Petals from the Sky by Mingmei Yip Read Free Book Online Page B

“Mama,” he whispered.
    My heart melted. I savored his smallness and vulnerability for long moments—I’d never known it would feel so good to have a child nestling against me. “Little friend,” I cooed, drawing back so I could look him in the face. “I’m not your mama, but don’t you worry about her. I’m sure she’ll soon find you.”
    He was four or five, his head shaved and his body wrapped in a miniature Buddhist robe. A beautiful child. He stared at me with his big, curious eyes. “Who are you?”
    Then I noticed he had no eyelashes; they were all burnt!
    Tenderness swelled inside me while I battled tears. Before I could answer him, he reached his small hand to touch my face. “Why are you crying?”
    I couldn’t hold my tears anymore; they rolled down my cheeks like water flooding a collapsed dam. I pulled him into my arms and caressed his small bald head as motherly feelings rushed up in me. Then this feeling gave way to sadness when I remembered my short-lived little brother, whom I’d never had a chance to hold in my arms.
    Right then Michael Fuller materialized out of nowhere. His face and robe were full of dirt, his hair grayed by the dust. He came up to me, removed shards of glass entangled in my hair, and put his hand on my shoulder. “Meng Ning, are you all right?”
    I blushed, remembering the warmth of his body as he’d carried me out from the burning hall. Then I blinked back tears; not only had this American stranger remembered my name, he’d just saved my life and many others’ as well.
    “I don’t know how to thank you, Mr.—”
    “Michael,” he said.
    As he patted the child’s head, a young woman with disheveled hair and a tear-streaked face dashed toward us and grabbed the child from me. She pinched the kid on the face, arms, and legs until he burst out crying. She laughed. “Oh, my jewel! My heart! Your flesh hurts! You’re alive!” Then she grabbed my arm. “Oh, thank you so much, miss.”
    I pointed to Michael. “Thank him; it’s he who smashed the windows and led people out.”
    The woman’s mouth broke into a huge grin. She put her hands together, bowed, and spoke in accented English. “Oh, dank you, dank you, gweilo Buddha.” Foreign devil Buddha. Then she turned to the child and hollered in Cantonese, “Son-ah, thank this aunty and this gweilo uncle, quick!”
    The boy plopped down, prostrate, and kowtowed like a little monk. Michael and I laughed despite the recent disaster. The woman laughed, too, then again thanked us profusely as she led her son away. I watched, with sadness, the boy’s departing back as he scurried away with his mother on his small, chubby feet.
    Michael pointed to the ambulance. “Meng Ning, why don’t you come with me to see if they need help?” He took my elbow and we hurried to the white van.
    To my surprise, I saw Yi Kong and several other people lying semiconscious on stretchers. My heart flipped. Oh, Goddess of Mercy, please don’t let anything bad happen to my teacher!
    Although Yi Kong’s face looked pale and her lips bloodless, she was whispering to the eye-twitching nun, who knelt next to her. I felt a rush of relief. Then I noticed that her torn robe revealed her smooth-skinned shoulder. It was the first time I’d seen this much of her; my cheeks felt hot. Several other nuns and monks gathered around her, muttering and watching intently. Michael walked up to the van and said to the ambulance men in English, “I’m a doctor. Can I take a look at her?”
    After he had checked Yi Kong’s breathing and felt her pulse, he said, “She’s inhaled a little smoke, but otherwise I think she’s fine.”
    Yi Kong blinked and muttered, “Thank you.”
    Michael nodded as he walked away to check on the others.
    Yi Kong reached out her hand to touch the eye-twitching nun’s sleeve. “Make sure everyone is all right….” A tear trickled down from the corner of her eye. “Oh, those books in the Sutra Storing