Wednesday, 23 September 2009

The Canvas, a tale by Martín Cid

He was steadily looking at himself in front of a mirror of sorrow but he did not recognise his image, strange for him and for everybody in that crowded room of that famous museum. He kept looking at his reflection for a while; he was a thirty-years-old shadow in front of visitors, beside two dwarfs and the “master”. Someone was talking near them and me. I cannot remember if that happened in the past or in the future.
The infanta Margarita, Felipe IV’s daughter, was in front of us; her heavy blond hair smelt strongly, I could see her face…: you seem unfriendly, stupid tourist.
-Was someone talking?....

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