A Song for a Dead

PRESENT DAYS

The microphony echoed across the cemetery's lawn, scaring the birds and making the young woman uncomfortable. She quickly turned off the small stereo she had just tested.

"Are you sure we should do this? Is it really ... adequate?" Ye Rim turned to the three old men at her side, doubt showing in her eyes. Yesterday, the idea seemed good and coherent. But in the light of day, besides Mr. Young's tombstone, Ye Rim wanted to retreat. She wasn't really sure that the farewell homage the three friends wanted to give to his old mate wasn't in fact unseemly and indecent.

Next to the portable stereo loaded with a selection of songs matching the late Mr. Young's taste, an extended towel, a few bottles of liquor, and some snacks. Her three friends, elders like the man who lay in the tomb next to a tree, looked at each other.

One of them, Mr. Go, assured her:

"Ye Rim, my dear, it's what he wanted. He said over and over again how much he wanted it."

"Wouldn't it be better to sing another kind of music? Perhaps… Arirang?"

"My young lady," another old man interrupted, "from all of us, he was the partier. Until the end, he liked good music, beautiful women, and booze; and we promised him he would have a "Young-style" good-bye!"

Mr. Go added: "He even said he'd rather wished a posh grave than paying the hospital bills. He was this extreme!"

Ye Rim overheard rumors that the trio gathered today was responsible to get his friend the posh tomb in an upper-class cemetery as he wished, in the end.

"So… Are we going to say something to Mr. Young's soul first, right?" 'Is there a sort of waiver for doing such things? If so, I'd like to have signed it up for this gig.' She didn't consider herself a superstitious woman, but it was a strange gig indeed.

The third man with them said nothing, just nodded enthusiastically, and began pouring the drink into the glasses.

Nam Ye Rim looked around, accessing the situation. The cemetery was quiet this afternoon, except for the strange presence of the eccentric quartet.

In a way, Ye Rim had become accustomed to their way of thinking, through coexistence, although she did not always understand them.

The night before, they had been melancholic and dejected after the funeral service of a member of their "gang". They had known each other since the army, for many decades. A long and sad illness took Mr. Young out of his usual lifestyle _ attending his favorite club and living happily and recklessly while he could.

When the man finished pouring the soju and handed glasses to everyone, the singer included, Mr. Go made a small sign to her. Ye Rim was supposed to act as a master of ceremony of sorts.

The singer woman smoothed the gold-sequined mini dress, making up her mind. There was no harm in doing Mr. Young's last wish. And she was being paid for it.

Mr. Go clapped his hands at the change of attitude.

"Go go, Miss Ye Rim dear!"

She raised the cup in a toast, opening the services and improvising on the speech they suggested earlier:

"Mr. Young, we are here this afternoon, shortly after your official passing rites, to pay our respects and bid you farewell the way you truly wished. You lived merrily, and with no regrets, and we admire your soul for it. You were deeply cherished. Your friends, reunited here, will miss you dearly. That's why they wish to give testimony of your deeds and wish to have a last good time with you."

It was the cue for their own speech, and they looked at each other.

Mr. Park decided to be the first. He raised his cup, his voice got hoarse just after the few first words,

"Hee Chul hyung. You rascal! You said I should be the first to die! You saved me in that trench when I was 19! I owed you my life. You said it was nothing. When the war came to a halt you came back home with me, and my mom treated you like a son. You stole her money twice, but what to do? You were my hyung! We starved together, and…"

"Ah!" 'Oh Gosh. What is this log in my eye?!' Ye Rim was feeling her eyes went watery, a sudden rush of feelings while listening to his emotional speech, but she wasn't prepared for the rest of it:

"Do you remember Ms. Baek? We used to date her on alternate weeks. I'm sure you remember her. The one that married later on with that Philippine ambassador? I've met her son a couple of years ago. He was with her. He's your ugly face, hyung! Then, well… You didn't go without leaving your ugly face for future generations, that's what I mean."

The young woman witnessing the old men getting their moment of nostalgia by their friend's tomb cringed and even scratched her ear in discomfort, trying to un-hear it. 'They were indeed a trio of bon vivants in their good times!'

The old men proceed with their stories until Mr. Go motioned her to start singing.

In the first notes of the old playback melody, Ye Rim closed her eyes and remembered the lively Mr. Young, still alive. He had not always been as adorable as the other members of the quartet. But he no doubt had the desire to live intensely. And Mr. Young had done his best for this purpose, according to the stories they told. So she started singing heartily.

The singer had never done a show for a deceased person, but she could convince herself now that he would have really appreciated her effort. His closest friends, present there, had tried to do this at the hospital when he was still alive, but they were not allowed to.

One of the songs on their setlist, unlike most, was not a song from decades ago, when Ye Rim was not even born. It was girls group hit, and Ye Rim threw herself vigorously into the performance, adding the aegyo choreography to the unusual tribute.

The three gentlemen, sitting politely in front of the grave, raised their glasses in approval, and soon began to clap to the rhythm of the music, while Ye Rim sang and danced.

Maybe she was too carried on her performance, her eyes closed, and realized late that the playback ceased, as did the palms of her still alive small audience.

"But what do you guys think you're doing ?!" The angry male voice cut the last part of the song.