“No, generation follows generation,” said her husband.
He looked around, expecting applause for his well-chosen words. When
the only response was a few silent nods, he added: “It can’t be helped.”
Sophie saw from a distance that Jeremy was trying to unbutton Joanna’s
white shirt, which was already covered with green stains from the grass. She
was fumbling with his belt.
“Don’t catch cold!” said Mrs. Ingebrigtsen.
Sophie looked despairingly at Alberto.
“It’s happening more quickly than I thought,” he said. “We have to get
away from here as soon as possible. I just have to make a short speech.”
Sophie clapped her hands loudly.
“Could everyone please come back and sit down again? Alberto is going
to make a speech.”
Everyone except Joanna and Jeremy came drifting back to their places
at the table.
“Are you really going to make a speech?” asked He-lene Amundsen.
“How charming!”
“Thank you.”
“And you like going for walks, I know. It is so important to stay in shape.
And it’s so much nicer when you have a dog to keep you company. Hermes,
isn’t that its name?”
Alberto stood up. “Dear Sophie,” he began. “Since this is a philosophical
garden party, I will make a philosophical speech.”
This was greeted by a burst of applause.
“In this riotous company, a dose of reason might not be out of place. But
whatever happens, let us not forget to congratulate Sophie on her fifteenth
birthday.”
He had hardly finished these sentences when they heard the drone of an
approaching sports plane. It flew in low over the garden. Behind it streamed a
long tail banner saying: “Happy 15th birthday!”
This led to renewed applause, even louder than before.
“There, you see?” Mrs. Amundsen cried joyfully. “This man can do more
than set off fireworks!”
“Thank you. It was a mere bagatelle. During the past few weeks, Sophie
and I have carried out a major philosophical investigation. We shall here and
now reveal our findings. We shall reveal the innermost secrets of our ex-
istence.”
The little gathering was now so quiet that the only sounds were the
twittering of the birds and a few subdued noises from the red-currant bushes.
“Go on,” said Sophie.
“After a thorough philosophical study—which has led from the first Greek
philosophers to the present day—we have discovered that we are living our
lives in the mind of a major who is at this moment serving as a UN observer in
Lebanon. He has also written a book about us for his daughter back in
Lillesand. Her name is Hilde Mailer Knag, and she was fifteen years old on
the same day as Sophie. The book about us lay on her bedside table when
she woke up early on the morning of June 15. To be more precise, it was in
the form of a ring binder. Even as we speak, she can feel the final pages of
the ring binder under her index finger.”
A feeling of apprehension had begun to spread around the table.