The Lesson Before I Quit Chapter 5

Go upstairs, turn around, the living room is brightly lit, the sofas in front of the fireplace have all been removed, lilies, holly trees, photos of Mr., and various versions of Michael Mu's works are all gathered in a large circle, densely surrounding the top of the fireplace. portrait. Dozens of small candles illuminated by the large chandelier were swaying collectively, giving a pitiful look of sweetness and joy. It's hard to believe that Xiang Hong personally spent the whole day decorating here. In addition to the array of flowers, he deliberately placed his husband's small desk and armchair under the south window. On the table, there are pipes, pens, spectacles, and lighters that I am familiar with. , Michael Mu's hat and coat hang from the coat rack on the wall, and a cane with a silver handle leans on the side.

"... If I am not afraid, I can embrace it." The banner of "Wuzhen" in the Book of Songs was moved up from the study room downstairs and hung on the north wall.

It's much warmer here than in the funeral home. It felt like I was being hugged by someone. I didn't know whether it was relief or desolation. The small candles floated one by one on the clear water and candle tears at the bottom of the cup, trembling one after another, reflecting the firelight on the rows of glasses one after another, as if laughing through tears, as if to say, don't be sad, don't be sad. I'm not feeling sad, it's like falling into a situation where everything is lost: Is this how people die? Among all the rhetoric in the mourning hall, the most eloquent thing is the freezer.

All finished. Full of relics. The husband's bedroom is next door. This summer, after a night talk, he went up to the second floor, stood there, and talked for a while while he helped Dylan in. Jiangnan folk houses, deep night. "It's so quiet, it looks like a murder is about to happen." The gentleman added with a smile and looked at me sideways. The lights here are brightly lit tonight and people are coming and going, as if there is a cocktail party. In this way, a family has now become a mourning hall.

Returning to the hotel at midnight, I compiled the order of the music excerpts for more than ten discs and asked someone to edit them tomorrow. Xiang Hongzheng told me that I had to write a eulogy. Since I wrote an obituary, I didn’t expect that there would also be a eulogy. Jiangnan is cold and cold. Turn off the lights and close your eyes. It’s the hissing freezer. I don’t want to describe that face, and I have to look at it again and again. I have to struggle with the memory of my husband’s face, and re-recognize the dead Michael Mu. I got up and got out of bed, and turned on the computer to write a eulogy. After dawn, on the 23rd, guests scheduled and unknown will arrive one after another, and on the 24th, there will be Michael Mu's funeral.

Written in Beijing from the end of December 2011 to February 5, 2012

In 2006, Wanqing Xiaozhu was completed. Chen Xianghong specially installed a fireplace in the living room on the second floor. When two New York filmmakers arrived in the winter of 2010, I watched Xiao Yang lighting a fire in the furnace. Many of the interviews were filmed right next to the fire.

In 2011, Chen Xianghong personally decorated the place and turned it into Mr. Michael Mu’s mourning hall.

The living room is empty

It is said that people write down memories accompanying death to relieve their grief. As I wrote the last article, it doesn’t seem to be the case. Before and after the funeral, the text messages I received were mostly the same old ones: Teacher Chen, my condolences, my condolences... This is not a question of condolences. Grief is easy to bear. I want to try to settle but what is difficult to settle is facing disappearance.

Disappearance is not death. When a person dies, the sense of disappearance begins: it has just begun. It is difficult to witness Michael Mu's aging and death process, but it can be grasped and overcome. Even a single stop in the intensive care unit is promising. Disappearance is emptiness, real emptiness, and things couldn't be simpler: Okay, that's it.

This is a new experience, like an inexplicable symptom that needs to be discovered.

In less than two months, the relationship between me and Michael Mu has been broken, like a ship sinking, leaving no room for surprise. The first time Mr. Xi heard him asked in shock: "Where are the pirates?" That was the end of Michael Mu's clear mind. When he passed out in the machine room and didn't respond to calls, the enjoyment of listening to his incomprehensible words by the bedside in the ward was wiped out. ; On the night of the 22nd, I tried my best to look at him through the glass cover. For a moment, I actually wished that he might as well go back to the intensive care unit and lie on his back breathing.

Even the memory of the place cannot be traced: after entering the hospital, I always thought about his home in Wuzhen. Once I was locked in the intensive care unit, the twelfth floor of the inpatient department became a blessed place in my memory. After he was moved to the funeral home, I thought about Tongxiang Hospital. After all, it is a place where living people walk around, almost heaven... After the memorial service on the 24th, everyone dispersed, and I went to Wanqing Xiaozhu No. 2 Lou Mingtang. The husband finally went home and hid in the urn. The box stood on top of the fireplace, with his portrait on top. I walked around, sat around, and talked to people---when talking about Michael Musheng's playful chats, I still laughed as hard as before---but at the same time, I felt strange and still worried. What am I worried about? It is actually the chilly "Yu Hua Pavilion": the small hall and the freezer were once places of shock and pain. Now I really want to go back and sit there, as if it is a friendly place. It is a corpse, too. It's him after all. Quentin Zhong said that during the three days of waiting, he often went to the freezer to look at Michael Mu:

"No more. Like all very old people, he became my grandfather."

At noon on the 24th, after the farewell ceremony, Michael Mu was pushed out. I didn't follow it, or I don't remember the details - there were many blind spots in my memory in those days, I didn't know what I was doing or where I was - but I saw Zheng Yang, who came from Anhui and gave Mr. The young man who had taken many photos was dragged to the lounge by a group of people, fell onto the sofa, held his head and cried. He was about 1.8 meters tall, thin and long, and his body was twitching, as if he had just been thrown into a frying pan. shrimp.

I don't want to stop writing yet, I still want to write, and write about the two young men who protected Mr. Xiang until his last moments, Dylan and Oliver. After my husband was gone, they neither cried nor said sad words. They just stood with their hands folded and looked at me like a bereaved dog.

Twenty-three days. The rising sun shines over the funeral home. It has been sunny for several days. I got up early and rushed to Tongxiang to meet the undertaker, a tall and honest middle-aged man. He waited for us at the front door of the main hall, and then went to the freezer behind the curtain of the "Yuhua Pavilion" to discuss how to change the decoration.

One night later, I saw Mr. He remained motionless, holding his chin high, and refused to change his determination no matter what the angle. I photographed him on the twelfth floor and in the intensive care unit. Since last night, suddenly I couldn't bear it---"Don't shoot." The gentleman said in a low voice---The undertaker listened patiently and retouched the remains. He agreed to all the requests and said he would try his best, but he explained: I am afraid it will be difficult to insert the dentures, and if you are not careful, your lips will be damaged.