6. Rome: 1st Philosophical Meeting (24 pgs.)

ACT I - CHAPTER 6

VILLA ASCOLASSI

1ST MEETING:

METAPHYSICS

Saturday October 14, 2017

Villa Ascolassi 100 km south of Rome Italy

The same day Boris watched Lenel and Franco at the Louvre in Paris, Alexandre was in Italy. The team had flown the night before with Greg and the assistants. The lights of Rome glowed below his window, mixing with the smell of coffee on his tray. Through the glass, centuries of history shone. From the bus, he saw the Colosseum as they drove to the Walker Medici Hotel. The whole scene felt unreal.

They had trained hard all week to beat Club Capuleto Scaloni, the second-best team in Italy. They felt ready. The match began at dusk in Rome’s Olympic Stadium. They fell behind early but tied in the second half. Ronald’s absence showed.

Back at the hotel, Alexandre searched for the man in the yellow beret. Not finding him inside, he looked toward the driveway. A black car waited. The driver wore a yellow beret. As Alexandre approached, the man opened the back door.

“I’m Yellow,” he said, removing his beret and starting the engine.

“Where are we going?” Alexandre asked.

“To the airport.”

A sign read VIA SALARIA. When a group of women appeared by the roadside, the driver said, “This is the avenue of whores.”

“Are you Spanish?” Alexandre asked.

“No. Just Yellow.”

After takeoff, Alexandre realized he had never seen Rome from a helicopter at night.

“Where are we going?”

“To Villa Ascolassi.”

“How long?”

“Twenty minutes.”

He admired the Italian coast south of Rome. Glowing seafronts, small towns, and moonlit bays. When they arrived, he saw the heliport lights and the vast villa ahead. The moon lit a valley of vineyards surrounded by mountains in a wide horseshoe. Far off, the Mediterranean gleamed.

“It’s well-lit and defended,” Alexandre said, noticing armoured vehicles and armed guards. “It looks like a generals’ base.”

“Maybe you are those generals,” Yellow replied.

The villa was modern, H-shaped, tiled in clay. Two wings joined by a wide corridor. To one side stretched a long, narrow pool. At the entrance stood a circular fountain twenty meters wide, lined with Greek sculptures of black and white marble.

“See the football field?” Yellow asked.

“Yes.”

“The Italian team sometimes trains there. When it’s hot, they go straight to the pool. Is Versailles. That’s what they call the gardens that look like a golf course.”

Could Ronald have been here? Alexandre wondered. He didn’t ask. Yellow. What a strange name.

“Follow me,” Yellow said.

They walked along a black slate path circling the rotunda, lined with lights, flowers, and shrubs. Alexandre counted about twenty guards armed with machine guns. At the red granite atrium, four white marble caryatids held the portico above a massive mahogany door.

Inside, a vast Etruscan-style hall opened before them. Greek statues stood in each corner. A central pond shimmered with red, blue, green, and yellow fish.

They went down six steps into a sculpture gallery, thirty meters long, six wide, six high. Red marble paved the floor, crossed by black stripes. Every few steps stood marble gods and goddesses, some white, some black, each spotlit on matching pedestals. Thin windows let daylight pour in as sharp columns. At night, they framed the glowing gardens, like paintings of the Renaissance.

At the corridor’s end, three more steps led to a wide terrace. From there, Alexandre saw the pool below, the stone deck, and a grassy ramp. On a higher terrace, two men played table football.

“The tall one is Ricardo,” Yellow said, but Alexandre wasn’t listening.

He froze. So, Ricardo is the great Manuel! The best technical director of the European Cup. And the shorter one… Is that Diego? It looks like him. I can’t believe it.

He grinned, glancing at Yellow, who stayed expressionless. Come on, Yellow, smile a bit!

“Don’t call them by their real names,” Yellow warned again. “The tall one is Ricardo; the short one is Arturo. Security reasons. Understand?” he asked looking at him to be sure.

“Yes,” Alexandre said.

A man near the pool tended a barbecue. Smoke rose, carrying the smell of meat.

“Come here, Alexandre!” shouted Arturo, laughing. “Help Manu… Ricardo! I’m beating him up!”

The tall man tried to defend himself, but Arturo’s hands moved with the same precision he used his feet on the field.

“Goal!” Arturo cried as Alexandre came down the stairs.

“Nine to three! I’ll beat you both!” he said, Alexandre grabbing two handles of the table football.

Before lunch, Ricardo leaned toward Alexandre and whispered, “We must be careful. They can record our talks by satellite. We don’t know who the enemy is, but they’re powerful. Don’t use our real names. I’m Ricardo, he’s Arturo. Understand?”

“Yes.”

During lunch by the pool, Arturo said, “The court is never the same.”

Alexandre looked at him.

“It changes with the ball,” Arturo added. Then he grinned. “This barbecue’s delicious. Like home in Argentina.” He frowned. “What makes me angry is that people treat football players like idiots. We will change that, right?”

“Yes,” Alexandre said.

