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双语小说
【分类】魔幻小说
-[作者: 乔斯坦·贾德]
阅读：[45175]
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……在某个时刻事物必然从无到有……
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苏菲放学回家了。有一段路她和乔安同行，她们谈着有关机器人的问题。乔安认为人的脑子就像一部很先进的电脑，这点苏菲并不太赞同。她想：人应该不只是一台机器吧？她们走到超市那儿就分手了。苏菲住在市郊，那一带面积辽阔，花木扶疏。苏菲家位于外围，走到学校的距离是乔安家的一倍，附近除了她家的园子之外，没有其他住家，因此看起来她们仿佛住在世界尽头似的。再过去，就是森林了。
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苏菲转了个弯，走到苜蓿巷路上。路尽头有一个急转弯，人们称之为“船长弯”。除了周六、周日的时候，人们很少打这儿经过。
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正是五月初的时节。有些人家的园子里，水仙花已经一丛丛开满了果树的四周，赤杨树也已经长出了嫩绿的叶子。
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每年到这个时节，万物总是充满了生机。这岂不是一件奇妙的事吗？当天气变暖，积雪融尽时，千千万万的花草树木便陡地自荒枯的大地上生长起来了。这是什么力量造成的呢？苏菲打开花园的门时，看了看信箱。里面通常有许多垃圾邮件和一些写给她妈妈的大信封。她总是把它们堆在厨房的桌子上，然后走上楼到房间做功课。
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偶尔，也会有一些银行寄给她爸爸的信。不过，苏菲的爸爸跟别人不太一样。他是一艘大油轮的船长，几乎一年到头都在外面。
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难得有几个星期在家时，他会上上下下细心打点，为苏菲母女俩把房子整理得漂亮舒适。不过，当他出海后却显得离她们遥远无比。
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今天，信箱里却只有一封信，而且是写给苏菲的。信封上写着：“苜蓿路三号，苏菲收”。只此而已，没有写寄信人的名字，也没贴邮票。
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苏菲随手把门带上后，便拆开了信封。里面只有一小张约莫跟信封一样大小的纸，上面写着：你是谁？
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除此之外，什么也没有。没有问候的话，也没有回信地址，只有这三个手写的字，后面是一个大大的问号。
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苏菲再看看信封。没错，信是写给她的。但又是谁把它放在信箱里的呢？苏菲快步走进她家那栋漆成红色的房子里。当她正要把房门带上时，她的猫咪雪儿一如往常般悄悄自树丛中走出，跳到门前的台阶上，一溜烟就钻了进来。
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“猫咪，猫咪，猫咪！”
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你是谁
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苏菲的妈妈心情不好时，总是把他们家称为“动物园”。事实上，苏菲也的确养了许多心爱的动物。一开始时是三只金鱼：金冠、小红帽和黑水手。然后她又养了两只鹦哥，名叫史密特和史穆尔，然后是名叫葛文的乌龟，最后则是猫咪雪儿。这些都是爸妈买给她作伴的。因为妈妈总是很晚才下班回家，而爸爸又常航行四海，苏菲把书包丢在地板上，为雪儿盛了一碗猫食。然后她便坐在厨房的高脚椅上，手中仍拿着那封神秘的信。
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你是谁？
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她怎么会知道？不用说，她的名字叫苏菲，但那个叫做苏菲的人又是谁呢？她还没有想出来。
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如果她取了另外一个名字呢？比方说，如果她叫做安妮的话，她会不会变成别人？这使她想起爸爸原本要将她取名为莉莉。她试着想象自己与别人握手，并且介绍自己名叫莉莉的情景，但却觉得好像很不对劲，像是别人在自我介绍一般。
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她跳起来，走进浴室，手里拿着那封奇怪的信。她站在镜子前面，凝视着自己的眼睛。“我的名字叫莉莉。”她说。
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镜中的女孩却连眼睛也不眨一下。无论苏菲做什么，她都依样画葫芦。苏菲飞快地做了一个动作，想使镜中的影像追赶不及，但那个女孩却和她一般的敏捷。
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“你是谁？”苏菲问。
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镜中人也不回答。有一刹那，她觉得迷惑，弄不清刚才问问题的到底是她，还是镜中的影像。
