the dead on holiday, just waiting for their marching orders to heaven. That depends on you - you hear? - on you alone!"
* * *
Someone kicks me in the ass. "What are you doing standing here dreaming? The ceremony is long over," say Fini.
We walk to the car. Fini’s face is desperately sad. "I hate memorial ceremonies," he says. "But what can you do? The parents need that." He stands still as though tired of walking, and looks at the empty grave. With an infinitely troubled, helpless voice he adds: "What can you do? If the war lasts any longer, all our parents are going to need that."