Arnon Grunberg



It was a springlike morning in Zurich. Together with my godson and his mother we went out for a walk, we wanted to go to Fluntern Cemetery to visit the graves of my German publisher Daniel Keel and his wife Anna.
According to the concierge at Hotel Dolder Grand it was just a 15-minute walk. “No need to take a taxi,” he said.
We walked for 20 minutes and I got the awkward feeling that we were going in the wrong direction.
We took a streetcar to the zoo, supposedly the cemetery was near the zoo, but at the zoo the streetcar conductor said: “There is no cemetery here. You have go to the church of Fluntern. Come with me; it’s only five stops.” At the church it turned out that the cemetery of Fluntern was indeed near the zoo.
“I have to go to the train station,” I said. “Otherwise I’ll miss my train. We’ll have to come back another time.” “Do you believe the street car conductor hated us?” the mother of my godson asked.
“He was in the mood for a practical joke,” I answered.

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