Page 19

“Mary? Do you ever wonder if everything we do is already decided? Like, we think we have a choice, but we really don’t?”

I turn to Sophie with a little surprise. I’ve just been wondering almost the same thing.

The two of us are in the schoolroom. It's after lunch, and lessons for the day are finished. She's completing her assignments before I release her for the day.

“Well, I believe that we always decide how we react to events and circumstances. We can’t control how other people react, and we can’t control our circumstances completely, but we have control over our own actions.”

“Yes, but if you think about like, all of time, then so many people have already made choices, and those choices make circumstances, and those circumstances affect everyone. So yeah, I guess you could choose to dress like a clown and eat bubble gum until you die, but except for being crazy, you really only have a few choices because all of the other choices have been made for you. Like, someone else built this house, someone else built the roads outside, someone else invented the food we eat… I mean, you can do other things, but it’s very hard. So are we just stuck walking this path that’s already been decided for us?”

I smile at her. “You’re a very wise little girl, did you know that?”

She chuckles. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t. Life would be easier if I didn’t know anything but what I was told.”

That reminds me of an argument Annie and I once had. “You have it so easy,” she tells me. “All you have to do is read a self-help book and follow the steps. I wish it was that easy for me to be happy.”

She was wrong about me, of course, but not entirely. To an extent, I did choose an easier life, for a long time, anyway. She chose freedom, but the more I learned about her life after leaving Boston, the more I wondered if the hardship she faced was worth it.

“You’re right,” I tell Sophie. “It is very hard. The advantage of walking the path others have trod is that… well, others have trod it. The dangers are known. There are clear signs that say ‘go this way,’ ‘don’t go that way,’ ‘stop here.’ And for some people, that’s enough. Some people can do the same thing every day—walk the same streets, eat the same food, watch the same television programs, go to the same parks, and so on—and be perfectly content. And others can’t.”

“But how do you know?” she asks. “How do you know whether you’ll be happier staying on the path or leaving it?”

The simple, blunt, and in many ways cruel answer is that you don't. You take a risk, or you don't, and you can't know until after the choice is made if that risk will pay off or not. But she is only ten years old. She's precocious for her age, but she’s still a child, and I don’t want to ruin her hope for the future just yet. Besides, just because my life has brought me tragedy doesn’t mean hers will.

“That’s something you have to figure out for yourself,” I tell her. “But don’t think too seriously about it. You’re still young. Enjoy being a child for as long as you can.”

She smiles. “In that case, I choose to finish the rest of these assignments tomorrow so I can go play video games right now.”

I laugh. “Very well. I won’t stop you. But since you've chosen the easy route today, you should know that you've made tomorrow harder. Consider that your final lesson for the day."

She chuckles. “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m bored to tears doing my homework tomorrow.”

“You can’t say you weren’t warned.”

She leaves the room, skipping on her way to the elevator. I remain where I am for a while.

Sophie has just touched on perhaps the most difficult question of life. It’s a question that has plagued philosophers since time immemorial, and no one seems to be able to provide a good answer. Care about everything. Care about nothing. Live in the moment. Plan for the future. Don’t dwell on the past. Learn from history. It’s all confusing and contradictory and none of it is quite perfect.

Maybe the only perfect answer is the obvious one. It depends. Each person needs to make different choices to achieve happiness in their own life.

“A little crummy when the safest paths are created by a bunch of people doing the same thing,” I remark to no one.

Well, I can sit here all day stewing in my melancholy, or I can do something productive. That means either studying Laura’s journal or heading downstairs to spy on Elena. If I start reading the journal, I’ll continue to stew in my melancholy, so I decide to head downstairs.

Look at that. I’ve made an informed choice. Now we’ll see if this choice brings me happiness.

The Museum is packed today, even more so than it was the day of Dr. Fournier's ill-fated speech. As soon as I step into the crowd, I am stuck there, unable to move until those ahead of me move. They, in turn, must wait until the people ahead of them move.

How is a museum about clocks so busy? I know that horology is a pride of Switzerland, but still.

I look around but don’t see Elena anywhere. Well, that’s all right. I’ll wait until I have an opening to escape. Then I’ll go look for her. Besides, it’s not like she’s going to be talking about dark family secrets while surrounded by strangers.

I find myself behind a group of college students. There are seven of them, led by a tired-looking professor who does little other than issue the occasional half-hearted reminder to be calm around the pieces and not damage them.

The students do a passable job of listening at first, but they’re really only children themselves. They’re already antsy when I arrive, and when five minutes only takes us through the first quarter of the exhibit, they begin acting out. A young couple in front of me begins tickling each other, laughing and loudly exhorting the other to stop. Their friend in front of them loudly calls for them to stop as well, but he is more serious and clearly irritated at the couple’s shenanigans. Or perhaps he’s jealous and just doesn’t want to see them affectionate.

The professor gives his half-hearted warning. The couple ignores it, and the friend turns around and shouts, “You guys! Stop!”

As he turns around, his shoulder knocks a mantel clock to the floor. The room holds their breath as the seemingly fragile instrument hits the ground. Rather than shatter into a million pieces as I and everyone else expect, however, it bounces and then lands on its back intact save for a small door in the rear of the case.

That door opens, and a roll of paper falls out. It's rolled shut, so I can't read what's written inside, but from where I stand, I can see the tail end of a faded symbol on the corner of the page.

My eyes widen. There’s no mistaking it. The two hooked lines I see are the bottom half of a swastika.

“Hold still!”

Elena’s voice carries over the crowd, a little unnecessarily since everyone is already frozen. She pushes through the people, using her elbows and knees to create space. When she reaches the group, she calls, “Excuse me,” and pushes through the open-mouthed couple.

“I’m so sorry!” the culprit says, white-faced with shock that it was he—the well-behaved one—who damaged the valuable antique.

Elena doesn’t reply to him. She quickly shoves the paper back into the clock, closes it, and stands. “I’ll take it for repairs.”

She lifts her head, and when she sees me, she freezes. The color drains from her face. Her lower lip trembles for a moment, then she pushes past me, rushing as fast as the crowd will allow her to the elevator.