8. Rome: 2nd Philosophical Meeting (13 pgs.)

ACT I - CHAPTER 8

VILLA ASCOLASSI

2ND MEETING:

EPISTEMOLOGY — PART 1

Friday November 17, 2017

Villa Ascolassi 100 km south of Rome Italy

That day they had played in Rome against Club Trajano, the city’s second-best team, and won two to one. From the Walker San Benito Hotel, where the team stayed, Yellow picked him up. They drove to Miguel Ángel International Airport and flew, again at night, to Villa Ascolassi.

After the helicopter landed, he counted around twenty guards with machine guns. When Alexandre entered the mansion’s living room, no one was there. From the terrace, he saw a woman swimming in the illuminated pool. He went down the stone stairs without losing sight of her. She reached the edge, stepped out, and grabbed a white towel from a chair. Her athletic body glistened in a white, skin-tight swimsuit. He had seen those freckles before. It’s her. I can’t believe it.

“You put the note in my suit,” Alexandre said.

“You didn’t like the kiss?” she asked, defiant yet cold, drying her statuesque figure. She came closer, her look a mix of sweetness, distrust, and slight disdain. Her innocent, mischievous smile delighted in watching him burn with desire. Alexandre stood frozen, as if she had cast a spell on him.

“They’ll arrive tomorrow for breakfast. The night is warm, and the sky is clear. We can’t miss these stars, can we? We’ll have dinner here,” she said, tilting her head back, showing her beautiful neck.

“Did you know Ronald?” Alexandre asked.

“No.”

“What were you doing at his funeral?”

“I think you already know.”

“Do you work for Ricardo?”

“No.”

“What’s your role in all this?”

“I help, but only if you don’t ask questions. If you do, I don’t help,” she said. Silence followed.

He admired her beauty, heightened by mystery. Who are you? Why do you want to help?

“Can you accept my help without asking questions?” she asked.

“I’m dying to make one,” he said.

“Fine. One question, but I can’t promise an answer.”

“Why the kiss in the note?”

“That?” she said, thinking, How basic this man is. “That was just a game. Oh, this is fun! I thought you’d ask something smart.” She laughed, teasing him. “Now I’ll make one. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a liar?”

“No,” he replied, thinking, What an insult.

“We’ll see,” she said with a playful, defiant smile. “No more questions, right?”

“Okay, no more questions,” Alexandre said, watching her dry off. I can’t believe how beautiful she is.

“I’ll see you in a bit,” she said and left.

Still frozen, he watched her go. She stopped, turned, and walked back toward him slowly, like a jealous tigress.

“Alexandre Duval. I’m Francisca Walker. Welcome to my house,” she said, turned, and left.

“Thank you,” Alexandre replied, smiling as he watched her go upstairs. How wonderful she is. Beautiful, flirtatious, and hopelessly irresistible, the most captivating woman he had ever met.

Dinner was set at a marble table by the pool. Candles flickered, creating a romantic glow. She wore a short blue dress that highlighted her legs, shaped by the Norwegian hills she had climbed since childhood with her father. She loved solitude in wild mountains, facing fjords and waterfalls. The geography of Norway had forged her character, intelligent, sweet, curious, cheerful, and untamed. She couldn’t bear school, so her parents educated her at home with the best tutors. She excelled in every subject and did the same in college. Cambridge’s best professors helped her graduate in nuclear physics and economics. After her mother’s death, she became her father’s right hand, determined to expand the family fortune.

Alexandre admired her gold necklace, gleaming against her long red hair and bare shoulders. Two waiters in white shirts and black jackets served dinner.

“How did you know I liked gnocchi?” Alexandre asked.

“A little bird told me,” she said, thinking, You wouldn’t believe who. “Isn’t it a wonderful night?”

“It is. And you make it even more beautiful,” he said, thinking, Ugh, how corny. She makes me stupid. “I mean, your dress looks great,” he added, trying to recover.

“But yours doesn’t. Come with me,” she said, rising from the table. She extended her arm, inviting him to take her hand. She led him to one of the mansion’s suites, then to a vast walk-in closet lined with mirrors.

“Choose a suit. They’re your size. I’ll wait for you on the terrace,” she said, smiling. Turning her head over her bare shoulder, she looked at him one last time, flirting, before disappearing from view.

