“The major’s cabin?” Sophie stared at her mother.
“The little woodland cabin is called the major’s cabin because some years ago
an army major lived there for a time. He was rather eccentric, a little crazy, I think.
But never mind that. Since then the cabin has been unoccupied.”
“But it isn’t! There’s a philosopher living there now.”
“Oh stop, don’t start fantasizing again!”
Sophie stayed in her room, thinking about what had happened. Her head felt
like a roaring circus full of lumbering elephants, silly clowns, daring trapeze flyers,
and trained monkeys. But one image recurred unceasingly— a small rowboat with
one oar drifting in a lake deep in the woods—and someone needing the boat to get
home.
She felt sure that the philosophy teacher didn’t wish her any harm, and would
certainly forgive her if he knew she had been to his cabin. But she had broken an
agreement. That was all the thanks he got for taking on her philosophic education.
How could she make up for it? Sophie took out her pink notepaper and began to write:
Dear Philosopher, It was me who was in your cabin early Sunday morning. I
wanted so much to meet you and discuss some of the philosophic problems. For the
moment I am a Plato fan, but I am not so sure he was right about ideas or pattern
pictures existing in another reality. Of course they exist in our souls, but I think—for
the moment anyway— that this is a different thing. I have to admit too that I am not
altogether convinced of the immortality of the soul. Personally, I have no
recollections from my former lives. If you could convince me that my deceased
grandmother’s soul is happy in the world of ideas, I would be most grateful.
Actually, it was not for philosophic reasons that I started to write this letter
(which I shall put in a pink envelope with a lump of sugar). I just wanted to say I was
sorry for being disobedient. I tried to pull the boat completely up on shore but I was
obviously not strong enough. Or perhaps a big wave dragged the boat out again.
I hope you managed to get home without getting your feet wet. If not, it might
comfort you to know that I got soaked and will probably have a terrible cold. But
that’ll be my own fault.
I didn’t touch anything in the cabin, but I am sorry to say that I couldn’t resist
the temptation to take the envelope that was on the table. It wasn’t because I wanted
to steal anything, but as my name was on it, I thought in my confusion that it be-
longed to me. I am really and truly sorry, and I promise never to disappoint you again.
P.S. I will think all the new questions through very carefully, starting now.
P.P.S. Is the mirror with the brass frame above the white chest of drawers an
ordinary mirror or a magic mirror? I’m only asking because I am not used to seeing
my own reflection wink with both eyes.
With regards from your sincerely interested pupil, SOPHIE
Sophie read the letter through twice before she put it in the envelope. She
thought it was less formal than the previous letter she had written. Before she went
downstairs to the kitchen to get a lump of sugar she looked at the note with the day’s
questions:
“What came first—the chicken or the “idea” chicken?
This question was just as tricky as the old riddle of the chicken and the egg.
There would be no chicken without the egg, and no egg without the chicken. Was it
really just as complicated to figure out whether the chicken or the “idea” chicken
came first? Sophie understood what Plato meant. He meant that the “idea” chicken
had existed in the world of ideas long before chickens existed in the sensory world.
According to Plato, the soul had “seen” the “idea” chicken before it took up residence