That time, we parted on poor terms.
After a long while, I grew taller, the hem of my dress had risen from my ankles to my calves, and Atticus and I brought up that avoided debate again.
Sophia: Atticus, Atticus!
When I found Atticus, he was, as usual, wandering alone on the beach.
I always found him there early in the morning, so if I needed to speak with him, I would come here at the same time.
Atticus: Good morning, Sophia.
He was bringing a stranded fish back into the sea, as it flashed from his hands he gave me a smile.
Sophia: Good morning.
Of all the people on the Island, Atticus was the one I could communicate with the easiest.
It wasn't anyone else's fault—Apeiron operated on its own set of rules to maintain stability. It was always going to be difficult for an outsider to break into their tight-knit community.
But my visits to the beach were not just to see him.
Atticus: Are you here to collect your sand again today?
Sophia: Yes. The fine sand here is ideal for polishing lenses. My father's eyeglasses are just about ready.
Sophia: His eyesight has been deteriorating more and more. I hope these will help.
Sophia: ...
Maybe it's because of my father's health, I feel more upset and sensitive than usual.
This is not a good time to confide.
Sophia: This morning, he woke up and asked me why it was still dark. Hadn't the day arrived yet?
Sophia: I worry, worry that the glasses won't keep up with his decline, or perhaps that they were never going to help him ...
Atticus: Hmm ...
Atticus: And yet, you still made them.
Sophia: ... ?
I'm pretty sure it is a declarative sentence, yet I sense his confusion inside—more confusion than in any question.
But I'm not always right, especially on this island. So, perhaps I'm imagining things.
Sophia: ...
Atticus: ...
I stop speaking, knowing that sharing my worries over my father will do nothing to lessen them. The sea breeze blows over us. Each seagull's cry is distinct and loud.
Sophia: ...
In the school, such unusual quietness often causes an uneasy feeling in my heart—anxiety.
But now, despite the silence between us, my breathing is even. This peace of the moment feels comforting.
Atticus: ...
Time passes in hours as the sunlight reaches overhead near its zenith. At last, Atticus stands up.
Sophia: Are you leaving?
Atticus: Yes, it's nearly lunchtime.
Sophia: ... Huh? But it's still early yet? Are you hungry?
Atticus: ... No.
He shakes his head slightly, a bit uneasy.
Atticus: I need to go early, or there won't be any quiet spots left.
I realize now why I rarely encounter him on the other routes I walk.
Sophia: Why don't you sit with us?
Sophia: ... Is it because of 210?
I ask softly, then immediately regret it, realizing that my inappropriate question would only cause awkwardness.
Sophia: ... Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to ...
Panic occupies my mind, and I struggle to come up with a suitable excuse.
Atticus: No.
Atticus's response surprises me. He gently shakes his head.
Atticus: I'm not specifically trying to avoid him.
As if sensing my guilt, he smiles.
Atticus: Before 210 was 210, he didn't look kindly on me—of course, that has to do with his competitive nature, which I never minded.
Atticus: Then he became 210—a number easily factored ... And well everything that came next feels terribly predictable.
He looks down at the sand, then lifts his head again.
Atticus: I know why you asked, Sophia. Please don't take it too hard. That speech was just a trigger ... Our interactions have always been like this.
Sophia: Hmm ...
I try to remember the debate that came out of nowhere.
Sophia: I don't quite understand ...
Sophia: When I first arrived here, you took such excellent care of me.
Sophia: And you, 210, and 37 grew up together as friends ...
Sophia: But then ... after your debate with him ...
Atticus: ...
Atticus: I was young then and I was flippant in my behavior—I provoked him, given his character, I knew he would take it as a humiliation.
Atticus: It was my decision, so I must accept the consequences of it.
Atticus: But that wasn't a debate, Sophia. He didn't want my point of view.
Atticus's voice and manner are as calm and cool as the sea breeze.
His description of his conflict with 210 feels more like it came from a distant observer.
Atticus: I know him, and I know myself. We think differently.
Atticus: He is not in need of an exchange of ideas.
Atticus: In fact, he's not at all interested in what I think. He just wants a victory.
Sophia: ... He is competitive.
His tone remains even, almost emotionless.
