Sophie couldn't possibly think about these questions right now, but she assumed they had something to do with the next philosopher. Wasn't he called Aristotle?
When she finally saw the hedge after running so far through the woods it was like swimming ashore after a shipwreck. The hedge looked funny from the other side.
She didn't look at her watch until she had crawled into the den. It was ten-thirty. She put the big envelope into the biscuit tin with the other papers and stuffed the note with the new questions down her tights.
Her mother was on the telephone when she came in. When she saw Sophie she hung up quickly.
"Where on earth have you been?"
"I... went for a walk ... in the woods," she stammered.
"So I see."
Sophie stood silently, watching the water dripping from her dress.
"I called Joanna..."
"Joanna?"
Her mother brought her some dry clothes. Sophie only just managed to hide the philosopher's note. Then they sat together in the kitchen, and her mother made some hot chocolate.
"Were you with him?" she asked after a while.
"Him?"
Sophie could only think about her philosophy teacher.
"With him, yes. Him.... your rabbit!"
Sophie shook her head.
"What do you do when you're together, Sophie? Why are you so wet?"
Sophie sat staring gravely at the table. But deep down inside she was laughing. Poor Mom, now she had that to worry about.
She shook her head again. Then more questions came raining down on her.
"Now I want the truth. Were you out all night? Why did you go to bed with your clothes on? Did you sneak out as soon as I had gone to bed? You're only fourteen, Sophie. I demand to know who you are seeing!"
Sophie started to cry. Then she talked. She was still frightened, and when you are frightened you usually talk.
She explained that she had woken up very early and had gone for a walk in the woods. She told her mother about the cabin and the boat, and about the mysterious mirror. But she mentioned nothing about the secret correspondence course. Neither did she mention the green wallet. She didn't quite know why, but she had to keep Hilde for herself.
Her mother put her arms around Sophie, and Sophie knew that her mother believed her now.
"I don't have a boyfriend," Sophie sniffed. "It was just something I said because you were so upset about the white rabbit."
"And you really went all the way to the major's cabin ..." said her mother thoughtfully.
"The major's cabin?" Sophie stared at her mother.
"The little woodland cabin is called the major's cabin because some years ago an army major lived there for a time. He was rather eccentric, a little crazy, I think. But never mind that. Since then the cabin has been unoccupied."
"But it isn't! There's a philosopher living there now."
"Oh stop, don't start fantasizing again!"
Sophie stayed in her room, thinking about what had happened. Her head felt like a roaring circus full of lumbering elephants, silly clowns, daring trapeze flyers, and trained monkeys. But one image recurred unceasingly-- a small rowboat with one oar drifting in a lake deep in the woods--and someone needing the boat to get home.
She felt sure that the philosophy teacher didn't wish her any harm, and would certainly forgive her if he knew she had been to his cabin. But she had broken an agreement. That was all the thanks he got for taking on her philosophic education. How could she make up for it? Sophie took out her pink notepaper and began to write:
Dear Philosopher, It was me who was in your cabin early Sunday morning. I wanted so much to meet you and discuss some of the philosophic problems. For the moment I am a Plato fan, but I am not so sure he was right about ideas or pattern pictures existing in another reality. Of course they exist in our souls, but I think--for the moment anyway-- that this is a different thing. I have to admit too that I am not altogether convinced of the immortality of the soul. Personally, I have no recollections from my former lives. If you could convince me that my deceased grandmother's soul is happy in the world of ideas, I would be most grateful.
Actually, it was not for philosophic reasons that I started to write this letter (which I shall put in a pink envelope with a lump of sugar). I just wanted to say I was sorry for being disobedient. I tried to pull the boat completely up on shore but I was obviously not strong enough. Or perhaps a big wave dragged the boat out again.
I hope you managed to get home without getting your feet wet. If not, it might comfort you to know that I got soaked and will probably have a terrible cold. But that'll be my own fault.
