A Dutch Guy and A Funeral. Sounds like the beginning to a surrealist joke, but nope, that's my life. And oh yeah, a wedding tomorrow. But wait. Let's start at the start. Wherever that is...

First some news. This fiscal year NOVA has declared a 3 billion yen loss, due to an agressive expansion campaign, poor management and heavy competition. This explains the lack of a budget; since I arrived we haven't been able to get pens or paper or tape... or (more recently) garbage bags for our school. Or enough teachers, for that matter. They'll be closing 23 schools, and redistributing the teachers, and there's a chance my school could be one to go as it's so small, and thus not much of a money maker. I'll keep you posted on that.

Anyway... last week I kept missing calls on my cell that were marked as being from a payphone. I was baffled. Who was calling me from a payphone? Did I have a stalker? How did they get my number? Eventually I managed to answer the phone in time to have my fears relieved; a Dutch fellow I met about 2 months ago named Pele had returned from his trek around Shikoku island. I may have mentioned this before, but Shikoku is famous for the 88 Buddhist temples that ring the island, and during the spring (supposedly the most temperate and least rainy and buggy season) many devoutBuddhists and serious walkers make the pilgramage, which can take anywhere from 35 to 65 days. Pele is 21, and doing a "gap" year-- that popular and (I think) highly educational year off from school wherein one travels the world and considers the future from a global perspective. Good idea-- wish I'd done it. Then again, if I had, I wouldn't be here now. So.

I invited Pele to join us NOVA revelers that night as we bid a fond farewell to Brian at Ingrid's karaoke place. He enthusiastically accepted, and I arranged to meet up with him at Root Down first. Joanna and I arrived a bit late to find Pele was the only one at Root Down (aside from Norm, of course). He had his big backpack, his walking staff with the jingly bells (to keep the pilgrim ever-aware of the present moment) and his round straw hat and white shirt and pants, requisite of all pilgrims to set them apart and make them 'non-persons' in society. Apparntly the hat didn't fit him (he's about 6'10", and made out of elastic bands and toothpicks), so he just carried it for the entire journey. He was on the computer, pulling up his photos, and Joanna and I spent a good hour enthralled by the beauty and the severity of the pilgramage before Brian called, good naturedly demanding that we get our tushies over to Ingrid's.

Over at Ingrid's, the proverbial poop was hitting the fan; last week a gaijin 'someone' (I know who, and he's a bum-head) hit a Japanese man, apparently unprovoked. The man heard the word Nova, so all of us were grilling each other about so-and-so's whereabouts on Sunday evening... Anyway, it turned out to be a GEOS teacher, but the damage was done and Ingrid has been evicted; she'll be out of there by the end of the month, I think. Aside from the hushed tones and the tense atmosphere, everyone was having a good time and singing their usual songs-- me with my 4 Non Blondes and Madonna, Maz with some Red Hot ChiliPeppers, Jon murdering 'Bye Bye Miss American Pie'. The funniest was when Pele sang a Monty Python song... nothing like hearing someone with a Dutch accent say things like "jolly rotten"! I wasn't feeling super-duper, and had to work the next day, so I opted out at the early hour of 2 am and took Pele along; he had been going to stay the night with Norm, but all Norm had was floor space, and I could at least offer a fold-out futon-couch. The next day I woke early, cooked him breakfast and we had a good chat about the differences in the educational systems of our countries-- apparently you MUST take art in Holland, you just have to choose whether you want to do sculpture or painting or whatever. Also everyone must take at least 2 languages... which explains why Pele's English was so good. Anyway, now I have a couch to crash on the next time I'm in Holland.

The work week was long and difficult, owing to a lack of sleep and a surplus of bad weather and work (my art projects are coming due). Yesterday was a beautiful sunny day, a great day to have a day off, and at one point Joanna and I decided to go to the big supermarket and stop in at Bubu's for lunch. I was surprised to see that the shop was closed, as he's usually only closed on Mondays. I messaged him, asking Why are you closed? Are you OK? and he called me back promptly; that morning, his mother had died. I stumbled for words, not knowing what to say or how to say it in a way that would be comforting or understandable. After I got off the phone, I was racked with guilt; a few weeks before, he'd asked me to visit his mother in the nursing home, in the hopes that a foriegn face might be different enough to rouse her from her confusion and bring back her curious, light-hearted nature. I had been thinking about that promise just that morning, and had been meaning to ask him that day, When would be a good time for me to go and see her? Too late. Later on in the evening, Bubu called again to formally invite me to his mother's ceremony.

