Resemblance

This short story was already posted in the blog of Mediterrania:

http://mediterrania.bloc.cat/post/2741/176377, now I’m posting it here.

Resemblance

The sunset had penetrated with force the partially ajar door of the improvised bedroom. The orange walls of the tent projected in the interior the shapes of the bodies that outside happened to be closest. From the roof and also from the same wall hung the inanimate figures of men and animals of wood, fabric, and cardboard.

A wave of warm colors overflowed without any patron the silence of the tent. The worn and dirty blue sheet that covered a cot for sleeping almost made on the edge of the circular bedroom contrasted with them. On the wrinkled fabric lay an open book. On the last lines of page 78 it could be read:

With relief, with humiliation, with terror, he understood that he also was an illusion, that someone else was dreaming him.*

On the opposite side from where the cot was, a clown puppeteer looked at himself in total stillness in the mirror. His left arm held up the puppet…

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*Jorge Luis Borges. The Circular Ruins.