by Mingmei Yip
He asked politely, “You all right, miss?”
I pointed to the ground. “There’s a—”
He interrupted me. “I know, I left it there.”
“Oh…” I felt a jolt. “Do you know what… that is?”
“Of course I do. It’s cold outside. Please come in for tea, if you want to know what it is.”
Hypnotized by his magnetic voice and moonlight-reflecting bald head, I entered the temple.
Inside, two candles burned passionately, as if enjoying their fiery suffering. The monk’s face was hidden in shadow, but I could tell he was square-jawed with nice teeth.
He signaled me to sit, then began to prepare tea. Only then did I notice he used only one hand—the other was missing.
I exclaimed, “Master, your arm…”
“I left it outside.”
“Oh, heaven!” I was terrified. “You chopped off your own hand and left it outside… why?”
But he answered calmly, “I didn’t want to know the time, but I couldn’t get my watch off. So as not to be attached to time, I chopped off my hand with the watch and tossed it outside. Now I’m in peace.”
A most bizarre reason for mutilating oneself! But I knew that sometimes monks or nuns burn off a finger or even a whole arm to offer to the Buddha.
I tried my best to act and sound calm. “But, master, why don’t you want to know time?”
“Time is an illusion. Where I am, there is only the time of no time—”
Completely puzzled by the monk’s “time” talk, I interrupted. “Master, maybe your time is an illusion, but mine isn’t. It’s already past midnight. You are lying. Of course there is time, so there must be a reason that you say it doesn’t exist.”
He raised his arm but realized that both his hand and watch were gone. A heavy sigh escaped from between his lips. “Miss, you’re the first person who is able to see through me right away.”
But instead of telling me the truth, he handed me a cup of tea.
I took a leisurely sip, then blurted out, “Master, this is not tea but heavenly dew!”
“Yes, it is. But I won’t bother by telling you how I climb high mountains to gather it.” He took a sip and sighed. “I want to tell you why I am suffering…”
Before I could respond, he was already speaking. “I did this because of the woman I love. I know I will never again see her beautiful face or feel her heartbeat next to mine. It will never happen, so time means nothing to me.”
“Master, if you don’t mind my impudence. Why don’t you love someone else instead of wasting your time waiting? There are so many beautiful women in the world….”
“Miss, you don’t understand love. Haven’t you heard, ‘After you know the Cang sea, no other water will feel the same; after you experienced the clouds on Mount Wu, no other clouds could even be called clouds’?”
Of course I heard of this phrase alluding to that love you encounter only once in your life. But there is no lack of mountains and sea in this world; in fact, there are too many!
The monk’s eyes were invisible in the shadows, but I could feel the passion burning within him.
“You know the saying, ‘A woman puts on makeup for the man who appreciates her. A hero dies for the one who truly understands him’? I’ll wait for this woman so long as I am alive.”
He took another sip of his tea and went on. “Miss, Emperor Li Shimin slashed his own brother’s throat without feeling a thing. But when his most beloved queen died, his tears flowed endlessly like the Yellow River.”
“Maybe she’s already dead?” This cruel question was to wake the monk from his stupid attachment.
He pointed to his chest. “She lives here forever.”
Feeling I should shake this monk from his attachment, I asked, “Maybe you’re afraid to see her beautiful face turn wrinkled and spotted?”
“Not that, because then my face will match hers. No matter what time does to her, she’ll always be my goddess.”
I felt both pity and admiration for this foolish man. I took another sip of his magical tea and stood up. “Master, thank you for the tea.”
As we reached the door, the moonlight shone on his face.
It was Gao!
I woke up from my disturbing dream and decided to see Gao. Now it was his turn to scold me—to tell me he needed to feel my love one more time before he perished. I looked around the room in the dim light. Peiling, my baby, and his father—the man who was my soon-to-be husband—were all asleep.
I buried my face into the pillow so Jinying would not see my tears and ask me to explain. Why had heaven sent me two men, actually three, to love me instead of one? Just to make my life difficult?
The ship for Hong Kong would be leaving that night. After we packed and got everything ready, I decided there was one last thing I must do before leaving. I did not want to spend the rest of my life wondering what had happened to Gao. I would not forget him, even though my life’s path was leading me in another direction.
Of course, I could not tell Jinying about this. So I said, “Before we go, I need to visit Madame Lewinsky’s grave to make an offering to bring peace to her spirit .
Jinying asked, “Do you really have to?”
I explained that, despite the great wrong she had done us, she had taught me to sing, and she had delivered Jinjin and cared for him while she was alive.
Jinying saw I was resolved and suggested that they could all come with me. I replied that it would be too depressing for Peiling to visit the cemetery. Being blind she was very intuitive, so her mind might be affected by the negative yin energy. Worse, it would be highly inauspicious to bring our baby to visit a dead person when he had just come back to us.
As I was about to go, Peiling piped up. “Miss Camilla, please don’t leave me!”