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苏菲用食指点着镜中的鼻子，说：“你是我。”对方依旧没有反应。于是她将句子颠倒过来，说：“我是你。”苏菲对自己的长相常常不太满意。时常有人对她说她那一双杏眼很漂亮，但这可能只是因为她的鼻子太小，嘴巴有点太大的缘故。还有，她的耳朵也太靠近眼睛了。最糟糕的是她有一头直发，简直没办法打扮。有时她的爸爸在听完一首德彪西的曲子之后会摸摸她的头发，叫她：“亚麻色头发的女孩。”(编按：为德彪西钢琴“前奏曲”之曲名)对他来说，这当然没有什么不好，因为这头直板板的深色头发不是长在他的头上，他毋需忍受那种感觉。不管泡沫胶或造型发胶都无济于事。有时她觉得自己好丑，一定是出生时变了形的缘故。以前妈妈总是念叨她当年生苏菲时难产的情况，不过，难道这样就可以决定一个人的长相吗？她居然不知道自己是谁，这不是太奇怪了吗？她也没有一点权利选择自己的长相，这不是太不合理了吗？这些事情都是她不得不接受的。也许她可以选择交什么朋友，但却不能选择自己要成为什么人。她甚至不曾选择要做人。
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人是什么？她再度抬起头，看看镜中的女孩。
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“我要上楼去做生物课的作业了。”她说，语气中几乎有些歉意。她很快走到了走廊。一到这儿，她想：“不，我还是到花园去好了。”“猫咪！猫咪！猫咪！”苏菲追猫追到门阶上，并且随手关上了前门。当她拿着那封神秘的信，站在花园中的石子路上时，那种奇怪的感觉又浮现了。她觉得自己好像一个在仙子的魔棒挥舞之下，突然被赋予了生命的玩具娃娃。她现在能够在这个世界上四处漫游，从事奇妙的探险，这不是一件很不寻常的事吗？雪儿轻巧地跳过石子路，滑进了浓密的红醋栗树丛中。它是一只活泼的猫，毛色光滑，全身上下从白色的胡须到左右摇动的尾巴都充满了蓬勃的生气。它此刻也在这园子中，但却未像苏菲一样意识到这件事实。
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当苏菲开始思考有关活着这件事时，她也开始意识到她不会永远活着。
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她想：“我现在是活在这世上，但有一天我会死去。”人死之后还会有生命吗？这个问题猫咪也不会去想。这倒是它的福气。
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苏菲的祖母不久前才去世。有六个多月的时间，苏菲天天都想念她。生命为何要结束呢？这是多么不公平呀！苏菲站在石子路上想着。她努力思考活着的意义，好让自己忘掉她不会永远活着这件事。然而，这实在不太可能。现在，只要她一专心思索活着这件事，脑海中便会马上浮现死亡的念头。反过来说也是如此：唯有清晰地意识到有一天她终将死去，她才能够体会活在世上是多么美好。这两件事就像钱币的正反两面，被她不断翻来转去，当一面变得更大、更清晰时，另外一面也随之变得大而清晰。生与死正是一枚钱币的正反两面。
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“如果你没有意识到人终将死去，就不能体会活着的滋味。”她想。然而，同样的，如果你不认为活着是多么奇妙而不可思议的事时，你也无法体认你必须要死去的事实。
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苏菲记得那天医生说告诉祖母她生病了时，祖母说过同样的话。她说：“现在我才体认到生命是何等可贵。”大多数人总是要等到生病后才了解，能够活着是何等的福气。
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这是多么悲哀的事！或许他们也应该在信箱里发现一封神秘的来信吧！也许她应该去看看是否有别的信。
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苏菲匆匆忙忙走到花园门口，查看了一下那绿色的信箱，她很惊讶的发现里面居然有另外一封信，与第一封一模一样。她拿走第一封信时，里面明明是空的呀！这封信上面也写着她的名字。她将它拆开，拿出一张与第一封信一样大小的便条纸。
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纸上写着：世界从何而来？
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苏菲想：“我不知道。”不用说，没有人真正知道。不过苏菲认为这个问题的确是应该问的。她生平第一次觉得生在这世界上却连“世界从何而来”这样的问题也不问一问，实在是很不恭敬。
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这两封神秘的信把苏菲弄得脑袋发昏。她决定到她的老地方去坐下来。这个老地方是苏菲最秘密的藏身之处。当她非常愤怒、悲伤或快乐时，她总会来到这儿。而今天，苏菲来此的理由却是因为她感到困惑。
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苏菲的困惑
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这栋红房子坐落在一个很大的园子中。园里有很多花圃、各式各样的果树，以及一片广阔的草坪，上面有一架沙发式的秋千与一座小小的凉亭。这凉亭是奶奶的第一个孩子在出生几周便夭折后，爷爷为奶奶兴建的。孩子的名字叫做玛莉。她的墓碑上写着：“小小玛莉来到人间，惊鸿一瞥魂归高天”。
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在花园的一角，那些木莓树丛后面有一片花草果树不生的浓密灌木林。事实上，那儿原本是一行生长多年的树篱，一度是森林的分界线。然而由于过去二十年来未经修剪，如今已经长成一大片，枝叶纠结，难以穿越。奶奶以前常说战争期间这道树篱使得那些在园中放养的鸡比较不容易被狐狸捉去。
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如今，除了苏菲以外，大家都认为这行老树篱就像园子另一边那个兔笼子一般，没有什么用处。但这全是因为他们浑然不知苏菲的秘密的缘故。
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自从解事以来，苏菲就知道树篱中有个小洞。她爬过那个小洞，就置身于灌木丛中的一个大洞穴中。这个洞穴就像一座小小的房子。她知道当她在那儿时，没有人可以找到她。
