The China Funeral PART 3

The slow grueling car ride through Zhangjiakou ends with finding the funeral home on the outskirts of town. You can even see the toll booths for entering and exiting Zhangjiakou. Not only is this funeral home on the outskirts, but it is the only game in town. Whether that is by a local government order or that the Chinese don’t wish to have an “in your face” dealing with matters of death, I don’t know.  Perhaps it’s both. On the same train of thought, over the next few weeks during our travels, many Chinese asked me what I was doing in China. Business or pleasure? When I told them my mother in law passed away, they got a blank look on their faces. Subsequently, they didn’t really change the subject but just continue on with the conversation as if I’d replied that I was a tourist. I didn’t expect anything more or less. It’s the culture. But it was an interesting dichotomy to the westerners I would meet who asked the same question and when I replied they offered the familiar “Aw, I am SO sorry. How is your wife holding up?” And whether or not that response was offered up with earnest, I don’t have the answer either. 

The Zhangjiakou funeral home facade is a mix of China’s typical marble construction with a bit of Greek Classicism thrown in with a smattering of columns and rotundas. There are what looks to be multiple entrances and exits all with marble steps leading up to the doors. Is that for the really busy days? Out in front is a series of arches resembling horseshoes  which I was curious if we’d walk through later. We did not.

We park in a dirt lot across the street. I recognize some cousins sitting in a van nearby. They obviously know the schedule for things as they stay in the van and out of the cold wind. 

Brother opens the boot and I find out the contents of one of the many bags. Ying has made white cloaks. At first glance, they appear to be white sheets for a cheap ghost Halloween costume or worse . . . costuming for a D.W. Griffith film. There were even white hats and sashes. One of rope and one of the white material. After I felt the material, I realized there was no way this was a sheet they had just lying around somewhere. It’s a very rough cloth. 

“Do I get one?”

“Only Lei children wear them. And FeiFei. Because she is a Lei now too.”

“But you are a Boyd now.”

“But, I am still a Lei.”

“OK, so do I wear anything?”

“This rope and white piece of cloth around your waist like a belt. I hope I cut it big enough, honey.”

Jeez. She knows. She knows I have had a nightly diet of beer for the weeks she has been in China. I am in trouble later.

Brother retrieves Mama's picture. It's his duty to carry it in front of him the rest of the time now.

Walking to the guard station I am reminded again how the Chinese love to gate places off with those silver skeletal retractable gates. Hmm . . . HOA says I need a new fence. What would one of those look like in front of our house? 

Ying pokes her head in the guard booth and asks if we can wait out the cold inside. They say no, momentarily. Then they notice the laowai and their tone changes. We go in and I am offered a seat on someone’s bed. Before my bottom even begins to warm the mattress, a cute big eyed girl in an amazingly inappropriate hot pink felt car-coat with matching hot pink hand bag rushes in and begins conversing with Ying at a 100 KM an hour. Oddly they seem like old friends warmly exchanging a hug. After 5 minutes it dawns on the dense laowei: she is the funeral home rep, essentially our handler to make things go as smoothly as possible. And of course  . . . coordinate the billing and up-sell the services. She looks at me and smiles. She doesn’t speak English and cautiously says “Hello.”

Ying looks at me and flawlessly breaks into English. “She has been waiting to meet you. I told her yesterday I was married to you. Be nice, say hi!”

“Uh . . . hi! Really? Me? That’s flattering.”

“I have my eyes on you. I know she’s cute”

“Seriously? I am going to hit on a girl at my mother in law’s funeral?”

“What? You think you’d be the first?”

We walk towards the funeral home and up the steps of the middle left entrance. Coming towards us is FeiFei and her parents. Our nephew DuoDuo is in his remaining grandma’s arms not really knowing what’s happening. He will be turning 3 next week. FeiFei busily dons the white outfit. DuoDuo gloms onto me. We haven’t seen him since he was 3 months old. But he has seen pictures of us. He knows who I am because I am, as he says, “the one who is different.” Ying on the other hand he confuses with several cousins. This irritates her to no end since he also thinks they are the ones who buy him all the toys. 

Ying, brother and FeiFei run off to complete some last minute tasks before the service. I am left in a waiting room with DuoDuo and his grandma. Grandma thinks DuoDuo is bothering me and scoops him away. He starts to cry so I give him my iPhone. It never fails. An iPhone is instant entertainment for any kid. I flick through and find Wall-E for him to watch. Thinking it’s a game, DuoDuo touches the screen trying to “control” Wall-E. He has obviously has experience with his Dad’s unlocked iPhone. Data roaming is off. I don’t think he can do much damage. He is now quickly flicking through the apps. 

Cousins start to trickle in. Mama’s second oldest sister arrives with several of her children, wailing. Tears are flowing. Nobody is around, so I go to comfort her. I’m not good at this sort of thing. She looks up at me, clutches my hand and says something I don’t understand. I only catch my name “MyKal” as they verbalize it with a hard “K.” I have a flashback to my Grandfather’s death after a horrendous car accident back in 1984. My Grandmother is clutching my 13 year old hand at the hospital, and wailing “Oh Michael, what are we going to do without Grandpa. What are we going to do!” Maybe this is sort of what Auntie is saying.

I notice the oldest sister is nowhere to be seen. A few years ago my mother and she got to know each other by sharing various hand creams. Her son is there and comes to greet me. He is the one who straightened out the hospital and also was Ying’s benefactor during college. I firmly believe without the financial assistance of this generous and kind man, the two of us lovebirds might never have met. He is actually only a couple of years younger than Ying’s mother but went down a completely different road in life. “Membership has it’s privileges” to quote a formerly popular credit card tag line.