“Don’t worry, Peiling, I will never leave you. You are coming with us to Hong Kong.”
She remained silent. Her sixth sense told her something was not quite right. She was correct, because I was not quite finished with the dusty world of Shanghai.
I turned to Jinying. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”
Then I kissed Jinying, Peiling, and little Jinjin, who was deep in his dream village. Before Jinying could say anything, I grabbed my purse, then left everyone behind.
As soon as I left the hotel, I went to a small department store, bought some men’s clothes, then changed at a public restroom. After that, I took a tram to the address Gao had given me at Wang’s birthday party. In case there were gangsters there, it would be simpler if they thought I was a man.
It was early in the morning, so there were only a few passengers and I was left alone. But I was so exhausted that I kept dozing off as the tram clanged along. I was in no mood to appreciate the scenery through the window. I didn’t know any way I could soothe my troubled mind.
I knew it was wrong to leave my new, little family to seek my old lover. But I couldn’t just leave Gao without saying a proper good-bye—not after he’d come into my dream with a severed hand. Would Jinying guess what I was up to and be bitter? Would he be suspicious of me ever after? I knew Peiling was terrified that we would leave her, but eventually, she would be able to have confidence in us.
Then, a few minutes into the ride, a horrible thought entered my mind. What about if Gao had been killed during the shoot-out at Wang’s banquet?
I dozed off again, then was awakened by rain sprinkling through the partially opened window. I looked out to see where we were and spotted, in some distance, a dilapidated bus inching forward on the other side of the road, looking like its allotted time in this incarnation was almost up.
Bored, I leaned toward the window to take a better look. I noticed that among the weary-looking passengers who were staring into space, one man was waving frantically toward my tram. Two children near me giggled and waved back. I wondered why this man was so eager to greet strangers on the other side of the road. Even when the children had tired of waving and giggling,
the man kept waving enthusiastically. Or perhaps desperately. I wondered if we knew each other, but his face was indistinct through the gray drizzle.
Just then, the tram lurched forward and soon the bus was but a small dot behind us.
Finally, the tram arrived at my station and I hopped off, then walked around looking for Gao’s street. This was a small town with a few dingy shops, a grocery, a barber, a few unappealing eateries. I did not ask for directions, lest it arouse curiosity about me.
After passing a few more shops and playing children, I finally spotted the address I’d been looking for. It was a dingy shack next to a public bath house. A plump, middle-aged man wearing a tattered bathrobe entered, releasing a blast of steam.
I was surprised that Gao lived in such a forlorn area, because I always assumed that Lung had paid him well. I walked to the door of the shack and saw a small poster on the wall. A couplet was printed on faded gold letters against a sun-bleached red background:
Go in and come out safely
Prosper in all the four seasons
No doubt Gao had posted this because his job involved a lot of dangerous coming and going. And to look at his home, he clearly needed all the prosperity he could get. I knocked nervously, having no idea what, or whom, to expect. The door was opened by a thirtyish, sad-faced woman.
I apologized, thinking I had the wrong address, then asked, “Good morning, does someone named Gao or Hong Bin live here?”
The woman in her worn cotton top and pants seemed to suddenly come back to life. She studied me with sudden interest.
“Yes, mister, but who are you?” Her eyes were dull and her voice weak.
“My name is Shen Wei, his friend.” This was my latest invented name, to go with my man’s clothing.
“A friend? Then please help me.”
A strange request to a total stranger.
It was my turn to ask. “But… who are you?” Maybe she was a sister or a cousin.
“His wife.”
I was confused. “Whose wife?”
“Gao’s wife, who else?”
The word wife exploded in my ears like a gunshot.
“Oh, so he’s married?”
“You said you’re a friend and you don’t know?”
I remembered Gao had told me this but had pushed it out of my mind. It came as a shock to find myself face-to-face with her. Now the fact that Gao had a wife became a reality.
I put on a fake smile. “Of course he told me, I just forgot. Is he here, can I see him?”
“No.”
Her eyes were red; perhaps from the dust or perhaps she was crying.
“He’s not here. My husband rarely comes home and I don’t know his friends. If you’re my husband’s friend, do you know someone called Camilla?”
My heart skipped a beat. “Hmm… what about her?”
“My husband told me that if a Camilla comes, I should give her a package. So I’ve been waiting. But you’re not Camilla, are you?”
I quickly said, “She’s a mutual friend.”
“So can you take my husband’s package and give it to her?”
“Of course I can. Do you know what’s inside?”
She shook her head. “Some notes, but I don’t know what. My parents were too poor to send me to school, so I never learned to read.”
“Any idea why your husband wants to give it to Camilla?”
“Don’t know. I just do what he tells me. Come in so I can give you the package.”
