“Two people have asked me for that,” I confirmed.
“Not that bastard Phoenix?”
“No…” The night was dark, I couldn’t see his face. “Would you care?”
“He’s scum. I don’t like to think of you with him. Or even Aeschines.”
“I like Aeschines.”
“His head is solid bone.”
I laughed. “Nonsense. He’s very kind, and he’s certainly not stupid, even if he’s not as fast in debate as you or Kebes.”
“Or you,” Pytheas said.
“Are you jealous?” I asked.
There was a pause. I could hear gulls crying out to sea, and from the practice rooms down below where somebody must have left a door open came the sound of a lyre playing one phrase over and over.
“I don’t know,” Pytheas said at last. “Maybe, yes. I don’t know if this is what jealousy feels like. I certainly didn’t like the thought of you sneaking off to meet Aeschines.”
“I’m not doing it. But he did ask.”
“A question in return. Are you jealous of Klymene and Kriseis and Hermia?”
I was glad I’d thought it through. “With Klymene, mostly I was upset because it was important and I knew it must have been difficult for you and you hadn’t talked to me about it. That was what was important. Not what happened. But I am a little jealous that she has had your baby. And … if you were sneaking off together I might be jealous. And I do keep hoping that we’ll get chosen together.”
“Plato says—”
“I know what Plato says. Plato says my soul is burning because it wants to grow feathers. Ikaros accused me of having the wrong horse in charge of my chariot. But I don’t think I do.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say Plato says. You haven’t read the Republic.”
“Oh, and you have?” Then I realized he meant it. “You mean you have? How? When? Can I read it? I really want to. Did Sokrates lend it to you?”
“Never mind how and when. I can’t tell you. Please don’t ask me about that. And much as I’d love to get hold of it for you, I can’t think of any way for you to read it.”
“But what does he say?” I was bouncing up and down with excitement.
“What Plato says is more interesting than whether what I feel is jealousy?”
I hit him on the shoulder. “Tell me!”
“Answer the question.”
“Yes! Tell me!”
“Plato says the masters should cheat to get the best babies for the next generation. He says they should expose any babies born to people not the best. He says they should choose mates that will produce the best children, and let us think that it’s chance.”
“And are they doing that?” I asked. “How could we tell?”
“I tested it. I didn’t win any contests, deliberately. And my name was the second out of the urn on random drawing.”
“But it could have been anyway. There were what, maybe eighty names? And you’re assuming that they’re assuming you’re the best … no, I suppose we can assume that they’re assuming that.” He so evidently was, on any grounds anyone would consider. There really wasn’t any question.
“Being chosen doesn’t conclusively prove anything. But it was an experiment worth trying. If I’d not been chosen it would have shown that they weren’t following Plato. Though can you imagine that? Them not following Plato?” He laughed, and pulled himself up to sit on the parapet beside me.
“Then they might expose my baby. If that’s what they’re thinking, and what they’re thinking in having potentially so many more children than they need.”
“Your baby will be one of the best. They know you’re really clever. They want good minds.” He didn’t sound very convincing.
“But how can you judge a good mind in a newborn? And it’ll look like me.”
“Like a swimming champion. They want swimming champions.” He put his hand over mine, where I was hugging my belly again. “They’re not stupid enough to do that. Don’t you trust them?”
“For what?” I asked, my immediate retort now when asked about trust. “To have good intentions? Absolutely. To look at a scrawny baby with a flat face and think it should be kept? Not so much.”
“I—you don’t—”
“I don’t have a flat face?” I asked, incredulous.
“I didn’t know you knew,” he said, awkwardly.
“What, did you think I was blind?”
He paused. “I didn’t think it mattered to you.”
“It doesn’t. I don’t think about it. It’s just the face that happens to be on the outside of my head. It’s the inside of my head that’s interesting. But if you think I’m not aware of what other people think when they look at me you must think I’m stupid. Every time I ever got into a silly childish fight with anyone it would be the first thing they’d say: flat face, rabbit teeth.”
“I didn’t.” He sounded confused. “I didn’t say that when we had a fight.”
“We didn’t have a silly childish fight, we had a mature sensible fight,” I said, and giggled. “Even before we met Sokrates.”
“It’s just … your face,” he said. “You wouldn’t look like you without it.”
“I know. It doesn’t matter. Think how ugly Sokrates is. I was just thinking what the masters would think, looking at my baby and deciding whether to expose it.”
“I’m sure they won’t. They know how clever you are. And Nikias is clever too. I don’t think they’ll expose any of the gold children in this generation.” He sounded sure now.
“I didn’t know you knew Nikias?”
“He’s in my lyric composition group. He wrote a song about you.”
“He did?” I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or horrified.
“I told him if ever he sang it again I’d push his teeth down his throat.”
“Ah. Thank you. I think.”
He laughed. All this time his hand had been on top of mine on my belly. Now he moved it and patted my cheek. “Plato doesn’t mention what happens when you’re doing agape and then there’s eros with other people. He never talks about it on the same page.”
“We’re doing agape?” I asked. My voice sounded strange in my ears.
“If we’re not then I don’t know what agape is.” He put his arm over my shoulders and I leaned against him. “I have lots of friends in lots of places. Many of them are extremely loyal. I’m very fond of some of them. There are people with whom I’ve had eros. Klymene and I have a son together. But I never needed any of them. I need you. Not forever. Almost nothing is forever. But here and now, I need you.”
“I’m here,” I said. I kept still, but my mind was buzzing. “In the Republic, what is the aim of the city? What is it they want to produce?”
“The theme of the dialogue is justice—morality. But it goes a long way from there. Plato wants perfect justice, in a city or in a soul. In a practical way what they want to produce is philosopher kings: people who truly understand the Truth, and agree on what it is, and pursue it and keep the city in pursuit of it.”
“Really?” Compared to that, even agape with Pytheas seemed like a small thing. “What an amazing dream.”
“Aiming high, unquestionably.”
“Aiming for the best excellence. I always knew they were.” I felt vindicated. “I wish they’d let me read it. I want to say that to Sokrates.”
“They’re afraid you’d see the bit about them cheating with the lots and stop trusting them.”
“They’re idiots.”