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手里紧紧握着那两封信，苏菲跑过花园，而后整个人趴下来，钻进树篱中。里面的高度差不多勉强可以让她站起来，但她今天只是坐在一堆纠结的树根上。她可以从这里透过枝桠与树叶之间的隙缝向外张望。虽然没有一个隙缝比一枚小钱币大，但她仍然可以清楚地看见整座花园。当她还小时，常躲在这儿，看着爸妈在树丛间找她，觉得很好玩。
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苏菲一直认为这个花园自成一个世界。每一次她听到圣经上有关伊甸园的事时，她就觉得自己好像坐在她的小天地，观察属于她的小小乐园一般。
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世界从何而来？
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她一点也不知道。她知道这个世界只不过是太空中一个小小的星球。然而，太空又是打哪儿来的呢？很可能太空是早就存在的。如果这样，她就不需要去想它是从哪里来了。但一个东西有可能原来就存在吗？她内心深处并不赞成这样的看法。现存的每一件事物必然都曾经有个开始吧？因此，太空一定是在某个时刻由另外一样东西造成的。
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不过，如果太空是由某样东西变成的，那么，那样东西必然也是由另外一样东西变成的。苏菲觉得自己只不过是把问题向后拖延罢了。在某一时刻，事物必然曾经从无到有。然而，这可能吗？这不就像世界一直存在的看法一样不可思议吗？他们在学校曾经读到世界是由上帝创造的。现在苏菲试图安慰自己，心想这也许是整件事最好的答案吧。不过，她又再度开始思索。她可以接受上帝创造太空的说法，不过上帝又是谁创造的呢？是它自己从无中生有，创造出它自己吗？苏菲内心深处并不以为然。即使上帝创造了万物，它也无法创造出它自己，因为那时它自己并不存在呀。因此，只剩下一个可能性了：上帝是一直都存在的。然而苏菲已经否认这种可能性了，已经存在的万事万物必然有个开端的。
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哦！这个问题真是烦死人了！她再度拆开那两封信。
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你是谁？世界从何而来？什么烂问题嘛！再说，这些信又是打哪儿来的呢？这件事几乎和这两个问题一样，是个谜。
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是谁给苏菲这样一记当头棒喝，使她突然脱离了日常生活，面对这样一个宇宙的大谜题？苏菲再度走到信箱前。这已经是第三次了。邮差刚刚送完今天的信。苏菲拿出了一大堆垃圾邮件、期刊以及两三封写给妈妈的信。除此之外，还有一张风景明信片，上面印着热带海滩的景象。她把卡片翻过来，上面贴着挪威的邮票，并盖着“联合国部队”的邮戳。会是爸爸寄来的吗？可是爸爸不在这个地方呀！况且笔迹也当她看到收信人的名字时，不觉心跳微微加速。上面写着：“请苜蓿巷三号苏菲转交席德……”剩下的地址倒是正确的。卡片上写着：
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亲爱的席德：你满十五岁了，生日快乐！我想你会明白，我希望给你一样能帮助你成长的生日礼物。原谅我请苏菲代转运张卡片，因为这样最方便。
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爱你的老爸
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苏菲快步走回屋子，进入厨房。此刻她的思绪一团混乱。
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这个席德是谁？她的十五岁生日居然只比苏菲早了一个月。
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她去客厅拿了电话簿来查。有许多人姓袭，也有不少人姓习，但就是没有人姓席。
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她再度审视这张神秘的卡片。上面有邮票也有邮戳，因此毫无疑问，这不是一封伪造的信。
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怎么会有父亲把生日卡寄到苏菲家？这明明不是给她的呀！什么样的父亲会故意把信寄到别人家，让女儿收不到生日卡呢？为什么他说这是“最方便”的呢？更何况，苏菲要怎样才能找到这个名叫席德的人？现在，苏菲又有问题要烦恼了。她试着将思绪做一番整理：今天下午，在短短的两个小时之内，她面临了三个问题。第一个是谁把那两个白色的信封放在她的信箱内，第二个是那两封信提出的难题，第三个则是这个席德是谁。她的生日卡为何会寄到苏菲家？苏菲相信这三个问题之间必然有所关联。一定是这样没错，因为直到今天以前，她的生活都跟平常人没有两样。
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at some point something must have come from nothing
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Sophie Amundsen was on her way home from school. She had walked the first part of the way with Joanna. They had been discussing robots. Joanna thought the human brain was like an advanced computer. Sophie was not certain she agreed. Surely a person was more than a piece of hardware?
