I study the pen marks and recall every single time Henri made a new one. He never made a fuss, never made a show to emphasize “Look at all the places I’ve been.” He did it seriously and meticulously, as if this small globe were the only record of his search. Only now does it strike me that that’s what it was—a search. Henri was scouring the earth for himself.

“He was . . . ,” I begin, then swallow to relax my constricted throat and correct myself. “He’s the best listener I’ve ever met. When your father listens to someone, it feels as if the speaker is the most important person in the whole world. He can get anyone to talk. It’s as if you perceive who you are better in his presence, and by simply being there he encourages you to express things of vital importance to you, which you’ve never voiced for fear of being laughed at. Or because you weren’t aware of them. Henri inspires people to reveal their true selves.”

Memories cascade over me, for instance the lilt in Henri’s voice on the odd occasion he forgot to mask the fact that he’s a Frenchman who changed his name from Le Goff to Skinner.

“Your father’s from Brittany. Actually, he ran away from Brittany, leaving everything behind: his mother tongue, his dead father, his dead grandfather, and the graves of his mother and grandmother. I didn’t realize how lonely a person can be until I met Henri. Having no one who knew you before you knew yourself, no one to love you just for being you. Having only yourself to fall back on cuts you off from the world.”

Henri spoke perfect English, but he never talked about himself, let alone his emotions. Who knows, perhaps we are incapable of expressing who we really are in a foreign language.

I recall our last conversation. It was here, and Henri had followed a cup of tea with several shots of whiskey. There were dark circles around his eyes. He was a driven man who was both running away from himself and searching for his true identity. He’d never be fast enough to throw himself off his trail. I’ve noticed that genuinely special people never recognize that they’re special.