“I have it.”
Professor Quillibrace looked up.
“The shadow?”
“The shadow.”
Miss Stray smiled.
“I wondered when you would get to it.”
“I have understood the entire story.”
Quillibrace put down his newspaper.
“That is unfortunate.”
“The shadow follows the boy.”
“No,” said Stray.
Blottisham looked at her.
“No?”
“The boy follows the shadow.”
“Exactly.”
Quillibrace raised an eyebrow.
“That isn't quite what you said.”
“It is the essential distinction.”
“Which is?”
“The boy thinks he is following the shadow.”
“Yes.”
“But the shadow isn't following him.”
“Yes.”
“Therefore the story concerns the asymmetry between agency and appearance.”
There was silence.
Stray looked at Quillibrace.
Quillibrace looked at Stray.
“I don't know,” said Stray, “what that means.”
“It means,” said Blottisham, “that we often mistake what accompanies us for what guides us.”
Quillibrace nodded slowly.
“That is almost intelligible.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn't a compliment.”
Blottisham ignored him.
“The shadow appears to be responding to the boy's movement.”
“But it isn't,” said Stray.
“Precisely.”
“It responds to the sun.”
“Precisely.”
“So the boy is following something whose movement has nothing to do with him.”
“Yes.”
“And yet he learns something from it.”
“Yes.”
Blottisham smiled.
“Exactly.”
Stray looked thoughtful.
“What does he learn?”
“That the shadow isn't following him.”
“Yes.”
“But what does that mean?”
Blottisham paused.
“It means that appearances deceive.”
Quillibrace sighed.
“We have arrived.”
“Arrived where?”
“At the oldest conclusion available to human thought.”
Blottisham frowned.
“It's a perfectly good conclusion.”
“Indeed. It has survived thousands of years.”
“Then it must be correct.”
“Not necessarily.”
Stray looked towards the window.
“I think the interesting thing is that the boy follows the shadow even though he doesn't know where it is going.”
“Yes,” said Blottisham.
“He isn't trying to solve it.”
“Yes.”
“He just wants to see.”
“Yes.”
“And when the shadow disappears behind the cloud, he waits.”
“Yes.”
“He doesn't know whether it will return.”
“No.”
“But it does.”
“Yes.”
Blottisham leaned back.
“So the shadow represents uncertainty.”
Quillibrace closed his eyes.
Stray laughed.
“I knew you would do that.”
“What?”
“Turn it into a noun.”
“A noun?”
“Uncertainty.”
Blottisham looked puzzled.
“What else would you call it?”
“I wouldn't call it anything.”
“Then how would we discuss it?”
“We might just follow it.”
There was a silence.
Quillibrace looked at her.
“That's rather dangerous.”
“Why?”
“It sounds almost methodological.”
Blottisham stood.
“I think the story is really about knowledge.”
Quillibrace looked alarmed.
“Don't.”
“The boy doesn't know where the shadow will go.”
“Yes.”
“He follows it.”
“Yes.”
“He learns from following it.”
“Yes.”
“Therefore knowledge comes from inquiry.”
Quillibrace stared at him.
“You have managed to turn a boy following a shadow into a research proposal.”
Blottisham looked pleased.
“Thank you.”
“I wasn't—”
“I know.”
Stray was still looking out of the window.
“The boy doesn't follow the shadow the next morning.”
Blottisham stopped.
“What?”
“He sees it.”
“Yes.”
“And then he goes to school.”
“Yes.”
“He doesn't need to follow it again.”
“Why not?”
“Because he knows where it is.”
Blottisham frowned.
“No. He knows that it moves.”
Stray nodded.
“Perhaps that's all he needed to know.”
Quillibrace picked up his newspaper.
“And perhaps he didn't need to know even that.”
Blottisham looked towards the door.
“I still think the shadow represents something.”
“I'm sure it does,” said Quillibrace.
“What?”
Quillibrace turned a page.
“I have no idea.”
Blottisham stared at him.
Stray smiled.
Outside, the tree at the end of the road cast a shadow across the grass.
The three of them watched it for a while.
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