Bible

[Paule]

The Map


Rita found the map between the pages of an old manuscript on a dusty shelf in the back room of a second hand bookstore. The store itself was rarely visited, much less its remotest corner where books of arcane history and little known philosophies rested dormant and dusty, out of sight and out of the minds of most customers. Rita had been the most faithful visitor to this section, usually stopping in every week and a half or so to see if some rarity that only she would recognize the title or significance of now slept on the wooden shelves with the others.
She was fascinated to find the folded and yellowed square of paper between the pages of a newly purchased volume. She had found several shopping lists and personal letters from long dead writers tucked away in other books, and had thrilled to read even the most mundane phrases penned there. Finding old letters never meant for her eyes gave her a thrill, albeit small, which imparted a sensation of privilege. She had slowly opened the paper, careful not to rip the delicate-with-age document. She soon discovered that it was a map.
At first Rita thought the map very crude and simplistic, not detailed enough to be a serious traveler's companion. The destination seemed a little too easy to reach, almost no work at all for the voyager who followed its simple trail. Real-life endeavors were not so easy, she thought. This must me a child's drawing, a plaything.
Something about the map, though, struck her as authentic. Special care had been taken to preserve it, and it had arrived in her hands with little decay, other than the fading of the ink, which was slight for the age in which she guessed this map to have been produced. The words and markings were all quite clear and legible. The trail led from a place she knew to another place she knew, but only as a myth, a fairy tale, a romantic wish.
The map had been folded in quarters, and on the opposite side of the map's face, in one of the quarters, was a list of names. Each name was written in a different style of handwriting, all unmistakably adult handwriting. Some were in different colors of ink, and each name had a date written after it. The dates were in descending order, the oldest date being the first in the list (this first date seemed to verify that her guess as to the age of the map was correct), often with several years between dates. She deduced that these were the dates on which each of these people had come into possession of the map. And then a thought struck Rita. She shuddered as the realization flooded her mind. Was this list a list of times of arrival at the destination that the map led to?
She tried to put such a silly thought out of her head. This place didn't exist, and a map that showed such a clear route to it was obviously some game. And the list on the back? Well, surely there was another explanation. But for the life of her, at this particular moment, she could think of no other explanation than that this map was authentic, and so the destination was authentic, and according to the list, one could reach it.
Rita stared at the list of names, and for a moment she thought she saw faces and heard voices of very satisfied, relieved people. Each face seemed to correspond to one of the names and the voices, though the words of each were different, expressed the same urgent but joyful message: follow the map, Rita, follow the map!
Rita folded the map up back into its perfect square, slipped it into her pocket and walked to her closet. The first thing she took out was her hiking shoes.