Hard to say how long I sat there. Eventually I got up, took the two little pouches from the pocket of my shirt and scattered the ashes on the stony surface. They left no trace, seeming simply to dissolve into the hot ground. I believe I wept, but I’m not sure. Later, a man appeared. He nodded at me, got into one of the cars and drove off. I stood and listened to the sound of the engine until it faded away. My forehead was burning, and there was a rushing in my ears. I longed for shade and quiet. I think I longed for home.

Back on the plane, I saw the desert far below, and later the sea, a vast glittering streaked with furrows. We were flying into the evening, and although the engines were roaring I could feel the silence and peace that surrounded us. I leaned back my head and closed my eyes. I thought of the day to come. The cool morning air. The scent of fruit in the darkness of the shop and the rattle of the shutters. I would order pointed peppers and yellow plums. I would unroll my father’s old rug and clean off the dirt that had fallen from the turnip sacks I shook out so often on account of the damp and the mould.

When you stood in the fire, and the hot ash was searing your skin, did you see God, Father Hoberg?

Herm Leydicke

Can you hear me? Do you hear?

You were fifteen when my time came. How old are you now? Time doesn’t exist here. But let’s assume you still have a good long while to go. I have to assume this, because other­wise none of what I have to say to you would make any sense. You see, there are a few things I’d like to get off my chest. I wish I’d said them to you when I was still alive. I wish someone had said them to me. Perhaps there were things I would have done differently. Though probably not.

I wasn’t a clever man. That’s no secret. Your mother knew it. I knew it, too. I’ve seen some things, but that doesn’t count for much. No amount of experience will help you if you don’t have the wit to think things through and draw useful conclusions. Or if you no longer have the strength to haul your backside out of the armchair. Very few old people are wise; the majority are just old. And I was definitely part of the majority.

If I’d understood (I don’t mean known, but really understood) that everything passes so quickly, there are things I would have spared myself. But now my time’s up, so I like to think I might at least be able to spare you some of them. You didn’t have the best start in life, and I’m probably not entirely blameless in that. But you can’t change the past. And you’re alive, at least. That’s more than anyone can ask for. I see I’m starting to blather on. So I’m just going to tell you a few things. What you do with them is up to you.