After the eras and lives that have passed through this room, traces of which (plenty of them!) have gathered in a single corner, behind the door: torn cork flooring, old wallpaper, remnants of soot from the stove, plaster, wires from nonexistent telephones, peeling paint, cement putty from various eras, dust, and debris—small, shapeless scraps of gold leaf lie there. Inconspicuous, unannounced, once noticed, they become a gift.
