Master Muraabi & The Mirror (Original Short Fiction)

 

Master Muraabi and The Mirror by James C. Clar © 2026

“… the visible universe is an illusion … Mirrors and fatherhood are hateful because they multiply and proclaim it.”  Jorge Luis Borges*

Master Muraabi always held that mirrors were an abomination. In addition to “abetting” one’s vanity, he frequently expressed the belief that reality was nothing more than an illusion to be overcome. As such, mirrors were to be abhorred since they “multiplied and sustained that illusion infinitely.”

It should come as no surprise, therefore, that Master Muraabi had all mirrors removed from his estate when he took possession of the property. It was not, of course, possible to cleanse the premises of all reflective surfaces, how could it be? Nevertheless, the master’s ban extended to all objects whose express purpose was to allow one to gaze at one’s image or which, in his judgment, multiplied the physical surroundings of (or objects in) a room to an “unreasonable or unseemly degree.”  Life in a domicile without mirrors is not without both its unique challenges as well as its moments of humor. To recount episodes of either the latter or the former are beyond the scope and, indeed, the purpose of this narrative.

And so it came to pass that his staff and retainers were more than mildly surprised when the master, shortly after his marriage to Lady Ateh, allowed the installation of one, narrow, floor-to-ceiling mirror in his wife’s chambers. The mirror was, although quite plain, of remarkable workmanship. Its smoky depths seemed virtually bottomless. Muraabi’s capitulation on this matter of long-held principle was seen by most as a clear sign of the normally somewhat dour man’s profound affection for and devotion to his spouse. Nothing else sufficed to explain the man’s decision.

No life, no matter how tranquil and well-ordered is, however, without travail. Eight months almost to the day after their nuptials, Lady Ateh died in her sleep. Master Muraabi’s grief knew no bounds. Those same servants and retainers who were surprised at its placement were perhaps even more surprised that, after Ateh’s death, the master did not immediately decree that the offensive mirror be removed. Even more remarkable was the fact that in the days and month’s following his wife’s demise, whenever in fact he had a spare moment, Muraabi himself could be found meditating in front of that very glass. So engrossed was he that, at times, it was all anyone could do to rouse him from his reverie. The astonishment of the master’s retainers quickly turned to puzzlement and concern.

More time passed, and with it, Muraabi’s absorption became even more intense. In addition to his time spent in front of the formerly loathsome mirror, he began consulting learned men from across the land and beyond. Almost daily, mystics, seers and scholars would arrive laden with esoteric scrolls and codices. They would spend hours with Muraabi ensconced in his den. The master soon began to neglect the management of his properties as he pursued his arcane inquiries.

One day, after months of research and consultation, Master Muraabi took his accustomed place in front of his wife’s mirror. His spirits seemed somehow lifted. Open on his lap sat an ancient treatise by the sage Badir al Din.

Badir, it seems, claimed quite convincingly that the world of mirrors and the world of the living were not in fact separate. Rather, those who knew how, could pass back and forth between the two as easily as passing through an open doorway. What’s more, he also taught that “if mirrors multiplied reality by creating images of it, they also retained the images that they created.”

And so it was that the perplexed members of Muraabi’s household began to understand their master’s willingness to both retain his wife’s mirror and to cultivate his own personal use of the device. Muraabi’s grief had not, as some supposed, caused him to take leave of his senses. Quite the contrary in fact. Muraabi’s purpose and resolve were both clear and soberly consistent with his evolving theological and metaphysical beliefs.

Day after day, therefore, the lord of the estate sat gazing into the looking glass. His hope, of course, was to catch a glimpse, however fleeting or illusory, of his departed mate. He was also convinced that one of his own images might somehow, someday, join one of Lady Ateh’s somewhere in the fathomless and, admittedly, still, diabolical depths of the glass.

One afternoon, Muraabi’s chamberlain came to discuss a matter of household finance with the master. The functionary had seen Muraabi only an hour or so earlier seated, as usual, in front of his lady’s mirror. The master’s chair was empty, and the Badir looked to have been thrown carelessly upon the floor. A subsequent search of the house and grounds showed no sign of Muraabi. Indeed, Master Muraabi was never seen again.

A rumor nevertheless persists, one which perhaps has its origins with the workmen and servants who were tasked with readying the estate for occupancy by its new owner after the inevitable sale. More than one such person, struck by the placement and grace of Lady Ateh’s mirror (which remains even today in its original location), claims to have seen a spectral image of Master Muraabi and his wife moving slowly in the changing light across the surface of the looking glass. Muraabi and Ateh, they say, were holding hands as they walked through what looked like the west gardens under a pale moon. Some go even further and swear that the master looked over his shoulder at his observers and, wonder of wonders, smiled.

The End

*The quotation at the head of this story -- and it's inspiration -- comes from Vol. XLVI of the Anglo-American Cyclopaedia, 1917 ... a book invented by Borges in his masterful short story, Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius.