Double exposure. Pictures in exhibition # 33944
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Double-blind. Pictures at an exhibition. A novel by Thor Vilhjálmsson.
And the toes that came out of the water, and broke the water surface, and rose out of the water. Broke out of the smooth water surface, so stiff as if they were made of wood, no, cast in plastic. He saw it from a distance, and at first he didn't know it was a man, yet he saw that it was a man coming out of the water, out of the sea. Out of the harbor. He saw two men struggling with him, pulling him out of the water as if he were a bag full of salt. A crowd watched, old men and teenagers and boys. They stood there that bright morning, and the densest group on board a motorboat back in the stern, and watched it like a play. It happened surprisingly slowly that the man came out of the water, so slowly; and when he came all the way out of the water, blood suddenly flowed from his nostrils, he saw that it ran in two lines down the man's chin, and into the sea. Then he was floated to the pier, dragged ashore, and later he was bundled into the police cruiser. The silence was broken only when the car engine was started, and a man next to him stopped the flow of tobacco sauce from his nostrils with a cloth, and cleared his throat. The men did not begin to talk until the car drove away with the body. A man walked onto the pier, which disappeared into the sea. He was wearing a straw hat and a blue checked shirt. There they had carried the body up. He bent down and washed his hands out of the water. The spectators gathered ashore from the motorboat. They slowly walked up the boat dock. No noise. The rustling of the boathouse could be heard a few steps away. Some shouted together. Others just kept quiet. Disappeared. The motorboat started up a little and then lurched, on an invisible wave, as if awakened by a breath that had stopped.
And the toes that came out of the water, and broke the water surface, and rose out of the water. Broke out of the smooth water surface, so stiff as if they were made of wood, no, cast in plastic. He saw it from a distance, and at first he didn't know it was a man, yet he saw that it was a man coming out of the water, out of the sea. Out of the harbor. He saw two men struggling with him, pulling him out of the water as if he were a bag full of salt. A crowd watched, old men and teenagers and boys. They stood there that bright morning, and the densest group on board a motorboat back in the stern, and watched it like a play. It happened surprisingly slowly that the man came out of the water, so slowly; and when he came all the way out of the water, blood suddenly flowed from his nostrils, he saw that it ran in two lines down the man's chin, and into the sea. Then he was floated to the pier, dragged ashore, and later he was bundled into the police cruiser. The silence was broken only when the car engine was started, and a man next to him stopped the flow of tobacco sauce from his nostrils with a cloth, and cleared his throat. The men did not begin to talk until the car drove away with the body. A man walked onto the pier, which disappeared into the sea. He was wearing a straw hat and a blue checked shirt. There they had carried the body up. He bent down and washed his hands out of the water. The spectators gathered ashore from the motorboat. They slowly walked up the boat dock. No noise. The rustling of the boathouse could be heard a few steps away. Some shouted together. Others just kept quiet. Disappeared. The motorboat started up a little and then lurched, on an invisible wave, as if awakened by a breath that had stopped.