After lunch, they moved to the dining room inside the house. They sat at one end of a long black granite table. At the other end lay a football and a butcher knife.

“Ronald used to say we must play with our heads as well as our feet,” Alexandre said. “What do you know about his death?”

“No more than you,” Ricardo replied asking a question to change the subject. “What was in the black envelope Ronald left you?”

“You put it in the yellow one?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes.”

“Who gave you Ronald’s envelope?”

“A woman in the street.”

“How she looked like?”

“Young, beautiful read hair. She said no questions. I trust her. We rather not talk about this now. We need to write the book.”

“You are right” Alexandre said and thought, Is this the same woman of the note with the kiss? “And you sent me the text message with the Aristotle password?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes,” Ricardo answered. “What is the content of the big black envelope Ronald left you?” he asked.

“It contained more envelopes with Ronald’s instructions to write his book.” Alexandre answered.

“His book? You mean our book?” Arturo asked frowning.

“Yes, of course, Ronald’s book is our book. We all love truth. We are all philosophers here. And just as Ronald, we all want to write a book to liberate man’s mind from any kind of propaganda. We need to create a tool,” Alexandre said.

“What kind of tool?” Arturo asked.

“A tool to allow man liberate himself, from myths, dogma, propaganda and philosophical mistakes. Are we ready to do that?” Alexandre asked.

“Of course, we are ready,” both responded.

“What are Ronald’s instructions?” Arturo asked.

“He left them in a series of envelopes”, Alexandre answered. “One envelope contained the index of the book. He thinks that it should have three parts. One for metaphysics, one for epistemology and one for ethics.”

He read them Ronald’s instructions. The meetings should be debates. They should use examples to explain philosophical things, and also football metaphors.

“He also left nine sealed envelopes with a personal letter to us,” Alexandre continued, “He wants them to be opened at the beginning of each meeting,” he said, putting on the table an envelope named GUIDE MEETING #1. Then he added, “I had the idea to put his picture in our meetings, do you agree? Alexandre asked them and they nodded with their heads. So Alexandre placed the photo of Ronald’s laughing face. The image stood upright in a frame with a stand. He set it in the corner of the table, alongside a football. It was the ball from the game Alexandre had just played earlier in Rome. Beside both, he putted a butcher’s knife. Then he asked, “Do you agree that this will be our set up to start each meeting?”

“The ball, the picture and the knife?” Ricardo asked.

“Yes.”

“Let’s make it a ritual. But why the knife?” Arturo asked taking the ball with is hands.

“To open Ronald’s letter,” Alexandre responded putting it over the table, “I will open the envelope of this first meeting. The next one would be you, and the next, Ricardo. Do you agree?” Alexandre asked.

“Yes,” Arturo said.

“And you, Ricardo?”

“Yes, I agree.”

“OK.” Alexandre said. He stretched out his arm and took the butcher knife that was next to Ronald’s picture. He begun to open the envelope. Arturo and Ricardo were speechless, focused in Alexandre’s hands. He took the white paper letter. It was written in capital letters and black ink.

“DEAR EAGLE FRIENDS:

THIS IS RONALD SPEAKING.

THIS MEETING IS TO OPEN A DEBATE.

OUR BOOK IS A PRACTICAL MANUAL, NOT AN ACADEMIC ESSAY. BUILD A SIMPLE TOOL.

TWO GIFTS FOR EACH MEETING: A JOKE AND A QUOTE. BET SOMETHING.

THE QUOTE: WHO SAID: ‘I AM, THEREFORE I WILL THINK.’

AYN RAND
DESCARTES”

After Alexandre read Ricardo asked, “Want to bet something?”

“Let’s bet one ounce of gold!” Alexandre said.

“We need to set the rules.” Ricardo observed.

“Those who choose the wrong alternative pay one ounce of gold. Those who get the right one receive it,” Alexandre said.

“What if only one of us choose the wrong alternative? He needs to pay two ounces?” Ricardo asked.

“No. He pays one ounce and the others split it,” Alexandre answered.

“And what if we all get the wrong or right answer?” Ricardo asked again.

“Nobody loses or gain,” Alexandre said and added, “So, one ounce of gold?”

“OK,” they agreed, nodding with a big smile.

“OK. Let’s bet,” Who said ‘I am, therefore I’ll think’?”

“Descartes said the opposite, so I suppose it was Ayn Rand,” Ricardo said, while looking Arturo was searching Internet in his phone.

“Indeed, it was Ayn Rand,” Arturo replied.

“But Arturo, you’re cheating!” Alexandre exclaimed.

“You didn’t say nothing about it, it was not in the rules. Ha!” Arturo laughed, and they all laughed with him.

“Well, do you agree to add that rule?” Alexandre asked.

“OK. But this bet is void,” Arturo said and added, “Now read Ronald’s joke.”

