After a twenty-five minute drive out to the far east-side of town; through long weekend Friday rush hour traffic that we had guessed would be much worse, we arrived at the ceremony hall for the 7pm tsuya around twenty minutes early.
Mina had got a relatively good deal on a new black 'funeral purse' from a helpful saleswoman at Atsuta Aeon (the department store closest to our place), so she wouldn't need to feel self conscious carrying her quite suddenly shabby old one. Even if no one else noticed, she would know...and wouldn't be able to relax. These events are stressful and miserable enough without the added worry of being eyed up and judged on the relative condition of your mourning accessories by random strangers, or nosey members of the extended family. We'd also stopped in at the mall's ¥100 store to pick up a fancy envelope (bushugibukuro - 'packet for anti-celebration') for the obligatory condolence money we'd need to bring, and at the ATM to get enough cash to put in it.
'Anti-celebration' is right.
Sometimes these translations make me laugh. Straight to the point.
It seems that no formal event over here can pass without the need for attendees (and even non-attending relatives, neighbours and acquaintances) to come forth with fancy envelopes... stuffed with cash. Weddings, funerals, graduations, etc., etc.
Don't show up empty handed.
The closer your relationship to the individual in question, the fatter the envelope should be. There are specific rules for all of this stuff, which I'm happy enough to remain blissfully unaware of. This is Mina's territory, and while she always does a bang-up job of navigating us through the often murky and obstacle fraught waters of Japanese customs, even she needs to make the occasional foray online, to consult guides on the particulars of certain situational etiquettes, and the standards that we are expected to meet - just to be certain that we don't inadvertently commit some unforgivable social faux-pas. Details, details.
Then more details.
Everything at these functions needs to be 'just so'. Lord forbid if we inadvertently wear something navy blue as opposed to black, or our 'condolences' somehow fall even slightly short of expectations.
We'd never live it down.
Mina parked the car, and we went through the automatic sliding doors into the foyer of the ceremony hall - a generic 'memorial service space' run by a heavily advertised outfit by the name of TEAR. The ceremony hall and funeral parlour rackets are a massive business over here, with competing franchises running locations all over town. This particular space was undoubtably chosen for its close proximity to Mayumi's family's home. The facilities were adequate.
Mayumi's eldest son, who was loitering about waiting to greet arriving mourners came to acknowledge our arrival. He's a big, surly, sumo wrestler-sized guy in his late 30's. His younger brother is big, too. Not quite sumo material...but big.
With the exception of mutually exchanged rote pleasantries, in the fifteen years that I've been acquainted with these two, I don't think I've ever spoken directly with either of them. They've made no effort to take it any further, either.
Suffice it to say, there just isn't any spark there.
Quite a few older Japanese people (the over fifty crowd) seem to have at least some tertiary, or passing interest in foreigners - particularly people they perceive to be 'Americans'. This can often lead to awkward (even embarrassing) situations, in which they'll go out of their way to 'pepper' us with broken English, and often bend over backwards, attempting to needlessly ingratiate themselves in some way. Perhaps all of this is a by-product of the times they grew up in.
A lot of Okasan's generation still clearly recall the U.S. occupation, and the edicts of the post-war MacArthur years. Mina's Mum was a school girl when the war ended, and the U.S. GHQ drilled it into the defeated Japanese that the American atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had been justified and unavoidable...and that they had saved Japanese lives(!). To this day, she still believes it.
The baby boomers and generation X'ers looked to 'western' countries like the U.S. as beacons of whatever was 'hip' and 'cool'. In the prosperous economic 'bubble period' of the eighties and early nineties, learning English and traveling abroad were all the rage for affluent young J-folk. Western pop culture and fashion ruled the roost over here until nearly the turn of the century, when attitudes suddenly started to change. I often wonder what the trigger was...and why things shifted so dramatically?
Some contend that the turning point was the broad introduction of young Japanese to the internet in the early 2000's, via the relatively sudden availability more affordable P.C.'s., and ultimately, smart phones around ten years ago.
