Ivo Vrtarić’s friends are all around Motovun this evening. They are coming over in impressive numbers. Tomorrow afternoon will be his funeral. It promises to be an occasion to witness and remember in this forlorn town. Which only reminds me that no-one will ever come to my own funeral, for there will be none. There will be no tomb. Nothing to witness. Nothing to remember, either. With the sole exception of this rambling book of mine, which will remain my sole witness for many years to come. My tomb to remember. And my funeral even as I pen these idle words under the candlelight. Ivo Vrtarić and I. Friends beyond time.