“THE JOKE: A POPE AND AN ATHEIST ARE IN A HEATED DEBATE ABOUT THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. AFTER HOURS OF ARGUMENT, THE FRUSTRATED POPE TURNS TO THE ATHEIST AND EXCLAIMS:

‘YOU, SIR, ARE LIKE A MAN IN A PITCH-BLACK ROOM, WITH NO WINDOWS AND NO LIGHT, WEARING A BLINDFOLD, LOOKING FOR A BLACK CAT THAT ISN’T THERE!’.

THE ATHEIST CONSIDERS THIS FOR A MOMENT AND REPLIES:

‘WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, YOUR HOLINESS, YOU AND I ARE VERY MUCH ALIKE. YOU, TOO, ARE LIKE A MAN IN A PITCH-BLACK ROOM, WITH NO WINDOWS AND NO LIGHT, WEARING A BLINDFOLD, LOOKING FOR A BLACK CAT THAT ISN’T THERE. THE ONLY DIFFERENCE IS, YOU’VE FOUND IT.’”

Alexandre burst out laughing. It was one of Ronald’s favourite jokes. He used to tell it to everyone. Ricardo also laughed a lot, and Arturo a little less. It seemed like he hadn’t understood.

“What else does Ronald’s letter say? The man who speaks us from beyond death?” Arturo asked.

“Nothing, it ends with his signature,” Alexandre said and passed them the letter. “Please wait for me,” he added, standing up and going to the kitchen. He returned with a copper pot and a plastic bag. He asked for the letter and pierced the page with the butcher’s knife.

He took out his gold lighter and set it on fire. A solemn silence filled the room. The flames lit the walls. Heat radiated. The sound of burning paper cracked the air. Smoke spread through the room. Arturo’s eyes widened when he saw the flames, with Ronald’s photo behind them. Ricardo froze, staring at the fire in front of Ronald’s face. Alexandre captured the moment. Everyone knew Ronald’s face had been burned in the accident. Everyone knew he had been cremated.

The silence lingered. Alexandre gathered the ashes and carefully placed them in the plastic bag. His plan was to collect the ashes from all the meetings and throw them into the sea after the last one.

“Shall we begin to write the book?” Alexandre asked when they recovered from the shock.

“Yes, it is time,” Arturo said with a funeral face. “If we’re going to burn Ronald’s letter in front of his photo at each meeting, we’ll need a drink after.”

“Let’s make it part of our ritual,” Alexandre said, watching Ricardo walk to the bar.

“Whisky or vodka?”

“I need something strong. A shot of pure vodka,” Arturo said.

“Agreed,” Ricardo replied. “And you, Alexandre?”

“Vodka too,” he said. “Bring a glass for Ronald,” he added.

They stood up, filled small glasses, including one for Ronald. Then they toasted: “To the success of our book!” They gestured toward Ronald’s picture and his glass on the table. They drank in one go. They poured Ronald’s vodka into the garden soil.

“Ronald wanted me to record the meetings’ audio. Any objections?” Alexandre asked when they sat again.

“No, but you must destroy them after use, promise?” Ricardo said.

“Sure. I have a safe at my apartment. I’m building a vault the size of a walk-in closet. Everything will be secure there. But I’ll destroy the recordings, don’t worry,” Alexandre said, placing a recorder on the table.

“Is it on?” Ricardo asked.

“Yes,” he said. “So, this is our first meeting,” Alexandre said and thought, Now I’m going to motivate you, he thought. “We’re beginning a long journey,” he said, then he shouted like a coach before a football match. “Are you ready to win?”

“Yes!” they shouted.

“Are you ready to acclimate your minds?”

“Yes!”
“Are you ready to suffer learning?”

“Yes! No pain, no gain!” Ricardo yelled louder.

“What are you? Eagles or chickens?”

“Eagles!” they shouted together.

“Let’s start then!” Alexandre said. The room pulsed with energy. Then he spoke calmly. “Here’s the summary of metaphysics. It will help us structure the meeting,” he said, placing a thick folder on the table.
“And that’s a summary?” Arturo asked.

“I didn’t want to leave anything out. We’ll condense it together,” Alexandre said. “Do you think we’re just writing a book?” he asked.

“And what else summons us?” Arturo asked.

“To build the stake to kill a vampire,” Alexandre answered. Silence. “We’re not only writing a book. We’re discovering the philosophical causes that murdered Ronald. They are premises that poison the world. We need three shotguns, now!”

“For what?” Arturo asked, holding the football ball.

“To make an oath of fire.”

“What oath?”

“That we’ll finish and publish the book, no matter what,” Alexandre said.

Yellow brought the weapons and went to the terrace. He has the same fiber Ronald had, Ricardo thought.

“Three shots in Ronald’s memory!” Alexandre cried, pointing to the sky.

The three shots rang out together. They stood silent for a minute, looking up, then returned inside.

Alexandre went to the couch and brought a bag.

“This is my banner bag,” he said, showing them a gym bag. “I am going to use some of these in our meetings. Can you help me hang this on a wall?” he asked, unrolling a white banner, fifty centimetres wide and five meters long, with thick black letters written across it. It said:

PREMISES AND PHILOSOPHY

“What does it mean?” Arturo asked.