I'm sure that all of this played a role.
Around fifteen or twenty years ago, the always trend and fashion conscious Japanese youth quite abruptly went from curious, and outward looking, to disaffected, inward, and completely satisfied to keep to their own, very local circles. J-pop, video games and manga/anime culture usurped traditionally popular western 'entertainments'. Who wanted to hassle with sub-titles and un-cool foreign languages when they could easily immerse themselves in an abundance of their own lightweight pop media, and just switch to auto-pilot?
In an odd way, they've become much more like the American youth that previous generations seemed so enamoured with. Un inquisitive, complacent and provincial. Happy to live the duration of their lives in the neighbourhoods they were born and raised in, eyes and ears shuttered, consuming a steady diet of their own, disposable junk culture.
As far as the inconvenient business of foreigners, or random goings on in the world outside of the Japanese archipelago, the younger generations tend not to care.
Mayumi's extended family absolutely doesn't.
That's alright by me.
On the odd occasion that tradition or ritual demands that everyone come together (usually at Obon or over New Year's), I keep my mouth shut, and stay very much in the background. This suits everyone fine. No one is unfriendly. Just indifferent. My sense is that I'm 'tolerated' as a courtesy to Mina - not unlike the way service animals are accepted in public spaces usually forbidden to regular pets. Her mother and Mayumi will at least attempt to break the ice, and dispense with pleasantries; I'll struggle with my basic Japanese, while Mina translates and Mayumi peppers me with a bit of basic English. It feels kind of nostalgic, truth be told. It was much the same in my ex-wife's family home twenty-five years ago - with the exception that my Japanese is 'somewhat' better now. It's all very superficial. The whole exercise is ultimately stilted, and just a bit painful for everyone. Naturally, I'm aware that if I wasn't there, they'd all be much more at ease.
While my just deceased brother-in-law wasn't much of a talker, he'd usually save the day by crossing this awkward divide with beer. That, and his quiet, easy-going demeanour inevitably took the edge off of these gatherings.
Things will be quite different without him around.
Mina and her nephew dispensed with a bit of small talk, and he gestured us toward the elevator. The service was to be held in the first ceremony hall on the second floor.
Elevators.
Enclosed spaces.
Nope. I've been avoiding them and taking the stairs whenever practical for the last eight months. The fact that this entire group had been down with COVID just a few weeks earlier was still freaking me out. At least they were all masked up. I indicated to Mina that it would be just as easy if we took the two flights of steps up to the second floor, and she apologized to her nephew. He gave a good natured nod. Japanese people are notoriously hard to read under normal circumstances. Throw masks on everyone, and it becomes a virtual pantomime of second guessing and attempting to read eyes and body language.
Hopefully he wasn't offended.
On the second floor, his younger brother (two years junior) was waiting at the door to the small memorial hall. He bowed slightly to acknowledge our arrival, and gestured us toward the mourner's log. Mina would have to do the honours and sign both of us in. While I'd attempted to at least learn how to write my name in katakana, I hadn't practiced in years. This wasn't going to be the time or place to see how well I remembered. She entered our names and gave him the fancy envelope, with our condolence money.
The hall was spacious enough...well lit, and done up in a neutral scheme - grey, black and white. There were around a hundred chairs set up - ten rows of ten, with an aisle down the center, making for five rows of five on each side, then a lateral aisle dividing the front rows of chairs (for immediate family), from the remainder of seats toward the back, for non-related mourners. At the far right side of the room there was a small table set up with an incense urn, a podium for the priest, and finally the closed casket, surrounded by an elaborate floral arrangement - with a photo of Mayumi's husband set directly over it. Mayumi came over and spoke to Mina. Under normal circumstances I would have given her a hug; but I simply bowed, tried to emote my sincerest condolences, then faded in to the background as quickly as I possibly could.
