her tone now dignified, "Miss Hu, you are most welcome to stay in Pure Lotus to chant sutras and search for your Buddha-nature."
It was not easy for me to get used to the temple routine of arising at four in the morning and spending much of the day chanting and meditating. There was no maid to bring me beef congee for breakfast or Ah Ping's delicious dishes for lunch and dinner. Indeed, breakfast was not served until we'd been up chanting and meditating for several hours. Then we would all tramp over to the Fragrant Kitchen. The food was vegetarian, not bad, but monotonous.
People were nice enough to me but I made no real friends. I had little in common with the nuns, who were mostly ignorant of any other sort of life. Nor would it have been suitable for me to talk to them about my own life. There were a few other laypeople, who spent their time making offerings to the Buddha to earn merit for their children and ancestors. Their conversations were usually gossip about events in the nunnery though sometimes the outer world would enter in. One elderly woman kept talking about the Japanese and what they would do if they arrived in Peking.
I heard and saw nothing of Fung's henchmen. Nor did I expect to. Anyone-even a bandit or a murderer-once inside a temple, was left in peace. To trouble someone who had taken refuge in the Buddha was to upset the way of heaven. The bad Karma thus generated would last for many generations to come. This also gave me a simple way to be rid of Ouyang. I wrote a letter telling him that I was now practicing meditation at Pure Lotus. I told my big protector of sexual Dharma that, devastated by my father's death as well as disillusioned by affairs of the red dust, I was seriously considering becoming a nun. At the end of the letter, I thanked him profusely for his generous patronage as well as for introducing me to Pure Lotus. Finally I asked him not to send any letter of reply to the nunnery.
I never heard from him again.
Though I now felt safe, the unvarying routine and endless chanting made me restless. When I saw Mother, she avoided any reminiscence of our happy family but instead mostly talked about the Dharma and how it would release me from my unhappiness. Mother now called me Miss Hu. After our week together on the mountain and that first meeting in her temple office, she never called me Xiang Xiang again.
When I wouldn't be missed from the temple activities, I'd slip off to my room, take out my poor, battered qin, and play "Remembering an Old Friend" or some of my other favorites. Sometimes I'd i
magine what it would be like if Pearl were still alive and we were nuns together.
One day, three months into this monotonous routine, I was sitting in my room, halfheartedly tuning my qin, when a novice arrived and told me that Mother wanted to see me in her office. I set down the instrument and walked through the cold air to the main building and up the stairs to her room. Once I'd sat down opposite her and tea had been served, she looked at me intently. I was quite surprised but happy to see a pink glow on her face.
"Miss Hu, I have some very good news for you! " Before I could respond, she was speaking again. "Our temple has just received a big donation and we have decided to use it to open a school."
"A school?" How could a school be good news to a prostitute, or ex-prostitute, like me?
She ignored my interjection. "And I want you to help with the teaching. "
This took me by surprise. "But Ma, I'm not a teacher, I'm a-"
"This will be a special school for special people-sisters fallen in the midst of the wind and dust."
"Ma, how-"
"We plan to open a school to rehabilitate ex-sisters." She paused, then recited something like a poem, "In Buddhism there are no distinctions. Charitable deeds can only be carried out when many work together."
I cast Mother a doubtful glance. "I've never heard of anything like a school for prostitutes."
"It's something new. The whole temple will be devoted to bringing Dharma to the sisters."
I almost laughed, remembering Pearl's joking about "offering one's body to preach the Dharma," meaning bending forward to show off one's breasts. With effort, I put on a serious expression. "But Ma, I've never been a teacher."
"But you were a good student, right? You're very good at the arts and the classics. So you can teach these to the girls, and after they've graduated from our school, instead of prostitution they can make their living either as artists or teachers."
I wanted to say something, but she already waved a dismissive hand. "I'm afraid the matter has already been decided. The school will be named New Model School, and you'll be responsible to teach music, painting, and literature, especially to the sisters who can't read. We've found five ex-sisters who'll join you in teaching."
When she finished, we looked at each other in silence. Then I picked up my tea and took a long sip, hoping the steaming liquid would dissipate the doubts in my mind.
The New Model School was to be opened on April 28, 1929. A month before, on March 28, Mr. Dong-the big protector of the Dharma who'd donated the money for the school-held a grand opening party at a Western restaurant. Among the throngs of people, there were no nuns from Pure Lotus. Their absence was understood-it's one thing for monks and nuns to preach equality among all living creatures, it's another for them to actually mix with prostitutes in public. Of course, the nuns had attained nondiscrimination and nonattachment, but they knew the public hadn't.
The next day, the event was reported by a columnist in the most popular newspaper Sheba:
... An opening celebration of the New Model School was held at the Grand Fragrance Restaurant, where it was attended by many sisters together with merchants, government officials, scholars, artists-all prostitute rehabilitation enthusiasts.
At five o'clock in the afternoon, black sedans began to pull up to the entrance of the restaurant, disgorging elegantly dressed ex-ming ji. Pedestrians gathered around to watch these beautiful women as if they were fairy maidens descending on earth.
