Authors: Graham Masterton
T
wo weeks later, Sparky was buried next to his mother at Saint Boniface Cemetery. It was a dry day, but very gusty, and black hats and funeral scarves blew away in the wind.
As the casket was lowered, a single violinist played the requiem that Grzegorz Walach had written for the descendant whose life he had given away, even though he had never known who he was. Jack had wondered whether to have this music played or not, but then he decided that even if it was not yet time to forget, it was time to forgive. He had experienced the same panic for himself, and it wasn’t easy to judge his great-grandfather for the terrible promise that he had made.
The notes of the requiem were sad beyond description. They summed up all of the pain and despair that so many people had suffered over so many years, and the deep uncertainty about tomorrow. Only Jack and Krystyna knew what they really meant. They meant loss, and abandonment, and betrayal. They meant that the spirits who had protected us for so many millennia had now left us to survive on our own.
When the violinist had finished, Jack threw a clod of earth onto Sparky’s casket, and then turned away from the grave, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. Krystyna gave him a sympathetic smile.
‘Looks like I’m on my own now,’ he told her.
She shook her head, although she didn’t say anything. She linked arms with him and they walked together toward the cemetery gates, with angels watching them on either side.