Alexandre was swept up by her daring and elegant game. The suits were new, dark colours, silk shirts. He chose a black suit, a white shirt, and a light blue bow tie that matched his eyes.

“Bravo. Now we’re really understanding each other,” she said, sitting at the table when he arrived.

They dined by candlelight and starlight. Later, they climbed the stairs to the upper terrace and entered the living room. They stopped by the pool table and sat together on a leather couch.

“Did you notice how she looked at me?” she asked.

“You mean Victoria?” Alexandre said.

“You men are so slow. You never understand the language between women. Did she see my kiss in your pocket?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“She’s not the type to check pockets.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t know that,” she said.

“We don’t keep secrets from each other,” Alexandre replied. Then he realized he was lying. He had to lie to protect Victoria.

“So, are you a liar or not?” she asked, smiling with mischief, but like hiding something.

“No,” he said, nervous as she tried not to laugh. She’s reading my thoughts, he thought, uneasy. He sensed her hidden power.

“Do you love her?”

“Like nothing in the world,” he said, and thought, And I’m not lying.

“And Ronald?”

“He was the most honest and brave man I’ve known. How could I not love him?”

Her throat tightened. Her eyes welled up. Silence followed. Maybe if I’d known him sooner, I could’ve loved him, she thought.

“What did you know about him?” he asked.

“Nothing. I met him after his death. I’ve read everything about his life.”

“Why?”

“I saw the news of his accident. He seemed an interesting man.”

“Ronald was the smartest man in the world, maybe even more than me,” Alexandre said.

“More than you,” she said, looking away.

“Dessert is ready,” a waiter announced.

“Shall we?” she asked, rising, and stumbled. He caught her, his arm around her waist. Their bodies met. They stood still, eyes locked. Her perfume sank into his bones. Her white teeth showed, lips parted. The kiss was about to happen.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” she said, stepping back. “I slip everywhere,” she added playfully.

They kept looking at each other. Then she grabbed his head and kissed him. It was brief, too short to react, too long to forget.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I couldn’t help it,” she said, blushing. “I got rouge on you! Let me clean it.” She sat on the couch’s edge, her short dress revealing her legs.

While she wiped his lips, he lost his balance and placed one hand on her thigh, just above the knee. His hand began to slide upward.

“I love your hands,” she said, stepping away with poise. “Oh! Our dessert is getting cold. Come, follow me.”

She led him to a small candlelit table with two fruit salads, candies, and champagne.

He was still dazed when they finished in silence. The kiss had shaken him, but it was more than desire. He felt drawn to her mystery. He also loved Victoria, the woman he admired most. He wouldn’t trade her for anyone. But Francisca fascinated him. She had him under her spell.

When they finished coffee, Yellow appeared.

“The helicopter is ready,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Leaving so soon?” Alexandre asked.

“I must go back to Rome. You need rest. Tomorrow is a long day,” she said, rising. She hugged him from behind for long seconds, as if she’d known him forever and feared letting go. Could this wonder be real? We’ll see, she thought.

“I think I know you better now, but you lied to me. Leave your clothes on the bed or take them. Maybe I’ll love you a lot,” she said, kissed his cheek, and left quickly. He didn’t even say goodbye.

What did I lie about? he thought. Oh, I know. You know I can’t tell Victoria this. Everyone knew he disappeared and turned off his phone once a month. They know I vanish, but not why. They’ll never know. Especially not Victoria. I must protect her.

“Arturo and Ricardo will never know about Boris and Lenel either,” he muttered.

When the helicopter lifted off, he didn’t know if the dinner had been real or a dream. He kept every moment in memory.

“I’ll wake you at nine,” Yellow said after escorting him to his room. “They’ll arrive early. Breakfast at ten. Good night.”

Meeting Francisca had been a devastating event. He fell asleep between wonder and fear, remembering her and Victoria’s distrustful look at the funeral.

The next morning Ricardo arrived early. They were in good spirits, breakfast ready, eager to continue with the book.

“How did Francisca treat you?” Ricardo asked, thinking, Looks like she hit her mark.

“Well… she’s a fascinating woman,” Alexandre said, puzzled. “Did you send her to the funeral to leave me that note?”

“What note?” Ricardo asked.

