By THOMAS EMPL
Translated by ISABEL FARGO COLE
The ferryman wrenched the gangplank out of its mount, heaved a breath and hooked it between the boat and the dock. During the brief ride we didn’t say a word; he didn’t recognize us. On the coast, to the east of the town, a military jet took off and dipped straight into a breakneck loop to head the other way, trailing its sonic boom.
I’d shaved the night before. Mouth open, I fingered my smooth skin. Rough lines ran from my nostrils to the corners of my mouth, like incisions. My ears looked huge. When I got up in the morning, my mirror image startled me. It was as if someone had hung up one of those photos I never looked at, showing that out-of-place apprentice, expressionless at the joiner’s bench. I didn’t recognize myself until I heard my voice.


