The Mapmaker

The Mapmaker

How beautiful is this map with its red and black stripes and golden dots, its angles and curving lines, mountains that bulge and valleys that dip like the surface of an ocean. If I had a country, I would trade it for a map just like this one, only larger, a billion times larger, and made of white Chinese silk, the kind that one can fold a hundred times over without fear of undesirable creases or tears. And then I could fit this map in my back pocket and travel to distant lands, and in foreign tongues that I need not speak, I could explain to them the shape of this land, its curves and angles, bulges and dips, and the history of its red and black stripes and golden dots. But this I would do bit by bit, piece by piece, stripe after stripe, dot after dot, not to overwhelm or startle anyone. I would explain in that same elegant manner for which my country, the one I traded for a map, is known, and I would describe each fold with the precision of a Chinese silk weaver. And, with each turn of its flap, another man, and his women, will fall under its spell and will dream of stripes and dots, curves and angles, dips and bulges. And, without fail, one of these men, the most powerful in the land, will ask me in his dreaded tongue to see the whole map at once, and I, in my sonorous voice, will politely decline, leaving him wondering about the depths of my knowledge. And one day, when I have left many powerful men in a wonder, I will pull from my pocket a silken map and, without fear of creases or tears, will give it a jerk that leaves the land rattling. Then, I will gently smooth the map over the land, encasing even the most distant seas and oceans. In that dazzled moment, I will command that armies be erected for our land. An army of weavers to mend it if it tears! An army of dyers to keep the red and black and gold forever luminous! An army of sketchers to keep the curves from becoming angles and the angles from becoming curves! And, as for the bulges and dips, I will build an army of soldiers, selecting only the most able bodied men, to patrol its every inch, ensuring that all inhabitants tread with due reverence. With the map spread out and armies standing, we will sing a song of praise together in our newly conjured language. A poem will be written in red, black and golden ink. The children will invent a dance, their bodies curving and bending, rising and falling in unison. A few among us will undoubtedly be moved to tears. From that day on, we will proceed as if all the land is delicate Chinese silk.