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128 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2015
And now you and I have found each other.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that you’re here and I’m here. I’ve come to understand that life is never afterwards, never tomorrow. It’s only now.’
The dead person was always wonderful. No one ever said, ‘The deceased was a bastard.’ The day the elected president died, the day his united and intransigent opponents died, people would hold forth about what responsible spouses, brothers, friends and citizens they were, how perfectly they’d balanced the sharp with the sweet, how virtuously they appreciated both the nationalist gozo and the republican plantain.
If the dead had all been as perfect as their funeral elegies suggested, life in the republic would’ve been a beautiful thing.
Such are the conventions of life and of death.
When even God sometimes messed things up, what could possibly be expected from people?