Later, I sat on a stool in Michael's small kitchen and watched his practiced fingers stir-fry eggs with mushrooms, b.u.t.ter toast, squeeze oranges, boil water. Many men's hands seemed hideous and unfeeling to me, but Michael's were graceful, like fish in water. I felt something stir inside-perhaps a sort of recognition. Surely we had met somewhere before. In a past life. Or lives. Was he the fish, and I the water?

Michael carefully planned out our first two days together in New York: today we'd go to the Asia Society, the Metropolitan Museum, walk for a while, and have dinner in Chinatown. Later in the week he'd take me to a reception at the Met and I would at last meet Professor Fulton, who, Michael told me, was recovering rapidly from his stroke.

We started by appreciating the Buddhist art at the Asia Society, but I suddenly felt very hungry from the jet lag and suggested to Michael that we skip the Met and go straight to Chinatown for dinner. When the taxi pulled to a stop at Ca.n.a.l Street, the distinctive Chinese cooking smells began to waft into my nostrils. After less than five minutes' walking, I spotted a sign in Chinese: DUMPLING HOUSE DUMPLING HOUSE-ALL THE DUMPLINGS YOU WANT. A poster in the window listed them all: mixed vegetable, pork and vegetable, shrimp and cabbage, shredded beef and scallion. Steamed, panfried, in soup, in all kinds of sauce...Feeling an irresistible pull, I grabbed Michael's elbow and steered him inside.

Dinner was wonderful. We finished everything, sc.r.a.ping clean our plates until they looked like round, wisdom-reflecting mirrors. After he'd paid and we'd stepped out of the little restaurant, cool air rushed to greet us. With my satisfied stomach, all looked appealing to me: housewives bargaining with potbellied shop owners; round-cheeked children begging for Chinese pastries; girls flipping through trinkets piled into small mountains in front of a sign, EVERYTHING HAS TO GO EVERYTHING HAS TO GO; open street stalls whose crates spilled over with herbs, dried scallops, preserved fruits, candies, vegetables.

As Michael and I walked along the bustling street heading toward the subway station, I spotted a signboard in Chinese hanging from a dingy building:

INTERNATIONALLY RENOWNED M MASTER L LIVING B BUDDHA.

ALL REQUESTS GRANTED.

PHYSIOGNOMY, PALMISTRY, NUMEROLOGY, ASTROLOGY, PALMISTRY, NUMEROLOGY, ASTROLOGY,.

NAMING AND NAME CHANGING, WORD a.n.a.lYSIS,.

FENG S SHUI, I CHING.

I told Michael what it was and asked him to come with me to have our fortunes told. To my surprise, he suddenly looked tense and uncomfortable, his earlier humor gone. "No, Meng Ning. I'm a scientist and I'm not going to let some charlatan tell me about my fate."

"Why not try it? It'll be fun."

"No, let's go." He tried to steer me past the building.

But I didn't budge. "Michael, in China, fortune-tellers are considered doctors, too. That's why Chinese rarely need to see psychiatrists. Besides, they charge only one-tenth of what psychiatrists do."

"Meng Ning, fortune-telling is superst.i.tion."

"No, it's five thousand years of Chinese wisdom!" I paused. "What about your buying the coin sword to drive away evil spirits? Wasn't that superst.i.tion? Come on, Michael! Stop being rational for a few minutes!" Without losing a beat, I dragged him into the building-past the curious stares of several old women sitting and fanning themselves in front of a discount clothing store.

The long, steep staircase was lit only by a bare, grimy bulb swinging shakily on its thin wire. I heard my high heels clicking eerily on the scuffed wooden surface, syncopating with Michael's heavy footsteps dragging behind. After a long climb and some twists and turns, we finally reached the third floor, found the Master Living Buddha's office, and rang the bell.

From within, a saccharine voice piped in Cantonese, "Please come in."

Michael yanked my sleeve. "Meng Ning, let's go now!"

"No, let's face our fate."

I pushed and the door swung open with a long squeak, like a bird crunched underneath a slow truck. The unexpected blast of chilled air made me shiver as the pungent smell of Chinese medicinal soup choked my nose.

A very young and voluptuous Chinese girl came up to us and asked whether we had an appointment. When I told her no, she flashed an obsequious grin. "It's all right," she said, sizing up Michael and me from head to toe and then back from toe to head. "Since you're tourists, Master will squeeze you in. Please wait." After she'd asked our dates of birth and I'd told her that we wanted kanxiang kanxiang, physiognomy, she went toward a corner and disappeared.

I looked around. There were no other people in the room, but its four walls were cluttered with photographs. Michael and I stepped close to look. A shriveled, sixtyish man wearing a goatee and a loose Chinese robe appeared in every picture: painting the eyes of a lion to bring the beast to life before its dance performance; making offerings to a huge Buddha; performing feng shui feng shui for the Hong Kong Bank in Chinatown. for the Hong Kong Bank in Chinatown.

Michael said, "Meng Ning, do you trust these people?"

