My neck creaked like an old door. Or what I was assuming an old door to be, because my doors had always been novel in appearance—even if conceptually, it was all the same.
It was an old man in a suit, with a handkerchief in his breast pocket, and he wore a monocle.
He wasn't giving off any sense of familiarity to me, so this man was not my father. Who was he?
"Young Thales, when you played that song—what did you feel when you placed each piece mechanically? Did you feel like you did it right?"
What did he mean—did I feel like I did it right? I knew I did it right.
And then it hit me.
I understood what he meant.
"Young Thales, you do not understand yourself, do you? No—you understand, perhaps, from a logical and rational perspective, but you don't resonate with what you are."
I had two minds. One was asking why he was speaking to a three-year-old as if I could comprehend him like an adult. The other—
"I do not know what you seem to be talking about, sir. No—I don't understand words at all."
I gave it my best shot. But it seems it did not fool him. He was quite competent, it seemed.
"Young Thales," he started, with a grandfather-like smile,
"You're special—but just because you're special, doesn't mean you have to be alone. And it doesn't mean you need to do anything by the needs of others. Only by the needs of yourself.
I will help you. Here."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a toy.
It was a strange toy. It seemed geometrically perfect, but scrambled.
"If you solve this cube to mastery, I'll give you another. If you solve two, you won't need any cubes—and I'll give you a simpler one."
"Thank you, uh… Edmund-Sensei."
I liked this old man. I liked him a lot.
He patted my head.
He was the first I'd seen to feel warm, since that time.
What time, though?
And thinking about it—why would he give me a simpler cube? I'd have to ask him, when he gave it to me.