I snapped, “Lisa, stop it-”

But I was not able to finish my sentence, for she had already sealed my lips with hers. The wild ginger flower fragrance coiled around me like a heavy net into which I helplessly plunged…

After I’d left Lisa’s apartment feeling totally confused, angry, and sorry for myself, I was not in a mood to go back to the empty apartment and so I headed for the comforting aromas of Chinatown.

The rain had nearly abated as I strolled along Mott Street. I walked past an eatery where an oily-faced man was cooking dumplings with a pair of long, thick, wooden chopsticks. The dumplings looked fat and juicy in the bubbling broth, but they didn’t rouse my appetite. I passed a noodle shop from which wafted the fragrance of meat, ginger, garlic, and Chinese scallion, then a café window hung with roasted baby pigs, soy-sauce chickens, and crispy ducks glistening with oil. The animals’ clouded eyes stared at me as if hungry for life. Just then I heard a loud chuuup! I turned and saw a chicken’s head fly off from a blood-stained chopping block.

I continued walking aimlessly, trying to clear-or maybe numb-my mind. I walked past a café, an open street market with fish squirming in wooden buckets, then a grocery where Cantonese opera tunes blared from the sound system. A teenager kicked away a crushed can; a greasy-haired man flicked a lighted cigarette butt right into the middle of the street. Cartons, crates, Styrofoam containers, scraps of newspaper lay strewn all along the curb.

Still feeling sick, I jostled my way through the pedestrians and passed a narrow opening from which a sad, feeble cry startled me. My senses were awakened at once and I traced the sound into a back alley.

It was a kitten. Her hair was matted to her bony body and her eyes had the look of a person dying an unexpected death. Beside her lay a piece of rotten-looking meat. As I approached her, two Chinese boys around eight years old appeared from nowhere. One, heavy, wearing a stained T-shirt and torn blue jeans, held a bamboo stick. The skinnier one, in shorts frayed at the hem and sandals that revealed mud-caked toenails, cheered the other on as he tried to snap the kitten’s tail.

Right then a back door swung open and a Chinese man, wearing a blood-stained apron and with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, strode out to dump a huge plastic garbage bag onto the curb. When he saw the kids and the kitten, a hateful grin split his face. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and flicked the lighted butt onto the kitten. “Dead cat!” he spat, then stalked back, slamming the door with a loud bang that seemed to make the ground shiver. The kids roared with laughter; the kitten jerked. The rotund kid dropped his bamboo stick and picked up the cigarette butt while his comrade cheered him on. “Yes! Poke it in the eyes, the eyes…”

“Stop that and leave her alone!” I shouted. My voice sounded surprisingly intimidating to my own ears. Both kids halted, the fat one’s hand hanging in midair. They looked up and studied me with eyes full of spite. Fat Boy gave me a dirty look and spat, “Bitch!” while Skinny made a gargoyle face by stretching his mouth with his filthy fingers and dropping his tongue. He shouted to Fat Boy “Let’s go!” and the gang of two dispersed noisily, feet splashing in puddles.

I knelt down by the kitten. She lay on the debris-littered sidewalk beside several huge garbage bins with rotten meat and vegetables spilling from the lids. The piece of maroon meat next to her gave off a sickening stench. I stooped nearer and murmured, “Meow, meow” as gently as I could while holding my breath. She struggled to open her eyes. “Meow, meow,” I cooed again, rubbing my finger against her nose, still cool. Then to my utter surprise, she raised her paw to grab. Instinctively I jerked back. But when she mustered all her strength to reach again, a revelation hit me. She was trying to play with the gold-plated Guan Yin pendant swinging from my neck! Deeply moved by this act of innocent desire, I took off the chain and swung the trinket in front of her. She must have found the sparkling gold fascinating, for despite her weakness, she managed to get up and wobble two steps toward me. She grabbed at my pendant several times, making languid arches with her puny paws. After that, she uttered a feeble “meow” and slowly plopped down, her eyelids dropping. Dying-I supposed-from food poisoning.

A sadness climbed up my spine. I stooped there to let the drizzle wet my face, not knowing what to do. Finally, I recited the Heart Sutra and said a short prayer to Guan Yin, asking the Goddess of Mercy to take her soul to the Western Paradise, so that when she was reborn in this world, she would be reincarnated as a human and lead a happier life.

After I finished my prayer I covered the kitten with some newspaper, then hurried out from the back alley. My head ached as I continued to wander along Mott Street, trying to forget what had happened in Lisa’s apartment while the kitten’s image lingered. When she saw my pendant she had wanted to play with it. Even a kitten facing death had not had her desire quenched. Let alone we humans! Dai Nam-hadn’t she spent her whole life hanging on fiercely to the very idea of letting go?

I began to walk fast, and the rain, resuming, trickled like tears down my face. Through my blurred vision, I noticed something green and red in the wet mist-a temple. I dashed across Canal Street, hurried toward the crimson gate, and plunged in.

Inside, I found myself in a large foyer with an unattended reception desk, then a smaller hallway leading to a room painted bright yellow. I stepped across the threshold into the huge deserted chamber, and started to walk around below the large dome. An elaborately carved table, decorated with offerings of flowers and incense, stood before the altar. Behind it, on the altar itself, stood images of Buddhas and Guan Yins. I made a quick bow and turned around toward the exit.

Along the hallway hung rows of pieces of silk, all dyed bright yellow. Fastened to each were pictures of men, women, children, even babies. Curious, I paused to scrutinize them for a few moments until a realization hit me-these were tablets for the dead!

Then my eyes met a baby’s. He was about seven or eight months old, with thick, spiky hair, a round face, and a dimpled smile. On the right-hand side of the tablet was a small row of Chinese characters:

To our dear baby boy Guo Wang

(Country’s Hope),

who passed away on July 10, 1930

The left side read:

With great sadness in heart, your loving parents,

Chan Yan and Lu Feng

I turned away, having no heart to stare any longer at that innocent face. Had he lived, he would have transformed first into a handsome young fellow and by now into…a middle-aged man! I imagined his sad, wrinkled eyes staring at me, as if saying: “Since my parents are long gone, now no one comes to pay homage to me anymore.”

For a moment, I was overcome with sadness. Who knew when it would be my turn to have my picture on a little yellow tablet? Sooner or later we would all join my father, my little brother, the little Country’s Hope, and even the little kitten.

Feeling despondent at the thought, I dragged my feet back to the foyer. Wanting to look for solace and maybe even some answers for my life at present, I walked and looked into several rooms to try to find someone-a monk, a nun, a lay Buddhist volunteer.

Then I heard faint noises emitting from a room. I hastened there, peeked in, and saw a small TV running a Hong Kong soap opera.

“Hello!” I yelled, despite myself.

The door was pulled open and a huge head thrust in front of me. The man’s eyes, big, bulging, and bloodshot, scrutinized me with annoyance. “What’s the matter?” he asked in accented English.