The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(96)

The monk began refilling her cup. “When you were sixteen years old, what did you have for lunch the first Thursday after your birthday?”

Faye almost laughed out loud. “I have no idea. How could I possibly remember?”

“You can’t.” Shi spoke as though he were giving her bad news as gently as possible. “And it’s no fault of your own. We’re consumed with the here and now, the death and destruction around us, our hopes and dreams, our longings and aspirations, our failings and our regrets. We’re too occupied with the abundance of the present and our hopes for the future to remember all the details of the past.”

Faye rubbed her forehead. “Is there ever a way to remember?”

“You have to calm your ocean,” Shi said warmly. Then the ground shook from distant explosions. The tea rippled in their cups. “You are welcome to go downstairs and meditate on this for a while. The less you seek your answer, the better your chances of finding it.” He stood up and smiled, extending his arm to show her the way.

Faye understood. She thanked him for his advice and for the tea. Then she walked back downstairs to the zendo. She sighed as she regarded the venerated space. She thought about the baby she’d given away, and the brief glimpse of her perfect face. The last she heard, the family who adopted her moved to England. Faye consoled herself, as she had done many times over the years, with the notion that her daughter was given a better life than what she might have been able to provide. It was little consolation, but all she had. She never stopped seeing her face.

Faye approached the altar, cleansing herself with smoke from the incense, then lit three sticks with one of the candles. She looked around, then found a seat on the floor. She crossed her legs, tried to get comfortable, and closed her eyes.

I don’t know what I’m doing here.

She tried to quiet her mind, but guilty thoughts appeared, interrupting her search for serenity. Married to those thoughts were the condescending stares from strangers that she’d endured as a young girl. The women who looked at her as though she were defective. How they made her feel unwanted. The lecherous smiles from men who hoped to prey upon those insecurities. She chased those thoughts away with memories of her parents. But even their unspoken expressions made her feel unworthy.

Calm your ocean.

She tried to think of… nothing. Which was harder than she thought it would be. She gave up on solving a mystery. Abandoned the idea of reconciling her past. Stopped trying to rewrite her mistakes. Instead she closed her eyes. She focused on the moment between inhalation and exhalation. The dot on a unicorn’s horn. A liminal place—a bardo—where we go between this life and whatever comes next.

Find me.

In the silence she heard the rain, the wind, the crackle of the fire. She heard her own breathing, the dull ringing in her ears. She felt her legs begin to fall asleep; her neck and back grew weary. She felt the hardness of the floor. Then the ground began to shake again and she heard vehicles outside, the low rumble of diesel engines, a driver honking. People were on the move, but she hadn’t heard the all-clear signal.

She opened her eyes.

The room was the same. She felt like a less tired, more restful version of herself. She stretched out her legs and then stood and walked to the front door. She put on her shoes and stepped outside as a small caravan of ambulances, trucks, and jeeps with medics were heading in the direction of the bombing.

“Faye?” a familiar voice called out. “Faye!”

She looked up and saw Lois in the back of a jeep, waving frantically. The new recruit told the driver to stop, and he pulled over. Faye ran toward them.

“What happened?” she yelled over the sound of more air raid sirens.

“The bombers,” Lois yelled back. “They missed their target because of all the smoke and hit an orphanage.” Then she looked up.

Faye heard them too. Another wave of bombers and more pilots from the AVG were soaring high above them, engaging the Japanese aircraft. She heard the whistling of ordnance falling through the sky, the thunder of explosions so close she could feel the concussive blast of air with each impact. In that moment, she thought about what her mother had once said. That the literal meaning of karma is action.

“You need to get out,” Faye said. “Go back to the hospital, you’ll be better off there, especially if the bombs get closer and the injured need to be evacuated.”

“But they need us…”

“I need you,” Faye said as calmly as possible, “to do as I say. Please. Go back and take care of your patients.” Take care of yourself.

Faye helped Lois out of the jeep and took her place. The driver barked at them to hurry up, and Faye patted him on the shoulder as she sat down and said, “Go.”

She watched Lois wave goodbye as a torrent of people, civilians and refugees, merchants and beggars, individuals and entire families, began running in the other direction. Faye knew that she would never see Lois again. She felt okay, with whatever happened next, with whatever danger and mystery lay ahead. She wasn’t fearful, or worried, or even scared. Instead she felt oddly at peace. Perhaps because the death and horror and mayhem around her couldn’t get through the emotional scar tissue that had built up over time. Or maybe it was something else. Someone else.

My ocean is calm.

As Lois disappeared and Faye turned to face the black smoke, the burning unknown, she felt comforted knowing that John Garland found her. She didn’t know how or why, but for a brief moment she was able to hold him. She was able to feel what she’d spent most of her adult life believing she never would. The fleeting glimmer of love: it wasn’t a mirage, it was real. Love was real. The way she’d felt—the way she still felt—was a confirmation. There was something and someone out there. There was more. That her lifetime of restless wandering hadn’t been in vain. That her mistakes, her heartaches, her regrets, all led her here, to the place where he could find her.