The Photographer

I could not remember when the other parts of the world had given up the custom of taking family
photographs with dead bodies. If my father was still around, I would be able to ask him about it. That
kind of thought pops up in a son’s mind from time to time even years after his father had passed away.
As for now, I am observing family of the deceased gets the dead body ready for photo taking. If my
father was still around (again!), he would render advice to the family on how to dress the dead body.
Maybe even on how to put makeup on it if it were a woman. Now my father was no longer here. I come
to remember my therapist’s suggestion. He told me to go near a stream and keep snapping my fingers
when I start to think something over and over again. But now I could not leave the deceased man and
his family here in the studio for the stream. The family is now tying the body to a chair before they put
some clothes on it. The family is trying to fit the body into the best chair of the studio. In fact, it is not
just the best chair in this studio but also occupied by the heads of my family one after another. I did not
understand when I overheard my grandpa told my father, “do you know what I had to sacrifice so that I
could sit in that chair?” Even now, I do not think I could understand that little speech. Now I have to
leave my grandpa and my father in peace as more urgent matters require my attention. Me and the son
of the deceased have to lift up the chair altogether with the body tied to it so that the daughter of the
deceased could put a plastic sheet under the chair. I don’t want the carpet of the studio stained by some
fluid oozing out from their beloved father. While I was lifting up the chair, I have got an idea that the
dead man would look good in a side shot. The idea is futile at the moment. Now it is time to read a few
paragraphs from my great grandpa’s manual. “For this kind of occasion, two sets of photographs have to
be taken. In the first set, the remaining members of the family should try as much possible as to mimic
the facial gesture of the deceased. It is part of our custom to pay tribute to the feeling of the dying
person in his or her last minutes. In the second set, the photographer has to simply say “say cheese’’
and take the photo. The belief rooted in this township for a few decades is denoted in italic. If the dead
face wears a smile in the second photograph, it will be interpreted as the dead man spent his life happily
with his family. I choose not to read out the italicized part to the family standing in front of me. And I
never did. Anyway, I am really impressed with the idea of capturing the emotional states of a person at
the times when he had been alive and when he was dead. After the necessary photos are taken, the
daughter starts to snivel. The other family members begin to struggle with straightening the knees of
the body as they become stiff while being forced to dwell on the chair.

Moe Sad