Uncle's funeral

during the national day, I was in the deep forest in Longtan, Ningbo, full of negative cations in high mountains and flowing water. I walked along the forest path with my family and friends, listened to the gurgling of mountain streams, watched the autumn leaves turn yellow, tasted the quiet beauty of early autumn and watched the waterfalls rush down. Stop at the distance, the breeze enters the bamboo forest, the clouds are loose, and there is no bleak in the early autumn. Life needs to be proud at this moment.

My mother suddenly called me when I was trying to climb the mountain to the depths of the forest. In recent years, I was particularly afraid of receiving a phone call from my mother suddenly, and I felt uneasy and had an ominous feeling. On the other end of the phone, my mother told me in a sad and peaceful tone:' Your uncle died'.

My uncle passed away suddenly, and I fell into icehouse from joy. I asked my mother incredulously,' Why so fast? It's only three or four months since his operation was completed'.

Mother said sadly,' Your uncle knew that he had cancer, and he couldn't get over it. He wanted to commit suicide. A few days ago, your father and your brother-in-law tried to persuade him. When everyone thought it was settled, they urged your aunt to sleep upstairs last night and committed suicide in the early morning. How did she die and when did she leave? I don't know'.

Mother added:' Your aunt will call you. After receiving the call, make arrangements for your work and go back to Hunan to see your uncle off for the last time'.

I feel sad suddenly, tears are rolling in my eyes, and I have no interest in the boundless autumn scenery around me. Tell my wife to go home tomorrow and prepare to go back to Hunan for the funeral the day after tomorrow.

The night before I went home, I stayed up all night worrying about my father. After all, I was old and weak, and suddenly lost my brotherhood, which hit my father hard. I'm still thousands of miles away, and I can't go back to my hometown at once. I think of what my uncle has suffered all his life, and tears fall down my pillow. I fell asleep in my dream and went back to my hometown in my dream. I stood on my uncle's mourning hall and wailed. My uncle didn't smell it. The dark coffin burned paper and incense, only to see my uncle's portrait flashing in candlelight.

The autumn rain hit the south of the Yangtze River one night, and the chill started. I braved the autumn rain to catch the high-speed rail. The joy of returning home on the high-speed rail platform turned into sadness, my eyes were wet, my heart was sour, and my mind was full of my uncle's face. On the high-speed rail, I quickly wrote "Sacrifice to My Uncle" and posted a blog. I gawked at the window without blinking, and the scenery flashed by. At this moment, my brain has stopped in my hometown, and I dare not think about my uncle's death.

now, nearing my village, meeting people, get off the high-speed train from the north of the county seat, rent a car and go straight to the small mountain village in my hometown. The car bumps on the mountain path, raising waves of yellow smoke and dust flying all over the sky. I should have chatted with the driver in the local accent. Today, I didn't say a few words. Although the sun was shining outside, my heart was as cold as ice. I wanted to go home quickly, but I was afraid of going too fast. I stopped and stopped, and I turned around. Suddenly, I heard a sad music, and my pain swelled in my chest, which made me a little suffocated and uncomfortable. I opened the window to wipe my tears.

after all, the car stopped at the intersection leading home. I dragged my feet, packed my bags, staggered a few steps, almost fell down, and hurried home. My mother has been waiting for a long time. Looking at her melancholy eyes, my heart hurts even more. Put down our bags, and my brother and I took paper money, incense sticks, firecrackers and other sacrifices prepared by our mother and ran to my uncle's mourning hall. Looking from a distance, a tarpaulin was set up outside my uncle's house, and there were waves of sadness and music. I saw people at the entrance of the mourning hall busy with funerals. When I got closer, I found that some of them were familiar old people in the village, several familiar middle-aged people and occasionally some young people with strange faces.

before entering the mourning hall, my younger brother told me to stand and worship my uncle's coffin three times, then kneel down and kowtow three times, and get up and worship again and again. As soon as I entered the door of the main room, I saw my uncle's portrait in front of the dark coffin, with tributes on the table, candles and incense in the basin, and no incense burner. Looking at the portrait of my uncle flashing in candlelight, I stood up and worshipped three times, calling my uncle, my uncle was sorry, calling my uncle, my uncle didn't say anything, and tears burst out. Kneel on your knees and worship my uncle, who has died in the west, especially in voice and appearance, and can't afford to cry. When my aunt saw that I was sad, her eyes were red and tearful, and she advised me to cry at the same time, and advised me not to come back from the dead. My cousin, dressed in plain clothes, knelt beside the coffin in mourning. I got up and worshipped again and again, helping my cousin to mourn.

