ending hunt for Hilde-through-the-Looking-Glass, could she?
Romanticism
…the path of mystery leads inwards…
Hilde let the heavy ring binder slide into her lap. Then she let it slide further
onto the floor.
It was already lighter in the room than when she had gone to bed. She looked at
the clock. It was almost three. She snuggled down under the covers and closed her
eyes. As she was falling asleep she wondered why her father had begun to write about
Little Red Ridinghood and Winnie-the-Pooh ...
She slept until eleven o’clock the next morning. The tension in her body told
her that she had dreamed intensely all night, but she could not remember what she had
dreamed. It felt as if she had been in a totally different reality.
She went downstairs and fixed breakfast. Her mother had put on her blue
jumpsuit ready to go down to the boathouse and work on the motorboat. Even if it
was not afloat, it had to be shipshape when Dad got back from Lebanon.
“Do you want to come down and give me a hand?”
“I have to read a little first. Should I come down with some tea and a mid-
morning snack?”
“What mid-morning?”
When Hilde had eaten she went back up to her room, made her bed, and sat
herself comfortably with the ring binder resting against her knees.
***
Sophie slipped through the hedge and stood in the big garden which she
had once thought of as her own Garden of Eden . . .
There were branches and leaves strewn everywhere after the storm the
night before. It seemed to her that there was some connection between the
storm and the fallen branches and her meeting with Little Red Ridinghood and
Winnie-the-Pooh.
She went into the house. Her mother had just gotten home and was
putting some bottles of soda in the refrigerator. On the table was a delicious-
looking chocolate cake.
“Are you expecting visitors?” asked Sophie; she had almost forgotten it
was her birthday.
“We’re having the real party next Saturday, but I thought we ought to
have a little celebration today as well.”
“How?”
“I have invited Joanna and her parents.”
“Fine with me.”
The visitors arrived shortly before half-past seven. The atmosphere was
somewhat formal—Sophie’s mother very seldom saw Joanna’s parents
socially.
It was not long before Sophie and Joanna went upstairs to Sophie’s
room to write the garden party invitations. Since Alberto Knox was also to be
invited, Sophie had the idea of inviting people to a “philosophical garden
party.” Joanna didn’t object. It was Sophie’s party after all, and theme parties
were “in” at the moment.