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confiscation provided me with a mental bookmark of a day that might otherwise
have slipped forgotten into the ocean of days that make up a life. A map for a
memory: not a bad trade, really.
I have travelled much and moved often since that day thirty-odd years ago. Had
I been able to keep the map, I suspect that I would have ended up giving or throw-
ing it away long ago. One can keep track of only so many things. Even if it were
still in my possession, it would now be buried somewhere in the flotsam of files
andboxesthatmakeupascholarlycareer,nolongerofanyaccount.Butthen,who
knows what might have followed? One day long after I was gone, someone might
have opened that particular box, pulled out the map and wondered, what is this?
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