Lo specchio si prende gioco dei gesti senza tempo,attorno al tuo volto si riflettono fili d'argento.
(Quadro di Andrea Jori, www.profumiecolori.com/Jori.htm)
...After a couple of puffs, I suddenly noticed something odd. My reflection in the mirror wasn't me. It looked exactly like me on the outside, but it definitely wasn't me. Not, that's not it. It WAS me, of course, but another me. Another me that never should have been. I don't know how put it. It is hard to explain what it felt like. The one thing i did understand was that this other figure loathed me. Inside it was a hatred like an iceberg floating in a dark sea. The kind of hatred that no one could ever diminish. I stood there for a while , doumbfounded. My cigarette slipped from between my fingers and fell to the floor. The cigarette in the mirror fell to the floor too. We stood there, staring at each other. [...] Finally his hand moved, the fingertips of his right hand touching his chin and then slowly, like a bug, crept up his face. I suddenly realized i was doing the same thing. Like i was the reflection of what was in the mirror and he was trying to take control of me. [...]When the sun came up, the typhoon had already passed. [...] The cigarete butt I'd tossed away was there as my wooden sword. But no mirror. There nevere had been any mirror there. What i saw wasn't a ghost. It was simply - myself. I can never forget how terrified i was that night [...], the most frigthening thing in the world is our own self. What do you think?
(excerpts from a story of Murakami H, collected in "blind willow sleeping woman", Vintage International 2007)
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