I’m 34 now.

My family asked me: What do you want for your birthday?

I don’t know what I want.

In the Other Place I sat with Hegel in his house, watching him scramble for wine and food as Napoleon’s soldiers ravaged Jena. It was cold, and though I was already wearing my Muji jacket I got from Japan in 2019, I was still shivering and had to keep my hands under my arms.

“So terribly sorry to be rude,” he said, casting a tired glance at me as he walked from one end of the room to the other. “You caught me during a most dreadful time. The most dreadful time…”

“Don’t worry about me, Dr. Hegel,” I said. “I just needed to clear my head.”

“And you wanted to do that here?” He laughed and poured wine into glasses on the table, all pooled together. “Perhaps you should get out of the city, Herr Tabernak. Times are… fragile and close to falling apart.”

We heard an explosion in the distance, and then a cacophony of screams and running.

“If it hasn’t already,” Hegel said.

I saw the lines on his face, the bags underneath his eyes. He looked quite gaunt, especially in his thick, flowing ermine robes.

“Are you sure you don’t want to escape?” I said. “Don’t you have a manuscript to submit, professor?”

“Yes. I do. It doesn’t matter. It’s almost done… I can’t leave my home. I only need to survive, and soon enough it will all be over.” He briefly glanced at me and gave his best impression of a smile. “One thing you can count on is that things end. All things end. Eventually. If only we’re patient.”

He went into the kitchen. He was gone for a long while. Outside the window, there was smoke in the horizon, but I couldn’t see where it was coming from. Once in a while, soldiers passed by the window, but it seemed the majority of the army had not arrived yet. But carriages and groups of people were shuffling in all directions, doing their best to leave, or find somebody, or feel as if they were doing something. Anything.

Hegel came out with several servants carrying trays of freshly cooked food. He directed them to place it on the table, so that it appeared as though he were having a feast. The servants did not look at all worried. They were busy; they could put worrying aside.

Hegel tried one of the soups. Although his face barely moved, it moved enough to show contempt. He beckoned one of the servants and in swift, colloquial German he berated them for how it tasted off. The servant bowed his hand, muttering, “Ja, Mein Herr… Ja Mein Herr…”

When he was finished, he shooed him off and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Hegel told me. “You know how the French can be with their food. I’m not taking any chances. Especially while they’re holding guns.”

I didn’t say anything, but I smiled.

“Hungry?”

“No, no. Save these for the soldiers.”

“Bitte… I insist.” Hegel stopped a servant that was passing behind him and told him to serve me a plate. I tried to meet the servant’s eye to thank him, but he looked away. They weren’t supposed to make eye contact.

He sat down and had a plate set for him as well.

“So,” he said, slicing into a shank. “To what do I owe this visit, my friend?”

I started with the soup. It was bland. I supposed during this time salt was too expensive to use.

“It was my birthday,” I said.

“Oh? Happy Birthday. When was this?”

“A few days ago…”

“I hope you had a lovely birthday. I hope you celebrated it far away from this.”

“It was peaceful. Very peaceful. Some might even say too peaceful.”

“Too peaceful? Maybe you can give me some.”

We chuckled politely at each other. “I know you’re worried. But don’t be too worried. You’ll survive. I know that for a fact.”

“You know this because you’re from somewhere else, and this grants you mystical powers?”

“I just know.”

He smiled at me the way a grandfather does to a grandson. “If you say so.”

---

At some point, we were eating in silence. Despite the background noise, the house seemed empty and still and undisturbed. I thought about how, where I came from, something was always happening somewhere. A television, a computer, an iPad…

Here, the stillness wasn’t only eerie but alien.

Then, we were jolted from our stupor by a loud thud on the door. When they realized that the door was locked from the inside, they began to know.

“Open the door!” a man said. “Grande Armée!”

Servants peeked out from the doorway to the kitchen. I looked at Hegel. His fork was held aloft, and it was shaking.

He put the fork down and stood up. He ran a hand through his long, greasy, brown hair. He walked in long, measured strides towards the double doors and opened it.

There, a handful of soldiers were standing carrying their rifles. The one nearest the door had a bushy mustache and a bulbous, pocked nose.

“We commandeer this house in the name of the Grande Armée,” he said. “You may take all the provisions you can carry and leave.”

“But monsieur…” Hegel said. “This is my house.”

“We need it to station our troops. You may return when the war has abated, but for now you must vacate.”

“Shall we talk about this? I’ve prepared a little feast for us.” Hegel stepped back and motioned for them to come in. “How about we discuss this over some wine and food? I’m sure you’re all famished.”

The soldier stood there, seemingly taken aback by the brazenness of this old man. Still, from the paleness of his face, it was apparent that they were indeed hungry. And more importantly, in no mood to use more force than necessary. So, he turned to the soldiers behind him and told them to come.

Eight soldiers entered. They sat around the table, with their leader sitting at the head of the table. Hegel sat at the other end. The others noticed me and eventually they were all looking at me and whispering. They didn’t recognize my clothes. And with my face I looked strange to them.

“This is my friend,” Hegel said. “Augustus.”

I bowed my head, while still sitting on my chair. “Gentlemen…”

They bowed and muttered their greetings in return.

“It is his birthday.”

“Joyeux anniversaire…” they muttered.

“Quite the time and place to celebrate it,” the leader of the soldiers said. “You should be glad, monsieur. History is being made here.”

