The Last Address / 21st-Century Crypt, Portugal, North Region

"I hoisted myself up a ladder above the cold room, where small glass paste tiles let the day of the dead through to the dedicated space and to the last box, as I went along the walls of my library to fetch the book I was looking for. Hundreds of numbers, bouquets of glass and ceramic flowers, glazed metal, wood and marble: this is the industry dedicated to the transport from one body to another, from one place to another, turned wheels, springs and cranks, raised steps and trays, in the delicate palm of the Deposition, where nothing less elaborate than a dwelling served as a final resting place. Everything was joined together in an ordinary, anchored building. One slides, lifts, hoists, pushes, places horizontally. The bar that neither holds nor turns requires the necessary strength for the last stance, and it is an elbow that bends under the weight of the deceased.
Germaine told me that you wouldn’t feel it go away, because one breath was enough to get rid of the weight that weighs you down. I was sceptical about her strong assertions that were intended to free us from the bewitchment of our friend’s disappearance — you could feel when a breath passed by. So, I adjusted my camera to take a picture. The shot went off like a crack of thunder and multiplied several times according to the settings I had established. We saw the light escape in three stages. It ran faster than a shadow through where it had entered. In the blink of an eye it was already dark. Since then I have been carrying my friend, and together we laugh at the idea of having depopulated the premises." — Frédérique Villemur