I didn't touch anything in the cabin, but I am sorry to say that I couldn't resist the temptation to take the envelope that was on the table. It wasn't because I wanted to steal anything, but as my name was on it, I thought in my confusion that it belonged to me. I am really and truly sorry, and I promise never to disappoint you again.
P.S. I will think all the new questions through very carefully, starting now.
P.P.S. Is the mirror with the brass frame above the white chest of drawers an ordinary mirror or a magic mirror? I'm only asking because I am not used to seeing my own reflection wink with both eyes.
With regards from your sincerely interested pupil, SOPHIE
Sophie read the letter through twice before she put it in the envelope. She thought it was less formal than the previous letter she had written. Before she went downstairs to the kitchen to get a lump of sugar she looked at the note with the day's questions:
"What came first--the chicken or the "idea" chicken?
This question was just as tricky as the old riddle of the chicken and the egg. There would be no chicken without the egg, and no egg without the chicken. Was it really just as complicated to figure out whether the chicken or the "idea" chicken came first? Sophie understood what Plato meant. He meant that the "idea" chicken had existed in the world of ideas long before chickens existed in the sensory world. According to Plato, the soul had "seen" the "idea" chicken before it took up residence in a body. But wasn't this just where Sophie thought Plato must be mistaken? How could a person who had never seen a live chicken or a picture of a chicken ever have any "idea" of a chicken? Which brought her to the next question:
Are we born with innate "ideas"? Most unlikely, thought Sophie. She could hardly imagine a newborn baby being especially well equipped with ideas. One could obviously never be sure, because the fact that the baby had no language did not necessarily mean that it had no ideas in its head. But surely we have to see things in the world before we can know anything about them.
"What is the difference between a plant, an animal, and a human?" Sophie could immediately see very clear differences.
For instance, she did not think a plant had a very complicated emotional life. Who had ever heard of a bluebell with a broken heart? A plant grows, takes nourishment, and produces seeds so that it can reproduce itself. That's about all one could say about plants. Sophie concluded that everything that applied to plants also applied to animals and humans. But animals had other attributes as well. They could move, for example. (When did a rose ever run a marathon?) It was a bit harder to point to any differences between animals and humans. Humans could think, but couldn't animals do so as well? Sophie was convinced that her cat Sherekan could think. At least, it could be very calculating. But could it reflect on philosophical questions? Could a cat speculate about the difference between a plant, an animal, and a human? Hardly! A cat could probably be either contented or unhappy, but did it ever ask itself if there was a God or whether it had an immortal soul? Sophie thought that was extremely doubtful. But the same problem was raised here as with the baby and the innate ideas. It was just as difficult to talk to a cat about such questions as it would be to discuss them with a baby.
"Why does it rain?" Sophie shrugged her shoulders. It probably rains because seawater evaporates and the clouds condense into raindrops. Hadn't she learnt that in the third grade? Of course, one could always say that it rains so that plants and animals can grow. But was that true? Had a shower any actual purpose?
The last question definitely had something to do with purpose: "What does it take to live a good life?"
The philosopher had written something about this quite early on in the course. Everybody needs food, warmth, love, and care. Such basics were the primary condition for a good life, at any rate. Then he had pointed out that people also needed to find answers to certain philosophical questions. It was probably also quite important to have a job you liked. If you hated traffic, for instance, you would not be very happy as a taxi driver. And if you hated doing homework it would probably be a bad idea to become a teacher. Sophie loved animals and wanted to be a vet. But in any case she didn't think it was necessary to win a million in the lottery to live a good life.
Quite the opposite, more likely. There was a saying:
The devil finds work for idle hands.
Sophie stayed in her room until her mother called her down to a big midday meal. She had prepared sirloin steak and baked potatoes. There were cloudberries and cream for dessert.
They talked about all kinds of things. Sophie's mother asked her how she wanted to celebrate her fifteenth birthday. It was only a few weeks away.
Sophie shrugged.
"Aren't you going to invite anyone? I mean, don't you want to have a party?"
"Maybe."
