by Zoë S. Roy
Looking to where Mei pointed, Agnes spotted the monkey with the banana perched on a rock several steps away. A baby monkey clung to her stomach as the mother peeled the fruit, tore off bite-sized pieces, and began to feed it. “It’s so cute,” Agnes chuckled.
“They’re nice to you if you give them food. If you hurt them, they’ll fight back.” Mei took a handful of longan nuts from the hamper and gave them to Agnes. “Here. Try feeding them with these.”
As Agnes tossed the nuts to the monkeys, they jumped to catch them. One or two in hand, each monkey hunkered down, their long nails cutting expertly into the shells, popping the nuts into their mouths as the shells dropped away.
Agnes and Mei laughed and ate their snacks, tossing the monkeys their scraps when they finished.
The diary ended there. Yezi closed the book, wondering how long it would take them to reach the summit. She glanced at her radio clock on the end table. It’s 11:00 p.m. I have school tomorrow. She decided to read the second book the following day after school. Yezi had heard about the legend of the Buddha’s Glory on Mount Emei from Yao. Did Grandma and Mei see the Buddha’s Glory? She couldn’t wait to continue reading.
26.
BUDDHA’S GLORY
YEZI DID NOT GO TO the mall with her friends after school the next day, but went straight home. Plopping herself onto her bed, she leaned against the headboard and opened the second diary. It was a beautiful day in May, 1926, and her grandmother was climbing the path to Mount Emei.
After Agnes and Mei had walked for several hours, the sun inched toward the edge of the mountain range. The sun spilled through branches and limbs, glinting on the weed-covered path.
“What’s that?” Agnes saw something shivering in the grass several steps away from them.
“Don’t move. Let me take a look.” Mei stepped forward. “It’s a woman,” he said with surprise. “She’s lying down.”
Agnes waded through the jumble of grass and bushes. A middle-aged woman was lying on her back, staring into space. Her eyes were hidden by long strands of hair that fell over her haggard face.
“Do you need any help?” asked Agnes.
“I need something to eat,” the woman groaned, her dull eyes looking up at Agnes wearily.
“Just a minute.” Mei pulled the hamper off his back. He pulled out two buns and several bananas and quickly passed them to her.
Sitting up, the woman hastily grabbed the food, stuffing it bit by bit into her mouth. Then she wiped her mouth with her sleeve, a grateful smile on her dirty face. “Thank you. Kind people are everywhere. Buddha bless you.”
“Are you a Buddhist pilgrim?” asked Mei.
The woman nodded as she spoke. “I’m from Hunan Province. I want to see the Buddha’s Glory on the Golden Summit.” As she talked, her face brightened. “It took me half a year to get here.”
Agnes asked, “What made you do this?”
“Two wishes. I wish that my daughter would have a son.” The woman pursed her mouth, a sigh escaping her nose. Her husky voice rose again. “I am a widow. I had to raise my daughter alone. Now my daughter’s married. Her husband and in-laws dislike her because she has two daughters but no sons. I wish for her a son. My second wish is to be a man in my next life.” The woman uttered a deep moan when she finished her story.
“What do you do for a living?” Agnes asked.
“I do everything I can. I clean houses and do laundry. I make straw shoes. I sell used stuff that I scavenge from the garbage.”
“You work hard. You deserve a better life,” Agnes said, smiling warmly at the woman.
“Thank you for saying that.” The woman looked relieved, though her eyes were still guarded. “Buddha’s taking care of me. People have given me food along my way coming here. Now, I have also met you kind people on this sacred mount.”
Agnes had noticed the numerous patches on her faded dress and flimsy jacket. Agnes took a silver yuan from her purse and placed it in the woman’s hand. “Take this, please.”
The woman gasped when she saw the coin. “This is half-a-month’s pay. I haven’t done anything for you—”
“I wish you and your daughter a better life,” Agnes said, her eyes full of compassion.
Pulling more buns and bananas from the hamper, Mei passed them to the woman. “Have you heard of the Saviour, Jesus?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure if I believe in him.”
