I can lie on the sofa and watch the performers without feeling like they’re watching me. On that stage, blinded by spotlights, I’m a fake star. Usually when I can’t stand it anymore I escape to the internet, but that day just the thought of the blue screen put me off, the kind of light that drags everyone out onto a bright stage whether they want to be there or not. As I turned my head so I could look out at the gloomy Copenhagen sky, I felt the silver light beyond the clouds start to glow inside me.ĭoing nothing is harder than you’d think. But that day I just wanted to relax, and avoid doing anything much. I like strolling along by the canal, stopping for coffee or at a used record store on the way, or going down to the town square, working my way into the crowd around a hot dog stand to see if there’s anyone I know waiting for one of those garish red sausages on a bun. It wasn’t the rain that kept me inside that day. There’s a stepping-stone path out front leading to a small park, and I never get tired of listening to the patter of rain falling on stone blending with that soft squishy sound of water seeping into the ground. I spent that afternoon lying on the sofa, hugging a cushion, watching TV with the volume turned down. This is an excerpt from Scattered All Over the Earth by Yoko Tawada, translated from the Japanese by Margaret Mitsutani, published by Granta Books.
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