would come back to her at once.
They crossed an old pasture, a large playing field, and a playground, and
emerged into an area with more traffic. They continued toward the town center along
a broad street with cobbled stones and streetcars. Hermes led the way across the town
square and up Church Street. They came out into the Old Town, with its massive staid
town houses from the turn of the century. It was almost half past one.
Now they were on the other side of town. Sophie had not been there very often.
Once when she was little, she remembered, she had been taken to visit an old aunt in
one of these streets.
Eventually they reached a little square between several old houses. It was called
New Square, although it all looked very old. But then the whole town was old; it had
been founded way back in the Middle Ages.
Hermes walked toward No. 14, where he stood still and waited for Sophie to
open the door. Her heart began to beat faster.
Inside the front door there were a number of green mailboxes attached to a
panel. Sophie noticed a postcard hanging from one of the mailboxes in the top row. It
had a stamped message from the mailman across it to the effect that the addressee was
unknown.
The addressee was Hilde Moller Knag, 14 New Square. It was postmarked June
15. That was not for two weeks, but the mailman had obviously not noticed that.
Sophie took the card down and read it:
Dear Hilde, Now Sophie is coming to the philosopher’s house. She will soon be
fifteen, but you were fifteen yesterday. Or is it today, Hilde? If it is today, it must be
late, then. But our watches do not always agree. One generation ages while another
generation is brought forth. In the meantime history takes its course. Have you ever
thought that the history of Europe is like a human life? Antiquity is like the childhood
of Europe. Then come the interminable Middle Ages—Europe’s schoolday. But at
last comes the Renaissance; the long school-day is over. Europe comes of age in a
burst of exuberance and a thirst for life. We could say that the Renaissance is
Europe’s fifteenth birthday! It is mid-June, my child, and it is wonderful to be alive!
P.S. Sorry to hear you lost your gold crucifix. You must learn to take better care
of your things. Love, Dad—who is just around the corner.
Hermes was already on his way up the stairs. Sophie took the postcard with her
and followed. She had to run to keep up with him; he was wagging his tail delight-
edly. They passed the second, third, and fourth stories. From then on there was only
an attic staircase. Were they going up to the roof? Hermes clambered on up the stairs
and stopped outside a narrow door, which he scratched at with his paw.
Sophie heard footsteps approaching from inside. The door opened, and there
stood Alberto Knox. He had changed his clothes and was now wearing another cos-
tume. It consisted of white hose, red knee-breeches, and a yellow jacket with padded
shoulders. He reminded Sophie of a joker in a deck of cards. If she was not much
mistaken, this was a typical Renaissance costume.
“What a clown!” Sophie exclaimed, giving him a little push so that she could go
inside the apartment.
Once again she had taken out her fear and shyness on the unfortunate
philosophy teacher. Sophie’s thoughts were in a turmoil because of the postcard she
had found down in the hallway.
“Be calm, my child,” said Alberto, closing the door behind her.
“And here’s the mail,” she said, handing him the postcard as if she held him
responsible for it.