"Michael, relax-"

Just then the voluptuous girl appeared again and asked us to follow her. My heart thudded as we pa.s.sed rooms and turned corners. What would our fates be-Michael's? Mine? Ours?

The master looked older, yet handsomer, than in the pictures. He waved the white-cuffed sleeve of his Chinese suit to signal Michael and me to sit in the chairs across from his large desk. Then, like a connoisseur examining rare art objects with a magnifying gla.s.s, he carefully studied us through his thick, tortoisesh.e.l.l gla.s.ses. Michael turned to smile at me nervously and squeezed my hand underneath the desk. I smiled back, feeling the moistness of his palm.

The master asked me in Chinese who'd go first. After I told him I would, he plunged right in. "You were a nun in your past life."

That startled me. Yet before I had the chance to say anything, he went on. "But because you hadn't meditated enough to extinguish your worldly desires and pacify your six senses, you fell in love with a man and broke the monastic rule. That's why you were cast out from the religious order and become a lay person in this life." He paused to look me in the eyes. "Since you have to pay back this love debt you owed in your previous life, your love life in this incarnation will not be smooth."

As I opened my mouth, he waved his bony, jade-bangled hand to stop me from talking. "You have a smooth and high forehead, which shows you're very intelligent. Your big, glistening eyes are considered beautiful, but they're not a good sign for your love life."

"What do you mean?"

"You attract men, but..."

When I asked him to explain more, he said, stroking his white beard with his long-nailed fingers, "There's some confusion along your path of romance, but it's a mystery that heaven will not divulge to me." Then he smiled. "Don't worry too much, miss, just remember the Chinese saying: 'With absolute sincerity of the heart, even stone and metal can be opened.'" I knew this old Chinese saying that means lovers will break any barriers and overcome any obstacles to be together if their love is sincere and undying.

Toward the end, he summed up my life as long, auspicious, and full of adventures. "Soon very favorable to cross the great water," he said.

Did it mean crossing the Pacific Ocean? To be with Michael? Or going back to stay in Hong Kong?

Overall, even if some p.r.o.nouncements were still obscure, I was quite happy with the reading.

But not Michael. While listening to our conversation and not understanding a word of Cantonese, he had the anxious look of someone watching a foreign movie with no subt.i.tles. Barely had the master finished with me when Michael asked me to translate, but the fortune-teller had already gone on to start his reading.

He scrutinized Michael's face while addressing me. "Good physiognomy." He paused to lean closer to Michael; Michael pulled back, his cheeks flushed. But the master seemed unperturbed. "Your friend has a good face: full, straight, smooth, and l.u.s.trous. His three powers-heaven, earth, and man-are well balanced. Broad forehead which signifies honor, long and straight nose which signifies wealth, and full chin which signifies a long life. In a word, his face has the features of high-ranked people, such as emperors or ministers of state."

I nudged and smiled to Michael, silently expressing to him the master's praise. But Michael, curiously, looked like a boy who had done something mischievous and was now waiting to accept his karma-whatever punishments were going to fall on him.

Then, to my disappointment, the master added, "Yet your friend's physiognomy is not without deficiency. His eyebrows are far from each other, showing that he has no karmic relationship with his relatives. Not only that, he could even be...unfavorable to them-"

"Master, what do you mean by unfavorable?"

"Meaning that some of his relatives, like his mother, father, or even son, will sacrifice their lives for him so that he can live a good life in this incarnation."

Michael was an orphan. But what about...his son? I felt a chill down my spine.

Right then the master spoke again in his composed tone. "But that's in the past; no blame now."

In the past-what did he mean? Was Michael hiding a son somewhere?

Just then I felt Michael's hand on my thigh. "What did he say?"

But I had no chance to translate, for the master pointed to his forehead and continued. "See, the pale shadow hanging over your friend's forehead also shows that he had a difficult youth. Something happened to him when he was...I think fifteen, or sixteen." He tilted his head to get a better look at Michael under the light. "As you can see, his eyes are long and deep and his gaze spirited, signifying wealth and honor. But because sometimes his eyes are also fathomless, his love life will not be smooth." He paused. "In fact, it's rather troubled. He might have more than one marriage. Anyway, when he was a rich and eminent Chinese in his past life, he kept several concubines. He needed their yin yin energy." Then he paused to scrutinize me. "Your friend also needs to build his energy." Then he paused to scrutinize me. "Your friend also needs to build his yin yin energy, which he let run down. Too many negative energy, which he let run down. Too many negative yin yin"-he meant "dead"-"people in his life. They drain away his positive yin yin energy." energy."

I remembered the decor in Michael's apartment, which desperately needed some positive yin yin touch-sources of female energy like crawling plants, flowers, wind chimes, colorful pictures. touch-sources of female energy like crawling plants, flowers, wind chimes, colorful pictures.