I picked out a couple of seats towards the rear of the right side of the family section, a few rows behind Mayumi's eldest son's wife and two kids, who were already seated. His wife, who had a hoarse, intermittent cough that was making me edgy, was fussing over their five year old, who was hyperactive, and buzzing around the perimeter of the hall, checking out everything - and everyone. Kids are so curious. His eleven or twelve year old half-brother - another 'outsider' - was just sitting, kind of detached...staring off into space.
I could relate.
The villain of the proceedings, Mayumi's late husband's older brother, and his odious wife had arrived and situated themselves towards the front - left side of the family section. No doubt everyone had heard what the little douchebag had said to Mayumi on the phone the day before. He'd definitely darkened an already black day. While feelings were raw, and tensions were obviously running high, everyone kept their cool. He and his odious wife bowed politely when they saw us, and Mina and I bowed back. The Japanese excel at this type of thing. Had it been my family, the Irish blood melange would have prevailed, and - wake or not - 'someone' would have got their lights punched out.
Mina came and sat beside me. Everyone seemed to be keeping a pretty good distance from everyone else. Wakes and funerals over here are usually pretty well attended. This one was the sparsest I'd ever been to. A small handful of non-family mourners filtered in, and took seats in the rear section. From their mannerisms and the way they were dressed, I gathered they had something to do with my brother-in-law's employer. Finally, I counted no more than fifteen, including the priest, who had driven in from Okasan's village out in Shiga to preside over the both the tsuya (wake) and the following day's formal ososhiki (funeral). It hardly seemed like a fitting send off.
At 7:00 pm sharp, the priest came in, and Mina took our juzu (prayer beads) out of her new funeral purse. These round bead bracelets are to be clasped while the priest recites his course of sutras. I have no idea what any of it means, so I just watch what Mina does, and try my best to mimic her. After the first round of chants, each of us has to go, in turn, to offer three separate pinches of incense to the urn on the table in front of the casket, then turn around and bow to the surviving family members in succession. It's all more than a little nerve wracking. Again, I just watch what everyone else does, and wing it.
After that we can line up to file past and view the body. For some mourners, this will be their last chance to say 'good-bye', as the following day's funeral is only open to immediate family.
The top half of the casket was open, and the deceased's face and upper body could be seen through a fixed plexiglass window. If it were up to me, I'd actually pass on this option. I'm not big on viewing the cadavers of people I've known. I prefer that the last image I have of someone be that of an animate, living, breathing person...not the pallid, lifeless face of a corpse; but with the bereaved family present, and everyone else queueing up to file past, I was afraid not doing so might cause offense...so I sucked it up, and got in line. The poor guy looked as expected, considering the horrible ordeal he'd been through. This was something that I didn't need to see. I'd have to go through it again the next day, too.
As per Japanese custom, the formal component of the tsuya thing goes on for about an hour, following which there is typically a more informal group dining component, after which we receive small thank-you gifts from the family of the deceased on our way out. These gifts can vary, depending on how much condolence money you gave. The more money - the better the gift. The rule of thumb here is that the value of the gift should be equivalent to from one quarter to one half of the condolence money you brought. I think it's a strange and senseless custom.
After the ceremony, Mayumi announced that, due to certain 'safety concerns' that had been raised (by Mina) regarding the group dining plan, she had opted to order set bento boxes that we could all take home. This was a tremendous relief, and really the best thing for everyone - though it was a shame that the less formal sharing of food and drink had to be forgone...leaving only the cold rigidity of the formal ceremony.
The Japanese word 'tsuya' literally translates as 'passing the night'. Typically, the closest family members will stay with the deceased the entire night, and keep vigil. So, while we'd be free to go home and eat our bentos, the 'core family' would be there for the duration - minus the welcome distraction of food and alcohol bearing visitors dropping by throughout the night to pay their respects, and keep them company.
For Mayumi's family, that meant a long, quiet night of little or no sleep, followed by a grueling full day of formal Buddhist ceremonies.