“Why?”
“He’s from foreign devils. They set fires in China, and kill people.”
“The foreign army did those things, but foreign missionaries are here to help us Chinese.”
“Maybe. This lady looks like a foreign devil, but she’s very generous.” The old woman pressed her palms together in front of her chest, praying, “You merciful folks, may Buddha bless you. If Jesus is nice, he should please bless this lady.”
Agnes and Mei resumed their uphill journey to the summit.
At sunset, they approached the Golden Summit plateau where the Huazang Temple Monastery was located. The temple, surrounded by marble balustrades, stood among towering pine trees that seemed to form a canopy, protecting the sanctuary. The layer of yellow glaze on the tiles on the roof had faded and weeds were sprouting from the edges of broken tiles, but the pillars, doors and window frames, made of burnished copper, sparkled in the sunset. As their eyes scanned the plateau, the last red cloud fell behind the summit; the crows’ sad cries spread through the woods.
“Green mountains still remain / Crimson rays come from the sunset.” The couplet from The Legend of the Three Kingdoms, which Agnes had learned from Mei, leapt to her mind.
Visitors were scattered all around the temple. Some sat under trees; others walked in and out of the double doors that led to the temple interior. Several sedan chair carriers napped on their seats while young monks in black robes carried pails of drinking water to newcomers.
Agnes and Mei ate buns for supper. They paid forty copper coins to stay in the Bronze Hall of the temple for the night, where each pilgrim was provided with a pallet, a quilt, and a pillow. Mei chose a pallet that had been placed in a corner against the wall for Agnes, and the one next to it for himself.
“How are your feet?” asked Mei. “You must have some blisters.”
“I think so.” Agnes removed her shoes and socks and felt the blisters that had formed on her heels during their climb. Mei went to find an oil lamp and placed it in front of Agnes’s feet. Then he pulled a sewing needle from his wallet. “Let me burst the blisters, so they won’t get worse tomorrow.” Burning the needle’s point in the lamp flame for half a minute, he pierced the blisters one by one.
“Now, let me do yours.” Agnes cleaned the serum with a piece of paper.
“I don’t have any new blisters. The old ones have already turned into calluses.”
Just then, a monk entered the chamber and added soy oil to the lamps in the niches before bedtime. Mei returned the lamp to its place.
Agnes lay fully clothed under the quilt, as did Mei, after setting his bamboo hamper in the place between their straw-filled mattresses. Mountain winds whistled through the rustling trees, and wood crackled in the bonfire lit by those who could not afford a bed inside. In a low, fervent voice, a man intoned a Sichuan folk song called “Kangding Love Song”: “A cloud floats over running horses on the mountain / A beautiful girl of the Li family comes from Kangding Town….” The melody lulled them both to sleep.
Agnes woke early. The people sleeping inside the temple had begun to stir; their quiet voices and muffled movements had encouraged the late sleepers to rise. Agnes turned her head to look at Mei. He was sitting with his back against the wall. “What’s going on?” Agnes asked.
“The pilgrims don’t want to miss Buddha’s Glory. A monk has reported a shower under the golden summit. That means there is
a very good chance to see a halo.”
“Let’s go!” Excited, Agnes quickly slipped on her shoes, knowing that not many mountain visitors had the good fortune to see the great rainbow that might form over the mountain’s peak. In the ancient Chinese legend, the rainbow formed a halo over Buddha’s head and that is why it was called Buddha’s Glory.
They followed the crowd out of the temple and headed toward the eastern cliffs. Clouds flowed past them and the fog, like an ample rug, blanketed the mount. Agnes felt as if they were on a ship sailing on a turbulent sea.
The wind blew through their clothing. She shivered. Mei took off his short robe and wrapped it around her shoulders. Suddenly, the sun emerged from behind the clouds and glowed through the mist. Exhilarated, the flocks of people cheered. Some even cried out when they saw the fog dissipate and the green mountains become visible in the sunshine. A rainbow gradually appeared over the massive cliffs as whispering prayers rose around Agnes and Mei. The chanting of the pilgrims echoed and wafted around them.