“I will never explain the banners, but you will understand them at the end. Let me ask you: what premises poison the world that you may have absorbed without noticing?” Alexandre asked once they sat.

“Poisonous premises we might have absorbed without noticing?” Arturo asked, widening his eyes. He watched Alexandre place domino pieces on the table, vertical and in line. Alexandre smiled as his breath merged with the soft breeze through the open windows.

“Are you creating a domino effect?” Arturo asked again.

“Yes. Look.” Alexandre pointed to the first domino. “Imagine this is your premise. Once triggered, it leads to an inevitable conclusion. The next domino is that conclusion. This is your cause-and-effect chain reaction. It happens in your mind. Can you see the importance of the first one?” He pushed the first domino. It toppled the second, and so on. Sunlight poured through the windows. Pieces and shadows clicked one by one. A bird sang in the garden. An ant walked across the black granite table. The last domino fell and crushed it.

“So, the first domino represents your premises?” Arturo said.
“Yes. Your premises start the logical chain of thought. At the end of the day, they give birth to your knowledge, beliefs, and destiny,” Alexandre said.

“But why say there are premises that poison the world?” Arturo asked, moving the pieces. He saw the dead ant. “What do you mean by a poisoned premise?”

“A premise is your starting truth, your assumption. It’s poisoned when it’s disconnected from reality, when it’s a mistake, fantasy, or false data. Those poisoned premises murdered Ronald. They’re the philosophical causes destroying reason in the world,” Alexandre said as Arturo brushed the ant off the table.

“Can you clarify the link between philosophy and premises?” Arturo asked.

“Yes. You’ll understand better on the football field. Follow me,” Alexandre said, standing up. Arturo took Ronald’s picture.

They followed him to the terrace. The breeze stirred their hair. Their noses filled with the scent of flowers. Trees swayed. They walked toward the football field beside the villa.

“Is this your idea or Ronald’s?” Arturo asked as they entered the field.

“You could say I’m improvising,” Alexandre said when they reached one of the goals. “Here is where the goalkeeper stands. How many parts does it have?”

“Three: two pillars and one beam,” Ricardo said.

“Arturo, imagine you are that pillar. Stand beside it,” Alexandre said.

“What about me?” Ricardo asked. “Should I move to the other?”

“Yes.”

“Where should we put Ronald?” Arturo asked, holding Ronald’s picture.

“Give it to me. He’ll be the goalkeeper,” Alexandre said, placing the photo on the grass. Then he climbed onto the crossbar and sat in silence, swinging his legs. He looked toward the mountains. A cloud dimmed the sun.

“OK, I’m a pillar. But what does it mean?” Arturo asked, scratching his head.

“You’re playing the first pillar of philosophy: metaphysics,” Alexandre said.

“It’s a weird word,” Arturo said, frowning. “Your game is boring.”

“Be patient,” Alexandre laughed. “Metaphysics sounds strange, but it’s simple. It’s the physical world. It is just the universe where all things exist. You can grasp that, right?”

“Of course. I’m not stupid,” Arturo said.

“And what kind of pillar am I?” Ricardo asked, smiling.

“You’re the second pillar: epistemology,” Alexandre said. “Aren’t you going to ask what that means?”

“What does it mean?” Ricardo asked.

“You perceive the world with your senses. Then you think, decide, and act. How that happens is epistemology. It is the study of how you know.”

“That word stops being weird once you know what it means,” Arturo said.

“And what are you doing up there?” Ricardo asked.

“I’m playing ethics,” Alexandre said.

“What is ethics?” Arturo asked.

“You tell me.”

“OK, imagine you reach a crossroads. You must choose a path. You make a decision. If it brings the best outcome, that was a good ethical choice,” Arturo said.

“Correct.” Alexandre replied. “But tell me, why am I up here?” He moved his legs. The sun broke through the cloud. Light and heat spread. Birds sang. A bee landed beside him on the beam. “Can you answer?”

“You couldn’t be there without us,” Ricardo said.

“What do you mean?”

“A beam can’t stand without its pillars.”

“Exactly,” Alexandre said, smiling. The bee flew away. “Go on.”

“Ethics rests on two pillars: metaphysics and epistemology,” Ricardo said.

“Correct. And what does that have to do with philosophy?”

“They are its foundation,” Arturo said.

“You got it. But how do metaphysics and epistemology shape ethics?” Alexandre asked.

“Because how you see and understand the world determines your moral choices,” Ricardo answered.

“Right. But we’ll go deeper later on ethics. Today, we focus on metaphysics. You already have an idea. Let’s go back to the house. It’s getting hot,” Alexandre said and jumped down.

“And what was Ronald playing as goalkeeper?” Arturo asked, picking up the picture.

“He’s playing witness,” Alexandre said, laughing.

They walked in silence, absorbed in thought. Near the house, Arturo said, “If your pillars are poisoned, your beam will be too.” Alexandre smiled. Ricardo nodded. They all understood.

