Sophie awoke with a start on Saturday morning. Was it a dream or had she
really seen the philosopher?
She felt under the bed with one hand. Yes—there lay the letter that had come
during the night. It wasn’t only a dream.
She had definitely seen the philosopher! And what’s more, with her own eyes
she had seen him take her letter!
She crouched down on the floor and pulled out all the typewritten pages from
under the bed. But what was that? Right by the wall there was something red. A scarf,
perhaps?
Sophie edged herself in under the bed and pulled out a red silk scarf. It wasn’t
hers, that was for sure!
She examined it more closely and gasped when she saw HILDE written in ink
along the seam.
Hilde! But who was Hilde? How could their paths keep crossing like this?
Socrates
…wisest is she who knows she does not know…
Sophie put on a summer dress and hurried down to the kitchen. Her mother was
standing by the kitchen table. Sophie decided not to say anything about the silk scarf.
“Did you bring in the newspaper?” she asked.
Her mother turned.
“Would you get it for me?”
Sophie was out of the door in a flash, down the gravel path to the mailbox.
Only the newspaper. She couldn’t expect an answer so soon, she supposed. On
the front page of the paper she read something about the Norwegian UN battalion in
Lebanon.
The UN battalion ... wasn’t that the postmark on the card from Hilde’s father?
But the postage stamp had been Norwegian. Maybe the Norwegian UN soldiers had
their own post office with them.
“You’ve become very interested in the newspaper,” said her mother drily when
Sophie returned to the kitchen.
Luckily her mother said no more about mailboxes and stuff, either during
breakfast or later on that day. When she went shopping, Sophie took her letter about
Fate down to the den.
She was surprised to see a little white envelope beside the cookie tin with the
other letters from the philosopher. Sophie was quite sure she had not put it there.
This envelope was also wet around the edges. And it had a couple of deep holes
in it, just like the one she had received yesterday.
Had the philosopher been here? Did he know about her secret hiding place?
Why was the envelope wet?
All these questions made her head spin. She opened the letter and read the note:
Dear Sophie, I read your letter with great interest— and not without some
regret. I must unfortunately disappoint you with regard to the invitation. We shall
meet one day, but it will probably be quite a while before I can come in person to
Captain’s Bend.
I must add that from now on I will no longer be able to deliver the letters
personally. It would be much too risky in the long run. In the future, letters will be
delivered by my little messenger. On the other hand, they will be brought directly to
the secret place in the garden.