Disguises

Among all the masks, he lost his face; he searched —

the red mask, the light blue, the black, the yellow; and that

purple with the golden evening star around the mouth and

eyes, and that one with the long, audacious beard; he used it

when he was ten years old, it suited him (and it proved true

almost to the point fifty years later); the other one, the white,

made of gypsum with the hollow eyes the cut-off nose as if

it represented his death; it relaxed him; he used it a lot; only

that dampness of the gypsum and the fine dust; he was afraid

they might get glued on his skin (oh, that, his real face) there

on the wall — where it is hanging; the sailor’s pipe got between

his teeth: he puts his sunglasses on— a deep glance, blind,

it stares into his eyes and encourages him to make a new choice:

the red again, the yellow, the light blue.

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