You may continue to contact me whenever you feel the need. When you do, put
a pink envelope out with a cookie or a lump of sugar in it. When the messenger finds
it, he will bring it straight to me.
P.S. It is not pleasant to decline a young lady’s invitation to coffee, but
sometimes it is a matter of necessity.
P.P.S. If you should come across a red silk scarf anywhere, please take care of
it. Sometimes personal property gets mixed up. Especially at school and places like
that, and this is a philosophy school.
Yours, Alberto Knox
Sophie had lived for almost fifteen years, and had received quite a lot of letters
in her young life, at least at Christmas and on birthdays. But this letter was the
strangest one she had ever received.
It had no postage stamp. It hadn’t even been put in the mailbox. It had been
brought straight to Sophie’s top-secret hideout in the old hedge. The fact that it was
wet in the dry spring weather was also most mystifying.
The strangest thing of all was the silk scarf, of course. The philosopher must
have another pupil. That was it. And this other pupil had lost a red silk scarf. Right.
But how had she managed to lose it under Sophie’s bed?
And Alberto Knox … what kind of a name was that?
One thing was confirmed—the connection between the philosopher and Hilde
Moller Knag. But that Hilde’s own father was now confusing their addresses—that
was completely incomprehensible.
Sophie sat for a long time thinking about what connection there could possibly
be between Hilde and herself. Finally she gave up. The philosopher had written that
she would meet him one day. Perhaps she would meet Hilde too.
She turned the letter over. She now saw that there were some sentences written
on the back as well:
Is there such a thing as natural modesty?
Wisest is she who knows she does not know...
True insight comes from within.
He who knows what is right will do right.
Sophie knew that the short sentences that came in the white envelopes were
intended to prepare her for the next big envelope, which would arrive shortly
thereafter. She suddenly had an idea. If the “messenger” came to the den to deliver a
brown envelope, Sophie could simply sit and wait for him. Or was it a her? She would
definitely hang on to whoever it was until he or she told her more about the
philosopher! The letter said that the “messenger” was little. Could it be a child? “Is
there such a thing as natural modesty?” Sophie knew that “modesty” was an old-
fashioned word for shyness—for example, about being seen naked. But was it really
natural to be embarrassed about that? If something was natural, she supposed, it was
the same for everybody. In many parts of the world it was completely natural to be
naked. So it must be society that decides what you can and can’t do. When Grandma
was young you certainly couldn’t sunbathe topless. But today, most people think it is
“natural,” even though it is still strictly forbidden in lots of countries. Was this phi-
losophy? Sophie wondered.
The next sentence was: “Wisest is she who knows she does not know.”
Wiser than who? If the philosopher meant that someone who realized that she
didn’t know everything under the sun was wiser than someone who knew just a little,
but who thought she knew a whole lot—well, that wasn’t so difficult to agree with.