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When they got to the supermarket they went their separate ways. Sophie lived on the outskirts of a sprawling suburb and had almost twice as far to school as Joanna. There were no other houses beyond her garden, which made it seem as if her house lay at the end of the world. This was where the woods began.
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She turned the corner into Clover Close. At the end of the road there was a sharp bend, known as Captain’s Bend. People seldom went that way except on the weekend.
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It was early May. In some of the gardens the fruit trees were encircled with dense clusters of daffodils. The birches were already in pale green leaf.
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It was extraordinary how everything burst forth at this time of year! What made this great mass of green vegetation come welling up from the dead earth as soon as it got warm and the last traces of snow disappeared?
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As Sophie opened her garden gate, she looked in the mailbox. There was usually a lot of junk mail and a few big envelopes for her mother, a pile to dump on the kitchen table before she went up to her room to start her homework.
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From time to time there would be a few letters from the bank for her father, but then he was not a normal father. Sophie’s father was the captain of a big oil tanker , and was away for most of the year. During the few weeks at a time when he was at home, he would shuffle around the house making it nice and cozy for Sophie and her mother. But when he was at sea he could seem very distant.
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There was only one letter in the mailbox--and it was for Sophie. The white envelope read: "Sophie Amundsen, 3 Clover Close." That was all; it did not say who it was from. There was no stamp on it either.
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As soon as Sophie had closed the gate behind her she opened the envelope. It contained only a slip of paper no bigger than the envelope. It read: Who are you?
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Nothing else, only the three words, written by hand, and followed by a large question mark.
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She looked at the envelope again. The letter was definitely for her. Who could have dropped it in the mailbox?
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Sophie let herself quickly into the red house. As always, her cat Sherekan managed to slink out of the bushes, jump onto the front step, and slip in through the door before she closed it behind her.
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Whenever Sophie’s mother was in a bad mood, she would call the house they lived in a menagerie. A menagerie was a collection of animals. Sophie certainly had one and was quite happy with it. It had begun with the three goldfish, Goldtop, Red Ridinghood, and Black Jack . Next she got two budgerigars called Smitt and Smule, then Govinda the tortoise, and finally the marmalade cat Sherekan. They had all been given to her to make up for the fact that her mother never got home from work until late in the afternoon and her father was away so much, sailing all over the world.
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Sophie slung her schoolbag on the floor and put a bowl of cat food out for Sherekan. Then she sat down on a kitchen stool with the mysterious letter in her hand.
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Who are you?
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She had no idea. She was Sophie Amundsen, of course, but who was that? She had not really figured that out--yet.
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What if she had been given a different name? Anne Knutsen, for instance. Would she then have been someone else?
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She suddenly remembered that Dad had originally wanted her to be called Lillemor. Sophie tried to imagine herself shaking hands and introducing herself as Lillemor Amundsen, but it seemed all wrong. It was someone else who kept introducing herself.
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She jumped up and went into the bathroom with the strange letter in her hand. She stood in front of the mirror and stared into her own eyes.
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"I am Sophie Amundsen," she said.
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The girl in the mirror did not react with as much as a twitch . Whatever Sophie did, she did exactly the same. Sophie tried to beat her reflection to it with a lightning movement but the other girl was just as fast.