I stepped inside the gloomy place. The whole house was about the size of the mansion of Master Lung’s foyer and kitchen. Except for a picture calendar and a few red lucky sayings pasted on the wall, there was no decoration or anything of value. I began to wonder how Gao could be so poor. Then I recalled that Lung was forcing him to pay back his father’s gambling debts and kept raising the amount Gao supposedly owed. But I hadn’t imagined that he would be this badly off. This brave, loyal man had been working practically for free.
The wife asked, “Would you like some tea?”
“Oh, please don’t bother. I just had tea before I came.”
“All right, I’ll get you the package.”
She went inside another room, then came back to hand me a big envelope.
I opened it, took out the notebook, and flipped the pages. It had to be Gao’s diary. My heart beat fast. I had no idea that he had kept any records of his life. I wanted to read it right then and there but suppressed my impulse.
I looked around the almost-empty house and asked, “You have children?”
She shook her head. “My husband never comes home. I never know what he’s doing out there.”
Then she wiped her eyes and looked a little happier. “But every month he sends me money. So maybe he’s not such a bad husband after all. Ours is an arranged marriage. But I am very lonely here.”
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gao,” I said, swallowing the last two words.
“A fortune-teller told me this is my fate.”
Not knowing how to respond to this, I remained silent.
She went on. “But this morning he appeared out of nowhere—”
I cut her off sharply. “He did, you mean Mr. Gao?”
“He didn’t say much, only took some belongings, then left again.” She paused to wipe away tears. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”
“Maybe he has something urgent to deal with?”
I wanted to ask if she loved her husband but again suppressed my urge. Even if she knew anything about love, she would be too embarrassed to express her feelings, especially to me, a young “man.”
She looked as if she suddenly remembered something. “Mister, you want something to eat?”
“No, thank you. I’ve got to leave and thanks for this. I will give it to Camilla.”
“Come back and tell me what she said.”
“I will,” I said, but didn’t mean it.
She sighed heavily. “Can you do me a favor?”
I hesitated.
She went on. “When you see my husband, please ask him to come home.”
“Why do you think he’s not coming back?”
“Because this time he left a lot of money. He also said he is going to join the revolution. Do you know about that?”
My heart began to pound. Finally, I could only come up with, “Oh, sorry…”
I’d uttered “sorry” so many times during this brief conversation with a stranger.
“When did your husband leave here?”
“Early this morning when I left for the market. I’d planned to fix him a big dinner.”
“Which way did he go?”
“I don’t know. He always takes the bus.”
Now I thought that the man who’d waved to me from the bus might have been Gao. I couldn’t take this anymore.
“Sorry to bother you. Can I have some tea now?“
Actually, I did not want tea; this was just a ruse to distract her so I could make an easy exit. Once her back was turned I took out a wad of cash, placed it on the table, and quickly left.
33
The Diary and the Curio Shop
I was afraid to read Gao’s diary, for fear his irreversible tragic world would come alive from the pages and engulf me, but my curiosity was stronger than my fear. I really did love Jinying, but I felt something with Gao that Jinying could not give me.
So I entered one of the unprepossessing little restaurants, ordered tea and sesame cakes, then opened the notebook. I caressed the worn cover, as if it were Gao’s rugged face. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back and opened to the first page.
To the woman who cannot be forgotten
To my surprise, though a gangster’s bodyguard, Gao had clear handwriting with accurate strokes. How sad that he had been pushed into marriage with this illiterate wife. Maybe I was better off not having parents—I could love whoever I wanted. Or as many as I wanted. But now, it was only Gao who was on my mind.
I flipped the pages and sta
rted to read one of his early entries.
I wish I could devote my life to Camilla and always be there to protect her against this evil world. Maybe she thinks Young Master Lung will provide this for her, but he can’t. He’s naive and clueless about life in the real world. I know how to stay alive and how to love a woman.
I keep it secret that I studied engineering at Jiao Tong University, even from Camilla.
Does Camilla know that I worry about her every day, but for Master Lung she is just one of his many playthings? One day when he is tired of her—and that day will come—what will happen to her? No man will dare to “touch” her after she’s been touched by my boss. Except me.
She thinks she is better off with the young master with his Harvard education and his money. But being with Lung’s son is like taking food from the lion’s mouth—she could be gobbled up, not even a bone left to spit out.
I closed my eyes and imagined Gao’s big, scarred hand again massaging my face. I took another sip of my tea, a bite of cake, and turned to another page.
I was never able to love my wife and I will never be a good husband to her, let alone a lover. But she is my wife and so I give her money, but I can’t give her love. Although I never hit her, or even scolded her, I have made her suffer. Sad to say, she might prefer being hit by her husband to my total indifference.
They say that the worst thing for a man is to engage in the wrong career, the worst for a woman is to marry the wrong man. But that’s what happened to us both. I made my career as a gangster and she married the wrong man. But I feel so different with Camilla. Yet I know she’s not happy, even with fame and all her expensive clothes and jewelry.
Next he quoted a familiar poem by Yuan Shen:
When I pass through grove of flowers,
I never look around me.
Impatient to be back with you.