I’m standing in front of the mirror. For the first time in my life—yes, the very first time—I see myself clearly, distinctly, consciously, astonished to be aware of myself as some “he.” Here he is: straight black eyebrows; between them, like a scar, a vertical furrow (was that there before?). Steely gray eyes, overcast by the shadow of a sleepless night: and behind that steel . . . it turns out that I’d never really known what was in there. That out of that “there” (which is, simultaneously, right here and in the infinite distance)—out of that “there,” I’m looking at me—and at him, and I
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