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"Who are you?" Sophie asked.
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She received no response to this either, but felt a momentary confusion as to whether it was she or her reflection who had asked the question.
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Sophie pressed her index finger to the nose in the mirror and said, "You are me."
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As she got no answer to this, she turned the sentence around and said, "I am you."
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Sophie Amundsen was often dissatisfied with her appearance. She was frequently told that she had beautiful almond-shaped eyes, but that was probably just something people said because her nose was too small and her mouth was a bit too big. And her ears were much too close to her eyes. Worst of all was her straight hair, which it was impossible to do anything with. Sometimes her father would stroke her hair and call her "the girl with the flaxen hair," after a piece of music by Claude Debussy. It was all right for him, he was not condemned to living with this straight dark hair. Neither mousse nor styling gel had the slightest effect on Sophie’s hair. Sometimes she thought she was so ugly that she wondered if she was malformed at birth. Her mother always went on about her difficult labor . But was that really what determined how you looked?
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Wasn’t it odd that she didn’t know who she was? And wasn’t it unreasonable that she hadn’t been allowed to have any say in what she would look like? Her looks had just been dumped on her. She could choose her own friends, but she certainly hadn’t chosen herself. She had not even chosen to be a human being.
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What was a human being?
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Sophie looked up at the girl in the mirror again.
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"I think I’ll go upstairs and do my biology homework," she said, almost apologetically. Once she was out in the hall, she thought, No, I’d rather go out in the garden.
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"kitty, kitty, kitty!"
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Sophie chased the cat out onto the doorstep and closed the front door behind her.
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As she stood outside on the gravel path with the mysterious letter in her hand, the strangest feeling came over her. She felt like a doll that had suddenly been brought to life by the wave of a magic wand.
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Wasn’t it extraordinary to be in the world right now, wandering around in a wonderful adventure!
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Sherekan sprang lightly across the gravel and slid into a dense clump of red-currant bushes. A live cat, vibrant with energy from its white whiskers to the twitching tail at the end of its sleek body. It was here in the garden too, but hardly aware of it in the same way as Sophie.
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As Sophie started to think about being alive, she began to realize that she would not be alive forever. I am in the world now, she thought, but one day I shall be gone.
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Was there a life after death? This was another question the cat was blissfully unaware of.
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It was not long since Sophie’s grandmother had died. For more than six months Sophie had missed her every single day. How unfair that life had to end!
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Sophie stood on the gravel path, thinking. She tried to think extra hard about being alive so as to forget that she would not be alive forever. But it was impossible. As soon as she concentrated on being alive now, the thought of dying also came into her mind. The same thing happened the other way around: only by conjuring up an intense feeling of one day being dead could she appreciate how terribly good it was to be alive. It was like two sides of a coin that she kept turning over and over. And the bigger and clearer one side of the coin became, the bigger and clearer the other side became too.
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You can’t experience being alive without realizing that you have to die, she thought. But it’s just as impossible to realize you have to die without thinking how incredibly amazing it is to be alive.
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Sophie remembered Granny saying something like that the day the doctor told her she was ill. "I never realized how rich life was until now," she said.
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How tragic that most people had to get ill before they understood what a gift it was to be alive. Or else they had to find a mysterious letter in the mailbox!
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Perhaps she should go and see if any more letters had arrived. Sophie hurried to the gate and looked inside the green mailbox. She was startled to find that it contained another white envelope, exactly like the first. But the mailbox had definitely been empty when she took the first envelope! This envelope had her name on it as well. She tore it open and fished out a note the same size as the first one.
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Where does the world come from? it said.
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I don’t know, Sophie thought. Surely nobody really knows. And yet--Sophie thought it was a fair question. For the first time in her life she felt it wasn’t right to live in the world without at least inquiring where it came from.
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The mysterious letters had made Sophie’s head spin. She decided to go and sit in the den .
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The den was Sophie’s top secret hiding place. It was where she went when she was terribly angry, terribly miserable , or terribly happy. Today she was simply confused.
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* * *
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The red house was surrounded by a large garden with lots of flowerbeds, fruit bushes, fruit trees of different kinds, a spacious lawn with a glider and a little gazebo that Granddad had built for Granny when she lost their first child a few weeks after it was born. The child’s name was Marie. On her gravestone were the words: "Little Marie to us came, greeted us, and left again."