“The one she slipped into my pocket. Did you tell her to do that?”

“No. I just told her to talk to you. I wanted to, but she insisted,” Ricardo said, thinking, So she did it her way.

“When did you meet her?” Alexandre asked.

“A couple of days after Ronald’s accident.”

“Where?”

“I told you. On the street.”

“Where?”

“I was leaving the gym. She said she’d help write Ronald’s book, on one condition: that we didn’t ask questions.”

“Why did you trust her?”

“I had a hunch,” Ricardo said.

“Last night she told me this was her house,” Alexandre said.

“She is the daughter of Ragnar Walker, a rich and famous businessman in Norway,” Ricardo replied.

When Arturo arrived, they sat in the living room beside the pool table and played a game of pool. Arturo told them he had commissioned a sculptor to make a three-meter-high tetrahedron in graphene, which he planned to place in the garden of his house in Buenos Aires.

“I made one of acrylic, and put it in my apartment’s living room. It’s a beautiful sculpture. The good thing is: it stays in your mind; it’s magic,” Alexandre said. Ricardo was planning to build one as well.

“Did you bring the black tetrahedron?” Arturo asked.

“Of course.”

They moved to the same table of their first meeting. In one corner, they placed the tetrahedron next to Ronald’s photo and the ball. At the same height, the trio looked beautiful. Below, the butcher’s knife. In the centre, a copper pot, a bottle of vodka, and four small glasses.

“The presence of the tetrahedron changes the atmosphere completely. Kind of magical, isn’t it?” Arturo commented.

“Indeed,” they replied.

“Today we’ll study epistemology,” Alexandre said.

“Epistemolo-what?” Arturo joked.

“Epistemology,” Alexandre repeated. “But first, we’ll read Ronald’s letter. Who wants to open it?”

“I’ll do it,” Arturo said. Alexandre handed him the letter and the butcher’s knife.

“I’m curious about Ronald’s joke today,” Arturo said, opening the envelope. He pulled out the letter and read aloud.

“DEAR EAGLE FRIENDS:

THIS IS RONALD SPEAKING.

THE MEETING IS TO OPEN A DEBATE.

TODAY YOU WILL DISCOVER THE POWER OF EPISTEMOLOGY. IT IS THE TOOL TO INCREASE YOUR INTELLIGENCE. IF ALEXANDRE FOLLOWED MY INSTRUCTIONS, HE HAS A SUMMARY READY FOR THE MEETING.”

“Here it is,” Alexandre said, holding up a folder. “Arturo, please continue.”

“THE QUOTE: WHO SAID: ‘THE ORDER AND CONNECTION OF IDEAS IS THE SAME AS THE ORDER AND CONNECTION OF THINGS’

BARUCH SPINOZA
DAVID HUME”

“Remember the rules of the bet?” Alexandre asked. They nodded.

“This is hard. I think it’s Hume,” Arturo said, keeping his hands away from his phone.

“I’m leaning toward Hume too,” Ricardo said.

“Well, I haven’t got a clue,” Alexandre said. “But I’ll go with Spinoza.”

“Let’s check the internet!” Arturo said, grabbing his phone. The others did the same.

“Oh no, it’s Spinoza!” Arturo shouted.

“I lost too,” Ricardo groaned.

“Good!” Alexandre laughed. “I won two ounces of gold!” He jumped up, raised his fists, and burst out laughing. Then he sat and checked the spot price online. “One ounce is $1,261. I’m sending you my account number. You can transfer it now,” he said. After they paid, Arturo broke the silence.

“Can I keep reading Ronald’s letter?”

“Of course.”

“THE JOKE: MOST PEOPLE TREAT KNOWLEDGE LIKE WI-FI. THEY THINK IT JUST SHOWS UP UNTIL SOMEONE ASKS FOR THE PASSWORD.”

Nobody understood the joke.

“Can I burn it?” Arturo asked.

“Of course. It’s your turn today,” Alexandre said, handing him the knife.

Arturo pierced the page with the steel and lit it. The flames rose, crackling. Their faces warmed. They stood still, staring at the fire and Ronald’s photo behind it. Silence filled the room again.

Afterward, Alexandre poured vodka into the four glasses. They stood.

