After the pleasant diversion of the Peach Blossom Garden, we were now finally heading toward the famous colossal Buddha carved into the Le Mountain. As we drove, the rain abated.

The taxi driver caught my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Miss, you and your friend had a good time up there?”

“Oh, yes.” I made my answer short, for I didn’t want to share my intimate temple experience with this stranger.

But the driver couldn’t keep quiet for long. As the car bounced up and down over potholes, he began to tell us stories about the big Buddha carved out of the Le Mountain. His eyes, flickering behind his thick glasses, kept peeking at us in the rearview mirror.

In a dramatic tone, he began. “Believe it or not, this Leshan statue is really a Buddha.” Then he paused, for suspense, I believed.

I asked, “What do you mean?”

“Ah, you’ve never heard anything about it?”

“No,” I answered abruptly. Still savoring my other-worldly experience, I wanted to be left alone.

Michael asked, “Meng Ning, what did he say?”

“Nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing? He surely is talking a lot.”

The driver asked, “What did your laowai friend say?”

“He wants to know what you said.”

He chuckled and paused to think. “Ah, so your laowai friend hasn’t heard anything about it neither, eh?”

“I don’t know, but one thing I’m sure about-” I could hear irritation in my own voice. “My old barbarian friend knows more about Buddhism than you do.”

Instead of being offended, he smiled, his large, neurotic eyes locking my gaze in the mirror. “Ah, but I don’t think so. I’m sure he doesn’t know the fact that this Leshan statue is a real Buddha.”

Feeling really annoyed now, my voice raised an octave. “Driver, just tell me what this ‘Leshan statue is a real Buddha’ is all about.”

Michael took my hand. “Meng Ning, what’s the matter? What did he say to annoy you?”

“Nothing.”

Just then the driver spoke again. “When I say the statue is a real Buddha, I mean that it’s alive with a spirit.”

Now he had my attention. He paused to wet his thick lips, the color of coagulated blood. “During the Cultural Revolution, many times people tried to destroy the Leshan Buddha, but all failed.”

“What did they do?”

“They climbed up the statue-that is, the mountain top-and tried to chop off his head.”

“But that head’s the size of a small house!” I’d seen many pictures of the famous Buddha.

“No, not that, miss.” He chuckled. “It’s because each time they tried, something happened-a comrade fell off the mountain and got killed; another seized by a panic so that he had to be carried down the mountain; yet another one had a massive heart attack and died on the spot. Finally the vandals agreed that chopping was impractical. A new idea was born; they climbed up the statue and tied sticks of dynamite around the Buddha’s head-”

“Oh, no! Then what happened?”

Michael turned to me. “Please translate what he said!”

“Shhh! Let me hear the whole story first.”

I prodded the driver: “Then what happened?”

“Be patient, miss. That’s what I’m about to tell you.” He took time to wet his lips, swallow hard, and after that, plunged on. “Then, when they tried to detonate the dynamite, it thundered. It had been a fine day, but suddenly there was a bolt of lightning!” He struck the steering wheel sharply. “And-”

Michael jolted. “Meng Ning, what happened?”

“Quiet, please, Michael, would you please let him finish?”

“I want to know what he’s saying.”

I ignored Michael’s remark while searching the driver’s eyes in the mirror. “And what?”

“And it struck everybody dead. Dead!” He spat out the window, then he lifted his hands from the steering wheel and stretched them wide apart, his excited voice echoing in the small confines of the car. “Their corpses looked like huge, roasted sausages!”

“Oh, my God!”

Michael’s voice, now very upset, rose next to me. “Meng Ning, when you talk to him he takes his hands from the steering wheel-better stop asking him things. The road is still wet and slippery.”

Just when I was about to warn the driver, deafening honks exploded. To my horror, I saw a car speeding toward us from the opposite lane. Our taxi swerved sharply and we all skidded to the side of the road.

Our driver stuck his head out and hollered, “You son of a bitch! Couldn’t you wait to register with the King of Hell?!”

The other driver shot him a murderous look. “You dead man!”

He shot back, “Fuck your mother and stop driving like a lunatic!”

After that, he resumed driving, while casting a triumphant smile toward us in the rearview mirror.

“Jesus!” exclaimed Michael; then he patted hard on the driver’s shoulder. “Would you please concentrate on the road and drive more carefully?”

The driver turned to ask me, “What did your laowai friend say?”

Before I could answer, Michael was fuming again. “Meng Ning, won’t you tell him not to turn his head back, but instead look at the road ahead?!”

I told the driver and he said, “All right, all right. Miss, tell your laowai friend not to worry; I’m a very experienced driver.” He added with a casual air, “I talk to my passengers all the time and nothing’s ever happened.”

A brief silence followed. I took the opportunity to translate to Michael everything the driver had told me about the Buddha.

Michael listened intently, and then, to my surprise, dismissed it with a laugh. “It’s not at all Buddhist. Buddhas don’t kill people.”

Not wanting to incur Michael’s wrath by distracting the driver, I kept my mouth shut.

But not the driver; he spoke again. “Miss, you know that the Leshan Buddha always responds to people’s wishes?”

“What do you mean?”

“Many years ago before it was built, boats, when sailing past this mountain, had capsized. Then the villagers decided to carve a Buddha out of the whole mountain to subdue the devils. And after the statue was built, there have been no more accidents.”

I translated this to Michael. He said, “It’s nice that people believe that, but I think it’s just coincidence.”

“Michael, you’re too scientifically minded. I like the idea.”

“Actually, I sort of like it, too.” He smiled.

A long meditative silence followed. Then the driver spoke again, this time turning back to stare directly at me. “Miss, if you ever have a chance to look this Leshan Buddha straight in his eyes, you’ll find that they’ll follow you wherever you go. Besides, if you stare at him long enough, you can see that he smiles-”

“Meng Ning. Is there some way you can convince him to keep his eyes on the road?”

After I’d translated to the driver, he chuckled. “Miss, laowai are famous for being nervous. Tell your friend to relax.”

“Why don’t you pay attention-then my friend will relax,” I said, then translated to Michael.

“Good,” he replied.

I started to translate our earlier conversation, but our driver turned back again, with a wide grin that showed a jumble of yellowed teeth. “Oh, miss, don’t you worry about me. I started to drive thirty years ago, probably before you were born-”

Suddenly Michael screamed, “Watch out!” and pulled me toward him.

I saw a tall truck, like a mountain wall, crashing toward our taxi at full speed. In a split second, I heard frenzied honks, squealing of tires…

I didn’t know how long I remained unconscious, but when I opened my eyes, the whole world seemed tilted. People-like phantoms-moved, talked, and hollered around our taxi in slow motion.

The driver, his glasses cracked and his forehead cut and bleeding, turned and muttered something comforting, but his words were lost in the buzzing and bustling of the people around us. My bones felt as if they were broken. Before I had a chance to gather up my thoughts, I saw rivulets of blood streaming from underneath me onto the floor.