The Faded Attic
Chapter One In the valleys of the Atlas, the fog does not clear; it simply decides to stop the boats. It is a physical fact, a wall of grey wool that presses against the shutters of the closing school, where I sit at the census taker’s desk, transcribing the final accounts of a parish that is slowly suffocating. I am Karim Jaber, forty-two years old, and I am the coffin maker. My hands smell of...
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