
Junk
by Jenny Erpenbeck
OF COURSE IT’S NICE when the eye can be at peace, when it doesn’t get tangled up in knickknacks, when the drawers open silently and then close again as if by magic. It’s nice to have bare tables where no dust falls, only light. It’s nice when everything is made of glass and you can see through it, because nothing else is there. Emptiness is nice. Who doesn’t like to make a purchase if the salesman places a single pair of trousers on a frosted glass countertop lit from below? Then those trousers are the last thing on earth that casts a shadow, and the counter with its bluish shimmer turns out to be an altar that extends from Berlin to Vienna, from Vienna to Tokyo, from Tokyo to New York, and from New York perhaps to heaven or hell, gradually narrowing as it disappears from view.



