Una questione d'identità
Freely adapted from Oliver Sack' "The man who mistook his wife for a hat"
From the text:
‘What’ll it be today?’ he says, rubbing his hands. ‘Haifa pound of Virginia, a nice piece of Nova?’
(Evidently he saw me as a customer—he would often pick up the phone on the ward, and say
‘Thompson’s Delicatessen’.)
‘Oh Mr Thompson!’ I exclaim. ‘And who do you think I am?’
‘Good heavens, the light’s bad—I took you for a customer..
So it would happen, with variations, every time—with improvisations, always prompt, often funny,
sometimes brilliant, and ultimately tragic. Mr Thompson would identify me—misidentify, pseudoidentify me—as a dozen different people in the course of five minutes
From the text:
‘What’ll it be today?’ he says, rubbing his hands. ‘Haifa pound of Virginia, a nice piece of Nova?’
(Evidently he saw me as a customer—he would often pick up the phone on the ward, and say
‘Thompson’s Delicatessen’.)
‘Oh Mr Thompson!’ I exclaim. ‘And who do you think I am?’
‘Good heavens, the light’s bad—I took you for a customer..
So it would happen, with variations, every time—with improvisations, always prompt, often funny,
sometimes brilliant, and ultimately tragic. Mr Thompson would identify me—misidentify, pseudoidentify me—as a dozen different people in the course of five minutes
Comments 0
Say something