"Although he's orderly and well organized on the surface, his spirit underneath is restless. He needs more earth and water in his life to balance his fire and metal. Miss, inside you there's a spring of young yin yin energy that you should put to good use by helping your friend. Remember: when man and woman occupy their correct places it is the great righteousness of heaven." He paused, then added, "Your friend is starving for your energy that you should put to good use by helping your friend. Remember: when man and woman occupy their correct places it is the great righteousness of heaven." He paused, then added, "Your friend is starving for your yin yin energy." energy."

Before I had the time to absorb what he'd said, the master went on to praise Michael's strong fingers with conical tips, which indicated intelligence and moral rect.i.tude. And Michael's voice, deep and sonorous like bells, signified longevity. But, he added, if a person has a bell-like voice and also a deformity like a mole underneath the eyebrow, he can still risk dying young. Like my father, I suddenly realized-and squirmed.

As if reading my mind, the master stroked his beard meditatively. "Our faces are formed by our hearts, and we can always change our hearts by acc.u.mulating merit." He concluded his reading by motioning to Michael. "His beginning has not been good. But as long as your friend is steadfast to face his loss, his life will be long and righteous."

He stopped, then asked, "Are you his girlfriend?"

I lowered my head and felt color rising to my cheeks.

He smiled. "Good. Then listen carefully, miss. He not only needs you, he needs the woman woman in you, not the little girl." in you, not the little girl."

"Master, what do you mean?" As I tried to make him explain more, he waved a dismissive hand. "I've already revealed enough of heaven's secrets."

The girl came and took us out of the room. After we'd paid, she walked us to the door. "A Mi Tuo Fo-Hail to the Merciful Buddha-and good luck." Then she winked at me. "Your boyfriend is too thin; you should cook him more tonic soup, like I do for Master."

I smiled, wondering what her relationship was with the fortune-teller. Then I turned to look at Michael and felt a tenderness swell in my chest.

During our taxi ride home, I told Michael about the fortune-teller's readings: my previous incarnation as a nun, my love debt, his good physiognomy, fortune, longevity, and his bad karmic relationship with his relatives.

As I wondered whether I should tell him what had been said about his troubled love life and his lack of yin yin energy, Michael asked, his eyes intense, "Meng Ning, is that what he really said?" energy, Michael asked, his eyes intense, "Meng Ning, is that what he really said?"

"Yes."

"Did he really say my parents, or even my...son, sacrificed for me?"

"Yes...but, Michael, this is just for fun." I looked at his creased brows. "You're not going to take his words seriously, are you?"

Michael's face flushed; he didn't respond.

"Michael, you were not"-I swallowed the words-"married before?"

Michael had already guessed my question. "Meng Ning, I've never been married."

"Then the fortune-teller is wrong and you shouldn't worry-"

"But didn't he say anything at all about my love life?"

"He said...you might have two marriages-"

"d.a.m.n!"

"Michael, relax! Didn't you say this is superst.i.tion?"

Right then the taxi jerked to a stop in front of a red light. A very tall truck pulled up right next to us. Michael looked up; the truck driver, his muscular, tattooed arm dangling outside the window, looked down and hollered, "What are you, some kind of a.s.shole?"

Michael shot back, "Why don't you go f.u.c.k yourself!"

"Why don't you bite my a.s.s!"

Michael yelled, "You jerk off, a.s.shole!" and gave him the finger.

The truck driver's eyes read murder. Then, just as he opened the door to get out, the light changed and our cab shot ahead.

Shocked, I threw him a sharp glance. "Michael!"

He didn't respond.

"Michael, you all right?"

"I'm sorry." His face reddened and his voice cracked. "I'm so ashamed of myself.... I...I guess I'm just tense."

Something was troubling Michael. What was it? Were there still things that the fortune-teller had deliberately left out for fear of revealing too many secrets of heaven? As I wondered, the taxi pulled to a stop in front of his apartment building.

17.

The Teenage Orphan Back home, Michael brewed coffee and prepared some snacks.

When we were sipping and munching, the fortune-teller's reading kept spinning in my mind. I eyed Michael. There was much I wanted to ask him about, but his forlorn expression made me swallow my questions.

The crunching of chips seemed to be the only sound punctuating the silence between us. Finally Michael looked up and smiled wryly. He tried to say something but stopped before he began.

"Michael"-I reached to touch his face-"please tell me what's on your mind."

"I've been thinking about my parents."

I remembered the fortune-teller's words: The pale shadow hanging over your friend's forehead also shows that he had a difficult youth. Something happened to him when he was fifteen, or sixteen.

Knowing that this was a difficult subject for him, I asked very softly, "You mind telling me about them?"

"Only briefly, for I really don't want to bore you with the details."

"I understand. Go ahead."

"When I was fourteen, my mother had an unexpected pregnancy and died giving birth to my younger sister. A year later, my father remarried. The woman was his gold-digger secretary and a monster. The marriage lasted less than two years because my father died seven months after being diagnosed with cancer. After the funeral, I never heard from my stepmother again, and I'm actually very glad about that. However, my father left all his money to her and I was penniless."