“To the success of our book,” they toasted, raising their glasses toward Ronald’s picture, the ball and the tetrahedron.

They drank in one motion. As before, Ronald’s share was poured into the garden soil.

Alexandre began like a coach before a final. “Are you ready to climb?” he shouted, striking the table with both hands.

“Yes!” they answered, doing the same.

“Are you ready to acclimate your brains?”

“Yes!”

“Are you ready to suffer learning?”

“No pain, no gain!” Ricardo shouted.

“Are you eagles or chickens?”

“Eagles!” they roared, pounding the table.

“The roots of education are bitter, but the fruit is sweet. Who said that?” Alexandre asked quietly. No one answered. “Aristotle,” he said. “Shall we begin?”

“Please,” Ricardo urged.

“Today you’ll discover what you gain with epistemology,” Alexandre said.

“Couldn’t they invent a weirder word?” Arturo said, shaking his head and picking up the football from the table.

“There isn’t one,” Alexandre said. “But it’s simple. The part ‘logy’ means ‘the study of.’ The strange word is ‘episteme,’ which means ‘knowledge’ or ‘how we know.’ So, epistemology is just the study of how we know.”

“And what do we gain by learning how we know?” Arturo asked.

“You gain certainty, if something is true or false,” Alexandre said, and a thought crossed his mind, Hope Boris finds Ronald’s car.

“That’s bloody important. But how can you be sure something’s true?” Arturo asked.

“I’ll show you with an example,” Alexandre said. “But first help me to hang a banner on that wall,” he said opening his banners’ bag. When they were ready it read:

PERCEPTION AS ROOT OF KNOWLEDGE

Then Alexandre cleared the table and asked, “What’s on the table?”

“Nothing,” Arturo said, holding the ball.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“I can see it. There’s nothing on it.”

“So, you trust your eyes?” Alexandre asked.

“Do you?” Arturo replied, tossing him the ball.

Alexandre caught it with both hands, smiled, and held it still for a moment. Then he set it on the table.

“What’s on the table now?”

“The ball.”

“How do you know?”

“I can see it,” Arturo said, standing and picking up the ball. “I can touch it.” He bounced it with his foot. “I can hear it.”

“So how do you know the ball exists?” Alexandre asked.

“Because I can perceive it with my senses. Alexandre, come on! Sometimes you’re so boring!”

“I know. Now, throw me the ball,” Alexandre ordered, and Arturo give him a pass. He stopped it with his chest, picked it with his hands, sat again and hide the ball in one chair.

“Sit down Arturo, and tell me, is the ball on the table?” Alexandre asked once more time.

“Again? You are bloody boring!”

“Stand up Arturo.”

“OK. What do you want me to do.”

“I want you to kick a penalty with that ball,” Alexandre order him pointing to a place in the middle of the room where there was no any.

“What ball!”

“Kick a penalty with that freaking ball!” Alexandre shouted.

“Damit! Don’t shout me! There is no any ball there!”

“How do you know that?”

“You are torturing me man! If I can’t see it, it isn’t there!” Arturo answered, seeing Alexandre was putting the ball on that spot.

“Can you kick the penalty now?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know it?”

“Oh no! I can’t believe you are asking me this again! I already say it. Because I can see it! Come on man! You want to drive me crazy?”

“Now close your eyes, Arturo. Imagine you were born blind. Can you kick the penalty?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I am bloody blind!”

“And if you don’t see it, means the ball is not there?”

“No, it means I am blind.”

“So, the ball is there?”

“Yes, but I can’t see it. I was born blind! Remember?”

“OK Arturo, can you summarize?”

“Summarize what?”

“What do you need to kick a penalty.”

“First, a ball; second, eyes; third, open them.”

“And you Ricardo, what is your take on this, but from a universal perspective?”

“The universe is not empty. You are mortal animal. You have sensory organs, to survive. You see, you compare, you discover, you create, you progress. You invent the telescope. You invent the microscope. Your knowledge, starts with your sensory perceptions. Your concepts, organize them. You think, with concepts.”

“What if your concepts organize your sensory data wrong?”

“Your thinking is wrong.”

“What are the consequences.”

“You don’t survive.”

“So, what is your final conclusion?

“The final conclusion is: good concepts, good thinking, good life; wrong concepts, wrong thinking, wrong life.”