"We could ask Martha and Anne Marie ... and Helen. And Joanna, of course. And Jeremy, perhaps. But that's for you to decide. I remember my own fifteenth birthday so clearly, you know. It doesn't seem all that long ago. I felt I was already quite grown up. Isn't it odd, Sophie! I don't feel I have changed at all since then."
"You haven't. Nothing changes. You have just developed, gotten older..."
"Mm ... that was a very grownup thing to say. I just think it's all happened so very quickly."
少校的小木屋
.....镜中的女孩双眼眨了一眨.....
时间才七点十五分，没有必要赶回家。苏菲的妈妈在星期日总是过得比较悠闲一些，因此她也许还会再睡个两小时。
她应不应该再深入树林去找艾伯特呢?上次那只狗为何对她叫得这么凶呢?
苏菲站起身来，开始沿上次汉密士走过的路走去，手里拿着那个装着柏拉图学说的棕色信封。遇到岔路时，她便挑大路走。
到处都可听到鸟儿们轻快的叫声。在林梢、在空中、在荆棘与草丛之中。这些鸟儿正忙于它们的晨间活动。对它们而言，周间与周末并没有分别。是谁教它们如此的呢?难道每一只鸟儿体内都有一架迷你电脑，设定好程式，叫它们做某些特定的事?
苏菲沿着路走上了一座小山丘，然后走到一个向下的陡坡，两旁都是高大的松树，树林非常浓密，以至于苏菲只能看到树与树枝间几码之处。
突然，她看到树干间有个东西在闪动。那一定是个小湖。路向另外一头延伸，但苏菲却转向树丛间走去。她不由自主地走着，自己也不太明白为什么会这样做。
这个湖并不比足球场大。在湖的彼岸，一块由银色桦树所围绕的小小空地上，有一栋红色的小屋。屋顶上的烟囱有一道轻烟正袅袅上升。
苏菲走到湖畔。这里有多处泥泞，不过后来她发现了一条小船，船身有一半在水中，里面还有一对桨。
苏菲环顾四周。看来无论她怎么做，都无法在不把鞋子弄湿的情况下，渡湖到小红屋那边。于是，她一咬牙，走到小船那儿，将它 推到水中。然后她爬上船，将桨固定在桨架上，开始划过湖面。不 一会儿，船便到了对岸。苏菲跨上岸，想把船拖上来。此处的湖岸要比刚才那边陡。
她只回头望了一望，便走向小木屋。
一探究竟
她对自己如此大胆的行径也感到讶异。她怎么敢这样做呢?她也不知道。仿佛有“某种东西”催促她似的。
苏菲走到小木屋的门前，敲敲门，但等了一会儿并没有人应门。她小心地转了一下门柄，门就开了。
“嗨!”她喊。“有人在家吗?”
她走进去，进入一个客厅，但却不敢把门带上。
这里显然有人住。苏菲听到柴火在旧炉子里发出哔哔剥剥的声音，显然不久前还有人在这里。
客厅里的一张大餐桌上放了一台打字机、几本书、几支铅笔和 一沓纸。面湖的窗前有一张较小的桌子和两把椅子。除此之外，屋里很少家具，不过有一整面墙都是书架，上面放满了书。一个白色的五斗柜上方挂了一面圆形的大镜子，外围镶着巨大的铜框，看起来已经是老古董了。
另外一面墙上挂着两幅画。一幅是油画作品，画里有一个建有红色船坞的小港湾，距港湾不远处有一栋白屋。船库与白屋之间是 一个有点坡度的花园，种了一株苹果树、几棵浓密的灌木，此外还有几块岩石。一排浓密的桦树像花环一般围绕着这座花园。画的题名为“柏客来”(Bjerkely)。
这幅油画旁挂了另一幅古老的肖像画。画的是一个男人坐在窗边的椅子上，怀中放了一本书，背景也是一个有树、有岩石的小港湾。这幅画看来像是几百年前画的，题名是“柏克莱”(Berkeley)。画家的名字叫史密伯特(Smibert)。
“柏克莱”与“柏客来”，苏菲心想，多奇怪呀!