In 'the west', wakes are typically held after funerals, in the period before the deceased is buried or cremated. For the Irish, wakes are celebrations of the deceased's life. An occasion of both melancholy and joy. A kind of 'last party', to send the departed off in the best possible way.
A typical Japanese tsuya is sombre, sepulchral business.
A COVID tsuya is about the grimmest thing imaginable.
The natives aren't very touchy-feely people at the best of times; while Japan isn't a culture of hugs and kisses, a tragic situation like this - in which mourners have to maintain a prescribed distance with their faces covered; where all manner of closeness and physical contact is discouraged or feared - and heart-felt condolences have to be conveyed by pantomime gestures, and words spoken at a distance from behind masks...it all really compounds the tragedy and misery of the event.
It's gut wrenching and awful.
A true 'anti-celebration'.
I made up my mind that when my time comes to hop this mortal coil, I want no part of any of this. No way. No thanks. This Japanese Buddhist tsuya/ososhiki business is not for me.
On the ride home, talk of the day's events, and the details of Saturday's ososhiki were front and centre. It looked like another long schedule of much the same type of thing as this evening. The proceedings would wind up mid-late afternoon at the Nagoya City Cemetery crematorium in Yagoto (on the east side of town), after which Mayumi had planned another sit down meal for the mourners in attendance, as is customary after all the day's funeral business has been wrapped up.
We had just gone through this discussion with her...yet here we were. Again.
It seemed that she was determined to adhere to the template for typical Japanese funerals, regardless of the situations framing this whole tragic event. I assumed that she just was just in shock. Not thinking clearly. Of course, despite our differences, my heart ached for her. She had just had her husband prematurely snatched away by a marauding and unpredictable virus. She had been gravely ill herself, and her life had been tragically and inextricably altered in very short order. The heartbreaking repercussions of the events of this summer would continue to resonate through her life for a very long time.
Still...I didn't get it. Obviously ritual and tradition hold pretty strong sway over here.
On our way out, Mayumi had asked Mina if we would mind acting as a shuttle service from the ceremony hall to the crematorium for at least two of Saturday's funeral party - most likely her deceased husband's douchebag brother and his odious wife, or 'someone else' - possibly an as yet un-named extended family member, or 'someone from her husband's workplace'. It was unclear.
I was somewhat taken aback by this sudden request.
Typically, at Japanese funerals there is a ceremony hall shuttle bus hired out to take any significant number of mourners 'en masse' to the follow-on ceremony at the crematorium. Of the small crowd confirmed to be attending Saturday's proceedings (twelve-fifteen, give or take), everyone had come in their own cars. Depending on traffic, the Yagoto crematorium was fifteen - twenty minutes from the ceremony hall. Why wouldn't everyone simply drive themselves over? Considering the situation - a pandemic - I wasn't in favour of loading anyone - extended family or otherwise - into the closed confines of our vehicle. First off, there was no need, and secondly, it would be potentially unsafe for everyone involved.
I had trouble wrapping my head around why she would even entertain the idea of asking us to do this?
While it wouldn't be a problem under 'normal circumstances', I had to reiterate to Mina that these weren't 'normal circumstances'. My answer would have to be an unequivocal, "sorry, we can't do it". I knew Mina wanted to help; but none of this seemed to make any sense in light of the over-arching situation. It wouldn't be 'helping' anyone if the virus were allowed to spread further, and do any more damage to anyone connected to the family. My primary concern was keeping Mina and I as 'safe' as possible. Perhaps I was being hyper-vigilant?
No one had expected Mayumi's husband to die like this. We were dealing with a situation in which the unknowns far outweighed the knowns. Nothing could be assumed, or left to chance.
Second, we had just left the tsuya, bagged up bento's in hand...under the impression that she had 'got the message' regarding the debatable safety of having a group dining thing in the middle of a pandemic. Through Mina, I had been trying to emphasize the idea of 'risk-reduction'. After everything the family had been through, this seemed to be an obvious consideration.