The grass around the villa glowed under the sun. Alexandre checked his notes and said, “Next, you’ll see that politics comes from ethics, just like art.” They stopped, eyes wide. They understood why the world’s news looked as it did.

“Your poisoned premises theory is proven,” Ricardo said, watching his steps. “Just look at politics today.” After a pause, he added, “Politicians hold poisonous premises.”

“Poisonous because they deny reality?” Arturo asked, looking at Alexandre, who was reading again.

“Exactly. They deny reality. And it’s dangerous to live that way. More dangerous when the presidents of the US and North Korea do it. It could trigger a nuclear Armageddon. Ethical errors always start with metaphysical and epistemological errors,” Alexandre said.

Arturo frowned, “We shouldn’t fear strange words like epistemology, but our ignorance of them. I wonder if the leaders of nuclear powers even know its meaning.”

“I doubt it. That’s frightening,” Alexandre said as they entered the house. They sat again at the table. Arturo placed Ronald’s picture before them.

“Let’s go deeper into metaphysics,” Alexandre said. “Please help me to hang this other banner,” he said taking out his banner bag another one.

They hang it below the previous one.

It said:

METAPHYSICS

“Can you explain it in football terms?” Arturo asked him and added, “Ronald loved that.”

“I think you, Arturo, can do that better,” Alexandre said.

“All right, I’ll try,” Arturo said. “Imagine you’re in Rome’s Olympic Stadium, like today. What was the final score?”

“We tied two–two.”

“Think of metaphysics as the football field. It exists on its own. The field has its own characteristics: it’s flat, covered with grass, marked by lines, and has two goals. The same with metaphysics. It is the material reality. It exists by natural laws, like physics.”

“Well put,” Alexandre said. “A football field exists on its own. You don’t need to see it for it to exist. It’s existence is independent from you. It has its own rules: flatness, size, limits, grass. That’s metaphysics or the totality of existence. It’s the reality where you play the game.”

“That makes sense,” Arturo said. “You must know your position on the field to score goals. The same in life.”

“You’re right,” Alexandre said. “And what happens if you don’t know where you are on the football field?”

“You lose,” Arturo said, noticing a green envelope in Alexandre’s hand. “What’s that?”

“It’s a reminder,” Alexandre said. He pulled a gold card from the envelope. The question read: Where are you? He placed it on the table.

“You are seeing Ronald’s card for this meeting.”

They stood in silence, staring at the white card on the black table.

“Did Ronald write this?” Arturo asked, holding it. “Where are you? Is the question on metaphysics?”

“Yes. Metaphysics covers all existence where you exist. Nothing mystical. Reality as a whole,” Alexandre said, gesturing to the surroundings.

Alexandre reviewed his notes. He wrote something in his paper book. He paused and a thought came to his mind, How could Ronald fall into that ravine? It makes no sense.

They did a break and went to the garden with a football. They moved the ball over the grass. They pondered the metaphysics of those who have killed Ronald. If their fantasies were guiding their actions, their illusions of power could cause human extinction. After a while, they returned to the house.

Back at the table, Alexandre opened his banners’ bag again and took another similar, of white clothes and thick black letters.

“Can you help me hang it below the previous?” he asked. When they were ready it read:

EPISTEMOLOGY

“We are going to give a brief bird view to epistemology. The next meetings we are going to dive deeper on it. We just compared existence to a football field and your life of what you do in a football game. In the football field you know where you are because you can see. How can you know where you are in your real life? What is the difference?” Alexandre asked.

Nobody answered.

“On a football field your eyes don’t lie. You see everything clearly, including yourself. Can you see life with the same clarity?” he answered again and sighed. A bird sang.

“Maybe the bird has the answer,” Arturo said. “Bird, help us! I want the same clarity in life as on the field!” He smiled but tensed, glancing at Alexandre, who stared back.

“Can you see the main difference between a football field and life?” Alexandre asked again.

“You know the field just by looking. Life requires thought,” Ricardo said.

“I disagree!” Arturo exclaimed. “You think constantly on the field too. Decisions, strategy. What’s the difference?” Ricardo didn’t reply. The room was heavy with silence. Another bird sang. Thunder rumbled. Sunlight streamed through the window.

“On the field, you can think without words. In life, you cannot,” Alexandre said.

“You’re right. You can’t live without thinking, and you can’t think without words. Words are everywhere, even in dreams!” Arturo exclaimed, nodding. “I didn’t notice this before. But it’s obvious!”

“You discovered something, Arturo?” Alexandre asked.

“You may say I did.”

“Care to share?”

“Yes. If words deceive you, your thoughts deceive you, then your decisions deceive you. Ouch! Can I ask a question?” Arturo said.

“Of course, if I know the answer.”

“Which words deceive most?”

“May I answer with a performance?”

“Go ahead.”

“What’s the difference between the word ‘apple’ and ‘organism’? Think about it. I’ll be right back.”

Alexandre went to the kitchen and returned with a tray: apples, oranges, bananas, a piece of meat, and two cooked chickens. He placed them on the table. He tossed an apple to Arturo and asked him, “what is that?”