A person, wrapped in a piece of gray fleece from head to foot, shuffled toward the cliff and stopped only a few steps in front of Agnes and Mei. The rainbow glowed in the sun while the gray apparition bent over, its covering loose and touching the ground. Before Agnes realized what was happening, the figure threw itself toward the chromatic halo, a desperate leap for nirvana. Mei rushed forward and clutched at the gray robe, pulling the figure back from the cliff. He fell back when the person collapsed on him; several stones crashed down the bluff. The hollow echoes of the falling rocks sounded like the cries of someone in distress. Two men ran toward Mei to help, lifting the person who had fallen on top of him, and laying her gently on the ground. It was an elderly woman.
Agnes bent and placed her arm under Mei’s head, gently lifting it. “You saved a woman!” She looked at him. “Are you hurt?” she asked.
“I’m okay. How is she?” Mei sat up.
“She’s safe.” Agnes checked his arm. “But your elbow is bleeding.”
Mei raised his arm. “Just a scratch. I can move it without any problem. Let’s make sure this poor woman is okay.”
He stood and they turned their attention to the woman on the ground. A man pressed his thumb between her lips and nose. Mei noticed Agnes’s bafflement and explained, “Pressing that acupuncture point can quickly bring her back from unconsciousness.”
Agnes and Mei were stunned to realize that the woman was the pilgrim they had spoken to a day earlier. Underneath the gray fleece, she was clad in clean clothes, and her gray hair was streaming down the length of her back.
Agnes touched the pilgrim’s wrist and then her forehead. The woman opened her eyes. “I’m still alive?” She sounded disappointed.
Someone pushed Mei toward her. “This is your saviour,” he said.
The pilgrim sobbed when she saw Mei and Agnes. “I wanted to follow Buddha’s Glory into my next life. You should’ve let me go.”
In a soft voice, Agnes said, “If you live well, you can help your daughter.”
Hearing about her daughter, the pilgrim stopped weeping. When Agnes helped her sit, the woman stared at her bare feet. “I’ve lost my shoes!”
An elderly head monk in a black robe strode toward them, his head bent, his hands clasped in front of his chest. “Buddha’s light is brilliant. A life is rescued.” He bent over the pilgrim. “You are blessed.”
The woman stood up and bowed low to him. He raised his head toward a group of praying monks and called out, “Monk Zhi, come to help.” Then he turned toward the woman, “One of my students will carry you down to the temple. You can rest there. We will also find you another pair of shoes.”
The woman thanked Mei before a young monk hoisted her onto his back. And then the monk carried the old woman and tramped down toward the monastery.
Waving goodbye to others, Agnes and Mei decided it was time for them to go back.
It was the end of the tiring hiking and late in the afternoon. They boarded another horse-drawn wagon to make their way back to Chengdu. Exhausted, they dozed off, along with the other passengers, to the rhythm and motion of the rolling wooden wheels.
Agnes dreamed that she and her father were in a boat jigging for fish in the Bay of Fundy. They had caught a boatload of cod and mackerel. She kept moving her jigger jerkily up and down while her father yelled, “Stop it! We have way too many fish.” The fish filled the boat and flapped on the floor, causing the vessel to capsize. She was falling and hit something before she could utter a word.
“Agnes! Agnes!” She heard her name and opened her eyes. Bright stars in the dark sky above sparkled. “Are you okay?” Mei was holding her shoulders.
“What happened?” she asked as her hands touched the wet grass and soil.
“The horses slipped, and the wagon fell into the ditch.”
“Where are the others?”
“I’m here, behind your husband,” said the wagon owner, who sat against a stone, stretching his head toward her. “We’re lucky. Nobody got killed. One of my horses broke its leg though. And my wagon’s been damaged so I won’t be able to carry you any further until it’s repaired.”
“How far is it from here to Chengdu?” asked Agnes.
“Maybe twenty kilometres,” answered the wagon owner, “but I’m not going anywhere. You will have to find your own way home.
