I am driving north. I am in the Spanish countryside. I will drive north and then take a left to go west to Portugal. I drive the car like my father. My mother is in the passenger seat. I am in my father’s role with my mother next to me. I don’t want to think about my father, though …just my mother. How can I just think about my mother without thinking about my father? I don’t know how to do that.

I’ve thought about driving north and then west to Sagres for a long time now. There is a timing to Sagres. My mother has not told me about the timing in the flyleaf page of the book, but I know there is a timing. I’ve asked myself over and over, “Shall I go?” Each time an answer has come back, “No, it is not time to go.” But, now, a different answer has come back, “Yes, it is time to go to Sagres.” I am frightened to go to this old end of the earth alone. I am afraid, because I do not know what I will find …but I know I will go …because my mother left this map.

I have confidence that I can do two simple things. I can drive north and then turn left to the west. I will drive so far west that, if I drive too far, I will drop off the cliffs of Sagres into the sea. I will drive to this old end of the earth. I will arrive at a place in time when the earth was flat …the passage on the horizon to the Green Sea of Darkness where the oceans boil …a land of sailor-eating monsters who break up ships before they fall off of the edge into hellfire. I will drive there with confidence, even though I am fearful of what I might find, because I know how to go north and, then, turn left …because my mother has told me to go by leaving this map. I am afraid, but I am going there.

I don’t know why I am going to the old end of the earth. My mother has not told me that. She has just told me to go …so, I am going.