iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第20部分

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ic　school；　whose　father　was　a　regional　sales　rep　for　an　East　Coast　chemical　manufacturer；　and　whose　mother　taught　seventh…grade　science。　When　he　applied　to　college；　his　parents　made　it　clear　that　anything　beyond　in…state　tuition　was　a　burden　he　would　shoulder　himself。　The　day　Charlie　arrived　on　campus；　he'd　taken　on　more　student　loans；　and　was　more　deeply　in　debt；　than　the　rest　of　us　would　be　when　we　graduated。　Even　Paul；　who　came　from　less；　had　been　given　a　full　scholarship　because　his　need　was　so　great。
　Maybe　that　was　why；　other　than　Paul　during　his　month　of　insomnia　as　thesis　deadlines　approached；　none　of　us　did　more　and　slept　less　than　Charlie。　He　expected　great　things　for　his　money；　and　to　justify　his　sacrifice；　he　sacrificed　even　more。　It　wasn't　an　easy　thing　to　maintain　a　sense　of　identity　at　a　school　where　only　one　in　fifteen　students　was　black；　and　only　half　of　those　were　men。　But　identity　for　Charlie　never　ran　along　pletely　conventional　lines　anyway。　He　had　a　world…beating　personality　and　an　irresistible　sense　of　purpose；　and　from　the　beginning　I　felt　it　was　his　world　we　were　living　in；　not　ours。
　Of　course；　we　didn't　know　all　that　on　the　late　October　night；　only　six　weeks　after　we　first　met　him；　when　he　came　to　Paul's　door　with　his　most　daring　plan　to　date。　Since　roughly　the　Civil　War；　students　at　Princeton　had　been　in　the　habit　of　stealing　the　clapper　from　the　bell　atop　Nassau　Hall；　the　oldest　building　on　campus。　The　original　idea　was　that　if　the　bell　couldn't　toll　the　beginning　of　a　new　academic　year；　then　the　new　academic　year　couldn't　begin。　Whether　anyone　actually　believed　that；　I　don't　know；　but　I　do　know　that　stealing　the　clapper　became　a　tradition；　and　that　students　tried　everything　from　picking　locks　to　scaling　walls　to　do　it。　After　more　than　a　hundred　years；　the　administration　got　so　tired　of　the　stunt；　and　so　worried　about　a　lawsuit；　that　it　finally　announced　the　clapper　had　been　removed。　Only；　Charlie　had　information　to　the　contrary。　The　removal　was　a　hoax；　he　said；　the　clapper　was　intact。　And　tonight；　with　our　help；　he　was　going　to　steal　it。
　I　don't　need　to　explain　that　breaking　into　a　historic　landmark　with　a　set　of　stolen　keys　and　then　fleeing　from　proctors　on　my　bad　leg；　all　in　the　name　of　a　worthless　bell　clapper　and　fifteen　minutes　of　campus　fame；　didn't　strike　me　as　a　world…class　idea。　But　the　longer　Charlie　argued　his　case；　the　more　I　saw　his　point：　if　juniors　and　seniors　have　their　research　papers　and　theses；　and　sophomores　choose　their　majors　and　eating　clubs；　then　all　that's　left　for　freshmen　is　to　take　risks　or　get　caught　trying。　The　deans　will　never　be　more　forgiving；　he　argued；　than　they　will　now。　And　when　Charlie　insisted　it　would　take　three　people…no　fewer…he　and　I　decided　that　the　only　fair　way　to　resolve　things　was　to　take　a　vote。　In　a　reassuring　test　of　democracy；　we　held　a　slim　majority　over　Paul；　and　Paul；　never　being　one　to　rock　the　boat；　gave　in。　We　agreed　to　be　lookouts　for　Charlie；　and　after　planning　our　course　of　attack；　the　three　of　us　assembled　what　we　could　in　the　way　of　black　clothing　and　set　out　for　Nassau　Hall　at　midnight。
