My beloved grandmother died. I was delirious with grief until I heard a “night crying” song again. It jolted me like an electric shock, pulling me out of my half-awake state. My brain cells followed the melody and a realization began to brew.
Grandma was very health conscious. She studied nutrition, kept exercising, and even dived into some supernatural things to live long.
“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to miss every moment of you.” Grandma said to me.
About a month ago, grandma accidentally broke her arm and was hospitalized. Fortunately, she recovered quickly. One night, I came to visit her with some fruit, about to put down these things, and went to work. I was a salesperson in a 24-hour convenience store with duty on the night shift that day with a girl, Nana.
A short distance away from the inpatient building where my grandmother stayed, I heard a faint sound. Like crying, like singing. Walking forward, the voice became clearer.
“Night Crying,” I thought. “Someone died.”
I must explain to you what “Night Crying” is. It’s a tradition in our town. It is said that after a person dies, his ghost doesn’t leave and just wanders around the world because there are things hard to let go. They could be something unfinished or someone continually loved. To make the ghost release the past and go to his destination (I don’t know where it is), his family will invite a specialist to make a night crying rite. The guy will sing a song of nostalgia and exhortation in a deeply mournful tone, looking back at the past, and advising the ghost to get over the death fact and move on.
Although I’ve never actually heard night crying, I guessed it’s just that.
Louder and louder with my approaching. I saw a woman in black clothes. She was facing me, waving her hands and shaking her head, sometimes leaning down, looking up. It was kind of scary, so I quickened my pace and walked close to the wall, wishing I could hide in the gap in the wall.
The song sometimes was a low murmur. It was like hundreds of leather drums beating together, and the dull voice contains huge energy. Sometimes it was a heart-piercing scream. The emotion was so intense that I couldn’t tell whether it is sadness or anger. Even though I tried very hard to avoid understanding the lyrics, there was one line catching my attention.
“Death comes with a crawl. Death comes with a pounce. It doesn’t matter how you die. Make your death count in a while.”
Ouch. I ran as hard as I could, as if the ground under my feet was no longer a solid road, but flying cloth, flowing water, things that could not bear any weight.
Finally entered the building. The walls largely cut off part of the song, but the faint voice still floated in the air. The nurse at the front desk saw me coming in and smiled at me. My heart felt more at ease.
“Did someone die?” I asked.
“Every moment. Here is the hospital.”
I just ended the conversation and went back to Granny’s room. I opened the door. grandma was lying on her side facing the window. It was open, and the light poured directly onto the bed.
She turned over, and said, “You back.”
“Why haven’t you slept yet? It’s late.”
” I can’t sleep until you’re back”
“Did the sound outside bother you?”
“Sound?”
Then I told her what I saw and heard.
“It doesn’t matter how you die. Make your death count in a while.” I repeated.
Her face turned uneasy. The air suddenly froze, only the annoying singing floating in the sky.
“Is it all right?”
“Terrible. Sounds like a calling.”
She was always afraid of death and refused any death news.
“It’s okay. It’s none of our business.” I caressed her grey hair, trying to convey strength and support through touch.
“You have better sleep now and I’ll come to see you when you wake up.”
“Where are you going?”
“Work. I’m on the night shift tonight.”
She closed her eyes, different from the usual, the chest upping and downing kind of violently.
“Don’t go.”
“Ah?”
“Stay. I’m afraid.”
Her cloudy eyes suddenly burst into tears, which scared me.
“Okay, okay. Don’t cry. I’m not leaving. “
After appeasing her, I gave Nana a call.
“Nana, my grandma is not feeling well and I have asked Arthur (the manager) for a leave tonight.”
“Sorry to hear that and hope your grandma gets better soon. Oh God Damn.”
“What?”
“Oh, sorry not about you. My ex keeps calling in and I’m so sick of it.”
“Oh, oh. Anyway, thank you.”
Grandma and I slept together. She held me in her arms, which was what she did to me when I was a child. She put one hand on my shoulder and patted it gently. The moonlight outside just shone in, and the walls reflected a gloomy blue light. Under such circumstances, everything became soft and the noise outside was also getting further and further away.
I was tired and my consciousness was to blur. But grandma was whispering, holding my hand.
“Don’t worry,” she muttered.
A phone call woke me up in the morning. Arthur asked me to go back to the store.
“Just go,” Grandma said with a weak smile.
I kissed her on the cheek, meanwhile feeling an unnatural heat radiating from her skin.
“Nanny, you are hot. Are you ok?”
“The body temperature rises in the morning. And you should go.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
I was shocked by what I saw. A cordon surrounds the store. There stood several police officers.
The building’s outer wall was burnt to blackness, and the inside was messy. Arthur was walking to me.
“What happened?”
“Terrible. It got fired last night.”
“Where is Nana?”
Arthur held his head, choked up, and said, “She, she was burned to death. Her damn ex-boyfriend murdered her. Held the door and burned her alive.”
My mind went blank.
When I was still in a mess, a call came in.
“This is Francis Hospital. I am sorry to inform you that your grandmother is not well.”
Severe muscular dehydration. It usually occurs at high temperatures. But that was how my nanny died. I can’t figure out why these things happened.
On the seventh day of grandma’s death, uncle Jay invited a man to do the “night crying” for grandma. But his song was completely different from the last time I heard it.
“I once heard a night crying song. That is Death comes with a crawl. Death comes with a pounce. It doesn’t matter how you die. Make your death count in a while.”
“Honestly, it is not night crying songs.” The man said.
An indescribable madness brought me to that thought.
It’s me. The one who should die is me. I would have turned up at the convenience store that night and been burned with Nana.
“Oh my god, it was a deal with death. How could you do that to me?” I was on my knees crying.
“Your grandma is leaving, without any regrets.” The man tapped my shoulder gently.
“I love you, babe.”
I can never be mistaken. This gentle touch belongs to my grandma!