'You got to be kidding!'

I looked out over hundreds of gravestones.

‘We never find that grave, bad plan, let’s go to the pub.’

‘Stop whining’ said Jenny, ‘there is the caretaker's house, they probably know who is buried here.’

I already had my doubts with this search and now at the cemetery I felt very uncomfortable. We don't belong here, this is not our business.


Last night we discussed in the pub the last words of people on their deathbed. We been to the movie Citizen Kane, in which Charles Foster Kane whispered his last word ‘Rosebud.’ Jenny sat next to me with a glass of beer in one hand and the other hand on my arm. Her face was so close by that I felt her spit on my face.

‘The last sentence that someone says is the most important one. Just think about it, you die and you only have strength for one more sentence. That sentence must be meaningful, a summary of your life. If you understand the last sentence, you also understand the person who spoke it.'

Satisfied about her reasoning, she leaned back.

‘You are sure of yourself.’

‘A few years ago, a woman from here suddenly disappeared and was never found. I read in a newspaper. The police found a note in her apartment saying ‘Find my grave’. That was her last sentence. I am sure the reason for her disappearance can be found at her grave. ‘

‘Okay, so?’

‘So we're going to her grave tomorrow.’


And now we were walking at the local cemetery in search of a grave of someone we don’t know, we only know her name and that she was alive three years ago. An old man was sitting on a park bench in front of the caretakers house. He looked like he had buried his wife here long time ago and never left since then. There was a nameplate on his dark blue overall. Jenny approached him and asked:

‘Good day sir, can you help us? We are looking for the grave of Madeleine Limers, do you know where that is? ‘

‘The name says nothing to me, when did she die?’

'Two years ago.'

‘Then I should remember her, but I can search for her in the administration.’

He stood up, sighed and shuffled to his office. An open book lay on the desk, it looked like a cash book.

‘What was the year of birth of this person?’

‘We don't know’, replied Jenny. I felt increasingly uncomfortable.

‘And the date when she died?’

‘We don't know either, but after 2016.’

‘You seem to know very little, can I ask what your relationship is with the deceased?’

‘We don't have one, we're just curious about her tombstone.’

‘Yes, Madeleine Limers was the name, right? And your name? ‘He asked Jenny, apparently he wasn't interested in me.

‘Jenny, Jenny Auror.’

Browsing through the pages of the book, he said:

‘Well Jenny, I can't find Madeleine Limers, she's not here.’

‘Is there another cemetery in the city?’ I asked.

‘In the center, behind the old school at Mill road is a cemetery, it’s no longer in use. The local authorities turned into a public park but the old graves are still there.

We thanked the care taker and walked to our bikes outside the gate.

‘That was the end of the search for Madeleine's’ I said, relieved.

‘It looks like that. Shall we go to the other cemetery? I like to see those old graves‘ Jenny replied.

Meanwhile the manager looked between the stacks of papers on his desk. He found a card with a handwritten telephone number on it,  he dialed the number, waited a moment and said:

‘A  Jenny Auror was here just now. She asked about the grave of Madeleine Limers.’

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