Early one morning when the sun was shining and he was lying in bed, he wondered whether her hair was still black. It was one of those thoughts that float around in your head in those minutes when you’re neither completely awake nor asleep, and which are embarrassing to think about when you are fully awake, so you keep them to yourself. He figured she was probably at this same moment thinking something similar, or maybe different, things he didn’t want to know and that she wouldn’t tell him, and so he looked over and saw that she still had black hair and black eyes and a strong mouth below her nose and he told himself she looked a lot like Martina Gedeck. So he wondered whether she really was Martina Gedeck or whether she just looked a lot like her, and he thought that, in order to determine whether or not the woman who was lying next to him in bed was Martina Gedeck he would have to compare her to the real Martina Gedeck, who, at any rate, was someone he only knew from films he’d seen her in, and in them Martina Gedeck wasn’t herself, so to speak, but the characters she was playing, which made it impossible to determine if the woman beside him (who was an actress performing in a theatrical production by a Russian writer in a theater in Munich, where there was a poster with Martina Gedeck’s name on it) was really Martina Gedeck or not, since the only way of doing so was, at least in this case, by comparing one woman to the fictional characters that the other woman, or perhaps the same woman, had played. Naturally, this was yet another of those embarrassing thoughts you have when [...].
Michigan Quaterly Review 52, 2 (primavera de 2013).