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.
Finally they had composed the invitation. It had taken two hours and they couldn’t stop laughing.
Dear. . .
You are hereby invited to a philosophical garden party at 3 Clover Close on Saturday June 23 (Midsummer Eve) at 7 p.m. During the evening we shall hopefully solve the mystery of life. Please bring warm sweaters and bright ideas suitable for solving the riddles of philosophy. Because of the danger of woodland fires we unfortunately cannot have a bonfire, but everybody is free to let the flames of their imagination flicker unimpeded. There will be at least one genuine philosopher among the invited guests. For this reason the party is a strictly private arrangement. Members of the press will not be admitted. With regards,
Joanna Ingebrigtsen (organizing committee)
and Sophie Amundsen (hostess)
The two girls went downstairs to their parents, who were now talking somewhat more freely. Sophie handed the draft invitation, written with a calligraphic pen, to her mother.
“Could you make eighteen copies, please.” It was not the first time she had asked her mother to make photocopies for her at work.
Her mother read the invitation and then handed it to Joanna’s father.
“You see what I mean? She is going a little crazy.”
“But it looks really exciting,” said Joanna’s father, handing the sheet on to his wife. “I wouldn’t mind coming to that party myself.”
Barbie read the invitation, then she said: “Well, I must say! Can we come too, Sophie?”
“Let’s say twenty copies, then,” said Sophie, taking them at their word.
“You must be nuts!” said Joanna.
Before Sophie went to bed that night she stood for a long time gazing out of the window. She remembered how she had once seen the outline of Alberto’s figure in the darkness. It was more than a month ago. Now it was again late at night, but this was a white summer night.
Sophie heard nothing from Alberto until Tuesday morning. He called just after her mother had left for work.
“Sophie Amundsen.”
“And Alberto Knox.”
“I thought so.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t call before, but I’ve been working hard on our plan. I can only be alone and work undisturbed when the major is concentrating wholly and completely on you.”
“That’s weird.”
“Then I seize the opportunity to conceal myself, you see. The best surveillance system in the world has its limitations when it is only controlled by one single person ... I got your card.”
“You mean the invitation?”
“Dare you risk it?”
“Why not?”
“Anything can happen at a party like that.”
“Are you coming?”
“Of course I’m coming. But there is another thing. Did you remember that it’s the day Hilde’s father gets back from Lebanon?”
“No, I didn’t, actually.”
“It can’t possibly be pure coincidence that he lets you arrange a philosophical garden party the same day as he gets home to Bjerkely.”
“I didn’t think about it, as I said.”
“I’m sure he did. But all right, we’ll talk about that later. Can you come to the major’s cabin this morning?”
“I’m supposed to weed the flower beds.”
“Let’s say two o’clock, then. Can you make that?”
“I’ll be there.”
Alberto Knox was sitting on the step again when Sophie arrived.
“Have a seat,” he said, getting straight down to work.
“Previously we spoke of the Renaissance, the Baroque period, and the Enlightenment. Today we are going to talk about Romanticism, which could be described as Europe’s last great cultural epoch. We are approaching the end of a long story, my child.”
“Did Romanticism last that long?”
“It began toward the end of the eighteenth century and lasted till the middle of the nineteenth. But after 1850 one can no longer speak of whole ‘epochs’ which comprise poetry, philosophy, art, science, and music.”
“Was Romanticism one of those epochs?”
“It has been said that Romanticism was Europe’s last common approach to life. It started in Germany, arising as a reaction to the Enlightenment’s unequivocal emphasis on reason. After Kant and his cool intellectualism, it was as if German youth heaved a sigh of relief.”
