The Funeral Cryer by Wenyan Lu

Author:Wenyan Lu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin

Chapter Twenty

I was texting the daughter when the husband walked into the bedroom.

‘You’re back.’

‘Hotpot liked the dumplings,’ the husband said as he was taking his socks off.

‘Don’t leave your socks here.’ I raised my voice.

‘I won’t.’

The door was open, so the socks flew through the door frame.

‘Who are you texting?’

‘Who do you think?’

‘How’s the daughter?’ the husband asked.

‘Still upset.’

‘You should have told her and let her go to the funeral.’

‘I was worried she might be pregnant.’

‘Is she?’

‘Probably not. I didn’t ask.’

‘If she can’t get pregnant, she can adopt Hotpot’s son.’

‘Is Hotpot having a son?’

‘I don’t know. I meant if she couldn’t get pregnant and Hotpot had a son …’

‘I’m sure she’ll get pregnant. Nothing compares to your own child.’

‘I don’t really want to become a grandpa. It makes me feel old.’

‘If we’re going to be grandparents anyway, I think it’s better before we’re properly old.’

‘But she’s not married.’

‘That’s today’s young people.’

Then the husband mentioned the money issue, the money from the care home.

‘I’ll speak to Mum,’ I suggested

‘You said you wouldn’t,’ the husband said.

‘I will now.’

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

The husband took his clothes off and moved towards me.

He tugged at my knickers. I pulled my waistband up.

‘I’m the husband.’ He tugged at my knickers again.

‘What do you want to do?’ I sat up.

‘Nothing,’ he said.

I clambered into bed and closed my eyes. I stretched my arms and kept them on top of the duvet. I didn’t want to be touched, and my pose kept the husband away without offending him too much.

I felt dry again. My skin and the inside of my body. I learnt at school that human body was 70 per cent water, but I didn’t understand it. After so many years, I was more confused. How could I feel so dry if I was mainly water? Ultimately, being dry or wet didn’t matter, as we would all be dry in the end, and we would decay and fade into nothing.

*

The barber was digging the bamboo shoots with his scissors. He put his scissors down when he saw me. I gave him my knife. It would be much easier to dig with a knife. He asked me to throw away the knife. He rubbed the mud off his hands onto his trousers and put his arms around my shoulders. Then he cupped my face with his hands. His lips were moving towards me. I pushed him away and started crying.

Somebody was shaking my arm. ‘What’s wrong?’

I opened my eyes, but it was dark.

I heard the husband. ‘Why are you crying?’

‘A nightmare. I had a nightmare.’ I stopped crying.

‘What happened in your nightmare?’ he asked.

‘I don’t remember.’

‘You woke me up.’ He turned back to his corner.

I remembered the dream. Of course I did. And it wasn’t a nightmare.

In the morning, I had a headache. My body told me to stay in bed, but my mind had an urge to find that knife, the knife I was holding in a dream.

I searched all the drawers in the kitchen, but I couldn’t find the knife I had seen in my dream.

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