Funeral guests registered their names in a book and dropped small donation envelopes in a wooden lock box, then turned to bow two and one half times to Chanyu’s shrine where Father Won met them. The shrine was a large picture of Chanyu surrounded by flowers on a table. Incense filled the air. As the guests filed singularly down the funeral path, they bowed deeply putting their hands together at eye level and bent at the waist and knees until their hands, legs, and head touched down on a prayer mat towards Father Won and more importantly the casket behind where Father Won stood. No one could pass beyond Father Won, acting as ‘Sangju’, guardian of the dead. He would join for one and one half traditional bows and then escort each individual guest toward the receiving room where a bounty of foods and rice wine had been prepared and placed.With tears in their eyes, Liu and Hegin held a pose on their knees with platters of rice cakes and small ceramic cups of Sul, a traditional Korean wine, forward above their heads with outstretched arms toward the incoming guests. The Won brothers stood together wailing periodically and intermittently chatting with guests as they came by, bowing, shaking hands, and weeping for their mutual loss. Black limousines queued in the narrow street, stopping briefly at the entrance for guests to get out, present their invitation or state their name and connection to Won Chanyu, or the Won or Cho family. Mr. Kim watched over the gate activities and motioned guests towards the house to join the Won and Cho family members inside. Relatives, business associates and family friends began to fill up the rooms and more food was brought out. Guests talked among themselves, bowing, sharing stories and jokes, mixing laughter with weeping eyes and solemn stares. The elderly women gathered around the food trays placed on the low tables while their husbands moved closer and closer to the bar and spoke quietly of business and sports. Mother Won watched curiously from her perch at the edge of the kitchen door. The sun broke brightly in the doorway every time it opened. As if in slow motion, the silhouette of a woman in a fitted black dress, large hat and matching veil appeared gracefully entering the front room. As the woman bent over to sign the guest book, a single plat-braid interwoven with hemp and silky black hair fell effortlessly alongside her writing hand. She placed an envelope in the box and walked on to the shrine where she dipped her head in respect and whispered a prayer. The agima watched as the woman progressed down the funeral path and stood silently with her head bowed next to Father Won. Her hands clasped together in front of her face as she bowed from the waist.Father Won could smell her perfume; it reminded him of spring and happier times.When Monica finished, she slowly turned her head to Father Won and bowed at the waist again and stood face to face in silence.Father Won squinted to see the woman’s features through the veil but didn’t recognize her and yet something was oddly familiar. Out of the calm of the moment an uneasy warning struck his heart.As Monica moved to leave so others waiting could come in, Father Won respectfully took her arm and escorted her towards the receiving room without saying a word. The next guest came in and Father Won broke away and back to his duty.Monica followed the traditions as if born to them and entered into the next room. The gentlemen at the bar nudged one another and turned to see this beauty. The women around the food platters eyed Monica from hat to heel as she walked through the room and guests made a path for her as she moved languidly through the crowd towards Hegin on her knees holding a tray of rice cakes out above her head. As Monica reached for one, Hegin glanced up. Monica broke a piece off and gracefully maneuvered under her veil it to her mouth.“These are very nice and light. Did you make these?” Monica asked quietly.Hegin nodded and put her head down.“Your brother would be proud of your family and the respect you show. I am sorry for your loss.”Hegin bowed her head ever so slightly. Monica looked to Won Liu and moved towards her.Won Liu dropped her head immediately as Monica reached delicately for Liu’s tray of short wine cups. “Is this the traditional ‘Duk’ and ‘Sul’, you spoke of?”Liu bowed her head in affirmation and said nothing.Monica tasted the wine and looked around the room. People were talking quietly, the brothers howled, “I-goo” together.“Are those your brothers, Liu?”“Yes. I can’t believe you came here. If Father finds out . . .”“He won’t. I’m not staying long.” Monica bowed her head towards the brothers who returned the bow. Won Jie put his drink down and walked to the guest book, then outside to question Mr. Kim.Father Won couldn’t concentrate; memories washed over him in turbulent waves.Mother waited for her opportunity to say hello. She knew exactly who it was. Monica was the same size as her first daughter, Monica’s mother, Ji Tun; same tall slender build, same curves, and same grace; a Princess in the making.
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