“Excuse me, would you mind telling me the name of this street?”
But they ignored her completely.
Sophie was so provoked that she asked them again.
“It’s customary to answer a person, isn’t it?”
The young man was clearly engrossed in explaining something to his companion:
“Contrapuntal form operates on two dimensions, horizontally, or melodically, and vertically, or harmonically.
There will always be two or more melodies sounding together . . .”
“Excuse me for interrupting, but. . .”
“The melodies combine in such a way that they develop as much as possible, independently of how they sound against each other. But they have to be concordant. Actually it’s note against note.”
How rude! They were neither deaf nor blind. Sophie tried a third time, standing ahead of them on the path blocking their way,
She was simply brushed aside.
“There’s a wind coming up,” said the woman.
Sophie rushed back to Alberto.
‘They can’t hear me!” she said desperately—and just as she said it, she recalled her dream about Hilde and the gold crucifix.
“It’s the price we have to pay. Although we have sneaked out of a book, we can’t expect to nave exactly the same status as its author. But we really are here. From now on, we will never be a day older than we were when we left the philosophical garden party.”
“Does that mean we’ll never have any real contact with me people around us?”
“A true philosopher never says ‘never.’ What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“The same as when we left Captain’s Bend, of course.”
“This is the day Hilde’s father gets back from Lebanon.”
“That’s why we must hurry.”
“Why—what do you mean?”
“Aren’t you anxious to know what happens when the major gets home to Bjerkely?”
“Naturally, but. . .”
“Come on, then!”
They began to walk down toward the city. Several people passed them on the way, but they all walked right on by as if Sophie and Alberto were invisible.
Cars were parked by the curbside all the way along the street. Alberto stopped by a small red convertible with the top down.
“This will do,” he said. “We must just make sure it’s ours.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“I’d better explain then. We can’t just take an ordinary car that belongs to someone here in the city. What do you think would happen when people noticed the car driving along without a driver? And anyway, we probably wouldn’t be able to start it.”
“Then why the convertible?”
“I think I recognize it from an old movie.”
“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m getting tired of all these cryptic remarks.”
“It’s a make-believe car, Sophie. It’s just like us. People here only see a vacant space. That’s all we have to confirm before we’re on our way.”
They stood by the car and waited. After a while, a boy came cycling along on the sidewalk. He turned suddenly and rode right through the red car and onto the road.
“There, you see? It’s ours!”
Alberto opened the door to the passenger seat.
“Be my guest!” he said, and Sophie got in.
He got into the driver’s seat. The key was in the ignition, he turned it, and the engine started.
They drove southward out of the city, past Lysaker, Sandvika, Drammen, and down toward Lillesand. As they drove they saw more and more Midsummer bonfires, especially after they had passed Drammen.
“It’s Midsummer, Sophie. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“And there’s such a lovely fresh breeze in an open car. Is it true that no one can see us?”
“Only people of our own kind. We might meet some of them. What’s the time now?”
“Half past eight.”
“We’ll have to take a few shortcuts. We can’t stay behind this trailer, that’s for sure.”
They turned off into a large wheatfield. Sophie looked back and saw that they had left a broad trail of flattened stalks.
“Tomorrow they’ll say a freak wind blew over the field,” said Alberto.
* * *
Major Albert Knag had just landed at Kastrup Airport outside Copenhagen. It was half past four on Saturday, June 23. It had already been a long day. This penultimate lap had been by plane from Rome.
He went through passport control in his UN uniform, which he was proud to wear. He represented not only himself and his country. Albert Knag represented an international legal system—a century-old tradition that now embraced the entire planet.
He carried only a flight bag. He had checked the rest of his baggage through from Rome. He just needed to hold up his red passport.
“Nothing to declare.”
Major Albert Knag had a nearly three-hour wait in the airport before his plane left for Kristiansand. He would have time to buy a few presents for his family. He had sent the present of his life to Hilde two weeks ago. Marit, his wife, had put it on her bedside table for her to discover when she woke up on her birthday. He had not spoken with Hilde since that late night birthday call.
Albert bought a couple of Norwegian newspapers, found himself a table in the bar, and ordered a cup of coffee. He had hardly had time to skim the headlines when he heard an announcement over the loudspeakers: “This is a personal call for Albert Knag. Albert Knag is requested to contact the SAS information desk.”
What now? He felt a chill down his spine. Surely he was not being ordered back to Lebanon? Could something be wrong at home?
He quickly reached the SAS information desk.
“I’m Albert Knag.”
“Here is a message for you. It is urgent.”
He opened the envelope at once. Inside lay a smaller envelope. It was addressed to Major Albert Knag, c/o SAS Information, Kastrup Airport, Copenhagen.
Albert opened the little envelope nervously. It contained a short note:
Dear Dad, Welcome home from Lebanon. As you can imagine, I can’t even wait till you get home. Forgive me for having you paged over the loud-speakers. It was the easiest way.
P.S. Unfortunately a claim for damages has arrived from financial adviser Ingebrigtsen regarding a stolen and wrecked Mercedes.
P.S. P.S. I may be sitting in the garden when you get here. But you might also be hearing from me before that.
P.S. P.S. P.S. I’m rather scared of staying in the garden too long at a time. It’s so easy to sink into the ground in such places. Love from Hilde, who has had plenty of time to prepare your homecoming.
Major Albert Knag’s first impulse was to smile. But he did not appreciate being manipulated in this manner. He had always liked to be in charge of his own life. Now this little vixen in Lillesand was directing his movements in Kastrup Airport! How had she managed that?
He put the envelope in his breast pocket and began to stroll toward the little shopping mall. He was just