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Down in a corner of the garden behind all the raspberry bushes was a dense thicket where neither flowers nor berries would grow. Actually, it was an old hedge that had once marked the boundary to the woods, but because nobody had trimmed it for the last twenty years it had grown into a tangled and impenetrable mass. Granny used to say the hedge made it harder for the foxes to take the chickens during the war, when the chickens had free range of the garden.
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To everyone but Sophie, the old hedge was just as useless as the rabbit hutches at the other end of the garden. But that was only because they hadn’t discovered Sophie’s secret.
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Sophie had known about the little hole in the hedge for as long as she could remember. When she crawled through it she came into a large cavity between the bushes. It was like a little house. She knew nobody would find her there.
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Clutching the two envelopes in her hand, Sophie ran through the garden, crouched down on all fours, and wormed her way through the hedge. The den was almost high enough for her to stand upright, but today she sat down on a clump of gnarled roots. From there she could look out through tiny peepholes between the twigs and leaves. Although none of the holes was bigger than a small coin, she had a good view of the whole garden. When she was little she used to think it was fun to watch her mother and father searching for her among the trees.
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Sophie had always thought the garden was a world of its own. Each time she heard about the Garden of Eden in the Bible it reminded her of sitting here in the den, surveying her own little paradise.
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Where does the world come from?
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She hadn’t the faintest idea. Sophie knew that the world was only a small planet in space. But where did space come from?
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It was possible that space had always existed, in which case she would not also need to figure out where it came from. But could anything have always existed? Something deep down inside her protested at the idea. Surely everything that exists must have had a beginning? So space must sometime have been created out of something else.
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But if space had come from something else, then that something else must also have come from something. Sophie felt she was only deferring the problem. At some point, something must have come from nothing. But was that possible? Wasn’t that just as impossible as the idea that the world had always existed?
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They had learned at school that God created the world. Sophie tried to console herself with the thought that this was probably the best solution to the whole problem. But then she started to think again. She could accept that God had created space, but what about God himself? Had he created himself out of nothing? Again there was something deep down inside her that protested. Even though God could create all kinds of things, he could hardly create himself before he had a "self" to create with. So there was only one possibility left: God had always existed. But she had already rejected that possibility! Everything that existed had to have a beginning.
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Oh, drat!
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She opened the two envelopes again.
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Who are you?
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Where does the world come from?
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What annoying questions! And anyway where did the letters come from? That was just as mysterious, almost.
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Who had jolted Sophie out of her everyday existence and suddenly brought her face to face with the great riddles of the universe?
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For the third time Sophie went to the mailbox. The mailman had just delivered the day’s mail. Sophie fished out a bulky pile of junk mail, periodicals, and a couple of letters for her mother. There was also a postcard of a tropical beach. She turned the card over. It had a Nor-wegian stamp on it and was postmarked "UN Battalion ." Could it be from Dad? But wasn’t he in a completely different place? It wasn’t his handwriting either.
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Sophie felt her pulse quicken a little as she saw who the postcard was addressed to: "Hilde Moller Knag, c/o Sophie Amundsen, 3 Clover Close ..." The rest of the address was correct. The card read:
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Dear Hilde, Happy 15th birthday! As I’m sure you’ll understand, I want to give you a present that will help you grow. Forgive me for sending the card c/o Sophie. It was the easiest way. Love from Dad.
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Sophie raced back to the house and into the kitchen. Her mind was in a turmoil . Who was this "Hilde," whose fifteenth birthday was just a month before her own?
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Sophie got out the telephone book. There were a lot of people called Moller, and quite a few called Knag. But there was nobody in the entire directory called Moller Knag.
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She examined the mysterious card again. It certainly seemed genuine enough; it had a stamp and a postmark.
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Why would a father send a birthday card to Sophie’s address when it was quite obviously intended to go somewhere else? What kind of father would cheat his own daughter of a birthday card by purposely sending it astray? How could it be "the easiest way"? And above all, how was she supposed to trace this Hilde person?
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So now Sophie had another problem to worry about. She tried to get her thoughts in order:
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This afternoon, in the space of two short hours, she had been presented with three problems. The first problem was who had put the two white envelopes in her mailbox. The second was the difficult questions these letters contained. The third problem was who Hilde Moller Knag could be, and why Sophie had been sent her birthday card. She was sure that the three problems were interconnected in some way. They had to be, because until today she had lived a perfectly ordinary life.
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