Always by Morris Gleitzman

Author:Morris Gleitzman [Gleitzman, Morris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

Afterwards, we go to the lifts.

‘Poor man,’ says Wassim. ‘It’s not his fault, having a grandad who was a Nazi.’

‘Of course not,’ I say. ‘Good on you for making friends with him. That was very kind of you, and very useful.’

Wassim looks puzzled for a moment.

Then he grins, and I see he knows what I mean.

When you’re in a hotel like this, and the police have told the hotel staff to make sure you don’t leave the building, a concierge is exactly the friend you need.

says Wassim as our taxi goes in through the cemetery gates. ‘I always come here after school, except when I get detention.’

I’m very grateful to Wassim.

For sharing this special place of his on our way to Uncle Otto’s. So I can see his parents’ grave.

I also have more of a chance to spot if we’re being followed. Going to Otto’s is a long shot, but however it turns out, we’d prefer to be the only visitors tonight.

Our friend the concierge was very kind as well, bringing his own car down to the hotel loading dock and taking us under blankets to a taxi rank far enough away from the hotel.

But now we’re on our own.

‘Here,’ says Wassim, pointing to a grave.

The taxi driver pulls over.

Wassim and I get out into the icy dusk.

I pause.

I peer back along the cemetery road.

No lights.

No shadowy shapes of cars.

I join Wassim next to his parents’ grave.

Another sad unoccupied memorial.

We stand side by side, shivering. Looking at the two names on the gravestone.

I know Wassim is seeing more than names.

Loving faces as well. And I can’t help it, I start seeing faces too.

Some whose graves I can visit.

Anya under a palm tree in North Queensland. Gabriek near his favourite brewery in Melbourne.

And so many I can’t because they don’t have a burial place that I know of.

Yuli. Barney. Genia. Doctor Zajak. Pavlo.

And, of course, Zelda.

‘Felix,’ says Wassim.

I struggle to bring myself back.

Wassim is looking at me. He hesitates, as if he’s not sure how to say what he wants to say.

I think I know what it is.

‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be letting my thoughts wander like that. I came here to offer my respect to your parents. For everything they gave you and everything they helped you be, even in the short time they had with you.’

Wassim doesn’t say anything.

Just looks at the ground.

I hear a noise towards the cemetery gate.

Still no lights, or movement.

Perhaps a night bird. Or perhaps music from the taxi driver’s radio on the breeze.

I should be honest with Wassim. Admit the other reason we’re here. The security one.

Before I can speak, Wassim does.

‘Felix,’ he says softly. ‘Do people ever pretend to have a death when they haven’t really had one?’

I look at him.

I’m not sure why he’s asking, but I know he wouldn’t without good reason.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘People do sometimes pretend that. Not often.’

Wassim hesitates, but only for a moment.

‘I think maybe Mum and Dad did,’ he says.

I make myself stay silent.

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