Sammy Jo hesitated for a moment, then picked up her pen again. She said quietly, All right then, I dont really understand what it means, properly. Tell me and Ill write it down.
That night during dinner Sammy Jo asked Jason if he could get her a proper lined writing pad from work and a couple of spare biros. Jason was cutting up his fish fingers with one eye on the television, watching Wogan. Wogan was interviewing Candice Bergen. Jason put a mouthful of the battered fish into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully without replying. Sammy Jo glared at him. Jason, do you mind paying me some attention? Im talking to you!
He turned towards her. Something about paper and pens, right?
She nodded. Would you get me some from work? They supply you free dont they?
He frowned. What do you want them for?
Sammy Jo turned her eyes towards the television screen and focused on Wogans tie. Nothing in particular. Telephone messages, addresses, sometimes on daytime television they have interesting babycare tips and recipes and stuff. Theyd just come in handy.
Jason carried on eating, OK, Ill try and remember.
The following day Sammy Jo left the house at eleven oclock with Charlie tucked up in her pram, and went out shopping. She collected Charlies child benefit money from the post office, then caught a bus into the centre of Milton Keynes. In her pocket was a piece of the pizza pad with the address of a bookshop scribbled on it. She found the bookshop and pushed her way clumsily inside. The short, dark man standing behind his desk in the shop came forward to help her. He said, These places arent designed with prams in mind.
Sammy Jo smiled. Next time Ill remember that and leave the baby on the bus.
He grinned. I didnt mean any offence. Leave the pram here by the till and Ill keep an eye on the baby while you browse.
Sammy Jo let go of the pram and strolled around the shop. After several minutes she returned to the assistant and said, If I keep an eye on the baby, would you mind finding copies of these books for me?
She handed him her piece of paper which he took from her and perused. He smiled No problem and quickly located the volumes in question. She held the three thin books in her hands and looked guiltily at the prices. The assistant noticed her concern. He said, Specialist books are expensive on the whole, but I think youll find that those are quite reasonable. Russell was a bit of a popularist excluding his works on mathematical logic, of course so his more general works are very reasonably priced. The Descartes is a fraction more expensive, but the Sartre isnt too bad. Thats fiction though, The Age of Reason, its a great book.
Sammy Jo smiled at the assistant. He seemed enthusiastic and well read. She said, One day I hope to be as well informed as you are. Which book do you think I should read first?
He shrugged. It depends on what youre after. If I were you Id read The Age of Reason first. Its good to introduce yourself to ideas in an informal sort of way. Then the ideas just pop into your head and its no strain to pick them up.
Sammy Jo looked at the synopsis on the back of the Penguin paperback. It looks a bit heavy going.
The assistant smiled sympathetically. You havent bought it yet. You could always change your mind.
Sammy Jo looked at him quizzically. Do you think I should?
He chuckled, Im playing the devils advocate. The story is about free will, about a mans search for personal freedom. You should use your free will to decide whether you really want to buy it or not. If you choose to buy it then you will have made a commitment to the book. In fact you will have involved yourself in the books fundamental dilemmas.
His face glowed as he explained this to her. His green eyes shone and he seemed excited. Sammy Jo handed him the three books and said, All right, Ill have them. Ill read the she paused. Why are all these names so hard to pronounce?
He took the books and put them into a bag. Say the word start.
Sammy Jo repeated after him, Start.
Then take out the first letter t so its sart.
She copied him: Sart.
Then say the word rough.
She smiled. Rough.
But forget about the ugh part and just say ro. Then altogether its Sartre. Obviously thats the simple English pronunciation, but people will know who you mean.
Sammy Jo said the name out loud to him a few times and then handed him some of her child benefit money. She said, Im going to start the Sartre on the bus home. I hope I enjoy it.
He finished wrapping up her books and handed them over to her. Thats entirely up to you.
She grinned. Thats a joke, right?
When Sammy Jo got home she changed and fed the baby and then made herself a sandwich and sat down on the sofa to start Chapter Two of The Age of Reason. Her main thoughts about its central character, Mathieu, were that she was glad that he wasnt looking after her baby. He didnt seem responsible enough. When the telephone rang she told the man on the line these thoughts. She said, Ideas are all right, but ideas cant guide your life, it isnt practical or realistic.
He laughed. So what do you think should be mans main motivation? The acquisition of food? Making cups of tea?
