“What?”
“They’d probably flip and think Alberto was my new boyfriend.”
“Then you just tell them he isn’t.”
“Well, we’ll have to see.”
“Yes, we shall. And Sophie—it is true that things haven’t always been easy
between Dad and me. But there was never anyone else ...”
“I have to sleep now. I’ve got such awful cramps.”
“Do you want an aspirin?” /’Yes, please.”
When her mother returned with the pill and a glass of water Sophie had fallen
asleep.
May 31 was a Thursday. Sophie agonized through the afternoon classes at
school. She was doing better in some subjects since she started on the philosophy
course. Usually her grades were good in most subjects, but lately they were even
better, except in math.
In the last class they got an essay handed back. Sophie had written on “Man and
Technology.” She had written reams on the Renaissance and the scientific break-
through, the new view of nature and Francis Bacon, who had said that knowledge was
power. She had been very careful to point out that the empirical method came before
the technological discoveries. Then she had written about some of the things she
could think of about technology that were not so good for society. She ended with a
paragraph on the fact that everything people do can be used for good or evil. Good
and evil are like a white and a black thread that make up a single strand.
Sometimes they are so closely intertwined that it is impossible to untangle them.
As the teacher gave out the exercise books he looked down at Sophie and
winked.
She got an A and the comment: “Where do you get all this from?” As he stood
there, she took out a pen and wrote with block letters in the margin of her exercise
book: I’M STUDYING PHILOSOPHY.
As she was closing the exercise book again, something fell out of it. It was a
postcard from Lebanon:
Dear Hilde, When you read this we shall already have spoken together by phone
about the tragic death down here. Sometimes I ask myself if war could have been
avoided if people had been a bit better at thinking. Perhaps the best remedy against
violence would be a short course in philosophy. What about “the UN’s little
philosophy book”— which all new citizens of the world could be given a copy of in
their own language. I’ll propose the idea to the UN General Secretary.
You said on the phone that you were getting better at looking after your things.
I’m glad, because you’re the untidiest creature I’ve ever met. Then you said the only
thing you’d lost since we last spoke was ten crowns. I’ll do what I can to help you
find it. Although I am far away, I have a helping hand back home. (If I find the money
I’ll put it in with your birthday present.) Love, Dad, who feels as if he’s already
started the long trip home.
Sophie had just managed to finish reading the card when the last bell rang. Once
again her thoughts were in turmoil.
Joanna was waiting in the playground. On the way home Sophie opened her
schoolbag and showed Joanna the latest card.
“When is it postmarked?” asked Joanna.
“Probably June 15 ...”
“No, look ... 5/30/90, it says.”
“That was yesterday ... the day after the death of the major in Lebanon.”