Alice sat at the edge of the table and watched the Hatter fill the cup again — though no one had finished drinking yet.
“Why do you keep changing places?” she asked. “The tea is still the same.”
“Dirty cup,” the Hatter explained with dignity.
“But you are simply running away from your own cup in a circle.”
“Exactly,” said the Hatter. “That is what is called living.”
The March Hare laughed so hard that he knocked over the milk jug.
The Dormouse did not wake up.
Alice thought for a while.
“But if you keep changing places long enough, you will return to your own cup. And it will still be dirty.”
“Of course,” said the Hatter. “But by then we will be different.”
Alice opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“That does not solve the problem of the cup.”
“No,” the Hatter agreed, perfectly cheerful. “But it solves the problem of us.”
The March Hare raised a finger, as if he wanted to add something important, but changed his mind and ate the finger.
That is, the biscuit.
Although Alice was not sure.
“But that is...” she began.
“Logical,” the Hatter interrupted. “Absolutely logical. That is precisely why it does not work.”
Alice looked at her cup.
Then at the one beside it.
“And if I change seats,” she asked carefully, “will I become different too?”
The Hatter smiled.
“Not at once. First, you simply stop being the one who stayed.”
Alice was silent for a long time.
“That is wrong,” she said at last.
“Of course,” the Hatter nodded. “But wonderfully convenient.”
The March Hare poured milk into the sugar bowl and pretended it had been planned that way.
The Dormouse muttered something in his sleep.
Alice looked at her cup once more.
The tea was cold.
The chair beside her was empty.
Alice moved to another seat...
