I’m not
superstitious in England, but here it seems unavoidable. The day after the end
of the funeral I was woken up by some clattering on the tin roof nearby. That’s
what raised my eyelids anyway. Clattering. Then two sharp crows from the crow
who then quickly flew away. Ogiichan’s telling me to get up I thought, so I
did, and went downstairs where my Obaachan was also stirring. I asked why she had
got up and she said she remembered Ogiichan’s face laid down in the coffin and
thought it was high time to get up. I said I heard a crow. She said she knew.
Since the day Ogiichan passed away they’ve been frequent visitors to the house
and garden, Obaachan says, ‘Until the 49th day the tamashi of the person surrounds the
house protecting it from evil.’
Tamashi means something like soul or spirit, the latter probably
being the fuller translation. For when a person is alive people don’t refer to
his or her tamashi, they refer to
their soul or heart (kokoro) though.
A tamashi is something intrinsically
connected to the person, viscera or essence, yet it appears bodyless like a
glowing circle of densely packed matter of soul. Japan’s a funny old world when
it comes to superstition or religion or simply belief, so many elements are
grounded in logic yet they make no sense. But when you hear the stories (that’s
another story), it’s hard to not let their logic flow.
The second part
of the funeral, after the ritual cleansing and chanting the night before was
surprising to say the least. I had asked what to expect but nobody had told me
in full detail, or even responded to my request so I was left in the dark about
things until they happened.
We returned en masse to the undertaker-cum-hotel in
the morning to greet all the guests. We sat in the room where the body of
Ogiichan lay and gave incense again, and bowed regularly again, as the Buddhist
Monk carried out his duties.
Lots of chanting
lots of chiming lots of Om’s (Buddhism).
I was jealous of
everyone with their beaded rosaries.
Then the coffin
was brought to the forefront and opened fully so that the family and guests
could say their personal goodbyes to Ogiichan, and we were all invited in and
given handfuls of flowers to cover his body with.
Lilies,
carnations, yellow cup tulips, white daisies, purple fuchsias...
Ogiichan was a
man of flowers. One of his sayings was,
‘A man of
flowers can do no harm’.
He also used to
say to me - isn’t it ironic that the most beautiful things in the world like
flowers are free? I’d agree.
The coffin was filled
to the brim with flowers. Everything was covered apart from his face which was
left to see out of the bed of petals. He looked at rest. The lid was closed and
then the family processed out with Ogiichan following behind led by the Monk
who rang a bell every so often. We were led in to cars and went on our way to
the crematorium.
At the
crematorium the Monk processed us in; a trail of relatives and guests followed
subserviently behind us. Final looks in to the coffin were made and then
Ogiichan was pushed in to what can only be described as a man-sized oven, a
capsule hotel for the dead, and the doors were shut. We heard this loud hum,
which began to sound more and more like a blaze and I knew that he was in
flames. The Monk chanted more and we were led out.
Then we sat in a
room with soft drinks and snacks for about an hour. I hadn’t put two and two
together whilst I sat in that pallid room, but we were all essentially killing
time for Ogiichan to burn up. Toast. I thought we were just hanging on until
lunch or something. I felt pretty claustrophobic in that room so went out for
some air, the people of the crematorium looked at me worriedly as I left the
building through the entrance, not sure why. Maybe people don’t go out for
“walks” at funerals here.
**
After an hour a
uniformed woman came in to look in on our party. She announced,
‘It has been
exactly one hour. We will need more time for yours but there is nothing to
worry about, everyone is different.’
I thought fair
enough, she means Ogiichan isn’t ready yet, which means he hasn’t fully burnt
up. That’s when I realised why we had been placed in this horribly warm holding
room. We were waiting for the dead. Don't worry we can wait.
‘Let me tell you
some facts whilst you're waiting.’ The small uniformed lady began…
‘The myth of
degenerate bones or diseased areas coming out of the kiln in different colours
is a myth. The reason some of the bones will appear discoloured is due to the
dye of the clothing they were burned in or the colouring of the flowers that
were placed near or onto the skin before burning.’
All the old
folks let out a sigh of awe and understanding. I had no idea what she was
talking about.
‘The piece of
bone that we call the “Adam’s Apple” is not solely found in men but also in
women. Although we call it that, it is in fact referring to the top of the
spinal cord. Both men and women have this and it also takes one of the longest
times to burn. The actual “Adam’s Apple" is a piece of cartilage and will not
remain after the fire.’
Another
astonished awe of disbelief expelled by the congregation. Whatever I thought,
let’s get on with this, whatever this is.
A tannoy speaker
gently states, ‘Tanaka family we are ready.’ That’s my Japanese family name. So
we all get up to go, the uniformed woman speaks to the elderly that now is the
time to go to the toilet because there are no breaks in this part. We are told
to line up as before, two by two, family spearheading the procession. This time
though no Monk. We walk solemnly down a corridor and enter a beautifully
stagnant room. We all wait. I have no idea what we are waiting for.