“I didn’t catch your name, monsieur,” Hegel said. “My name is Georg Hegel. You?”

“Pierre L’Comte, caporal-fourrier of the Grand Armée,” he said. “We were sent here on a mission to see what we can scour from this town. The Emperor wants to make sure that we have more than enough provisions for our campaign. As you know, he is in a most grand mission for the Empire…”

“I saw him.” Hegel looked around the tables, his expression pure awe. “The Emperor Napoleon, riding on horseback, as if History itself were amongst us.”

“Yes, well…” Pierre had sipped his soup. Some of it was caught in his mustache, and he wiped it with his napkin. “History has given us a quota, and we have been going up and down this street for the better part of the morning. We’re hoping that this house will be the last.”

“Take whatever you want,” Hegel said. “It would be my honor to help The Emperor.”

“Then you must leave immediately,” Pierre said, straightforwardly. “We will commandeer this house.”

Hegel searched for the words, but he couldn’t speak. He looked around, as if having lost something, and then took his wine glass and raised it.

“A toast,” he said. “To Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, by the Grace of God, Emperor of France—and to my friend, Augustus, born on this day.”

The soldiers and the quartermaster raised their glasses, and so did I.

“Prost!” Hegel said.

“Prost…” echoed everyone else, except me.

Hegel took a sip of his wine. Then, he said, “And how was your year?”

I shrugged. “Nothing happened.”

“An entire year?”

“Yes. An entire year.” I took a sip of my wine. Wine here, at this time, was much sweeter. Tasted less of alcohol. And Hegel put out the expensive kind. “My life has been dragging on towards nothing for a long, long time now. And many times I’ve told myself that I was going to change, that I would try to achieve something, anything. But I never could. I don’t know why.”

Hegel was going to say something, but Pierre spoke before he could get it out. “We have all been in such situations,” the soldier said. “That is why I joined the army. Well… Why my father forced me to join.”

I said, “And how did that work out for you, Quartermaster?”

“I am on a campaign to change the world with The Emperor of France…” he said. His eyes were sunken, with dark rings around them, but his blue eyes might as well have been glowing, despite his sallow complexion. “There is a measure of pride in that for me. In any case, not much time to worry about stuff like that when you’re hungry and cold. Which we usually are.”

 “So that’s it then,” I said. “Time to join the Grand Armée.”

Pierre looked at Hegel. “And what do you do, Monsieur?”

Hegel thought for a moment. Perhaps he wondered if he should lie. “I am a professor.”

“And what do you teach?”

“Philosophy.”

“When I was a child, that is what I so wanted to be. Philosophy and mathematics. Do you know any mathematics, Professor Hegel?”

“One does dabble, doesn’t one?”

“Any system of philosophy must surely incorporate mathematics? Given that mathematics is the purest expression of the world?”

“Yes, yes, of course…”

“Although,” I said. “Professor Hegel does have some misgivings regarding the applicability of mathematics to philosophy.”

Hegel’s expression hardened upon hearing this, and he stared at me as if to say: Shut up.

“Do you, Professor?” Pierre said.

Hegel smiled at the Frenchman. “How about some champagne?”

---

On the streets of Jena I walked alongside Hegel. It was cold and foggy. Now, outside, the sounds of gunshots and screams and hooves clattering against the cobblestones were much louder.

I turned towards the old man. He was sweating, and his long hair had clumped together and was stuck against his face. Occasionally, he swatted against it, but it seemed as though he was too exhausted to even do that.

“You’ll survive,” I said. “You know that, right?”

“Thank you,” he said, perfunctorily.

“And your work will be considered one of the greatest works of philosophy of all time.” We walked so quickly that I was beginning to lose my breath. But I wasn’t afraid. There was nothing to be afraid of. “You are one of my heroes.”

“Thank you.” But he kept moving and barely looked at me.

“Okay.”

We walked in silence for a what must have been half an hour. We passed soldiers and dead bodies and mothers crying over their dead husbands and children. An old woman tripped in front of us, and Hegel rushed to help her up. He spoke in quick, colloquial German that I wasn’t able to understand. While trying to help her up, his manuscript fell on the ground. I was standing behind him and quickly tried to grab it, while he was still trying to help her up.

When the old woman was standing, she held onto Hegel with both hands, crying and wailing at him. He did his best to console her. She was alone. Hegel was still, nodding, and eventually the woman simply walked away, still crying, still murmuring to herself. The papers had scattered, and was now soiled. I tried to get all of them, but some pages were carried away by the wind.

“Professor…” I said, handing him the papers back.

He had been following the woman with his gaze. He noticed me and he snapped back into reality and took the manuscript from me. “Yes. Thank you. I didn’t even…”

“Some of them were blown away.”

“That’s fine…” He placed it back in the pocket of his ermine coat. “That’s alright.”

I turned to continue walking, but he said, “Listen. I know you’re worried. I know that you have been thinking about your birthday, and that’s why you’re here.”

I stopped.

“But I have nothing to tell you, my friend. I must go on with my life. So must you. And I appreciate you coming to tell me about my life’s work. I wish… I wish I had more for you. I wish I could grant you the assurance that you have given me.”

I nodded. “I understand. But thank you.”

“Of course.” He did his best impression of a smile. His eyes were so weary that they were bloodshot and glassy. “Now, I must continue with my journey. You must, too. I will see you again?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Good. Herzlichen Glückwunsch zum Geburtstag.”

He patted me on the shoulder, and he went on his way.