By Max Jacob

When the boat arrived in the islands of the Indian Ocean we discovered that we had no maps. We had to disembark! That was how we came to know who was on board: there was a bloodthirsty man who gave his wife some tobacco and took it back from her. The islands were scattered all over. At the top of the cliffs we saw small natives wearing bowler hats: "Maybe they have maps!" We took the road up the cliff: it was a rope ladder. Maybe there were maps along the ladder! Maybe even Japanese maps! We kept on climbing. Finally, when no rungs remained (ivory crabs somewhere), we had to climb on our wrists. My brother the African accounted for himself very well, and as for me, I discovered rungs where there weren’t any. Arriving at the summit, we find ourselves on a wall; my brother jumps. But I am at a window! I’ll never be able to decide to jump. The wall is made of red boards: "Walk around it!" my brother the African shouts at me. There are no more rocks, or passengers, or boats, or small natives wearing bowler hats. Only this walk I have to take. What walk? It’s discouraging.

translated by Michael Brownstein