Free Petals from the Sky by Mingmei Yip Page A

Goddess Moon. It was hot, but the sea breeze felt fresh on my face.
    After a while, I saw Victoria Harbor appear in ellipses between crowded buildings. Across the harbor, the emerald water reached lazily to embrace the ragged coastline of Kowloon. I found myself seeing Hong Kong through fresh eyes. After the fire, now everything—even the familiar—looked acute and interesting: the harbor, the sea, the meditating boats, the shimmering neon lights blinking like sweet dreams. As a solitary cloud drifted across the moon, I nudged closer to Michael.
    He pointed outside. “Meng Ning, look at the airport runway.” His long finger directed my eyes to Kowloon.
    The brightly lit runway stretched out into the royal blue sea like a fiery tongue, quietly lapping up a plane. My heart stirred at Michael’s physical presence. The air around me seemed to be filled with his cologne and his body heat.
    He said, “I think Hong Kong is the only city in the world where the plane lands right in the middle of things. I like that. It’s Zen, right here and now.”
    The tram strained toward the top of the hill and all the buildings outside looked slanted, as if they were falling down. I felt a jolt inside. Was it an omen that I’d also soon be falling…in love?
    Just then the tram passed a thicket of bamboo and fir trees and jerked to its stop—the upper Peak Tram station.
    It took us less than five minutes to walk to the Peak Restaurant. A pretty hostess in a tight black skirt, with a flirtatious smile aimed solely at Michael, told us that since someone had just called to cancel their reservation, we were fortunate to have the last table by the window.
    Wriggling her hips to the lively rhythm of the background jazz, she led us to the table by a floor-length window with tall, tropical plants. As the hostess clicked away on her narrow high heels, Michael stepped to my side of the table to pull out the chair for me.
    I looked around and remembered once reading that during the colonial period, this site had been a resting place for sedan carriers who brought the very rich and privileged to the top of Victoria Peak. Now it was a restaurant for all. I liked its English medieval pointed vaults, cozy stone fireplace, dark paintings of English landscapes—and, of course, the mouthwatering aroma of food permeating the entire place: roast beef, grilled shrimp, lamb in curry sauce….
    A tuxedoed waiter handed us large menus. Silence fell as we looked over the long list of dishes.
    “Well, Meng Ning, have you decided?” Michael finally asked.
    “Not quite, what about you?”
    “I’m vegetarian, so I’ll have sun-dried tomato pasta and Perrier.”
    Feeling embarrassed at being carnivorous, I said I’d have the same, suppressing my craving for a lamb chop. When the waiter left, Michael asked, “Are you also vegetarian?”
    “Not really,” I said, then quickly added, “Are you vegetarian because you’re a Buddhist or because you’re a doctor?”
    “Both.” He nodded toward a neighboring table where a rotund Chinese man was attacking a pork steak, clanking his knife and fork like a warrior, and gobbling heroically. “That battered pork over there used to be a healthy pig, who sunbathed on the meadow, flirted with his girlfriend, told jokes to his children, dreamt sweet dreams under shaded trees, played, laughed.”
    I blushed.
    Michael leaned forward to pat my hand. “Don’t worry, the Buddha was also carnivorous, since he had to eat whatever he found in his begging bowl, meat or vegetables.”
    Not knowing what to say, I looked out the window. The revolving restaurant inched on in largo, taking in the skyline of City Hall, the Conrad Hong Kong hotel, the Hong Kong Bank, the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, the needle-like Bank of China tower designed by I.M. Pei.
    My gaze continued to wander until it alighted on the dim outline of the mountains of the Kowloon Peninsula, the presence of China looming behind them.
    Yi Kong once said If our hearts