I Cried at the Chairman's Funeral for Money novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: No Joy Under This Roof

By the third night the coffin was gone, and the chairman was a small white urn on a table.

Beside it stood the new spirit tablet, a slab of dark wood with his name in gold, and two candles burned in front.

The mourning hall smelled of incense and cold chrysanthemums, and Shen Ke could not sleep.

Before dawn he put on his tunic and went across the courtyard to trim the lamps.

A figure was kneeling in front of the urn.

It was Hanzhou, in his shirtsleeves, with his back to the door and his hands flat on his thighs.

He was speaking very softly, and Shen Ke stopped at the threshold.

"Father," said Hanzhou. "I am sorry that I."

He stopped.

"Father. I am sorry I did not."

He stopped again, and breathed in and out, and said it over from the beginning in exactly the same words.

Shen Ke stood in the doorway for a long time and did not move.

On the fifth try Hanzhou's fist closed hard on his knee.

"You can come in," said Hanzhou, without turning. "I can hear you thinking."

"I came to trim the lamps."

"Trim them."

Shen Ke crossed the stone floor in his socks and knelt beside the table, taking the small silver scissors from the tray.

"Don't comfort me," said Hanzhou.

"I wasn't going to. I'm paid for the dead."

"Good."

"But your armband has slipped," said Shen Ke. "A slipped armband is a sign of disrespect, and I'm the mourner. It is my word."

"It's my arm."

"It's my word, Mr. Gu. You wrote it down."

Hanzhou said nothing, and after a moment he turned a little on his knees.

The white band had worked down from his bicep to his elbow.

Shen Ke put the scissors down, reached out, and drew it up.

His fingers settled on the sleeve of the white shirt, and under the cloth was warm, hard muscle.

He fixed the pin, and he did not take his hand away at once.

Hanzhou held completely still.

The stick of incense in his other hand snapped in two.

"A mourner is paid to look at the dead, Shen Ke," said Hanzhou, rather hoarsely.

It was the first time he had used the name.

"You're the only one in this house I can't tell is dead," said Shen Ke. "I'll bill you for the doubt."

Something moved across Hanzhou's severe mouth.

He did not rise and go, as Shen Ke had expected.

He looked at the broken incense in his hand, and then at the tablet.

"Teach me to wail," he said.

Shen Ke nearly dropped the scissors.

"Now?"

"The Old Madam says I will be asked for tears before the clan."

Hanzhou's voice was even.

"I can't produce them," said Hanzhou. "I would like at least to produce the sound."

"Not here. The dead can hear you fail."

"Where, then?"

"My room," said Shen Ke. "It's the only one beside the hall with a door that shuts."

The small east room held a cot, a basin, a lamp, and a stool.

They stood facing each other on the bare boards, a careful arm's length apart.

"Wailing is not crying," said Shen Ke. "People think it is. It's a sound first, and the tears are visitors."

"Meaning?" asked Hanzhou.

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