“What do you want?” I was rudely asked at the gate of the city by a soldier whose moustaches pointed to the skies.
“Sir,” I answered, “I come as an inquirer to visit this island.”
“It is not an island,” replied the soldier.
“What!” I exclaimed, “Penguin Island is not an island?”
“No, sir, it is an insula. It was formerly called an island, but for a century it has been decreed that it shall bear the name of insula. It is the only insula in the whole universe. Have you a passport?”
“Here it is.”
“Go and get it signed at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.”
A lame guide who conducted me came to a pause in a vast square.
“The insula,” said he, “has given birth, as you know, to Trinco, the greatest genius of the universe, whose statue you see before you. That obelisk standing to your right commemorates Trinco’s birth; the column that rises to your left has Trinco crowned with a diadem upon its summit. You see here the triumphal arch dedicated to the glory of Trinco and his family.”
“What extraordinary feat has Trinco performed?” I asked.