My mother, her
sister, and my Obaachan (grandmother) are taken out of the room. We wait more.
They are brought back in after long silent minutes. They look a bit sick
actually. My aunt’s eyes are forever red.
Two sharp knocks
on the waiting room door, which are slid open in classic Lynchian style, and
then a shining tray of stainless steel is wheeled in.
On it are all of
my Ogiichan’s bones.
Holy Shit.
In heaps.
And an urn and
some chopsticks.
The bones are
completely white.
They have been
scorched at such a high temperature that they have turned in to calcite (my
archaeological brain points out. Thanks brain). Then the procedure is explained
to us by a little man in uniform wearing gloves and a clean blue blazer who presides
over the rite.
Family first.
We have to go up
to the tray, each command some chopsticks, and in pairs on either side of the
tray lift a bone up out of the heap and then place it in to the urn.
When I pick up
the bone and drop it into the ceramic it makes the noise of a pebble hitting a
stony beach. Like in Orkney. I feel repulsed and sacred all at the same time.
Chopsticks to
carry parts of my Ogiichan. What the fuck? When everyone else queued up to do
the same I couldn't help laughing. The absurdity of it. All the neighbours and
his brothers and sisters carrying a piece of his bone with chopsticks. Imagine
doing it to a body in a church with knives and forks, it made me laugh. I supressed
it as soon as it rose up though because I realised it was inappropriate. But it
was funny. My brain couldn’t really fathom that Ogiichan had now become a pile
of white dust and soon the little man in a blazer would sweep him up with a
dustpan and brush to empty the last bits in to the urn. Clean and tidy.
The skull of
Ogiichan had been kept separate until the end.
All the bones
when placed in to the urn did not fit so the uniformed presider simply crushed
the bones down with a stake. Pragmatic. When it came to the skull parts we were
all asked to move close to the tray again and the man carefully placed the
bones into life-corresponding positions in the urn. By that I mean, the Adam’s
Apple the lady in uniform had been so vocal about was placed at the very front
of the urn; then the mandibles and jaw of right and left placed respectively facing
forwards; the ear bones behind them; and then different parts of the skull cranium laid
out on top of the other bones.
Oh the duty. Oh
the precision.
The man turns to
my Obaachan for the final possessions. My Obaachan goes in to her bag and hands
him my Ogiichan’s glasses and wristwatch. The glasses are opened up and placed carefully
in the position they would sit on Ogiichan’s head, facing forwards, imagining
where the eye sockets would be. And the watch is gently laid to the right of
his skull because he was right-handed.
The lid is
closed on the urn.
The urn is
placed within a polonium-wood box that is closed.
The box is
wrapped in a silken white cloth and tied impeccably.
The wrapped box
is placed in an embroidered sheath made of purple and gold thread.
I am handed the
box.
I carry the box
of Ogiichan’s remains in to the car. He’s sat on my lap and we drive home. At
home, I think he’s returned. I carry the box to the hachijou (reception room) and place him on a mantel. People make
the mantel look right, with a candle, a bell, incense sticks, his photograph, a
glass of fresh water to be changed daily, wooden blocks with worldly
inscriptions. And that’s life, death that is.
**
This morning
after the crow awoke me I went in to the room where Ogiichan’s box of remains
were and opened all the shutters of the windows. My Obaachan lit the candle and
incense and I did the same and gave a prayer. We both looked at him and my
Obaachan said I should give him breakfast so I was like what do you give
someone who’s dead for breakfast? And she replied toast because that’s what he
ate when he was alive for breakfast. So I go and make some toast and put it on
a plate and place it on the mantel. I look at it and laugh again, it’s all a
bit surreal this transitionary phase isn’t it? We have to treat the thing
that’s not there as if it’s still there, more for us Living than the actual Dead
who no longer cares. Right? But something in me feels so much more settled
knowing that Ogiichan was bathed and cleaned properly before going in to the
kiln, that we all as a community placed his remains in to the box, which I
carried home, for it to reside over the place he lived for over 60 years. This
made more sense than any other way of grieving. The toast was a mere
embellishment to it all.
When my aunt Mariko
got up and came in to the living room she asks me timidly,
‘Urm, why is
there toast on the scared mantel?’
‘It’s his
breakfast’. I say, ‘Obaachan told me to give him breakfast.’
‘You don’t give
The Spirit bread for food – you give him a bowl of fresh white rice.’
‘Ok. Well you
take it up with Obaachan.’
‘How else do you
think Ogiichan’s spirit will become the Buddha if it lives off stale bread?’
‘Like I say, ask
Obaachan I don’t know.’
So Mariko goes
off to explain to Obaachan the ins and outs of what the dead want for food, and
I hear my Obaachan exclaim that she doesn’t think he needs fresh white rice and
my aunt says of course he does because it's The Spirit, and then I begin to
write this blog.
