The voice continued, ‘Let’s go back to what I said first, Sammy Jo. That question about two things in life that we can be sure of. Two basic things.’
Sammy Jo’s heart plummeted. She thought, ‘My God, he knows my name. Did I say my name when I answered this time? Why did I answer him in the first place?’
She said, ‘I guess I can be sure that you are telephoning me, irritating me, involving yourself in my life when all I really wish is that you were dead in a room somewhere or dying of a terrible disease, or at the very least in some fundamental physical discomfort.’
The voice cackled, ‘Well done! That’s part of the answer, Sammy Jo, very well done. To put it simply, the two things that we can really be sure of in life are (a) that we exist. We can be sure of ourselves. Are you in any doubt that you exist, Sammy Jo, any doubt at all?’
Sammy Jo sighed. ‘The only thing I don’t doubt is that you are a pain in the fanny. That’s all.’
The voice paused for a moment and then said, ‘I get your point. We know that we exist because we can feel pain. Our bodies feel pain. I can be sure of two things, to quote Russell: “We are acquainted with our sense-data and, probably, with ourselves. These we know to exist.” Sense-data is a silly technical word which I’ll explain to you later.’
Sammy Jo was biting her nails and looking around for the pen she’d used earlier to write her shopping list. To pass the time she said, ‘Go away. I don’t want to talk to you.’
The voice said, ‘Imagine yourself in any situation, any situation at all. It doesn’t matter what you imagine yourself doing.’
He paused. ‘I knew it would come to this, he’s going to talk dirty. I knew it,’ Sammy Jo thought instantaneously. She felt familiar feelings of outraged passivity seeping into her chest. ‘Go on, say it, you dirty bastard. Don’t pretend that this is about anything else,’ she said.
But the voice continued, ‘No matter what you think, do or imagine, the only constant element is you. You can’t get away from yourself. You can imagine that the world is a figment of your imagination, that the sky is yellow but just seems blue, that your body doesn’t really exist and that you are just imagining that it does, that you are in fact asleep and dreaming and not awake at all. Close your eyes.’
Automatically Sammy Jo closed her eyes and quickly opened them again. She hung up. The phone rang immediately. She let it ring about ten times until the repetitive noise it made began to upset Charlie and she began to splutter and howl. Sammy Jo felt guilty about letting it upset her and also couldn’t help thinking that perhaps it was someone else. Eventually she picked it up. ‘Yes?’
The voice continued, ‘If you close your eyes it’s possible to reject almost everything that seems predictable in everyday life.’
She sighed and then said bitterly, ‘I can’t deny the fact that you exist, though, can I? You exist, don’t you?’
The voice was urgent and persuasive. ‘No way. Think about it. Nothing exterior to your mind and your thought is necessary. Don’t be confused by my use of the word “necessary” here. I used it in its philosophical context. By it I mean a Necessary Truth, something that cannot be denied. For all you know my voice could be just a figment of your imagination.’
Sammy Jo laughed, a guttural, cynical laugh. ‘Oh, so now you’re going to tell me that this telephone call, this infuriating interruption in my life, is my own fault. Is that it?’
‘Could be.’
Sammy Jo sighed loudly. ‘Well, if I made you up, how come you won’t go away?’
There was a short silence. During this silence Sammy Jo picked up her pen and wrote the words NECESSARY TRUTH on the pizza pad in large capitals. The voice then said, ‘Try and remember this phrase: I Think Therefore I Am. In Latin it goes Cogito Ergo Sum. I think is “cogito”, c-o-g-i-t-o. Therefore is ergo, e-r-g-o. I am is sum, s-u-m. Got that?’
Sammy Jo finished writing down the last letter, then slammed her pen down on the table. ‘What on earth makes you think I give a damn? You’re boring me. Go and bore someone else.’
The voice said calmly, ‘I want you to read something by a guy called Descartes tonight. He was the founder of modern philosophy – circa 1600. He invented something called “The Method of Systematic Doubt”. If you can get hold of his Meditations I’d recommend the first chapter. It’s only short.’
Sammy Jo said quickly, ‘Forget it. I’ll be much too busy this evening committing sodomy with my household pet and watching Emmerdale Farm.’
This time he rang off.
She picked up her pen again and wrote down the name Descartes (although she spelled it Deycart), then threw the pen down, tore off the top page of the pad, crumpled it up and threw it at the paper bin in the corner of the room. The paper missed the bin and hit the wall. She got up and went into the kitchen to finish making her cup of tea. While she was pouring in the milk Jason returned carrying a couple of bags of Pampers. He pinched her arm, ‘Tea! Yes please!’ She grimaced and bent down to get out another cup.
That night when they were both lying in bed waiting to go to sleep and listening out for Charlie’s whimpers from her cot nearby, Sammy Jo took hold of Jason’s arm and said, ‘Jason, have you ever heard of Descartes?’
Jason yawned and turned over on to his back, ‘I don’t know, Sammy Jo. I have some vague ideas about him. Probably read him at college at some point. Why?’
Sammy Jo shrugged. ‘Is it rude?’
Jason laughed. ‘Not so far as I know. He was French, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he was a kinky writer.’
Sammy Jo sighed. ‘Oh.’
Jason paused for a moment, then said, ‘Sammy Jo, I didn’t mean to be off-putting. If you’re interested I might have a book on ancient philosophy downstairs that features him, but I can’t be sure.’ Sammy Jo smiled. ‘I don’t think so, Jason. Apparently Descartes was the founder of modern philosophical thought.’
Jason opened his eyes and stared at her in the dark.
The following afternoon Sammy Jo had just returned from taking Charlie out for a walk in her pram and was taking off her coat and combing a hand through her rather windswept short, red hair, when the telephone started ringing. She picked Charlie up and went to answer it. It was the man again. She pulled the telephone over towards the sofa and sat down, balancing Charlie on her knees, supporting her with one hand. The man said, ‘Hello, Sammy Jo. I suppose it would be optimistic of me to expect you to have read that chunk of Descartes’ Meditations that I recommended to you last night? The first chapter, remember?’
Sammy Jo snorted. ‘Why don’t you just sod off?’
The man continued, ‘After I rang off yesterday it occurred to me that I hadn’t been particularly encouraging towards you, and that was very wrong of me. I think you did extremely well, all things considered. You are obviously an intelligent woman. I think you just need stretching.’
Sammy Jo shook her head, ‘No, I don’t need stretching. The only person who needs stretching around here is you, and by that I mean stretching on the rack. Ancient forms of torture. I like that idea.’
The man said quietly, ‘Try not to be so combative, Sammy Jo. Let’s just get back to Descartes and his Method of Systematic Doubt.’
Sammy Jo hung up. As she tucked Charlie up in her cot a good fifty seconds or so later, the telephone started to ring again. Sammy Jo finished arranging Charlie’s covers and then, grabbing hold of her pizza pad and pen, went to answer it.
‘Yes?’
The man said, ‘Do