That was today. At 10:30am I stepped out my apartment door into the warm rain, dressed all in black. Bubu was waiting in his jeep, looking smart and peculiar (he's usually dressed for comfort and fun-- pink shirts and red bow ties). On the drive over the Yoshino River to the Bell Be funeral building, Bubu coached me; just watch and do what everyone else is doing. Buddhist prayer is not like Shinto prayer-- don't clap for the gods. He said also that there wasn't much sad feeling to the death, because he and his family had done the best they could. He felt that his mother's spirit was staying nearby, watching, and probably laughing. The image of a happy granny spirit hanging around and Bubu's own good natured view of the situation eased me a bit. The Bell Be building was enormous, not at all like a temple, not at all what I was expecting. The outside was non-descript, like a big tidy warehouse or winowless hotel. I entered with Bubu into the enormous lobby and headed up the big carpeted stairs to an upper level with two enormous seperate alcloves; we walked past the first one where another family's ceremony was nearing it's close. Bubu's family was scattered about the big room-- lined up all around the room were enormous floral arrangements with white mums and yellow lilies and orchids and birds of paradise-- well over 50 of them, each with a large wooden plaque declaring which important business partner had sent it. At the front of the alclove was an enourmous golden alter that took my breath away. The multitudes of flowers were arranged with mind-blowing symmetry, giant ornate golden lamps hung at either side, and a golden buddha sat snugly under a beautiful canopy of lacquered wood. Straight down from him between the sprays of orchids was a picture of Bubu's mother, beautifully framed. There were carefully arranged bananas and apples, spinning rainbow lamps, golden sculptures that looked like smoke or waves, great piles of garishly decorated cans of fruit and juice-- and there was two of everything, one on either side in this mind-blowingly perfect arrangement.

Bubu took me off to a tatami room to the side of the alter, where his family sat on cushions around the little silk-covered white coffin his mother was in. "She's only sleeping now, it's the Buddhist belief. When the monks come, the ceremony, then she will be died," he explained to me. "Come and meet her face; I think when you see her, you will know she is laughing now." I awkwardly bowed to the family and moved over to kneel by the coffin with Bubu, which was placed on the floor. Her tiny figure was dressed all in white silk and she had a little silver cloth tied round her forehead. She did indeed look asleep, placed on her side with her eyes gently shut and her mouth open as though caught in a snore. Beside her coffin was a painting she had done of the sakura (cherry blossoms) several years before; it was painted in the same park I painted the sakura. I recognized the place immediately, and was faced with a weird sensation of familiarity with this little sleeping woman. After 'meeting' Bubu's mother, I sat with the family in the room for a few minutes and was introduced as a close friend. We left the room and headed back down the stairs and through the lobby to a banquet room where lunch was waiting for us in bento boxes... I was so overwhelmed with the strange senstations and sights and the pressing desire to be polite and well-mannered that for the life of me, I cannot remember what we ate. I'm sure it was lovely. After lunch, we went to a cafe that adjoined the banquet room (is this like any funeral home you've ever heard of?) and had coffee. I happened to have my sketch book, and I was seated with Haruko and Eri (Bubu's wife and daughter), so I sketched Eri, which endeared me to her. For the first time she opened up to me and told me that she had wanted to talk to be before, but had felt too shy; I had previously taken her to be standoffish. After coffee Bubu took me to sign the register and get my gift-- at weddings and funerals (and all big events in Japan) the guests recieve gifts as tokens of the hosts' appreciation. Tucked into the wrapping paper was a card from the family (that I can't read) and a package of salt which I later had to sprinkle over myself before entering my apartment to prevent any spirits from following me in.