When my brother-in-law came in, he was too tired to make a sound in his throat for his uncle's funeral. He was emaciated, haggard and sad. He wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes, turned around and walked out of the mourning hall, and arranged for the villagers to do their respective duties and manage the funeral in a hoarse voice.

I saw my father sitting on the Eight Immortals' table with his back against the coffin in the mourning hall, wearing a thin navy coat, looking dull, puffy and speechless. I dried my tears, sat down beside my father, and looked at him quietly without saying a word. My heart ached even more, and I suppressed my tears and greeted him with trembling. My father answered a few words softly. I have seen my father's pain, after all, it is brotherhood. I shook my father's hand, rough and hot, a little trembling, got up and walked out of the mourning hall, holding the stainless steel railing on the threshing floor with both hands, looking into the distance, listening to the sadness and joy, and tears fell line by line.

Standing outside the mourning hall, I found people who came to pay their respects, either distant relatives, clan relatives or friends before their death, all without paper money, incense sticks, firecrackers, etc., and occasionally met several villagers who came to pay their respects with wreaths. Light paper money and incense sticks, and in the sound of firecrackers, worship three times with the sound of sadness and music, and observe silence.

I looked at the mourners. My face was sad, my eyes were glassy and my eyes were red. My thoughts are the pain of my uncle's life, the pain of my life, my uncle's seven-year military career, and after paying for his youth, he returned to his hometown and worked hard all his life. In the year of no doubt, the divorce storm, losing face, was suppressed by my aunt and lived a hard life. I watched the days gradually calm down, but in the year of sixty, a fire burned me, ruined her face and burned her flesh. Just walked out of disfigurement, a car accident, broken bones and tendons, resting for more than a year. As soon as my legs are just right, I immediately go to the town to be a sanitation worker, sweeping from sunrise to sunset, from spring to winter, earning a meager income without regrets and adding home to my family. Not as good as seventy years of age, suffering from prostate cancer, the operation was unsuccessful, the incision often did not heal, and the pus was painful. Later, when I learned that I was terminally ill and wanted to drink, I was found. My father, my brother-in-law and the villagers advised me that my mood seemed to improve, and I was full of answers and lived well. I was really dead, and I was born in the founding of the People's Republic of China, and I was worried about my family on National Day. Counting my aunt's crimes is too numerous to write, and I dare not say anything, but I hurt silently and cry quietly.

Looking at the elegiac couplets, every sentence is painful, and every word is like tears. There are 24 filial piety pictures hanging on both sides of the room, and every filial piety is heartfelt. If you want to ask your cousins what their filial piety is, people can't come back to life after death, so what can you do?

There is a big piece of white paper on the outer wall of the hall, on which is written the arrangement table of uncle's funeral staff. All the villagers in the same group burn incense, wash dishes, set firecrackers, cook, cook, steam rice, pack wine, keep accounts, distribute cigarettes, cook rice and make tea ... Everything is arranged by special personnel, which is very detailed and thoughtful.

My job is to take charge of the accounting office, which is responsible for the expenses of funeral management. Before I returned to Hunan, my father helped me to take charge. I took the black Oxford cloth backpack from my father and took it out to check the number. The handwriting on the accounting office was beautiful and familiar. It was my father's handwriting, and the accounts were correct. At this moment, I feel hurt and say hello to people. I have changed my past smiling face, and my face is as blank as ice. I don't laugh when I meet my relatives and laugh at me. It's really ridiculous, and I feel the same.

under the dark coffin, there is an ever-burning lamp surrounded by two tiles, and in the middle is a small porcelain bowl filled with sesame oil (rapeseed oil squeezed from the countryside). A thick cotton thread is used as the wick, and the faint light is swaying with the wind. Two tiles are protected from the wind and will not be blown out by the wind.

under the memorial table in front of the mourning hall, a frying pan is burning paper money, which is already full of paper ash, with thick smoke and yellow flames, one after another. The paper coffin on the green bamboo pole flutters with the wind, as if calling the uncle's soul, don't wander around, return to rest at an early date and be reincarnated.