Atticus: An exchange of ideas like that is purposeless. Each side will stick to their own opinions, vainly trapped in position. In the end, there is no mutual understanding. It only further reinforces their own defenses.
He sighs, the confusion surfacing again.
Atticus: I've tried and tried, but people always step into the same river over and over again.
Atticus: Facing this inevitable end, any action at all seems futile.
Sophia: ...
I'm not sure what to say; his words hold merit—but I, I somehow feel ...
Sophia: I ...
Before I can utter another word, Atticus asks me a pointed question.
Atticus: Sophia, you're smart. You know enough about your father's health.
Atticus: You also know those glasses won't be of much help to him.
Atticus: ... Why do you choose to struggle so much against the path of fate?
It's an offensive question, and I feel at first I should be uncomfortable with it.
But I know it's different with Atticus. His confusion is genuine, not mocking or cruel.
Sophia: ...
I rarely have the opportunity to mentor others on this island. The whole thing is unfamiliar to me.
Sophia: ... I don't know.
I regret my response. It is too hasty, too dismissive.
In fact, I have the real reason clear in my mind.
When my mother was dying of her illness, I felt so powerless. I know I don't want to experience that a second time.
Sophia: ... I have to do something, anything.
I take a deep breath, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.
Sophia: You're right, Atticus. Even with effort, we can't avoid the inevitable.
Sophia: But I think, we can't just sit around and do nothing about it ...
Atticus: ... ?
The inquisition in his eyes is piercing. I feel suddenly I have to explain it in their way.
Sophia: Preparing for the inevitable is like ... preparing a psalm for a morning class.
Sophia: Practicing and familiarizing oneself with upcoming difficulties makes it easier to face them ...
I feel I don't often, or rather, I lack the time to really consider meaning.
Sometimes, the quality that allows us to face our fate isn't necessarily courage—it might just be the fear of the truth.
Perhaps I'm destined to forget that lengthy psalm. Perhaps there's nothing I can do for my father ...
Sophia: ... But preparing for what must come is better than doing nothing at all.
But giving hope to others must be done in the name of "courage," if nothing else.
Sophia: If a glass bottle on the table is destined to fall, I would put a cloth on the floor around it. So even if the bottle does break, the mess will be easier to clean.
Atticus: ...
I turn to look at Atticus. He's frowning, as if pondering my words.
Sophia: Atticus, you don't actually want to answer that question, do you?
I speculate on his thoughts, and this is also offensive.
Sophia: I've heard from 37 and others in the school about this "revelation" ... I don't understand what it is exactly, but they say it's a gift of fate.
Just like that voice from above, the "revelation" promises all the wisdom of the world to the 6s of each generation.
Sophia: But ...
I try to express everything I feel.
Sophia: Do you fear it?
Atticus: ...
Atticus: I don't know.
His voice is so faint that the words almost feel illusory, like a false memory, then it begins to roar.
Atticus: If this gift is from the above, and it never asks for your own desires or cares about your existence, can it still be called a "gift"?
Atticus: ––Do we really have no choice but to kneel before destiny, begging for its love and mercy?
Atticus's hand trembles slightly.
I'm surprised by the rage and intensity in his voice. I've never seen him so upset.
The people of the island are generally reserved due to their intelligence. 210 is an outlier, but Atticus's words are still sharper.
Maybe this is the perspective he held back from that debate.
Atticus: So I turn away from the table. I don't want to see whether the bottle is teetering.
Atticus finally looks at the fine sand in my hand.
Atticus: But I think you're right.
I only remember that at the end of our conversation, he came towards me with a kind of expression on his face.
That expression was like a smile, yet also like sorrow or perhaps relief—a face filled with determination.
Atticus: Thank you for telling me all this, Sophia.
Sophia: And thank you for listening to me, Atticus.
We said goodbye as we did countless times before, not affectionately, but also not quite distantly.
I returned downhill to my home to continue making the lenses, lenses I knew would never be of any use to my father.
He went uphill to his home, back to the brilliance of the current "6" in her supreme wisdom.
Sophia: ...
Sophia: Goodbye!
I don't know why I said goodbye to Atticus.
Atticus: ...
He turned back, nodding his head in acknowledgment.
After that, I have never seen Atticus walking on the beach again.
He began his long retreat.
