The Distant Metropolis
Agnieszka Kaminski knew that wool, once it had absorbed the damp of a Polish winter, did not merely hold water but remembered the shape of the void it had filled. She stood in the conservation studio, a room sealed off from the rest of the museum by layers of dust and silence, her hands hovering over the late Mrs. Kaminski’s coat. The fabric was a heavy, charcoal grey, the weave dense enough to...
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