“An apple,” he answered catching it. “Can I eat it?”

“Not yet,” Alexandre said, tossing an orange to Ricardo. “What’s in your hand?”

“An orange,” Ricardo said, smelling it. “Can I eat it?”

“No.”

Alexandre grouped fruits on one side, meat and chickens on the other.

“How do you name these?” he asked, pointing to the fruits.

“Fruits,” Arturo said.

“These?” he asked, pointing to meat and chickens.

“Animals,” Ricardo said.

Alexandre spat on the table. “How do you call everything on the table?”

They hesitated. Arturo spat, Ricardo followed.

“What are you doing? Crazy!”

“We’re helping with the performance,” Arturo said smiling.

“You imitate me like a parrot,” Alexandre replied.

“Echo! Echo! I am a perfect parrot,” Arturo laughed.

“I know why I spit, but you don’t,” Alexandre complained.

“I have a theory,” Ricardo said.

“What?”

“You asked how to call everything on the table. Organisms?”

“Why?”

“Fruits, meat, even the bacteria in our spits. Everything is about living beings. Those are organisms.”

“Yes!” Alexandre said. He shook hands with both. “Some words are easier to grasp than others,” he said, and took an apple.

“Now can we eat?”

“All you want.”

Arturo bit the apple. Ricardo peeled an orange.

“So, the concept orange refers to a group of more similar things compared to those more different, like bananas and apples?” Arturo asked pointing to a group of oranges on the table.

“Well put,” Alexandre said. He took a chicken and placed it beside an orange. “Compared to this chicken, are the oranges still similar?”

“Yes.”

“What point are you making? Get to it,” Arturo said.

“The point is what you just said. Let me underline it. When you form a concept, you compare things, noticing similarities and differences. You grouped these three oranges. They differ less from each other than any banana,” Alexandre said, placing three bananas next to three oranges. He did the same with three apples. “These three groups form the concept fruit,” he said pointing them with his finger.

“So that’s how you form concepts? Comparing the things you perceive and group them by their similarities?” Ricardo asked.

“Yes, but at the same time comparing them with their differences.”

“If so, the same works with chickens and cows,” Ricardo said, arranging three chickens and three pieces of meat next to the fruits. “This group is the concept cow,” he said, pointing to the meat. “This group is chicken,” pointing to the chickens.

“You’re right,” Alexandre said.

“Wait, I’m not finished,” Ricardo said, moving the chickens next to the cow-meat. “These two groups form a new group.”

“What group?” Arturo asked, frowning and tapping his toes.

“Don’t interrupt! Can you wait? Please!”

“OK, calm down.”

“If you interrupt, I’ll lose my train of thought. I’m about to discover something, ok?”

“I’m a tomb.”

“Oh no! I lost my train of thought!” Ricardo complained.

“You’re close! Try again,” Alexandre encouraged, index finger to lips, glancing at Arturo.

Ricardo continued: “This group of meat refers to cow. This group of chickens refers to chicken. Put them together, you get animal. Add all bacteria from our spits, that’s bacteria. Now,” he drummed on the table, “all groups together, orderly classified, not mixed, form organism. Voilà!”

“Bravo, Ricardo!” Arturo exclaimed, standing and clapping.

“Indeed, excellent connection!” Alexandre said, clapping too.

“Thank you, my friends. Leonardo was right: the greatest joy is the happiness of understanding,” Ricardo celebrated, arms raised.

“Goal, Ricardo!” Arturo exclaimed. “I think these meetings are going to rewire our brains.”

“Indeed. The readers of our book will do it too,” Alexandre added.

“I knew you’d get it, despite my interruptions,” Arturo said joking. “I always know you can, my dear engineer!”

“Let’s summarize,” Alexandre intervened. “Words, more precisely concepts, classify things, comparing those things that differ less with those that differ more, right?”

“Yes.”

“All these groups contain real things, right?”

“Yes. Even bacteria you can see with a microscope.”

“Correct. Words classify reality, right?”

“Yes.”

“You can point to an apple, a chicken, or bacteria?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t point to organism, because it contains too many dispersed groups?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to read Ronald’s summary on concepts?”

“Yes.”

“He says be careful classifying data from your senses. That’s his advice,” Alexandre said.

“Only that?” Arturo asked.

“No,” Alexandre said, passing the summary.

“He says words classify things, but some are wrong,” Arturo read. “I don’t understand economists’ words,” he said to Ricardo.

“What kind of words?”

“Banking, finance, stagnation, deflation, inflation, puts, calls, futures, marginal, fiscal policy, elasticity. What the hell are they talking about? I prefer apple,” Arturo said. They laughed.

“Why laugh? Do you understand those words with the same certainty that you understand apple?” Arturo asked.

“You are right. Words must connect to material reality through our sensory organs, like the word apple. Otherwise, concepts are empty, only floating concepts. Just sounds out of the material world. Poisonous premises are made of them,” Alexandre said, standing and going to the kitchen.