The busy villagers are actually eating and drinking, talking and laughing, and no one is sad. Everyone knows that people can't come back to life after death, which is magnanimous enough.

before dinner, people in the same village, people in the next village, old and young, men and women, all sat at the square table waiting for dinner. Some people sit under the big canopy of the threshing floor, some sit in the east and west wing rooms, and some sit in the main room, less than one meter away from the coffin. Set up disposable plastic tableware, some open drinks, some fill tea, some fill wine, and wait for dishes while drinking, talking and laughing. When the dishes are served, chopsticks dance with shallow cups, which is very lively. The rice maker, carrying the rice in the washbasin, served rice one by one at the table, and his mother was helping to fill the rice. I took a little bit of rice from my mother's small porcelain bowl. My mother thought I ate too little and added a little more. I was so sad that I lost my appetite and tasted like chewing wax. I ate a small part and got up and left the table.

after a while, at the end of eating, I saw the villagers get up, take out the plastic bags prepared from home, distribute the leftovers, and pack them up and take them home. They are farmers, knowing that every grain is hard, but they don't like their food. They are smiling while drinking, as if celebrating something. They always feel that their uncle's death has made them full for several days. Especially those who sit in the mourning hall for dinner, can they swallow less than one meter across the coffin? Not afraid? In fact, the villagers have long been used to it and will not be afraid.

The night has come, and the village is shrouded in darkness. The air is filled with the smell of fireworks and incense. What time is the starlight flashing, the small mountain village is dark, and only the uncle's mourning hall is brightly lit inside and outside. People who came to accompany the night vigil sat at several tables, including poker players, typewriters and bullfighters ... drinking tea soaked in maternal love, eating melon seeds and peanuts, and having a good time.

From the mourning hall came the night songs of the ritual master, the local songs calling for the dead, which spread from the loudspeaker to the outdoor speakers and then to the night sky. The slang in central Hunan was so sad that I couldn't understand it at all. After the ritual teacher finished singing a paragraph, another villager responded to the drums and gongs and knocked three times. After a while, the ritual teacher took out the tear potion and dripped it into his eyes, pretending to cry bitterly, pretending that I despised him.

before midnight, the chef prepared rice noodles. The villagers ate, drank and played well, and were tired. They went home one after another, leaving a few villagers to help, listlessly listening to the night song of the ritual teacher and yawning repeatedly. I sat in a daze on the bench in front of the west wing. My younger brother and the youngest cousin were burning paper money. My younger cousin tore yellow paper money in his hand, folded it in half and sent it into the pot. The yellow flame fluttered with smoke, pungent and dazzling, and smoked tears several times. That night, the weather suddenly turned cold, and a burst of cold wind blew in from the door of the hall. I was so cold that I got up and closed the door, feeling a little warm. The people in the mourning hall are silent, silently guarding the spirit, guarding the coffin and accompanying their uncle. Only the nocturne of the ritual teacher rings in the small mountain village and spreads to the distance.

At three o'clock in the morning, the ritual master's nocturne stopped, the mourning hall became quiet, and we went home to rest one after another. There is a cousin in mourning in mourning hall, who is alone, accompanying his father and not letting his uncle be lonely. Walking on the country road in the early morning, I couldn't see my fingers. I looked up at the starry sky, and I clearly saw a dazzling star flashing in the western sky. It must be my uncle's eyes.

after a sleepless night, I woke up from a daze, looking melancholy, tired and sore. It was supposed to be a day off, and it was always a sacrifice held at night. Because another old man died in the neighboring village, the ritual teacher was too busy to arrange the sacrifice for his uncle during the day.

Sacrifice activities were held after breakfast, with the cooperation of four ritual teachers and a group of Chinese musicians, and the noise of western bands. Under the arrangement of the ceremony teacher, several young villagers moved their uncle's coffin to the middle of the hall. There were two tables in front of the coffin, one high and the other low, with tributes, incense sticks and so on. Sacrifice begins with the son, and then goes to Ouyang's nephews, grandchildren, daughters, nieces, nephews, granddaughters ... The worshippers obey the arrangement of the ritual teacher, which is nothing more than three knocks and nine obeisances and silent prayers.