Western food and drinks were served-ham, Russian soup, roast beef, Ceylon tea with milk, sherry, champagne, whiskey. After plates were put away and the tables cleared, Miss Red Fragrance, a former sister from Jade Gate Pavilion and the newly elected principal of New Model School, stood up to deliver a speech stressing the importance of education for women, their independence, and their role in contributing to the world. Then she went on, announcing the school's goals: To rebuild the sisters' character. To educate and rehabilitate sisters so that they can hold decent jobs. To help sisters to attain financial independence or to get married. "The new school would be like a beam of light in hell," she said, concluding her speech.
She announced the names of the staff. One teacher, by the name of Precious Orchid, was a ming ji well versed in the Classics and all the arts, especially the ancient sevenstringed qin.
After an evening of endless discussions, picture taking, eating, and drinking, the meeting finally ended with all the sisters singing: "Sisters, let's all stand together!"
Other major newspapers and magazines also reported the opening of our new school. To my surprise, all of them had a few lines about me-that I was the most prestigious sister from Shanghai and an expert in all the arts-especially the qin. I had no idea whether I received this attention because reporters had found out about my relationship with the Venerable Mother Abbess of Pure Lotus Temple or simply because my fame had spread from Shanghai. Anyway, I greatly enjoyed being the object of attention once again.
A month later, we had thirty-seven students-an encouraging number. Mother predicted we'd have more than three hundred in a year. I knew Pure Lotus worked very hard not only to get donations, but also to attract students-whenever a nun saw a sister come into the temple, she'd tell her about the school and try to persuade her to attend.
When I saw my new pupils on the first day of class, I was surprised-though I shouldn't have been. They all dressed in lavish gowns, wore heavy makeup, and threw flirtatious glances. Didn't they realize that they were here to be rehabilitated, to learn, not to flirt?
Despite this unpromising beginning, I worked very hard in preparing lessons, usually staying after class to give extra help and scrupulously attending all the meetings for discussion of school policies. But I quickly realized that teaching these girls to understand the classics was a fond hope. They could write their names and knew a few other characters, but it seemed beyond possibility to teach them even to write a simple letter. These flower girls of the new generation simply had no interest in being educated.
But instead of giving up, I decided to teach something specialthe qin. Just as Pearl had passed its music on to me, I wanted a student to continue this precious lineage. I picked a girl named Baobao because she dressed the best and seemed to have an artistic air. She showed great interest at the first few lessons but then it waned as quickly as snow melts on a mountaintop. Soon, she stopped practicing. Her explanation was that she had become so popular she barely had enough time for all her customers, let alone the qin. Then one day I waited for half an hour before she showed up for her lesson-her hair unkempt and her clothes wrinkled.
"Baobao, please wash your hands before you play," I said, not hiding my annoyance.
Reluctantly she went to the washroom. When she came back, she plopped gracelessly down on the chair and started to play without tuning the qin. Before I had a chance to scold her again, she suddenly stopped in the middle of her playing and, to my utmost shock, took out a cigarette and lit it.
"Baobao, show some respect to this sacred instrument!"
"Sorry, Miss Precious Orchid." She squeezed a flirtatious smile and drew on her cigarette; ashes fluttered onto my silk-stringed pure land.
That was when I decided not to teach the qin anymore.
When I'd started to teach at the school, I'd imagined I could do for the students what Pearl had done for me. I wanted to transform common girls into elegant, artistic women. But now I had to painfully admit that it was hopeless-they had no interest in being taught the arts. Pearl had predicted, when Red Jade had won the contest, that ours would be the last generation of ming j: Now I realized with sadness that she had been right. The era of the elegant courtesan was receding into history.
These new flower girls were different. All they knew how to do was lie down and spread their legs!
37
An Unexpected Visitor
'he growing heat of summer reminded me that I'd been living at the nunnery and teaching at New Model School for almost two years. For a whil
e I pretended that, as a teacher, I could fulfill Baba's idea of being a Number One Scholar. But I had no patience for my slow students and I had no chance of being hired at a respectable girls' school. And even if I were, teaching gave me little enjoyment.
One day, as I was tidying up the table in my office, the school maid came to tell me that someone had asked for me and was waiting in the lobby. Few visitors ever called on me, and I suddenly wondered if Ouyang, or worse, Fung, had after all decided to come for me. But when I asked the maid what he looked like, she said he was a laofan. I assumed the visitor was a foreign reporter who wanted to write about our school for the English newspaper North China Herald. Or perhaps a Westerner secretly curious about Chinese courtesans but afraid to actually visit a turquoise pavilion.
As I was approaching the lounge, I saw a middle-aged, palehaired man pacing up and down, the soles of his leather shoes tapping impatiently on the floor. Once he saw me, a warm smile broke out on his face and his blue eyes seemed to glow. I was astonished to see someone I didn't expect ever to see again-Mr. Anderson.
It had been a long time, probably nine years, since he'd mysteri ously stopped coming to Peach Blossom. He'd been so kind to me and then never came back. But I'd done no better to Qing Zhen. Though, of course, Anderson had never made love to me-I always wondered why. To my delight, though he had aged quite a bit, he nevertheless looked well. His body seemed to be stouter but his face radiated a healthy glow. His fatigued look had been replaced by a confident one. But the warmth of his eyes, which I so clearly remembered, had not changed.