He showed his ID, wanting her to take in his aura of mystery, his right to visit an area closed to ordinary mortals, where so many of the great and famous were buried.
Although themselves still among the living, they crossed an invisible bourne into the unknown, and were immediately surrounded by a powerful, solemn silence.
There were fir trees planted in times long past and, more densely, row upon row of boulders, slabs, and crosses.
They turned down one of the avenues and were immediately lost, hemmed in by graves, narrow pathways, solitude, headstones with unfamiliar names. Stony, unrecognized faces were everywhere. Identically shaped stones, some light coloured, others jet black, stood as inscrutable as eternity. Uncle Seva had brought him here once. But for him, this would have bee
