The solemn hour of Compline had ended and the chapter monks quietly left the candle lit chapel of their monastery. Only one brown robed and sandaled figure remained in the gloom as he kneeled before the crucified image. The covering cowl hid his moist eyes as he faced the anguished features. A sign of the cross was made and in soft tones the friar addressed the symbol of the Lord's anointed one.
"My blessed mentor it is necessary for me to clear the mystery which surrounds my being. It is equally a pressing need that I should confess about a certain terrible incident that I experienced that led me to seek blessed asylum.
"The nefarious incident was with mirrors that led me in such a state of confusion. Not exactly mirrors, as it was one particular one, one looking glass that was the root of my past misery. I know that I shall be forever haunted by the trouble that it caused.
"I would prefer not to have some evil person think I was deluded with the idea of fantasies from mirrors. Thus was my need of relieving this terrible burden etched in my soul.
"Please hear me out and I will relate my confession of how a looking glass created for me a strange illusion that was beyond belief. Those that make of a mirror as an ordinary article of use would hardly believe my story; yet, for me that particular mirror was beyond the regular usage, but a strange and terrifying experience that bedeviled me.
"My gracious Lord I shall explain. Please be patient with me as I recollect my thoughts!
"Two months ago in Adana, a port city in Southern Turkey I was standing before a mirror in my hotel arranging my tie. 'Good looking chap,' I remarked as I looked at my prominent inbred features. It had the good English characteristic of a proud chin and a prominent Saxon nose; the face was well boned with a touch of a graying moustache on the upper lip. 'Getting a bit of gray on top,' was whispered.
"I had concluded my business in the city and was getting ready for my trip to Istanbul and my flight back to London. I was in a good mood as my affairs were arranged satisfactorily and quite profitably, which led me to hum an old tune while I arranged my tie. 'Ta de dum,' as my feet jiggled a tiny bit to the rhythm and my body swayed slightly. Pardon me for my frivolity.
"As I have said, I was standing before a mirror fixing my tie when my world changed dramatically. The room began to sway in swift motions causing explosive cracking in the walls and the ceilings. It lasted for only a few seconds, which caused room fixtures and chunks of plaster to fall upon me. The last thing I remembered, before the fallen debris rendered me unconscious, was looking into the mirror as a severe jolt forced it to crash in splinters. In the blur of my blackening mind I thought I saw a phantom form coming from the shards.
"White was all around me as lay under the comfort of the sheets upon the return of my befuddled mind. The nurse at the hospital said I had been unconscious for the past three days from the wound received during the earth tremor. The plump darling was quite talkative as I presumed she wanted to practice her knowledge of the English language, which was quite limited. With patience I learned that the earthquake was in the north of the country and that Adana escaped with minor damage.
"'The doctor will be here in a moment to examine you,' she twittered.
"True to her word an elderly chap, thin in hospital whites came to my bed, looked at the charts and stumbled through my name. He came towards me, peered at me through a pince-nez, prodded by head wound and uttered an 'hmmm' to himself and a few words in Turkish to the nurse. The charming dear fluttered a translation, 'The good doctor said that your wounds were not serious.' She explained that the hospital was rather crowded with casualties; in plain words, I was to make myself ready for discharge.
"Then I was given a bar of soap, towel and the loan of a razor and shown the way to the lavatory. There I stood before the cracked mirror with the razor in one hand and the towel in the other, when to my great surprise I saw nothing there. Well, not exactly nothing could be seen in the glass! I could see the razor and the shaking towel. To be more exact, everything was there but my somewhat bruised features. Neither my face nor my image was there. Realizing the situation, I broke into a nervous laugh that turned into tears of apprehension for my weird sighting.
"I tried to remember the events at the hotel during the rumble of the quake. My thoughts raced through my mind. My mirror broke instantly; it was smashed into shards and destroyed so suddenly during the tremor. Could it be that I was not quick enough to withdraw my image, to pull it back before it vanished? I shuddered at the thought as I imagined it was the work of some evil force that entered my mind and caused this illusion.
"Naturally I was in a hurry or rather the hospital was in hassle to discharge me. I tried to pay little attention to this strange sighting or rather non-sighting, but to no avail. I was in near shock that froze me in my stance and I remained in a non-active position for a long period of time. It was rather troublesome and I was deeply concerned, but the nurse's voice in the hallway that beckoned me to hasten my readiness interfered with my worried thoughts.
"I managed to shave without seeing my image in the mirror. Washing and toweling my face was much easier; and I managed to comb my straggly hair with my fingers. I guessed that I didn't look like a proper gentleman in that state, but I accepted my situation.
"The goodly sister had readied my clothes, albeit a bit dusty from the shakeup; and, lo and behold, my money belt was intact with passport, traveler's check and a bit of sterling. Even my wallet was still in the inner pocket of my suit coat without a Turkish Treasury note missing. The only personal item that was missing was my expensive gold watch, which was a thoughtful gift from my ever beloved; I thought it was a pity to lose it.
"The nurse fussed over me with kindness in her soul and helped me to dress; she even combed my hair and straightened my tie. She refused a monetary gift of gratitude, but accepted my sincere thanks with a crushing hug and a smacking buss on both my cheeks.
"I left the hospital being careful not to let anyone see me standing before any shop windows or mirrors along the streets, in the cafes, or the shop fronts. People are easily surprised; you know, especially when they see a person without his image on a storefront glass. They would want to know why and how, and then I should have to explain. This would be most annoying. So with advanced inspection of my route through the thoroughfares I managed to avoid glass or mirrors by crossing back and forth across the streets. I though that my actions would not attract the attention of the locals, but I was wrong as they stared at a seemingly mad Englishman and they gave their sign to indicate a nutter.