苏菲继续勘查这座小木屋。客厅有一扇门通向一间小厨房。不久前这里刚有人洗过碗，盘子与玻璃杯都堆在一条茶巾上，其中几个碗杯上面还有几滴闪闪发光的肥皂水。地板上有一个锡碗，里面放着一些剩饭剩菜。这房子的主人一定养了狗或猫。
苏菲回到客厅。另外一扇门通向一间小小的卧室，里面有一张 床，旁边的地板上放着两、三条捆得厚厚的毯子。苏菲在毯子上发现几根金色的毛发。这就是证据了]现在苏菲知道住在这栋小木屋里的就是艾伯特和汉密士。
再回到客厅后，苏菲站在五斗柜上方的镜子前。镜面已经失去光泽，而且刮痕累累，因此她在镜中的影像也显得模糊不清。苏菲开始对着镜中的自己扮鬼脸，就像她在家中浴室里做的一般。镜中人也一如预期的跟着她的动作做。
突然间，一件骇人的事发生了。有一刹那，苏菲很清楚地看到镜中的女孩同时眨着双眼。苏菲吓得倒退了一步。如果是她自己同时眨动双眼，那她怎么看到镜中的影像呢?不仅如此，那个女孩眨眼的样子仿佛是在告诉苏菲：“我可以看到你喔!我在这里，在另外一边。”
苏菲觉得自己的心怦怦地跳着。就在这时候，她听到远处的狗吠声。汉密士来了!她得马上离开这里才行。这时她看到镜子下方的五斗柜上面有一个绿色的皮夹，里面有一张百元大钞、一张五十元的钞票以及一张学生证，上面贴着一张金发女孩的照片，照片下面写着女孩的名字：席德……
苏菲打了一个冷颤。她再次听到狗叫声，她必须马上离开!
当她匆匆经过桌旁时，看到那些书与纸堆旁放着一个白色的信封，上面写着两个字：“苏菲”。
在她还没有时间弄清楚自己在做什么以前，她已经一把抓起了那封信，把它塞到装着柏拉图学说的棕色信封里，然后她便冲出大门，把门在身后“砰!”一声关上。
狗叫声愈来愈近。但最糟的是小船不见了。一两秒钟后，她才看到它，原来它正在湖心漂浮，一只桨也在船边漂着。这都是因为她那时无力将它拖上岸的缘故。她听到狗叫声已经逼近，同时湖对岸的树林间也有一些动静。
苏菲不再迟疑。手里拿着大信封，她飞奔到小木屋后面的树丛中。不久她就已置身一片潮湿的沼地。当她在草地上跋涉时，好几次不小心踩进比她脚踝还高很多的水洼中。但是她非继续往前走
不可。她必须回家……回家。
不久，她看到了一条路。这是她来时所走的路吗?她停下来把衣服拧干，然后开始哭泣。
她怎么会这么笨呢?最糟的是那条船。她忘不了那船还有那只桨在湖上无助地漂浮的景象。真难为情，真是羞死人了……
她的哲学老师现在可能已经到达湖边了。他必须要坐船才能回到家。苏菲觉得自己几乎像是个罪犯一般，不过她不是故意的。
对了，那封信!这下，事情更糟了。她为什么要拿它呢?当然，
是因为信上写着她的名字，因此可以说那封信是她的。但即使如此，她仍然觉得自己像个小偷。更糟的是，她这样做无异留下证据，
显示擅闯小屋的不是别人，就是她。
苏菲把那信从信封里抽出来看，上面写着：
鸡与鸡的观念何者先有?
人是否生来就有一些概念?
植物、动物与人类的差别在哪里?
天为何会下雨?
人需要什么才能过好的生活?
苏菲现在没法思考这些问题。不过她想它们大概与下一位要讨论的哲学家有关。他不是叫亚理斯多德吗?