We headed back upstairs and were eventually seated; the 30 or so chairs closest to the alter were in two rows of threes. I sat directly behind Bubu and his family, next to an old auntie that kept on telling me to do things in Japanese that I couldn't understand (but had to figure out anyway!) I was a little nervous at sitting so close, in such a place of honor, especially since I was the only gaijin in the place. We sat quietly until two monks arrived in glorious cream robes with multicoloured mountain peaks printed on them, and golden sashes and corded ties. They seated themselves with their backs to us, the older one directly in front of the altar, and the other to the left next to some very old looking red cymbals on a stand. The older one pinged the bell-bowl, signalling the beginning of the cermony. We all rose, put our hands together, bowed. We sat back down as he began to chant. Incense burned, the bell-bowl resounded on its crimson cushion. Chanting, chanting, chanting. The grinding of a wand in a small brass bowl, waving of the wand through the streams of incense smoke, the tapping of the wand on the coffin, chanting, chanting, chanting. The two began to chant together, the younger monk began to grind his cymbals together in an ancient rhythm. I began to feel heady, uncomfortable and light at the same time. It was time for the family to rise in pairs, step forward to a tray with four bowls; two with a hot piece of metal imbedded in sand, two smaller ones with loose grains of incense. I watched carefully; step forward, bow centre, left, right. Turn to the altar, hands together, bow. pick up a pinch of incense, raise it to your forhead while looking at the buddha, then sprinkle it on the hot metal. Do this 3 times. Turn back to the mourners (now there are about 150), bow- center, left, right. The old auntie went up with someone else, so I thought I would be excused from the task, but at the end I was sent up with another auntie. It was quite unnerving, and by the time I sat back down, my head was spinning with the numbing chanting and the smoke and the dazzling excess of gold. After this, the coffin was wheeled up a bit and opened again to reveal the newly 'dead' body. The funeral home staff appeared with trays and began-- to my extreme shock-- to rip off the heads of the birds of paradise, the mums, pluck orchids and lilies and babies breath from the altar and the enormous gift bouquets, and pile these on the trays. I didnt realize what was going on until the family (myself included) moved up to lovingly fill the coffin with these flowers, and a book and a bento box filled with food for the afterlife. The lid was then placed on the coffin, and the funeral director took four gold nails and an ornate golden hammer and tapped the nails into each corner off the coffin. Then a square black stone was presented to Bubu's older brother, who tapped one nail 3 times. Then Bubu did this, then the older brother's son, then the older brother's wife. The director then gave the golden hammer to the young fellow, who went around to each corner and finished closing the coffin. One more time the family crowded around to look through the open 'doors' which were over granny's flower-framed face for one last look, then Bubu and his brother cermoniously shut them. Granny was wheeled forward and Bubu gave a speech to the crowd, and then she was wheeled away.

Are you ready for more? Because there's more.

From the lobby we took a shuttle which drove us 50 metres across the street to the crematorium. Once again we did the incense sprinkling ceremony, and had one more 'last look' through the doors at granny's sleeping face. We crowded around what looked like an elevator door-- there were ten of them all in a row in an enormous marble hall-- and watched as the coffin slid into the darkness of the chamber; the 'elevator' doors slid shut, obscuring any further view, and we all shuffled off to a tatami waiting room. At this point, I believe I was the only person still there that wasn't family, so I was grateful for the warmth and curiosity of Bubu's kin. Together we drank tea and ate sweet cakes; I sketched a poor likeness of Bubu that his family found hilarious. We waited an hour and a half while the body burned; I assumed that this was just to assertain that she was safely transformed. Well...

An announcement came over the loudspeaker that the Suzue cremation was complete. I followed the family back to the marble hall and to a room at the side of it, wherein granny's charred remains were on full display. My stomach turned a little; thankfully the next task was one I was excluded from. The family filed in while a crematorium employee used long chopsticks to break the larger pieces of bone into smaller bits. Each member of the family had to go in and use some long chopsticks to choose a bit of the ash or bone to put into the urn. Bubu went in first, and so came quickly back to where I stood by the door to explain that a little bit of every part of her had to be included. Eri came out quickly after and stood behind my shoulder snuffling while we watched; Bubu launched into a Buddhist chant which was at once protective and comforting as it covered over the low keening moans of the older women in the bone room. After 7X7 days (49), Bubu will meet again with his brother to put her ashes at her tomb.

After this we were shuttled back to the funeral home where we ate (or tried to) an enormous bento box stuffed to overflowing with an array of seafoods and fruit and amazing unidentifiable objects. I ate everthing that didn't still have it's eyes (there were 3 things in that category) including a piece of liver that Bubu mistakenly told me was a shitake mushroom. It's the first time in Japan that I've eaten something I wanted to spit out, but I managed to swallow it... apparently my facial contortions during this episode were 'cute' (according to Haruko)-- "Oo En-chan! Kawaii!" Let me tell you, the next time I have liver in my mouth, there will be no 'cute'.

Bubu drove me home, admonishing me to not forget the salt. I went up in the elevator, got in the apartment, used the toilet, opened my gift (a beautiful towel set), laid on the couch. Then I remembered. I dashed back out the door and sprinkled the salt all over myself, and came back in, amused with myself. If I've got to have a ghost in my house, who better than a laughing Japanese artist granny?