Since my encounter with Brom, he stopped following us, but the suspicion is still there. I can see it in his glances and in the way he carries himself whenever my family is nearby.
At last, Elena was able to begin her lessons. We built an open shed not far from our homes. Many were skeptical; they thought it was nothing but a waste of time—until Elena convinced them. I swear, that girl could probably convince a dog that it's a cat.
Today is the first day of class. They're using the clay tablets I used at the beginning. We can't hand out paper—it's far too expensive, and suspicion would only grow if we used something that valuable for children to scribble on.
Unfortunately, the adults didn't seek to learn as well—whether out of embarrassment or sheer stubbornness. But knowing Elena, she'll eventually convince them too.
I watched the entire lesson, observing her patiently explain, assist, and answer questions. She has a natural gift for teaching. Her posture puts the children at ease, her tone of voice holds their attention without force, and the light in her eyes tells me she's truly enjoying it.
I wasn't the only one watching. Several mothers appeared briefly after lunch—and Brom as well. He observed with interest alone, without suspicion.
"She's a natural. Seems like she was born to teach, doesn't she?" I ask as I approach.
He nods, his posture slightly more tense than usual.
"Yes. And few people would spend their time teaching without gaining anything in return." His tone is dry. I sense the unspoken question behind his words.
"Well, knowledge is the greatest treasure. As long as someone holds control over it, the ignorant will continue to be controlled. She doesn't see it as a waste of time—only as a way of freeing them from a life entirely directed by others."
I notice he looks at me differently now. His posture relaxes slightly. He turns back to watch the lesson, takes out his pipe, and begins to smoke. When he exhales, he looks at me again and says:
"I didn't expect to find a philosopher here."
I simply smile at him.
"Your words are true. But knowledge without restraint can cause more harm than good."
He says it as if testing the ground, trying to understand my character.
"A blacksmith forges a sword and leaves it on the table. His son—whom he has always kept away from blades, calling them dangerous—enters while he's away. Seeing the sword, curiosity overcomes him and he picks it up. Not knowing how to handle it, he startles and drops it, but his arm is in the way. Newly forged, with a flawless edge, the blade cuts deeply."
I pause briefly before continuing.
"Who is to blame? The son, who out of curiosity ignored his father's vague warnings? Or the father, who by denying the necessary knowledge left his son in the blindness of ignorance?"
He continues smoking, but I can tell he's weighing his response.
Blowing out the smoke slowly, he asks a simple question:
"But the same thing could have happened even if the father had taught him about blades."
"Ah, but that's precisely it. If the father had taught him about blades and it still happened, then the fault would lie solely with the son—who, even with all the answers, chose that path. And the likelihood of that scenario would be smaller, since with knowledge he would know how to avoid the blade… at the very least keep the edge away from his body."
He frowns. I realize that, within the metaphor at least, I've left him without a strong counterargument.
"Perhaps in that scenario," he says at last, "but in this world there are forms of knowledge that can cause disasters. I've seen many things. You're only at the beginning of your life."
I raise an eyebrow at his attempt to use my age as an argument.
"Tell me—does knowledge cause disaster… or the one who wields it? Fire can destroy, but it can also warm a home, cook food, serve as protection."
I pause briefly, allowing him to reflect.
"Restricting knowledge can lead to decisions made with incomplete information. That is what causes disasters—not knowledge itself."
The lesson is ending, so it's best to conclude the conversation here.
"Well, it was good speaking with you."
I say, walking toward Elena.
As I move away, I hear him say:
"Idealism in youth is good, but in a few decades you'll understand what I mean."
I turn back to him with a faint smile and reply with a single word:
"Perhaps."
As I approach Elena, she looks at me questioningly.
"What were you two talking about?"
"Nothing important. Just philosophical questions about knowledge."
I reply with a shrug.
"Do you think he tried to play the age card?"
She laughs at my indignation.
"So, how did I do in my first class?"
She asks, still smiling, her eyes expectant.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been teaching for years."
I say sincerely, watching her smile widen.
"You were incredible."
A faint blush colors her cheeks at the compliment.
"Thank you!"
I smile at her as I offer my arm; she takes it, and we begin walking home.
"Come on. I bet my mother is practically bouncing off the walls with curiosity about your day."
She laughs at the image, and we continue on.
Brom remains where he is, smoking, his gaze fixed on the horizon.