　Now；　I've　said　before　that　the　new　Tom…the　one　who　survived　the　terrible　car　wreck　and　lived　to　fight　another　day…was　made　of　braver；　more　adventurous　stuff　than　the　shrinking　violet　who　was　old　Tom。　But　let's　be　clear。　Old　or　new；　Evel　Knievel　I　am　not。　For　an　hour　after　we　arrived　at　Nassau　Hall；　I　stood　at　my　post　in　a　tense　sweat；　fearing　every　shadow　and　twitching　at　every　sound。　Then；　shortly　after　one　o'clock；　it　happened。　As　the　first　of　the　eating　clubs　closed　their　taprooms　for　the　night；　a　westward　migration　began　of　students　and　security　officers　retreating　to　campus。　Charlie　had　promised　that　we　would　be　well　clear　of　Nassau　Hall　by　then；　but　now　he　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。
　I　turned　and　hissed　at　Paul；　〃What's　taking　so　long？〃
　But　there　was　no　response。
　Taking　a　step　toward　the　darkness；　I　called　out　again；　squinting　into　the　shadows。
　〃What's　he　doing　up　there？〃
　But　when　I　peered　around　the　corner；　there　was　no　sign　of　Paul。　The　front　door　to　the　building　was　ajar。
　I　ran　to　the　entrance。　Sticking　my　head　inside；　I　could　make　out　Paul　and　Charlie　in　a　distant　conversation。　〃It's　not　up　there；〃　Charlie　was　saying。
　〃Hurry　up！〃　I　said。　〃They're　ing。〃
　Suddenly　a　voice　rose　from　the　darkness　behind　me。　〃Campus　police！　Stop　right　there！〃
　I　turned　in　terror。　Charlie's　voice　choked　into　silence。　I　must　have　misheard；　because　I　thought　Paul　swore。
　〃Put　your　hands　on　your　hips；〃　came　the　voice　again。
　My　mind　fogged　up。　I　imagined　probation；　dean's　warnings；　expulsion。
　〃Put　your　hands　on　your　hips；〃　the　voice　repeated；　louder　now。
　I　obeyed。
　For　a　moment　there　was　silence。　I　strained　to　make　out　the　proctor　in　the　darkness；　but　I　could　see　nothing。
　The　next　sound　I　heard　was　his　laughter。
　〃Now　shake　it；　baby。　Dance。〃
　The　figure　who　emerged　from　the　shadows　was　a　student。　He　laughed　again　and　did　a　tipsy　rumba　thrust　as　he　approached。　He　was　about　halfway　between　my　height　and　Charlie's；　with　dark　hair　that　fell　over　his　face。　His　tailored　black　blazer　covered　a　starched　white　shirt　with　too　many　buttons　undone。
　Charlie　and　Paul　crept　warily　from　the　building　behind　me；　empty…handed。
　The　young　man　walked　up　to　them；　smiling。　〃So　it's　true？〃　he　said。
　〃What　is？〃　Charlie　growled；　glaring　at　me。
　The　young　man　pointed　at　the　bell　tower。　〃The　clapper。　They　really　took　it　out？〃
　Charlie　said　nothing；　but　Paul　nodded；　still　full　of　adventure。
　Our　new　friend　thought　for　a　second。　〃But　you　got　up　there？〃
　I　began　to　see　where　this　was　leading。
　〃Well；　you　can't　just　leave；〃　he　said。
　Mischief　danced　in　his　eyes。　Charlie　was　liking　him　better　by　the　second。　Before　long　I　was　back　at　my　post；　guarding　the　east　door；　as　all　three　of　them　vanished　into　the　building。
　When　they　returned　fifteen　minutes　later；　they　weren't　wearing　pants。
　〃What　are　you　doing？〃　I　said。
　They　came　toward　me；　arm　in　arm；　doing　a　little　jig　in　their　boxers。　Looking　up　toward　the　cupola；　I　could　make　out　six　pant　legs　flapping　from　the　weather　vane。
