Translated by Whitney DeVos, English translation copyright © 2021 by Whitney DeVos

Extract

THE HEMISPHERES

He looks at himself in a watering trough: the prevention of cruelty, he thinks, with the inhuman distance of a compass.

What if everything happened far away?

This summer is more like a dream had early in the night, sinuous like a caravan of camels. She is walking on her elbows when he says:

—I’m sure you’d be happy at sea.

She knows then they will not learn to move otherwise. Everything between them is elbows, the joint of the morning and the spreading of a yellow thread seen from the sky. She agrees without the slightest gesture—movement is all his: the twitch of a tiger, and the truth revealed within.

Do they give each other a hand? An arm? They offer one other an elbow. They are suspended, like the radiance of dust. Their chests, like the air sacs of a bagpipe. He mentions the fishing season and no one knows if he forgets the rules or not, but for a moment he believes it’s time to put his arms on the table.