He returned with Yellow and asked him to clean the table. Silence fell. Ricardo connected the dots: the first domino is the first cause: empty premises built with empty concepts. They are not clear like the concept apple. That cognitive void killed Ronald, he thought.

“Let’s summarize,” Alexandre said. “To make good decisions, you need to think clearly. For that, you need clear concepts. What matters is not the sound of your words but their meaning. Invalid concepts are empty sounds detached from material reality. They deceive your thinking.”

Arturo raised his hand.

“If you do not connect your words to reality, you lose the game of your life. There is no extension,” he said, holding the ball. I wish I had known this before my drug problems, he thought.

They kept debating, asking questions, connecting dots, discovering new truths. Learning was fun, but the topics were heavy. They knew they were in an acclimatization process. Patience was required.

Later, they discussed the axiom concepts: existence, identity, and consciousness. Alexandre asked them to hang a third banner below the others. It read:

AXIOM CONCEPTS AND THEIR COROLLARIES

“Ricardo, have you seen a baby covering and uncovering itself with a blanket?” Alexandre asked, tossing him the ball.

“Yes. My son Nico did this. At six months, he covered and uncovered himself, and my wife would exclaim, ‘There he is.’ Nico laughed endlessly. He was playing with existence.”

“Why was that fun for him?” Alexandre asked.

“I have a thesis. Imagine you are that age. You see colours, hear sounds, smell, feel hunger, cry. Then you discover a game. You can make existence appear or disappear at will. Cover the blanket, you and existence vanish. Uncover, you exist. Your mother confirms it: ‘There he is.’ You grasp existence itself. Something exists compared to nothing.”

“That helps to understand consciousness,” Alexandre said. “Can you improvise an example?”

“You caught me naked. You improvise first,” Ricardo answered. Arturo smiled.

“OK! Let’s improvise.” Alexandre jumped and ran to the kitchen where Yellow was.

“What is he doing?” Arturo asked Ricardo.

“No idea,” he answered.

“I think another game,” Arturo guessed.

“Yes, another performance,” he said.

“We are having fun, aren’t we?” Arturo asked him.

“Yes,” Ricardo answered, watching Alexandre return with a blanket.

“What are you doing with that?” Arturo asked.

“Playing you as a baby. Stand up, take off your shoes, lie on the sofa. We will cover your body with the blanket, not your head,” Alexandre said, draping the blanket.

“Agu, agu,” Arturo joked. “Where is my pacifier?”

“No pacifier. Suck your big toe,” Alexandre said, laughing at Arturo’s acting.

“I want the ball,” Arturo said. Ricardo handed it to him. Arturo placed the ball under the blanket, then covered his face. “Where am I?”

“Not yet. Six-month-old babies do not talk.”

“Here I am.” Arturo uncovered himself, showing the ball and acting like a baby.

Alexandre laughed so hard he cried, infecting the others. Yellow watched from afar, scratching his head, smiling though confused.

“Cover now,” Alexandre said. Ricardo laughed, anticipating Arturo’s face. They all laughed again.

They repeated it several times and could not stop laughing. Arturo enjoyed acting the baby. Finally, they settled.

“Where is Arturito?” they asked, but Arturo stayed covered.

“Where is Arturo?” He uncovered himself. “There he is.” They exploded in laughter, tears rolling. Arturo covered himself again.

They continued until their stomachs hurt. “Please stop,” Alexandre pleaded. Arturo doubled down, perfecting the act and almost suffocating them with laughter.

Afterwards, Alexandre returned the blanket to Yellow. They drank, discussed the act, and asked Arturito, the baby.

“Arturito, tell us what is the axiom concept of existence,” Alexandre said.

“When I uncovered myself, I saw the world and confirmed it existed, me included. I could create existence and myself at will. By covering myself, I made everything disappear. It felt like being a god,” Arturo said. “When I uncovered myself, I knew there was something there. It would be terrifying to uncover and find nothing. Fortunately, something was always there. That confirmation was the fun. That is existence, knowing there is something compared to nothing.”

“That is correct. Can you define the axiom concept of consciousness?” Alexandre asked.

“You can say consciousness starts with perceiving the world, but you need your eyes and the world to perceive something. Consciousness is your act of perceiving the world. It implies the existence of your sensory organs and the world that you perceive,” Arturo said.

“That is correct. Much later, when the baby grows into a boy, he realizes existence is always there, even if he closes his eyes or covers himself with a blanket,” Alexandre said. “He realizes existence exists independently from his consciousness.”

“Can I define the axiom concept of identity?” Arturo asked.

“Please,” Alexandre conceded.

“When you are a baby, you see your bottle, pacifier, blanket, bed, ball. You notice differences. You know things are equal to themselves and different from others. That is identity, without words,” Arturo said.

“That is Aristotle’s Law of Identity. A is A,” Ricardo added. Then he asked Arturo, “Can you throw me the ball?”

“No.”

Alexandre laughed. “Do you know why identity leads to causality, its corollary?”

“No,” Ricardo answered. “Arturo, throw me the ball.”

“Come on guys. Concentrate!” Alexandre said.

