THE MAN WHO KEPT THE MAP     He was known in the town for keeping maps. Not the kind you fold and put in your pocket, nor the kind that tell you how many kilometers remain until the next city. His maps were different. They were drawn on old paper, on the backs of discarded letters, on yellowed pages torn from forgotten books. Some were scribbled with charcoal, others inked carefully as if each line mattered more than the last breath of the pen. No two maps were alike. People said he was strange, but they still came. The