-He died. -Why aren't you helping them? -They don't want my help. Their God's different than ours. -Why did he die? -Sooner or later everyone does. -Like mommy? -Like mommy. -Where do they go? -Everyone has their own word; heaven, paradise. Whatever it's called, it's someplace…

Something in our personalities, perhaps? Some animal urge to fight and struggle, making us what we are? So many questions. Never mind. Answers soon. Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there's life.

Majd húsz év múlva.