Sophie's World_ A Novel About The History Of Philosophy Part 43

Marx

... a spectre is haunting Europe...

Hilde got off her bed and went to the window facing the bay. When she had started to read this Sat.u.r.day, it was still Sophie's fifteenth birthday. The day before had been Hilde's own birthday.

If her father had imagined that she would get as far as Sophie's birthday yesterday, he had certainly not been realistic. She had done nothing but read all day long. But he was right that there would only be one more birthday greeting. It was when Alberto and Sophie had sung Happy Birthday to her. Very embarra.s.sing, Hilde thought.

And now Sophie had invited people to a philosophical garden party on the very day her father was due back from Lebanon. Hilde was convinced something would happen that day which neither she nor her father were quite sure of.

But one thing was certain: before her father got home to Bjerkely he would get a scare. That was the least she could do for Sophie and Alberto, especially after they had appealed for help ...

Her mother was still down in the boathouse. Hilde ran downstairs to the telephone. She found Anne and Ole's number in Copenhagen and called them.

"Anne Kvamsdal."

"Hi, this is Hilde."

"Oh, how are you? How are things in Lillesand?"

"Fine, with vacation and everything. And Dad gets back from Lebanon in a week."

"Won't that be great, Hilde!"

"Yes, I'm looking forward to it. That's actually why I'm calling..."

"It is?"

"I think he's landing at Kastrup around 5 p.m. on Sat.u.r.day the 23rd. Will you be in Copenhagen then?"

"I think so."

"I was wondering if you could do something for me."

"Why, of course."

"It's kind of a special favor. I'm not even sure if it's possible."

"Now you're making me curious ..."

Hilde began to describe her plan. She told Anne about the ring binder, about Sophie and Alberto and all the rest. She had to backtrack several times because either she or Anne were laughing too hard. But when Hilde hung up, her plan was in operation.

She would now have to begin some preparations of her own. But there was still plenty of time.

Hilde spent the remainder of the afternoon and the evening with her mother. They ended up driving to Kris-tiansand and going to the movies. They felt they had some catching up to do since they had not done anything special the day before. As they drove past the exit to Kjevik airport, a few more pieces of the big jigsaw puzzle Hilde was constructing fell into place.

It was late before she went to bed that night, but she took the ring binder and read on.

When Sophie slipped out of the den through the hedge it was almost eight o'clock. Her mother was weeding the flowerbeds by the front door when Sophie appeared.

"Where did you spring from?"

"I came through the hedge."

"Through the hedge?"

"Didn't you know there was a path on the other side?"

"But where have you been, Sophie? This is the second time you've just disappeared without leaving any message."

"I'm sorry, Mom. It was such a lovely day, I went for a long walk."

Her mother rose from the pile of weeds and gave her a severe look.

"You haven't been with that philosopher again?"

"As a matter of fact, I have. I told you he likes going for long walks."

"But he is coming to the garden party, isn't he?"

"Oh yes, he's looking forward to it."

"Me too. I'm counting the days."

Was there a touch of sharpness in her voice? To be on the safe side, Sophie said: "I'm glad I invited Joanna's parents too. Otherwise it might be a bit embarra.s.sing."

"I don't know ... but whatever happens, I am going to have a talk with this Alberto as one adult to another."

"You can borrow my room if you like. I'm sure you'll like him."

"And another thing. There's a letter for you."

"There is?"

"It's stamped UN Battalion."

"It must be from Alberto's brother."

"It's got to stop, Sophie!"

Sophie's brain worked overtime. But in a flash she hit on a plausible answer It was as though she was getting inspiration from some guiding spirit.

"I told Alberto I collect rare postmarks. And brothers also have their uses."

Her mother seemed to be rea.s.sured.

"Dinner's in the fridge," she said in a slightly more amicable tone.

"Where's the letter?"

"On top of the fridge."

Sophie rushed inside. The envelope was stamped June 15, 1990. She opened it and took out a little note: What matters our creative endless toil, When at a s.n.a.t.c.h, oblivion ends the coil?

Indeed, Sophie had no answer to that question. Before she ate, she put the note in the closet together with all the other stuff she had collected in the past weeks. She would learn soon enough why the question had been asked.

The following morning Joanna came by. After a game of badminton, they got down to planning the philosophical garden party. They needed to have some surprises on hand in case the party flopped at any point.

When Sophie's mother got home from work they were still talking about it. Her mother kept saying: "Don't worry about what it costs." And she was not being sarcastic!

Perhaps she was thinking that a "philosophical garden party" was just what was needed to bring Sophie down to earth again after her many weeks of intensive philosophical studies.

Before the evening was over they had agreed on everything, from paper lanterns to a philosophical quiz with a prize. The prize should preferably be a book about philosophy for young people. If there was such a thing! Sophie was not at all sure.

Two days before Midsummer Eve, on Thursday, June 21, Alberto called Sophie again.

"Sophie."

"And Alberto."

"Oh, hi! How are you?"

"Very well indeed, thank you. I think I have found an excellent way out."

"Way out of what?"

"You know what. A way out of the mental captivity we have lived in for much too long."

"Oh, that."

"But I cannot say a word about the plan before it is set in motion."

"Won't it be too late then? I need to know what I am involved in."

"Now you're being na'i've. All our conversations are being overheard. The most sensible thing would be to say nothing."

"It's as bad as that, huh?"

"Naturally, my child. The most important things must happen when we are not talking."

"Oh."

"We are living our lives in a fictional reality behind the words in a long story. Each single letter is being written on an old portable typewriter by the major. Nothing that is in print can therefore escape his attention."

"No, I realize that. But how are we going to hide from him?"

"Ssh!"

"What?"

"There's something going on between the lines as well. That's just where I'm trying to be tricky, with every crafty ruse I know."

"I get it."

"But we must make the most of the time both today and tomorrow. On Sat.u.r.day the balloon goes up. Can you come over right now?"

"I'm on my way."

Sophie fed the birds and the fish and found a large lettuce leaf for Govinda. She opened a can of cat food for Sher-ekan and put it out in a bowl on the step as she left.

Then she slipped through the hedge and out to the path on the far side. A little way further on she suddenly caught sight of a s.p.a.cious desk standing in the midst of the heather. An elderly man was sitting at it, apparently adding up figures. Sophie went over to him and asked his name.

"Ebenezer Scrooge," he said, poring over his ledgers again.

"My name is Sophie. You are a businessman, I presume?"

He nodded. "And immensely rich. Not a penny must go to waste. That's why I have to concentrate on my accounts."

"Why bother?"

Sophie waved and walked on. But she had not gone many yards before she noticed a little girl sitting quite alone under one of the tall trees. She was dressed in rags, and looked pale and ill. As Sophie walked by, she thrust her hand into a little bag and pulled out a box of matches.

"Will you buy some matches?" she asked, holding them out to Sophie. Sophie felt in her pockets to see if she had any money with her. Yes-she found a crown.

"How much are they?"

"One crown."

Sophie gave the girl the coin and stood there, with the box of matches in her hand.

"You are the first person to buy anything from me for over a hundred years. Sometimes I starve to death, and other times the frost does away with me."

Sophie thought it was perhaps not surprising if the sale of matches was not especially brisk here in the woods. But then she came to think of the businessman she had just pa.s.sed. There was no reason for the little match girl to die of starvation when he was so wealthy.

"Come here," said Sophie.

She took the girl's hand and walked with her back to the rich man.