The China Funeral PART 6

Our weary group walks back across the vast concrete sea. This time I carry DuoDuo. I do not understand the boy, and he certainly can’t figure out why I am not answering him. We both keep talking to each other, perhaps hoping something from of our respective languages will sink into each other’s heads. He’s a smart little guy and a real chatterbox. I am not around small children often, but the weight of our nephew and his curious nature reminds me that he is turning three soon.  And this inevitably leads to a darker area of my mind where I recall that if our 12 week miscarriage back in November 2008 hadn’t occurred, Ying and I would, today, have a child nearly two years old. 

Ying went through all hell and back in that ShenZhen hospital. I’ve always felt we were so lucky that she was not be maimed or dead from the experience. I’m not one to dwell on such things or ask a bunch of unanswerable questions, but the experience has always troubled me more so than any other in my life. Why did we lose the baby? Why did my wife needlessly go through so much pain and suffering? Why did we even have to make a little mistake and get pregnant!? Suddenly in a tidal wave of thoughts rushing into my brain, I had an answer.

In Chinese culture, the mom comes to take care of the daughter when pregnant and after the baby is born as well. It’s expected. She cooks. She makes culinary choices according to centuries of tradition. She cleans. She makes her daughter stay in bed and avoid anything cold. Mama took a train from Zhangjiakou to ShenZhen to do these motherly duties and more. Ying was able to spend a valuable two months with her while pregnant and after losing the baby. So here it was smacking me in the face. A reason I could finally accept. If this tragedy hadn’t happened, the summer of 2008 would be the last time Ying might have seen her mother. Instead she (And me too. I always enjoyed my morning walks in the park with Mama.) got to spend two extra months with her before the K1 visa interview and move to the U.S. That time is now priceless.

Grandma takes the boy out of my arms and off to a waiting taxi. Ying and I follow the cute handler to pay the bill. The billing staff even offers us free water at the counter in my favorite plastic cups. China is home to some of the thinnest plastic cups ever invented. These are only one chemical bonding step away from being a plastic bag. I am always astounded how they don’t collapse into themselves. And often, I’ve had accidents when holding a beer in one too enthusiastically!

The bill is amazingly inexpensive for a funeral at around 1600 U.S. dollars. Ying tells me we aren’t finished yet and we should return in two days to collect the ashes. Ying inputs her PIN for her Bank of China account. And with that, you can almost see the handler sigh a little sigh of relief as she holds her breath until payment was approved. 

We walk out towards the parking lot. It’s time for the post-funeral luncheon that must be standard in any culture. Only the food differs. Ying stops me in mid-step, obviously troubled about something.

“Honey. The people that left aren’t coming to the restaurant.”

“Well, they didn’t stay for the burning of stuff either, so yeah, I didn’t expect them to be there.”

“They need to come. They are family. I have to fix this, but I don’t know what to say.”

So I dig deep for some nugget of half-believable wisdom to explain away Brother’s angry words.

“OK, here’s what you say. It’s a hard day for all of us. Tell them not to take Brother’s outburst personally. You understand that it’s hard not to take it personally, but they just can’t see it that way on a day like today. Brother is sad. He is mourning his Mama. His expression of grief that moment took the form of intense anger. And unfortunately it was directed at his Auntie. Her expression of grief for her sister is loud crying. Neither way of grieving is wrong or incorrect. They just met head on at an inappropriate moment. Feelings were hurt. Tell them deep in his heart, he doesn’t mean the ugly words he said to her. “

We go over this a few times and Ying seems pleased with the explanation. 

We arrive at the parking lot. Brother is driving his father-in-law’s car again. FeiFei, Ying and Baba are in the back seat. Brother has a guilty look on his face. This is a man who has lost face today. He knows it. Ying makes the apology phone call. At first it seems the explanation isn’t working. They hang up on her. A few more tries and the conversation is longer and less intense. We still aren’t sure where they are today. Brother is slowly driving around the area we think they are staying. Finally after 45 minutes, permission is given to come over for a face to face apology. 

The apartment complex is one of the new ones in Zhangjiakou. The high rise buildings are finished, but the roads, park-like areas, parking spaces, and underground garage which I see in the scale model later are not yet complete. Right now to get to any apartment building, a 4x4 vehicle would be helpful. Dirt. Mud. Rocks. They are everywhere. I never understand why so many apartments are left like this for so long in China. Either pave it over, or make it pretty like the model! Don’t leave it dirty and so difficult to drive or walk to your home!

The new apartment turns out to belong to the Auntie’s daughter who also works as an agent for the complex. It’s completely modern in the China sense, and likely over the top luxurious in the Western sense. Sparkly chandeliers hang. Purple furry rugs are on the shiny new marble. Metallic gold and purple paint make a round design on the wall above the new flat screen TV. Centering the room, a bright red couch out of a modernist design book forms an L shape and is complete with throwback lace doilies adorning it that wouldn’t look out of place on my Grandma’s old couch. The old and the new. That’s what we always hear about China and here it is again represented with a couch!

The Auntie is still weeping. Her nephews are milling about sternly looking at Brother. Baba has a smoke with a cousin I am not very familiar with. He looks like he wants to steer clear completely of the controversy. Ying and I walk over to comfort the Auntie. I take her hand and Ying hugs her. Ying goes into the explanation we went over before, this time just for Auntie. Suddenly, Brother drops to his knees and begins slapping his own face, crying and begging to be forgiven. These are hard slaps, not some half-hearted affair. He gets four good ones in and Ying’s benefactor cousin grabs him. He gives Brother what I can only assume is a stern lecture. Brother tears up, bows his head and slaps himself a couple more times. And again they hold back his hands. My mouth is gaping at this point. I have never seen anything like this. He apologizes to Auntie again and sits silently on his knees the rest of the time we are there. The problem feels resolved. Now everyone is back to just being sad. 

Ying is the daughter. Not a position that traditionally sees a large amount of respect in Chinese culture. But clearly she is in charge of fixing the problem today so her immediate family doesn’t lose face from her Brother’s outburst. I believe she gained even more respect from her mother’s family in the process.  I am so very proud of her.