Mei asked, “What are you going to do with your horse and wagon?”
“I’ll nap until daylight. Then I will find some help from the nearby village. People around here know me.”
“Which direction is Chengdu?”
The wagon owner craned his head and examined the stars in the sky. “That way!” He pointed off to the right.
Agnes stood and said to Mei, “I can walk. Let’s go on foot.”
“Are you sure?” Mei could not locate his hamper, so he told the wagon owner, “If you find my basket, it’s yours.”
“Thanks. I might also find some of the lost chickens and ducks that fell off the wagon too, if their owners don’t catch them first!” The wagon owner chuckled.
Agnes and Mei clambered up to the road and lumbered toward the West Gate of the city. The fields were peaceful; only the barking of a solitary dog rose in the darkness. On that dark night, Agnes did not have fear. As she stopped to stare into Mei’s gentle face, she realized she was in love.
Back in Chengdu, Agnes and Mei became inseparable. They dreamt that they could break the cultural taboos that haunted them, and that in the future they could be together and have a family.
A few days later, after she distributed medicine to her patients, Agnes went to the staff room for lunch. It was Monday, June 7, 1926—a day Agnes would never forget As she pulled a chair up to the table, ready to have her lunch, she was surprised to see Mei rush into the room, his face sweaty, fear in his eyes. Before she could question him, he said in a frantic voice, “Don’t go anywhere by yourself from now on.”
“Why?” Agnes looked puzzled.
Mei hissed. “Mrs. Sibley was killed this morning.”
“Killed?” Agnes’s heart throbbed. “How?”
“When she was walking along a street near White Pagoda,” Mei wiped his face with a handkerchief. “A swordsman from behind cut off her head—”
“What? My God!” Shocked at the news, she asked in a trembling voice, “It’s not true, is it? It can’t be.”
Mei held onto her shoulders. “I didn’t believe it at first. But then I rushed to the alley and saw the police milling around the pool of blood that marked the spot.”
Agnes shivered as she listened to Mei. Several times at the compound, she had met Mrs. Sibley, a Canadian missionary who had been in Chengdu for the past nineteen years. “Who was the swordsman?”
“People say he was a member of the Red Lantern Society, a kind of tradi
tional secret society that hates foreigners,” answered Mei. “From now on, I’ll walk you between the hospital and home.”
Why on earth does such hatred exist? Agnes felt a sense of despair come over her.
In the evening a meeting for the compound residents was held, during which the murder of Mrs. Edith Sibley was confirmed and discussed. Every missionary was advised to avoid travelling the streets alone at any time of the day or night.
In the following days, Mei appeared more often in the compound since he accompanied Agnes back there every day after their lessons, and after her work day was over at the hospital. When Agnes’s supervisor asked about Mei, Agnes had to admit that their relationship was intimate. Her supervisor reported her to the West China Mission committee. Missionaries were not allowed to become involved with the local people. A few weeks later, Agnes was informed that she had been ordered to return to Canada.
Agnes was devastated. She didn’t know what to do. The increasing anti-western sentiment was pushing missionaries away from the country. Meanwhile regulations forbade her from staying on the mission. Mei could not bring himself to ask her to stay. He knew she would only suffer. And he was afraid for her life. She did not have any choice, but to obey the orders of her mission.
Heartbroken, she said farewell to Mei on July 2, 1926, and left for Shanghai to board the ship that would take her back to Vancouver. From there, she would make her way back to Wolfville. Endless waters separated her from her heart’s love, and China was now a remote corner of the earth. She clung to the ship’s rail until she could no longer discern the receding Chinese coastline. That evening Agnes wrote in her journal.
July 31, 1926
At this quiet moment, I can hear the sea roaring outside the ship. The passenger across from my bed is sleeping soundly. I’m still wondering whether there’s a corner in this world where love isn’t restrained by rules, but is only immersed in sweetness… I miss him so much.
In her bedroom, Yezi’s eyes lingered on the page. Holding Agnes’s diary in her hands, she imagined her grandmother sitting in the darkness of the ship, hot tears streaming down her face.