I
Everyone in the city,
From early childhood onward,
Is taught how to make maps.

There are many legends as to how this began,
But the one I like best is as follows.

A wandering poet had once come to the city,
Intent on settling there,
But she finally died at the city’s outskirts,
Having attempted to enter one pathway after the other,
Only to find dead ends or barricades.

In her hand was found the following note:

“I came to the city to live,
But was unable to find a way in,
And so I beg the inhabitants to make it easier
For those who follow me."

II
The city’s inhabitants,
Upon hearing of the disturbing circumstances of the women’s death,
Immediately met in the center of the city
—which all knew how to reach with the greatest of ease,
Having been taught when very young
The necessary pathways by their parents.

Many questions were asked,
But perhaps the most fundamental was:
“Do we want to encourage strangers to join us?
And if not—are we responsible for such deaths?”

Many wanted to keep the city to themselves, arguing,
“We built it, and we own it.
So it is natural
That many of us want it for ourselves.
Is that wrong?“

The meeting seemed to be headed toward this decision
When a woman
—who had been mute all her life until this very moment—
spoke up.

“Strangers should be welcome."

Astonished to hear the voice of this woman,
The others turned toward her,
Listening intently
As she continued to speak.

The woman spoke fluently of far-off lands,
Of histories of other cultures,
Of music by forgotten singers,
Of epics by forgotten writers,
Of paintings by forgotten artists,
And of love by forgotten lovers.

She described
A great area of bountiful land
To be given to all Strangers
Who chose to come to the city,

And a great library
That the city would build
To house this knowledge
Brought into its midst
By the Strangers.

She described
Watchers
At the various entries to the city
Singing
Songs of Welcome
As approaching travelers were sighted.

And she described
—for she was a practical woman
despite her visionary nature—
How each Stranger
Would be given an individual map.

After this, the Mute Woman,
Surprised herself by her unexpected eloquence,
Resumed her silence,
Engulfed in the scent of roses.
To compose her turbulent thoughts,
She looked at her notes about a possible dance,
Notes she had written with the Sound Pencil.

Then she nodded to herself,
And rose again.
She danced for an imaginary Stranger
A map of the city.

III
This map-making
Has now become
The main art form of the city,
And all participate.

Some inhabitants
Are more inventive than others
In the creation of their maps,
But all are eager to make them.

Some have created shoes
That guide the Stranger when worn,

And others gloves.

Some have created invisible clouds of scents,
And others dancing shadows
That move ahead in the Stranger’s path.

Some have created musical instruments
That, when played by a Stranger,
Give sound clues,

And others
Have made up riddles
That, once solved, reveal directions.
There are mirrors, too,
That help guide the Strangers

The easiest maps
—and these are, of course, most popular with the children of the city—
Are long, colored scarves
That stretch themselves ahead of the Stranger.

As Strangers reach the heart of the city …
They are asked
To leave their maps at the Library of Maps,
Where they are carefully housed.

The intent is to preserve them,
But never to take on
Any grand synthesis
Of directions into the city,
For that
Would deprive the city’s inhabitants
Of what
Is now their greatest and most beloved pastime—
The making of individual maps for each Stranger.

by Moira Roth
Written 7/18/01
[published in E-xtra 4, no. 3 (2001), revised 12/04/02 for a production at Mills College in which Mary Sano danced the role of the Mute Woman