Easter Sunday of the Living Dead

Sunday was my family's day for 清明 (Qingming or "Grave-sweeping Festival"). It also happened to be Easter, something which completely escaped my attention this year until this Monday morning I had lots of people I know online wish me a Happy Easter. Knowing this, in retrospect it was probably good that I didn't mix the two in some way. There would be something disconcerting about mixing the Resurrection with visiting a graveyard that indicates, to me at any rate, that I've watched a few too many zombie movies.

I've ruminated about this in the past, but I think the Chinese attitude toward death is far healthier than what I see in the west. We're so afraid of death that we put it away in sterile, white rooms that smell of nasty chemicals. We fill bodies full of other chemicals so that we don't have to admit that the person isn't in the room with us any more. We like the illusion that the deceased are merely sleeping. It gets so extreme that even the slightest hint of death -- old age, we like to call it, although given our proclivity toward euphemism we change even those words around to "golden years" or "senior citizens" or the like -- and we lock up the poor people suffering from it in "retirement communities" and just have them shuffle around among strangers until they pass on. Those last two words, of course, being another euphemism for that subject we don't dare mention. They die.

Funerals in the west, as well as visits to the grave, are sombre affairs. Everybody wears thoughtful or sad faces and dresses as if they were themselves dead to commemorate the occasion. Tears are normal and expected. Laughter and gaiety are not. There are exceptions of course. The Irish throw a really good party to celebrate a life instead of a flood of tears to mourn a death. The most common, however, is to be super-serious and super-sombre.

The Chinese are not that way.

This is my third visit to the tomb of my father-in-law (plus assorted other family members). It's also my third chance to observe the Chinese treatment of death. By sheer good fortune I have, across those three visits, managed to see most stages of said treatment. The first time was just my then-fiancée, my future mother-in-law and some other assorted family members. That trip was like a family picnic. People brought food and drink and the family had a good time chatting and laughing and having conversations. (Some of those present didn't talk very much, but that's to be expected considering that they're basically just ashes.) This, from observing both my family and the families of those around us at the time, seems to be the normal case.

The second time I went there was, not too far from our last stop (for which c.f. below) a lady who had obviously just lost her husband. She was still in mourning and was shedding tears and crying loudly, chanting some kind of litany about how miserable her life had become since her husband was gone. She had two teen-aged children with her who were looking decidedly uncomfortable and embarrassed at her display, so I'm assuming this is not normal behaviour. Everybody else was carefully looking everywhere else except at her, so they too kind of tell me that's not normal. Too, the second time was a watershed event in the family. An old family feud was in the process of healing (partially triggered by my then-impending marriage, I think) and some family members who'd never visited the grave of my then-future father-in-law before were present. They too were sombre and spilled tears as they spoke to him. It was short, however, and life went on shortly after that.

This time the same people were there again, and there was no hint of tears. It was back to being a family picnic, only this time the family was whole -- the old rift seems to be healing fast. If my intuition of this resulting from Joan's marrying me is correct, I'm happy to have been a part of that.

Anyway, back to the visit. It was a nice, sunny day and all the sellers of paper goods were out in full force. For those who don't know, it is traditional to burn paper "money" and other paper goods as gifts for the dead. What you burn as paper, you see, turns into the real thing on the other side for the use of your loved one. Last year I bought my future father-in-law a car, an expensive watch and an electronic dictionary (so we could talk). This year I only got him a 麻将 (Majiang or Mah-jong) set. And, of course, he got lots of money. Interestingly, last year, when I suggested cutting out pictures of beautiful girls from magazines and burning those, I got an elbow in the ribs from Joan. She thought it was funny, but that if I did that her mother would kill me. This year you could buy paper dolls of beautiful women.... I really think I should have got a commission for the idea!

(Just how seriously do the Chinese take this paper thing? I honestly don't know. I suspect most of them know it's not real and treat it the way they do -- with some gonzo things like large paper houses, etc. -- for the same reason adults talk "seriously" about Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny. Yet sometimes the Chinese can be almost frighteningly superstitious. Don't give anybody a number that ends with 144, for example....)

The first stop on the tour is to Joan's grandparents. (Grandfather: 1904-1977. Grandmother: 1913-1989.) There we cleaned the grave, left an offering of sunflower seeds, peanuts and soda. We burned special funerary candles, "money" and tea leaves. Everybody present bowed three times to the grave. (There is an order to who bows when, but I haven't figured it out. The age of the participants is part of it, but there's other stuff involved too that I just can't fathom. It always resulted in me going last, however.) Once we finished with all that, the cute part happens. Any of the food that the grandparents didn't eat was assumed unwanted and we took it with us to visit the next grave.

The next grave, Joan's aunt (1945-1994), is a long way away up the hill. Unlike the first grave which is just a square box in a concrete wall, this is a proper gravestone. It's painted in red because she liked that colour a lot. Again food and sodas were offered. Money was burned, as was incense and those special candles. A ribbon was wrapped around the tombstone and flowers inserted. We bowed and, again, the food and drink were recycled.

A new "business" has started this year in the graveyard. Strangers will come up to people who are honouring their ancestors and will burn about 0.01RMB worth of paper "money", bow to the headstone and then claim that they did something for your ancestors so you should give them money. Funereal begging, in other words. It disgusts me a little. OK, a lot.

After that little unpleasant incident, we trundled off back down the hill and about half-way back to where the grandparents were to visit my father-in-law (1950-1992). Yes, we walked past his grave to get to the aunt's grave. I'll let you see if you can figure out the pattern. (I'll give you a hint: there's a reason why I'm putting those years in there.)

At that grave we did the same routine. Clean the grave, put out the food (he got a lot more than the others!), burn lots of money (plus the 麻将 set), left flowers, bowed and then recycled the food he didn't want to eat. It was while this was going on that I "lucked" into seeing the last piece of the Chinese funereal puzzle. I saw not one, but two funeral processions.

Funerals here aren't like Irish wakes. They are serious. There's none of this nonsense of wearing black and crying and carrying on, however. There is instead a processional march. The remains of the departed are in a box wrapped in lovely brocade. The first procession had people carrying big, ornate "bouquets" (for want of a better word) made out of what looked like coloured Mylar and ribbons. Each of these things had a single character in the middle which I am reliably informed (by Joan) means "mourning". The second procession didn't have this, however.

What both processions did have, however, was music. The music is slow, but not morbid. It's seemingly intended to make people think instead of dance or cry. The people had serious expressions one and all, but nobody in either procession was crying or making a scene. It was interesting to watch -- and watch it I did, although I had to be careful. I don't know what is and isn't permitted, so I can't just stare and take photos.

And while I'm writing this I'm struck with a thought: a lot of people live long periods of time in China. How many of them have even seen what I'm describing? There's so much that is unseen tucked away in the nooks and crannies of any culture, isn't there?