Jostein Gaarder - Sophie's World - A Novel About the History of Philosophy

She agreed with Alberto that the only sensible thing that had happened at the garden party was his speech. Surely her father didn’t think Hilde’s world was as chaotic as Sophie’s garden party? Or that her world would also dissolve eventually?

Then there was the matter of Sophie and Alberto. What had happened to the secret plan?

Was it up to Hilde herself to continue the story? Or had they really managed to sneak out of it?

And where were they now?

A thought suddenly struck her. If Alberto and Sophie really had managed to sneak out of the story, there wouldn’t be anything about it in the ring binder. Everything that was there, unfortunately, was clear to her father.

Could there be anything written between the lines? There was more than a mere suggestion of it. Hilde realized that she would have to read the whole story again one or two more times.

* * *

As the white Mercedes drove into the garden, Alberto dragged Sophie with him into the den. Then they ran into the woods in the direction of the major’s cabin.

“Quickly!” cried Alberto. “It’s got to happen before he starts looking for us.”

“Are we beyond the major’s reach now?”

“We are in the borderland.”

They rowed across the water and ran into the cabin. Alberto opened a trapdoor in the floor. He pushed Sophie down into the cellar. Then everything went black.

In the days that followed, Hilde worked on her plan. She sent several letters to Anne Kvamsdal in Copenhagen, and a couple of times she called her. She also enlisted the aid of friends and acquaintances, and recruited almost half of her class at school.

In between, she read Sophie’s World. It was not a story one could be done with after a single reading. New thoughts about what could have happened to Sophie and Alberto when they left the garden party were constantly occurring to her.

On Saturday, June 23, she awoke with a start around nine o’clock. She knew her father had already left the camp in Lebanon. Now it was just a question of waiting. The last part of his day was planned down to the smallest detail.

Later in the morning she began the preparations for Midsummer Eve with her mother. Hilde could not help thinking of how Sophie and her mother had arranged their Midsummer Eve party. But that was something they had done. It was over, finished. Or was it? Were they going around right now, decorating everywhere?

Sophie and Alberto seated themselves on a lawn in front of two large buildings with ugly air vents and ventilation canals on the outside. A young couple came walking out of one of the buildings. He was carrying a brown briefcase and she had a red handbag slung over one shoulder. A car drove along a narrow road in the background.

“What happened?” asked Sophie.

“We made it!”

“But where are we?”

“This is Oslo.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“Quite sure. One of these buildings is called Chateau Neuf, which means ‘the new palace.’ People study music there. The other is the Congregation Faculty. It’s a school of theology. Further up the hill they study science and up at the top they study literature and philosophy.”

“Are we out of Hilde’s book and beyond the major’s control?”

“Yes, both. He’ll never find us here.”

“But where were we when we ran through the woods?”

“While the major was busy crashing the financial adviser’s car into an apple tree, we seized the chance to hide in the den. We were then at the embryo stage. We were of the old as well as of the new world. But concealing ourselves there was something the major cannot possibly have envisaged.”

“Why not?”

“He would never have let us go so easily. As it was, it went like a dream. Of course, there’s always the chance that he was in on it himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“It was he who started the white Mercedes. He may have exerted himself to the utmost to lose sight of us. He was probably utterly exhausted after everything that had been going on . . .”

By now the young couple were only a few yards away. Sophie felt a bit awkward, sitting on the grass with a man so much older than herself. Besides, she wanted someone to confirm what Alberto had said.

She got up and went over to them

“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.