I told Mina that I absolutely didn't want us to join their 'post service meal' - or commit to shuttling anyone around on Saturday - for exactly the same reasons that I opted us out of the group dining plans this evening.
I was starting to feel like a broken record.
"We're in the middle of a global pandemic, paying our respects to a family member who has just died a lonely, miserable death after a long hard struggle with this virus. Perhaps this might not have happened if more care had been exercised..."
This was really stressing me out. Of course, neither of us wanted to hurt anyone's feelings, or worse still, offend the bereaved family...but all things considered, my opinion was that these plans were inappropriate at best - and careless at worst. I could tell that Mina was hesitant to call her sister again, and that she would rather I just suck it up and go along with everything being planned and proposed, 'fingers-crossed' that we'd all be OK. While I didn't like the idea of continually contradicting her sister, particularly given what she was going through, I simply couldn't give in.
We got into a back-and-forth.
"Look at the situation. One family member is dead already. I don't want to point fingers and blame anyone; but it seems that in addition to some extraordinarily bad luck, there was also a bit of carelessness involved. What if we were to somehow pick this up? Everyone thinks that this virus is something that picks on 'other people'. What if you got sick? Mayumi almost died a month ago, too. I hate to keep on about it; but you already know my situation, with the chronic asthma and sleep apnea. You know I'm in a more vulnerable group. I want to do the right thing, and mourn respectfully, but I'm not willing to risk our lives, just to avoid ruffling someone's feathers..."
I was going to have to be the wet blanket again. The 'bad guy'.
More back and forth.
"Mayumi's not bad; she just wants to do things in the normal way..."
"I know she's not bad; that's fine...but things just can't be done in 'the normal way'. These aren't normal times. All of this grouping business is OK for them. The six of them live together. They've all gone through hell, had COVID and recovered. One of them didn't make it. For Mayumi's crew, it's over...at least for now. They have antibodies. To the best of our knowledge, we don't...."
We finally agreed on the obvious... that these were 'bad ideas'. We called Mayumi from the car, and I attempted to explain our concerns as diplomatically as possible in my most measured broken Japanese/English, with Mina filling in the blanks as necessary. Of course, we'd attend the day's services, but would have to say, "no" to the shuttle idea, and regretfully decline on the group meal option after everything was done. Again.
Mina finally said "No more death". In English. Mayumi said she understood.
"No more death".
This was becoming exhausting, and I was finally starting to resent it all just a bit.
We got home shortly before nine pm, and as I was unlocking the door, Mina stopped me. She had grabbed two small packets of salt off of the table on our way out of the ceremony hall building, and wanted us to throw salt on each other before going inside. Apparently the idea is to prevent any errant spirits that may have taken a liking to us and decided to follow us back, from entering our home...and taking up residence. Apparently, this can be a thing.
The last thing we needed was some attention seeking poltergeist chucking tableware around, and flicking the lights on and off in the middle of the night.
It seems that boorish ghosts don't care for salt.
We braved the summer's end mosquitoes that love to swirl around our dark, humid apartment doorway, and chucked pinches of salt on each other before going in.
Better safe than sorry, I guess...though I couldn't help but wondering why we hadn't done it before getting in the car.
What if a problematic ghost decided it wanted to take over the wheel, and run us into a bus, or a gaggle of school kids?
Mina didn't have the answer to this query.
We went in, removed our shoes, and I took a deep breath. Apparently the used up old slag next door had been hard at work, blowing her foul cigarette smoke up the range top vent in her kitchen for hours on end...and the over-powering smell of Fidel Castro's arsehole was now seeping out of my classroom, and up the narrow hallway toward the living room.
"Fucking cunt"
I had a good curse, turned on all of the fans - front and back - and went to run a bath.
We were both starving, and those bento boxes were starting to look pretty good. We had a long Saturday of funeral business ahead of us. It would be baths, a glass of wine, cold bento boxes, then straight to bed. There would be no streaming escapism tonight.
Viva Silver Week!
TO BE CONTINUED.....
Comentários