　I　stammered　that　we　had　to　get　home；　but　they　looked　at　each　other　and　booed　me。　The　stranger　insisted　that　we　go　back　to　one　of　the　eating　clubs　to　celebrate。　Time　for　a　few　toasts　at　Ivy；　he　said；　knowing　that　at　this　hour　on　Prospect　Avenue；　pants　would　be　optional。　And　Charlie　was　happy　to　agree。
　As　we　walked　east　toward　Ivy；　then；　our　new　friend　told　us　stories　of　his　own　pranks　in　high　school：　dyeing　the　pool　red　for　Valentine's　Day；　releasing　cockroaches　in　English　class　when　the　freshmen　were　reading　Kafka；　scandalizing　the　drama　department　by　inflating　a　giant　penis　above　the　theater　roof　on　opening　night　of　Titus　Andronicus。　You　had　to　be　impressed。　He；　too；　as　it　happened；　was　a　freshman。　A　graduate　of　Exeter；　he　said；　by　the　name　of　Preston　Gilmore　Rankin。
　〃But；〃　he　added；　as　I　remember　to　this　day；　〃call　me　Gil。〃
　Gil　was　different　from　the　rest　of　us；　of　course。　In　retrospect；　I　think　he　arrived　at　Princeton　so　used　to　the　affluence　of　Exeter　that　wealth　and　the　distinctions　it　imposed　on　life　had　bee　invisible　to　him。　The　only　meaningful　yardstick　in　his　eyes　was　character；　and　maybe　that　was　why；　during　our　first　semester；　Gil　was　drawn　immediately　to　Charlie；　and　through　Charlie；　to　us。　His　charm　always　managed　to　smooth　over　the　differences；　and　I　couldn't　help　but　feel　that　to　be　with　Gil　was　to　be　in　the　thick　of　things。
　At　meals　and　parties　he　always　reserved　a　place　for　us；　and　while　Paul　and　Charlie　quickly　decided　that　his　idea　of　a　social　life　wasn't　exactly　like　theirs；　I　found　that　I　enjoyed　Gil's　pany　most　when　we　were　sitting　around　a　dining　table　or　sidled　up　at　a　bar　in　the　Ivy　Club　taproom；　whether　with　friends　or　alone。　If　Paul　was　at　home　in　a　classroom　or　in　a　book；　and　Charlie　was　at　home　in　an　ambulance；　then　Gil　was　at　home　wherever　a　good　conversation　was　to　be　had；　and　the　rest　of　the　world　be　damned。　Many　of　the　best　nights　I　remember　at　Princeton　were　with　him。
　Late　sophomore　spring；　the　time　came　for　us　to　choose　our　eating　clubs…and　for　the　clubs　to　choose　us。　By　then；　most　of　the　clubs　were　using　a　lottery　system　to　determine　selection：　candidates　added　their　names　to　an　open　list；　and　the　new　section　of　the　club　was　chosen　at　random。　But　a　few　maintained　the　older　system；　known　as　bicker。　Bicker　resembles　rush　at　a　fraternity；　in　that　bicker　clubs　choose　their　new　members　based　on　merit　rather　than　on　chance。　And　like　fraternities；　the　definitions　of　merit　they　use　tend　not　to　be　the　same　ones　you　might　find；　say；　in　a　dictionary。　Charlie　and　I　entered　our　names　in　the　lottery　at　Cloister　Inn；　where　our　mutual　friends　seemed　to　be　gathering。　Gil；　of　course；　decided　to　bicker。　And　Paul；　under　the　influence　of　Richard　Curry；　an　old　Ivy　member　himself；　threw　caution　to　the　wind　and　bickered　too。
　From　the　outset；　Gil　was　a　shoe…in　at　Ivy。　He　satisfied　every　possible　criterion　for　admission；　from　being　the　son　of　a　club　alum；　to　being　a　prominent　member　of　the　right　circles　on　campus。　He　was　handsome　in　an　effortless　way…always　stylish；　never　flashy；　dashing　yet　gentlemanly；　bright　but　not　bookish。　That　his　fat