Mona Abdinur, I say. My voice shoots off the cold white walls and the cold white columns and disappear through the multicoloured profets and disciples and saints in the stained glass windows high above us. She lights one candle. Haji Ahmed, I say. A man in a bunad Sighs softly, And i think to myself Why a bunad? Why on earth a bunad? Here? She lights another candle. Thomas Margido Antonsen, i say. The priest looks at me, then down at his shoes, then up at the ceiling. His eyes are solemn, somber and solemn, And when he blinks His jaw twitches ever so slightly.
She lights a third candle and glances over to the end of the row. There are 74 candles left. I stop, swallow. And continue. Pamela Porntip Ardam Modupe Ellen Awoyemi Lene Maria Bergum Kevin Daae Berland 18 years. 19. 16. 21. 15. 19. 15.

A man holds a yellow umbrella high above his head. DANTES TOURS it says on one side — and on the other, VEDERE IL MONDO. There is no rain, and there is no sun, just soft grey clouds and a pleasing, life affirming 20-21 degrees, but he keeps on flying his umbrella and keeps on walking toward the huge gothic building inside the castle ground. Ecco la cattedrale di San Vito, he says loudly as a group of stiff legged, white haired, chicken chatty men and women gather round him, short of breath but long in the tooth. Ooooh, they say and point their cameras and gazes upward. Magnifico! Splendido! Impressionante! Look at those gargollas! Look at that spire! Sorry, I say and try to pass an especially stiff legged and impressed couple. But they dont move. There is a sign with a Norwegian flag at the entrance. The man with the yellow umbrella points to it and says something about evento and chiusa and something something, and a soft murmur of aaahs and sighs spread through the crowd. The especially stiff legged couple sighingly cross themselves heavenward.
Scusi, I say and try to walk around them. Chiusa, the man in the yellow umbrella bellows and taps the sign. Evento! Eh, I say. Norvegia. Norvegia, the man repeats once, then once more. Their chitter and chatter dwindle and die and and as they bow their heads ever so slightly and let me pass, their sighs and sad ahs bounce off the cold, grey walls and cold grey gargoyles and up into the thin air, where we all must go when it ends in the end for all, when we end in the end. Povero ragazzo!

***

Trond Berntsen. I read. She lights another candle. Sverre Flåte Bjørkavåg, I read. Torjus Jakobsen Blattmann Carina Borgund Johannes Buø

The bluish smoke from 13 white candles Rise and disappear In the thin thick air

We glance over to the end of the row There are 64 candles left. And she must use a new match.

77 bodies not moving anymore. 77 holes in the cold cold Norwegian ground 77 stiff legged stiff armed stiff bodied bodies completely completely out of breath For ever and ever And here I am in the cathedral of Prague, trying to give Hope, when there is none.

Lasciate ogni speranza, i whisper to myself And continue.

Sondre Furseth Dale Monica Iselin Didriksen Gizem Dogan

Shot. Shot. Shot. Drowned. Shot. Shot. Shot.

Look at those gargoyles. Look at them go.