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 existence.”
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.
“Our existence is therefore neither more nor less than a kind of birthday diversion for Hilde Mailer Knag. We have all been invented as a framework for the major’s philosophical education of his daughter. This means, for example, that the white Mercedes at the gate is not worth a cent. It’s just a bagatelle. It’s worth no more than the white Mercedes that drives around and around inside the head of a poor UN major, who has just this minute sat down in the shade of a palm tree to avoid getting sunstroke. The days are hot in Lebanon, my friends.”
“Garbage!” exclaimed the financial adviser. “This is absolutely pure nonsense.”
“You are welcome to your opinion,” Alberto continued unabashed, “but the truth is that it is this garden party which is absolutely pure nonsense. The only dose of reason in the whole party is this speech.”
At that, the financial adviser got up and said:
“Here we are, trying our best to run a business, and to make sure we have insurance coverage against every kind of risk. Then along comes this know-it-all who tries to destroy it all with his ‘philosophical’ allegations.”
Alberto nodded in agreement.
“There is indeed no insurance to cover this kind of philosophical insight. We are talking of something worse than a natural catastrophe, sir. But as you are probably aware, insurance doesn’t cover those either.”
“This is not a natural catastrophe.”
“No, it is an existential catastrophe. For example, just take a look under the currant bushes and you will see what I mean. You cannot insure yourself against the collapse of your whole life. Neither can you insure yourself against the sun going out.”
“Do we have to put up with this?” asked Joanna’s father, looking at his wife.
She shook her head, and so did Sophie’s mother.
“What a shame,” she said, “and after we had spared no expense.”
The younger guests continued to look at Alberto. “We want to hear more,” said a curly-haired boy with glasses.
“Thank you, but there is not much more to say. When you have realized that you are a dream image in another person’s sleepy consciousness, then, in my opinion, it is wisest to be silent. But I can finish by recommending that you take a short course in the history of philosophy. It is important to be critical of the older generation’s values. If I have tried to teach Sophie anything, it is precisely that, to think critically. Hegel called it thinking negatively.”
The financial adviser was still standing, drumming his fingers on the table.
“This agitator is attempting to break down all the sound values which the school and the church and we ourselves are trying to instill in the younger generation. It is they who have the future before them and who one day will inherit everything we have built up. If this man is not immediately removed from this gathering I intend to call our lawyer. He will know how to deal with this situation.”
“It makes little difference whether you deal with this situation or not, since you are nothing but a shadow. Anyway, Sophie and I are about to leave the party, since for us the philosophy course has not been purely theoretical. It has also had its practical side. When the time is ripe we will perform our disappearing act. That is how we are going to sneak our way out of the major’s consciousness.”
Helene Amundsen took hold of her daughter’s arm.
“You are not leaving me, are you, Sophie?”
Sophie put her arms around her mother. She looked up at Alberto.
“Mom is so sad . . .”
“No, that’s just ridiculous. Don’t forget what you have learned. It’s this sort of nonsense we must liberate ourselves from. Your mother is a sweet and kind lady, just as the Little Red Ridinghood who came to my door that day had a basket filled with food for her grandmother. Your mother is no more sad than the plane that just flew over needed fuel for its congratulation maneuvers.”
“I think I see what you mean,” said Sophie, and turned back to her mother. “That’s why I have to do what he says, Mom. One day I had to leave you.”
“I’m going to miss you,” said her mother, “but if there is a heaven over this one, you’ll just have to fly. I promise to take good care of Govinda. Does it eat one or two lettuce leaves a day?”
Alberto put his hand on her shoulder.
“Neither you nor anyone else here will miss us for the simple reason that you do not exist. You are no more than shadows.”
“That is the worst insult I’ve ever heard,” Mrs. Ingebrigtsen burst out.
Her husband nodded.
“If nothing else, we can always get him nailed for defamation of character. I’m sure he’s a Communist. He wants to strip us of everything we hold dear. The man’s a scoundrel.”
With that, both Alberto and the financial adviser sat down. The letter’s face was crimson with rage. Now Joanna and Jeremy also came and sat at the table. Their clothes were grubby and crumpled. Joanna’s golden hair was caked with mud and earth.
“Mom, I’m going to have a baby,” she announced.
“All right, but you’ll have to wait till you get home.”
She had immediate support from her husband. “She’ll simply have to contain herself,” he said. “And if there is to be a christening tonight, she’ll have to arrange it herself.”
Alberto looked down at Sophie with a somber expression.
“It’s time.”
“Can’t you at least bring us a little more coffee before you go?” asked her mother.
“Of course, Mom, I’ll do it right away.”
Sophie took the thermos from the table. She had to make more coffee. While she stood waiting for it to brew, she fed the birds and the goldfish. She also went into the bathroom and put a lettuce leaf out for Govinda. She couldn’t see the cat anywhere, but she opened a large can of cat food, emptied it into a bowl and set it out on the step. She felt her tears welling up.
When she returned with the coffee, the garden party looked more like a children’s party than a young woman’s philosophical celebration. Several soda bottles had been knocked over on the table, there was chocolate cake smeared all over the tablecloth and the dish of raisin buns lay upside down on the lawn. Just as Sophie arrived, one of the boys put a firecracker to the layer cake, which exploded all over the table and the guests. The worst casualty was Mrs. Ingebrigtsen’s red pants suit. The curious thing was that both she and everybody else took it with the utmost calm. Joanna picked up a huge piece of chocolate cake, smeared it all over Jeremy’s face, and proceeded to lick it off again.
Her mother and Alberto were sitting in the glider a little way away from the others. They waved to Sophie.
“So you finally had your confidential talk,” said Sophie.
“And you were perfectly right,” said her mother, quite elated now. “Alberto is a very altruistic person. I entrust you to his strong arms.”