解释
苏菲在树林间跑了很久。当她终于看到家附近的树篱时，感觉就好像发生船难后游泳上岸的人一般。从这个方向看过去，那排树篱显得很滑稽。
她爬进密洞后，看了看腕表，已经十点半了。她把大信封放进饼干盒里，并把那张写着新问题的纸条塞进她贴身衬衣内。
她进门时，妈妈正在打电话。她一看到苏菲，马上挂掉电话。
“你到底到哪里去了?”
“我……我去……树林里散步。”她舌头有点打结。
“原来如此。”
苏菲静静地站着，看着水滴从她的衣服上滴下来。
“我打电话给乔安……”
“乔安?”
妈妈拿了几条干布来。苏菲差一点藏不住哲学家的纸条。然后她们母女两个一起坐在厨房里，妈妈泡了一杯热巧克力给苏菲喝。
过了一会儿后，妈妈问道；“你刚才是跟他在一起吗?”
“他?”
苏菲的脑海里想的只有她的哲学老师。
“对，他……那个跟你谈兔子的人。”
她摇摇头。
． “苏菲，你们在一起时都做些什么?为什么你会把衣服弄得这么湿?”
苏菲坐在那儿，神情严肃地看着桌子，心里却在暗笑。可怜的妈妈，她现在还得操心“那档子事”。
她再度摇摇头。然后妈妈又连珠炮似的问了她一堆问题。
“现在你要说实话。你是不是整晚都在外面?那天晚上你为什么没换衣服就睡了?你是不是一等我上床就偷跑出去了?苏菲，你才十四岁。我要你告诉我你到底和什么人交朋友!”
苏菲哭了起来，然后她便开始说话。因为她心里还是很害怕， 而当一个人害怕时，通常会想要说些话。
她向妈妈解释：她今天早上起得很早，于是便去森林里散步。
她告诉妈妈有关那小木屋与船，还有那面神秘镜子的事情，但她没有提到她所上的秘密函授课程。也没有提到那只绿色的皮夹。她也不知道为什么，不过她觉得她“不能”把有关席德的事说出来。
妈妈用手抱着苏菲，因此苏菲知道妈妈相信她了。
“我没有男朋友。”苏菲啜泣说，“那是我编的，因为那时候我说白兔的事情让你不高兴。”
“你真的一路走到少校的小木屋去……”妈妈若有所思地说。
“少校的小木屋?”苏菲睁大了眼睛。
“那栋小木屋叫少校的小木屋，因为多年前有一位老少校住在那儿。他性情很古怪，我想他大概有点疯狂吧。不过，别管这个了。
后来，小屋就一直空着。”
“不，现在有一个哲学家住在那里。”
“得了，苏菲，别再幻想了。”
苏菲待在房间内，心里想着这段时间发生的事。她的脑袋像一个满是大象、滑稽小丑、大胆空中飞人与训练有素的猴子闹哄哄的马戏团。不过有一个影像一‘直在她脑海里挥之不去，那就是一艘只有一只桨的小舟在林间深处的湖面上漂浮，而湖岸上有一个人正需要划船回家的情景。
苏菲可以肯定她的哲学老师不会愿意见她受伤，同时，即使他知道她到过他的小木屋，也一定会原谅她的。但是她打破了他们之间的协议。这就是他为她上哲学课所得的报酬吗?她要怎样才能弥补呢?
苏菲拿出粉红色的笔记纸，开始写信：
亲爱的哲学家：
星期天清晨闯进你的小屋的人就是我。因为我很想见到你，和你讨论一些哲学问题。现在我成了柏拉图迷，不过我不太确定他所说的存在于另外一个世界的观念或形式的说法是否正确。当然这些东西存在于我们的灵魂中，但我认为——至少现在如此——这是两回事。同时我必须承认，我还是不太相信灵魂是不朽的。就我个人来说，我不记得前生的事。如果你能够让我相信我奶奶死后的灵魂正在观念世界里过得很快乐，我会很感谢你。
