A Death
...written on 2001-02-07, @ 12:57:43
Tales of Kim's Life in Japan
Wed February 7, 2001
"Kim, do you want to go?" said Fred's voice in the darkened office of the Overseas Division. I turned to him with my tearstained face, my mouth open, but no words coming out. He quickly put up his hand and said "Take your time.", and left me alone in the office.
It was announced at the 1:00 p.m. meeting today that Okumura-san's father had died and that there would be a van leaving the company tonight at 11p.m. for those who wanted to go to the viewing. When I first heard the news, tears sprang to my eyes. Now, it was almost 11pm and I was trembling with sorrow, fear and indecision.
Okumura-san works at the Marunouchi branch. I've been there several times and we've done many listening practice dialogues together. We always shake hands afterwards and say that we make a great team.
My heart crumpled as I thought about the sadness of my friend and his family. Yasuyo had come in to the office a little earlier and said that she had been to see them. She said that when she asked about the books that were on the altar, Okumura-san said that his father had loved books and he began to cry. When I heard that, I excused myself and went to the Overseas Division office.
I tried to pin a thought to all of my tears. I knew they weren't all for Okumura-san. They were for passings past, present and future, but at this time nothing came to the forefront of my sadness. However, my fear was in plain sight.
I felt extremely selfish for having this fear. The fear of seeing pain, feeling pain, and being seen with pain. Or perhaps having someone realize that I wasn't feeling painful sorrow at all, but rather painful fear. I thought about not going, that it would be too hard for ME. . . and then I thought about what it would mean to Okumura-san to see me there.
"Let's go." I said to Fred as I passed him in the smoker's hallway. Fred showed me the special funeral envelope where I was to enclose 3000 yen ($30) all facing down in one direction. He wrote my name on the envelope with a special pen. We got directions to the funeral home and called Ivan and Chad to tell them we'd be there in 10 minutes to get them.
We sped along the highway. It was midnight and the cloudless sky shone bright from the sun's rays reflected off the half face of the moon. Fred's knuckles were slim white ghosts on the steering wheel as he held the reins tight. We arrived in just thirty minutes.
We took the elevator up to the reception hall. As we stepped out of the elevator, we experienced the embracing scent of over 3,000 flowers.
Okumura-san was surprised and very touched to see us. He bowed several times as did we as we offered our sincerest sympathy. We stepped over to the reception desk to sign the guest book and to offer our funeral envelopes. After we signed the register, we were given a little paper shopping bag with a boxed gift towel inside.
As we turned around, Okumura-san presented his mother to us, a very young looking woman in her early 50's, all dressed in black, sitting in a wheelchair. She bowed at the waist and thanked us for coming as we bowed and offered our condolences. Okumura-san then took us into the viewing room.
At the back of the room there was a large tiered altar that took up the entire length of the room. On each side of this altar were rows and rows of single white chrysanthemums anchored in little bottles of water. The altar itself looked like it was made of sandalwood and had carvings of lanterns. clouds, and dragons. Interspersed among the lanterns were offerings of food, a stack of apples on a plate here, a melon there, an arrangement of candy in the front and a grapefruit over there.
In the middle of the altar, below the large picture of Okumura-san's smiling father, sat a bowl of rice with one solitary chopstick stuck straight up in the middle of it. Below that, in a yellow and white brocade coffin, rested Okumura-san's father. There were two panels on the coffin that opened over the face so one could see through the glass to the inside. Tomorrow he, as all Japanese are, would be cremated.
We were separated from the coffin by another altar. This is where we were to pray. Okumura-san showed us how to bow, hold our hands up to pray, take a pinch of incense with our right hand, put it to our nose to smell it, put that in another tray, pick up another pinch of incense, smell it as well, and again, put it in the other tray. One final bringing together of the hands and a bow and we were finished.
I watched Chad as he did this, and then it was my turn. I walked up to the altar and saw the piles of incense there. Japanese custom dictates that throughout the 24 hour viewing, incense must be kept burning at all times. I saw the opening in the coffin and felt the icy fear grip me and hoped that I wouldn't be able to see the dead man's face which I was sure would have been too stark of a contrast to the smiling picture above for me to bear. I prayed and I wept.
We all went to another room where we were served hot tea and mochi-covered sweet bean cakes. Okumura-san joined us and said that because we were there his father would be happy. He also said that his father was a typical "Salaryman", but that even so Okumura-san thought he had had a good life. We lingered a while longer, went back to the viewing room, and then parted.
Okumura-san bowed to us all as we got into the elevator. His sad, tired and pinched face provoked more tears in me as the door of the elevator closed.
Conversation in the car was sparse. I said nothing. Fred told us that it was Japanese custom after a viewing to go home and rub some salt on our bodies to thwart any evil spirits that might have followed us home.
Back in my apartment I bathed in the salt of my tears.