"My footsteps led me to my hotel where I was greeted by a most agitated manager who flurried with phrases in Pinglish that indicated I was a cheating bounder by sneaking out of the inn without paying the bill of fare. He added some nasty words, which I recognized as being not so polite for his stature. Well, it got my cockles up and I shouted at him to shut his big mouth. He shrank in the depth of apology as I showed him the discharge papers from the hospital, but a question was on his mind and puzzlement written on his face, 'But the doorman saw you leave the hotel with your luggage the same night of the quake. Everything was in such a disorder that we took little notice.' There was no need to inspect my rented room as it was in ruin, so I paid the tab and left the premises followed by bows and words of apology.
"A taxi was called by the doorman from the line stationed near the hotel. Before I was able to direct the driver to the railway station he turned to me: He apologized for not talking to me through the sighting of his passenger on the rear-view mirror, 'Dirty, dirty,' he babbled. Then, to my surprise, he offered to return my watch; it appeared that my double had boarded his vehicle three days ago. From the mouthful of slang English I learned that my phantom had given the cab driver the watch in lieu of money, and that he would return it when it was redeemed with cash for the tab. No point in explaining so I paid the Turkish lira and recovered my timepiece. When I left his cab I looked back and saw the driver vigorously cleaning the rear-view mirror.
"I never knew how my phantom got to Istanbul with out too much bother, nor did I know that my reservation at the hotel in that city was occupied. But an unpaid bill, which excited the management, did not surprise me. This, off course with apologies, affair was arranged amicably. My reservation was still in order and I retired to my room for a bath and rest. But, unfortunately for me, I was reminded of my troubles by the hesitant look of the concierge when I was shown the bathroom. In fact he was so puzzled that he left in a hurry and forgot to put his hand out.
"The next morning I left the hotel in search of a good tailor for the purchase of a clean wardrobe from suiting to clean shirts and ties. The emporium was found in a short space of time and it was stocked with everything a good gentleman would require from clothing and shoes to luggage, even washing kits. The clerk paid homage to my purchase and allowed me to change into clean clothing that was bought without looking into a mirror. The fit was more or less correct and I thanked the salesman for his attention. A small baksheesh insured that the pseudo leather suitcase with my old clothes and other purchases would be delivered to my hotel.
"Now there was a need to go to the embassy to report the incident of the earthquake and of my hospitalization. Taxis were hard to hail at that time so I hoofed it through the streets. Then, lo and behold, I saw a street barber who had set up his tools of trade and waited for customers. I relaxed in his chair as he snipped my hair and applied the razor deftly. I was powdered and perfumed and felt refreshed, 'No, no it won't be necessary!' I answered with a motion by my hand as he proffered a stained hand mirror to examine his craft. A handsome baksheesh ended all questions.
"The embassy was located after a bit of search. There I was greeted by the words of welcome by the sergeant at arms upon my entrance. I was then ushered to the consul who greeted me with a warm smile. When I presented my passport his good cheer turned to doubt in his welcome. There was a hushed silence as the official stared straight into my face. Then he peered at the passport photo and again, with puzzlement written on the creases of his forehead, looked at my features.
"The consul pardoned himself as he the left room to consult with his superior. He returned with another pinstriped official and they both scanned the passport and looked once or twice at me. They moved a couple of feet from me and mumbled to each other. I managed to hear a few words like 'been here', 'accident' and 'deceased', which shook me up. I tried to regain my composure when a hurried secretary rushed in with a pile of documents. The two officials searched through the papers with a glance or two at me, and shook their heads.
"Deep shock engulfed me when I learned of the information contained in the documents. According to the papers I had reported the loss of my passport in the melee of the earthquake; the embassy had issued proper documentation for the trip to London. Also, I understood that my phantom applied for a small loan, which was granted.
"But, according to the official papers I was legally dead. It seems that the flight from Istanbul to London met with a tragic incident, namely the aircraft in heavy fog over flew the runway at a stopover and crashed into a mountainous forest. All aboard were reported to have died in the accident, including yours truly. According to the passenger listing my phantom had boarded the plane in my name and was duly recorded in the manifest. The embassy did their official duty and reported my demise to my family. In turn their death notices in the papers informed business acquaintances and good friends.
"All those who use a mirror must at one time or another have noticed that the moment they pull themselves away from it, from the mirror, they feel a light bit of discomfort. There is a little jolt at the parting. Well, this results from the modicum of effort goodly persons make when tearing themselves away from their sighted image when it is there in the looking glass.
"Naturally I never looked again into a mirror, not at all. I have found a niche in this world without the need to search out a missing image in the void. Lost souls, such as me, are welcomed to take up the vows and give up earthly pleasure. Amen!"
The brown robed figure rose and made the sign of the cross; then with weary sandaled steps he made his way from the chapel.
Norman A. Rubin of Afula, Israel is a former correspondent for the Continental News Service, USA. He's written on Near East culture and crafts, archaeology, history and politics; religious history and rites, etc. He's been featured in publications world wide - Jerusalem Post, Israel - Coin News, Minerva, Oriental Arts, etc. England - Ararat, Letter Arts Review, Archaeology, etc. USA - Spotlight, Japan - International B, Hong Kong. He's been a freelance writer for the past sixteen years of short stories of all genres - mystery, horror, humour, sexual customs, etc.