The Ruined Map (37 page)

A slight opening appeared in the stream of cars. I at once made a dash for the other side of the street. Directly opposite the telephone booth were some plane trees along the street. The rough bark made one think they were quite old, but they were not big enough to hide behind. About five or six paces from the subway was a black opening like some decayed tooth … a narrow alleyway between a small shoe store and a liquor store that doubled as a tobacconist’s. I casually walked over and nonchalantly concealed myself in the alley. Turning eagerly toward my objective, I intently fixed my eyes on the booth, looking through the ceaseless flow of cars. At last a woman appeared. I at once realized it was she, for no one else had passed in that fashion. She stood there looking into the booth and around it. She was the one … the woman from the coffee house who had sat with her knees crossed on the stool, her long hair falling over her shoulders. I was half disappointed, but I also felt it was right. She went down the street as far as the red fire alarm box and again returned to the booth and looked in. She looked uneasily around and went and stood by the fire hydrant. Once she glanced over toward me, but she could probably make out nothing in this narrow, dark crevice. I continued to conceal myself as I watched her. She looked up worriedly at the sky, searching. I continued to wait intently, choking back my screams behind clenched teeth. Nothing would be served by being found. What I needed now was a world I myself had chosen. It had to be my own world, which I had chosen by my own free will. She searched; I hid. At length she began walking slowly away as if she had given up; suddenly she
was cut off from view by a car and was already gone. I too left my crevice in the darkness and began walking in the opposite direction. I began walking, relying on a map I did not comprehend. I began walking in the opposite direction from her … perhaps in order to reach her.

I would forget looking for a way to the past. I had had enough of calling telephone numbers on hand-written memos. There was a strange eddy in the stream of cars. I saw that even the passing heavy trucks were trying to avoid the body of a cat that had been run over and crushed as thin as a sheet of paper. And when, unconsciously, I tried to give a name to the flattened cat, for the first time in a long time an extravagant smile melted my cheeks and spread over my face.