She raised her eyebrows fully cognizant of his cynicism and stared out of the window. I wasnt saying that. Im not quite so stupid. All I mean is that people cant afford to be so self-indulgent, so luxurious. You have to get on with things. My life would be in a fine mess if I suddenly decided that I wanted to be free, that I couldnt be bothered to look after my young baby any more because she gets in the way of my freedom and independence.
The man sounded irritated. No, youre trivializing the issue. You decided to have the baby, you made that decision freely many months ago. You could have aborted the child had you felt otherwise. The character Mathieu isnt entirely unhindered in his decisions about whether he wants Marcelles baby thats silly, what I mean to say is that obviously he doesnt want a baby but he has other considerations to take into account; Marcelles feelings, money, the illegality of abortions
Sammy Jo sighed, Men are bastards. Really its her problem. He just worries about it to make himself feel good. Hes a shit.
He interrupted her. The character doesnt matter, Sammy Jo. Its his thoughts and actions that are our concern, not whether you happen to like him or not.
Sammy Jo snorted. If I dont like the character how can I read and enjoy the book?
His voice was sharp. Thats stupid. Behave rationally. Since when do you have to like a character in order to be able to understand and sympathize with his dilemmas? You cant go through life saying, Oh, she doesnt sound very nice so Im not interested in her. Thats ridiculous. Those sorts of comments are unworthy of you. You should think beyond your own standpoint. If you cant do that, then a whole dimension is lost to you. Have you got a proper pad of paper now?
Sammy Jo shrugged and didnt answer, like a petulant schoolgirl. The voice said, Sammy Jo, answer me.
She hung up and stared at the telephone for several seconds, waiting for it to ring. It didnt. She stared at it for a full five minutes, then began to feel stupid. She walked over to Charlie, who was sleeping in her crib, warm and cosy, smelling of milk. Out in the garden a small grey cat was scratching its claws on the thin trunk of a small apple tree. She felt frustrated. She thought, What right does he have to manipulate me like this? Hes imposing on me. Hes a bully. Its wrong for strangers to interfere like this, to impose like this, to telephone you when they want, to build up a relationship that depends solely on their goodwill
She scratched her head and said musingly to Charlies tiny body, which, disguised by layers of soft blankets, just rose and fell with the repetitive lull of sleepy breathing, Charlie, people are strange. This man is strange. I suppose I should tell Jason really, but I know hell just get upset. I could telephone Lucy Cosbie but do I really need to? This situation is quite different from before, altogether different. No one is threatening me. I dont know.
She went and sat down on the sofa and picked up her book again. She read until five and then went into the kitchen and started to prepare dinner. Jason came in while she was frying some courgettes and cutting mushrooms. He pecked her on the cheek and said, Do I guess from this that Charlie will be enjoying ratatouille-flavoured milk this evening?
She smiled broadly. Youre welcome to enjoy ratatouille-flavoured milk yourself this evening if you prefer, so long as theres enough to go around. I dont know how well garlic and tomatoes translate into a calcium drink, though.
He shook his head. I think Ill skip that one, if you dont mind, Sammy Jo.
The telephone rang. Jason immediately moved away from her as though to go and answer it. Sammy Jo grabbed hold of his arm and said hurriedly, Jason, I know who that is. Its for me. My mother said shed ring this evening. She pushed past him as she spoke. Ill get it. Stir the vegetables, all right?
He nodded. She picked up the telephone. Hi, Mum. Jasons home now so I cant really talk for long.
The man said, I want you to think about this question very carefully, Sammy Jo. Write it down.
Sammy Jo picked up a pen and copied down his question with great care on the pizza pad, which was now greatly diminished in size. Then they both said goodbye.
As she put down the telephone receiver she caught sight of her three new books slung carelessly on to the sofa, The Age of Reason open face downwards towards the middle of the text, like a ballerina clumsily doing the splits and unable to rise from that position. Quickly she picked them up and walked over to Charlies cot. Picking Charlie up she slid the books under the cots small mattress, then carried Charlie into the kitchen. Jason was stirring the courgettes and mushrooms around in the frying pan, staring at the wall in front of him in a tired, unfocused way. He seemed ill at ease. Sammy Jo offered Charlies sleepy body to him and said, Give me the wooden spoon in exchange for the baby. You can change her if you like.