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eugzol в посте Metapractice (оригинал в ЖЖ)
"It's something that I do."
"Where did you learn it?"
"I learned it during the course of my life."
"Did your father teach you that?"
"No. Let's say that I learned it by myself and now I am going to give you its secret, so you won't go
away empty-handed today."
He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. I laughed at his histrionics. I had to admit that he was
stupendous at that. The thought crossed my mind that I was in the presence of a born actor.
"Write it down, " he said patronizingly. "Why not? You seem to be more comfortable writing."
I looked at him and my eyes must have betrayed my confusion. He slapped his thighs and laughed
with great delight.
"It is best to erase all personal history, " he said slowly, as if giving me time to write it down in my
clumsy way, "because that would make us free from the encumbering thoughts of other people."
I could not believe that he was actually saying that. I had a very confusing moment. He must have
read in my face my inner turmoil and used it immediately.
"Take yourself, for instance, " he went on saying. "Right now you don't know whether you are
coming or going. And that is so, because I have erased my personal history. I have, little by little,
created a fog around me and my life. And now nobody knows for sure who I am or what I do."
"But, you yourself know who you are, don't you?" I interjected.
"You bet I ... don't, " he exclaimed and rolled on the floor, laughing at my surprised look.
He had paused long enough to make me believe that he was going to say that he did know, as I was
anticipating it. His subterfuge was very threatening to me. I actually became afraid.
"That is the little secret I am going to give you today, " he said in a low voice. "Nobody knows my
personal history. Nobody knows who I am or what I do. Not even I."
He squinted his eyes. He was not looking at me but beyond me over my right shoulder. He was
sitting cross-legged, his back was straight and yet he seemed to be so relaxed. At that moment he
was the very picture of fierceness. I fancied him to be an Indian chief, a "red-skinned warrior" in
the romantic frontier sagas of my childhood. My romanticism carried me away and the most
insidious feeling of ambivalence enveloped me. I could sincerely say that I liked him a great deal
and in the same breath I could say that I was deadly afraid of him.
He maintained that strange stare for a long moment.