“That’s a good one! It’s musical!” Alexandre said, delighted. “It applies to people and to countries. Hope the US and North Korea know this.” Again, the same thought crossed his mind, Boris, help me find the bloody car.

Later Alexandre asked them to replace the banner with another. It read:

PERCEPTS FANCEPTS AND EVASION

They debated the difference between percepts and fancepts. The first were perceptions of real things; the second, perceptions of imagined fantasies. Mickey was not a real mouse.

After lunch they went to the football field and took the ball. They wanted to kick around for a while. Arturo carried Ronald’s picture and placed it on the grass next to a pillar.

“What topics surprised you most?” Alexandre asked.

“That freedom derives from focusing your mind!” Arturo said, hitting the ball with a long pass.

“Why?” Ricardo asked as he received it on his chest and returned it with a high pass to the centre.

“Because I discovered I’m not as free as I thought,” Arturo shouted from a distance. “If you don’t focus your mind, you can’t differentiate options, you can’t choose; if you can’t choose, you’re not free; if you’re not free, you better shoot yourself,” he added, jumping and heading the ball toward the goal’s corner, where goalkeeper Alexandre couldn’t reach.

“Goal!” Arturo shouted, laughing. He thought to himself, jokingly, And this time God didn’t use his hand.

Back in the living room they played a game of pool and continued their inquiry. Arturo placed Ronald’s picture back on the table next to the tetrahedron. They discussed cognitive dissonance, a mental disease caused by holding contradictory information.

“Can you imagine the stress of your mind maintaining contradictions?” Alexandre asked.

“Your mind can’t tolerate it. It turns your light off. The reaction is self-deception,” Ricardo said.

“It’s true. But there are many ways to cheat yourself,” Arturo added.

“Yes. Your mind has defence mechanisms. Self-deception is one; evasion, another,” Alexandre said.

“Can you define evasion?” Arturo asked.

“The effort not to see,” Alexandre answered.

“Chickens!” Arturo exclaimed.

“What do you mean?” Ricardo asked.

“Chickens evade! They’re cowards afraid to see,” Arturo said.

“You’re right,” Alexandre said. “You need courage to be an eagle like us. An eagle has courage to see the truth.”

Later they laughed when Arturo mimed a goalkeeper closing his eyes to avoid a goal. “If I don’t see the ball, it doesn’t exist! If I close my eyes, it disappears! Magic! I’m the sorcerer of evasion!” he said, making funny faces and laughing out loud.

“But it’s tragic, because the victim of the evader is himself,” Ricardo added.

“Indeed. And it’s dangerous if Ronald’s assassins are freaking sorcerer chickens,” Alexandre said.

They thought they were done when Arturo brought up the subject of philosophy professors. Alexandre kept recording, watching Arturo hold the ball in his hands.

“Some of these idiots say the ball is fake,” he said, turning it with his fingers, “because you can’t see its atoms. Others say you can’t trust your sight because you see as you see. Others claim that to know the world ‘as it is’, you must know it without any senses. They’re crazy!” he exclaimed in his Argentine accent, making the typical Argentine-Italian hand gesture, joining his fingertips and waving one hand while holding the ball with the other.

After playing pool, they went to their rooms. The meeting had been good. They needed to rest for the next day.

When Alexandre woke up, he had dreamed of Francisca. Her spell seemed to grow stronger with every hour, and it began to torment him.

He decided to put her out of his mind, but that made him sad. He felt trapped.

At breakfast they discovered another powerful tool: you gain great advantage by choosing a long-term goal, but there’s a condition. It must be a productive one. They wrote about it in their Champion Constitutions. It was fundamental to achieving true self-esteem.

“When I was a little boy, my goal in life was to accomplish a feat. That’s why I became great,” Arturo said, telling them details of his childhood. He added that living without a long-term goal was like playing the game without a goalpost.

When they finished, they toasted to Ronald’s picture, the tetrahedron and the ball, and smashed the glasses again. The book was progressing. Alexandre stopped the recorder.

They had lunch, and shortly after, Yellow appeared to take Alexandre. He had a lot of work ahead to summarize everything.

The helicopter took him directly to the Rome airport. At five in the afternoon, he was back in his apartment in Barcelona. He took a nap and fell asleep with a smile.