In the afternoon, it was my turn to offer sacrifices to my uncle. When I knelt down and prostrated myself and listened to the ritual teacher sing a eulogy to my uncle, although I didn't understand it, I burst into tears and felt deeply grieved. When the ritual teacher lit the eulogy and put it into the basin, with the flame flashing, I prayed for my uncle to rest in peace. May the suffering of my uncle in the world turn into nectar from willow branches in reincarnation, sprinkle it on his body, wash away the dust in the floating world, and sit in a lotus flower, spotless.

before dinner, the sacrifice was over. I collected the gift money under the tent of the threshing floor and entered them in the book. I originally planned to see my uncle for the last time when he closed the coffin, because I was very busy collecting gifts. When I closed the coffin, no one told me, and my mother knew it, and she deliberately didn't call me, saying that my uncle died of suicide, so it was best not to see him.

In the evening, my little aunt and my big aunt were chatting. I leaned in and listened, only to know that before closing the coffin, my uncle opened one eye, but my aunt and cousin couldn't close it. My elder sister-in-law said with tears,' My second brother will die unsatisfied.

The villagers who stay with the vigil at night still play cards for fun. My little cousin and I burn paper money, light incense and light candles in front of the vigil, and pray in silence that my uncle's grave will rest in peace, and there will be a spirit under the fountain, so as to protect my Ouyang clan's eternal peace. Before midnight, the villagers ate for the night, and all left. My little cousin and I also went home. My uncle was lying alone in the dark coffin in the mourning hall. It was cold and lonely, and the night was silent. An ever-burning lamp accompanied him under the coffin, giving him the last light and warmth in the world.

it's dawn. I have to get up and get busy. I rushed to the mourning hall early to collect the gift money and put it in the books. I saw the villagers coming one after another, giving out meager gift money and waiting for dinner. The wooden dragon carrying the coffin was unloaded from the tractor, and the western band came to two teams, knocking and beating, as if to attend a feast. There was no sadness in Si Hao, and the music was cheerful, which made me very disgusted.

After breakfast, the villagers packed the leftovers and went home one after another. The villagers who helped them collected the leftovers from the table, evacuated the table and folded the stools. Outdoor, the ritual teacher sets the base of the coffin-carrying coffin, worships the dragon-carrying coffin with the cock's comb blood, lights paper money, lights firecrackers and prays to heaven.

In the mourning hall, the monks were chanting sutras, and two ceremonial teachers were paying homage. Eight young people were arranged to tie the coffin with a rope thicker than their thumbs. After tying it tightly, in the words of the ceremonial teachers, the whole family of cousins wearing hemp and mourning knelt down. When the coffin was carried out of the room, firecrackers roared and funeral music sounded.

My cousin knelt in front of the coffin with his uncle's portrait in his hand, crying with a low headache, firecrackers, funeral music and shouts … enveloped the small mountain village in sorrow, which made people suffocate. The villagers who carried the coffin skillfully put the coffin on the wooden base, put the coffin on the shelf, fixed the coffin with ropes, put on the shelf, hung up the black dragon decorated with dragons, and put on the wooden pole carrying the coffin, the first eight people and the last eight people. Everything was ready.

Amid the wailing, there was the sound of funeral music and firecrackers, and in a long cry from the ceremony master, the coffin was lifted, and the tone was hoarse and long. At the moment of lifting the coffin, the coffin almost turned over to the outside, which frightened the villagers. Fortunately, it was National Day, and there were many young people in the village, otherwise the consequences would be unimaginable.

with tears in my eyes, I helped my elder sister-in-law, and watched my uncle's coffin being carried by sixteen people, moving on the ridge. Every house was filled with firecrackers, and my cousin knelt down to thank them. After passing through several families, it was my uncle's house, so we had to stop offering sacrifices. My cousin knelt down at the sacrificial table, placed three kinds of sacrifices, such as fish, meat and chicken, lit incense sticks and paper money, listened to the ritual teacher read the eulogy, and arranged for my cousin to make three knocks and nine obeisances.

after the sacrifice, put uncle's coffin on the tractor and reinforce it with ropes, with the faucet in front and the coffin in it.