“What is a bloody corollary?” Arturo asked. “Oh! It rhymed,” he said, laughing.

“It is an idea attached to another, Arturito. Seriously, it is that simple. The corollaries of the axiom concepts are three. The first is called causality.”

“Causali… what?” Arturo asked, putting faces, and they all laughed again.

“Seriously. Causality says: different things act differently. Milk comes from your bottle, not your pacifier. Things act according to their characteristics. That is causality,” Alexandre said.

“You are saying causality means a round football acts differently from a rugby ball? That fire burns, water wets, corks float, stones sink?” Arturo asked.

“Yes, Arturito. You are a very smart baby,” Alexandre joked. “But you missed something. Things act according to their characteristics, but necessarily, meaning always. Their characteristics limit their actions. That is why you will never see a round football behave like a rugby ball. If things are what they are, they must act according to their own characteristics, their own identities.”

They all got the point. Later they discussed the other two corollaries. First, the ‘primacy of existence over consciousness’.

“Arturito, smart baby, tell us what the primacy of existence over consciousness is,” Alexandre said.

“Agu,” he said with the ball in his hands. “If consciousness is sensory perception, then something must exist before you can perceive it, and you must have eyes before you can see it. Existence must exist before consciousness. There is no way you can have consciousness before existence. Agu. Too complicated? If a baby like me can understand it, you can. Think it in slow motion,” he said and thought, Hey politicians! Narratives do not make realities. Reality makes narratives. But you lie and change history!

Then they discussed the third corollary: ‘natural things are given and absolute’.

“Smart baby, tell humanity what this corollary means: natural things are given and absolute,” Alexandre said.

“I completely disagree with you. Agu. There are no absolutes, this smart baby says,” Arturo responded.

“Let us say this is your bottle of milk, little baby,” Alexandre said, handing him a large glass. “Imagine this is the only one that exists. Drink.”

Arturo took the glass and drank. “Agu,” he said again making is performance to perfection.

“Give me the glass,” Alexandre said.

“No.”

“Give it to me.”

“I am scared. What are you going to do with it?”

“Trust me, I am your father,” Alexandre said, playing the performance.

“OK papa, here it is,” Arturo said. Alexandre took it, turned around, and smashed it against the wall, hundreds of pieces flying.

“Buaaa.” Arturito started crying. “You are a bad father.”

“I just showed you that your glass is absolutely broken,” Alexandre said as Ricardo laughed at Arturo’s funny faces.

“And if it was the only bottle of milk, the baby would die,” Ricardo added.

“Nobody loves me,” Arturo complained.

They all laughed and understood the point.

Later, Alexandre asked them to hang a new banner.

It said:

THE METAPHYSICAL TETRAHEDRON

Alexandre said the three axiom concepts and the three corollaries were the core of metaphysics, but objective, the foundation for understanding existence and knowledge. The six of them worked together. They were integrated. Because the tetrahedron had six edges, it could represent the integration of the three axiom concepts and its three corollaries.

The energy felt creative and electric. Suddenly, Alexandre placed a solid tetrahedron in the middle of the table. Arturo and Ricardo’s eyes widened. They stood. It was a solid equilateral tetrahedron with four equal triangular faces and six edges, each the length of a football ball’s diameter: twenty-two centimetres.

“It is beautiful,” Arturo said, lifting it. “And heavy. How much does it weigh?”

“Three and a half kilos.”

“What material?” Ricardo asked, turning it in his hands.

“A special granite used in monuments and sculptures. It is called Nero Assoluto, Indian Black, or Zimbabwe Black,” Alexandre said.

“I can see my face,” Ricardo said.

“Yes. Uniform black. Almost no specks. Highly reflective when polished.”

“Like a black mirror,” Arturo said. “I look good here,” he added, watching his reflection.

“What is written on the base edges?” Alexandre asked.

“‘Existence,’” Arturo read aloud, pointing to one.

“‘Identity,’” Ricardo read, pointing to another.

“And ‘Consciousness,’” Alexandre said, completing the three axiom concepts written on its base.

Then he read all the corollaries on the vertical, inclined edges. The first, was Causality; the second, the primacy of existence over consciousness; the third, that natural things were given and absolute.

“You can create the same. I plan a large acrylic version for my apartment. As you can see, this sculpture integrates all the axiom concepts and their corollaries in a single unit. It is more than the sum of its parts. It sticks in your mind and is easy to remember. It is a silent tool that sharpens your intelligence. I call it ‘The Metaphysical Tetrahedron’.”

“You should bring it to every meeting and place it beside Ronald’s picture,” Arturo said.

“I agree,” Ricardo added.

“OK. We will. Never forget that for us metaphysics is just the totality of the material existence and nothing mystic.”

The meeting ended. They toasted vodka, eyes on Ronald’s picture. Next to it, the ball and the tetrahedron. Alexandre drained his glass, then threw it against the wall. It shattered. They followed him. Explosive sounds. Bursts of sanity scattering like seeds into the cosmos. The book was on the way.