For the Hole in the Wall Gang:
Shopkeeper: Good morning, sir. And what can I do for you then?
Prisoner: I’d like a map of this area.
Shopkeeper: Map? Colour or black and white?
Prisoner: Just a map.
Shopkeeper: Map…
He pauses to remember where he keeps such a thing.
Shopkeeper: Ah. Black and white…
He produces a map from a cupboard.
Shopkeeper: There we are, sir. I think you’ll find that shows everything.
The map is labelled “map of your village.” The Prisoner opens it; it shows the village bordered by “the mountains”: there are no external geographical names.
Prisoner: I… I meant a larger map.
Shopkeeper: Only in colour, sir. Much more expensive.
Prisoner: That’s fine.
The shopkeeper fetches him a colour map as inadequate as the last. It folds out as a larger sheet of paper, but still mentions only “the mountains,” “the sea,” and “the beach,” together with the title “your village.”
Prisoner: Er, that’s not what I meant. I meant a… a larger area.
Shopkeeper: No, we only have local maps, sir. There’s no demand for any others. You’re new here, aren’t you?
— Comment at
The Word magazine,
January 16, 2009
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“In the pictures of the old masters, Max Picard wrote in The World of Silence, people seem as though they had just come out of the opening in a wall… “ — Annie Dillard in |
“Shopkeeper:
Only in colour, sir.
Much more expensive.
Prisoner:
That’s fine.”
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