iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第37部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　
　Chapter　15
　
　We　hardly　speak　as　we　leave　Woolworth。　Paul　walks　slightly　in　front　of　me；　creating　enough　space　for　us　to　keep　to　ourselves；　and　in　the　distance　I　can　make　out　the　tower　of　the　chapel。　Police　cars　squat　at　its　feet　like　toads　beneath　an　oak；　weathering　out　a　storm。　Lines　of　police　tape　rock　in　the　dying　wind。　Bill　Stein's　snow　angel　must　be　gone　by　now；　not　even　a　dimple　in　the　white。
　We　arrive　at　Dod　to　find　Charlie　awake　but　preparing　for　bed　once　again。　He's　been　cleaning　up　the　mon　room；　ordering　stray　papers　and　arranging　unopened　mail　into　piles；　trying　to　shake　off　what　he　saw　in　the　ambulance。　After　checking　his　watch；　he　looks　at　us　disapprovingly　but　is　too　tired　to　make　much　of　it。　I　stand　by　and　listen　as　Paul　explains　what　we　saw　at　the　museum；　knowing　that　Charlie　will　insist　we　call　the　police。　After　I　explain　that　we　were　going　through　Stein's　belongings　when　we　found　the　letters；　though；　even　Charlie　seems　to　think　better　of　it。
　Paul　and　I　retreat　into　the　bedroom　and　change　clothes　wordlessly；　then　go　to　our　separate　bunks。　As　I　lie　there；　recalling　the　emotion　in　his　voice　as　he　described　Curry；　something　occurs　to　me　that　I've　never　understood　before。　There　was；　if　only　briefly；　a　quiet　perfection　to　their　relationship。　Curry　had　never　succeeded　in　understanding　the　Hypnerotomachia；　until　Paul　came　into　his　life　and　solved　what　Curry　couldn't；　so　they　could　share　it　together。　And　Paul　had　always　wanted　for　so　much；　until　Richard　Curry　came　into　his　life　and　showed　him　what　he'd　never　had；　so　they　could　share　it　together。　Like　Della　and　James　in　the　old　O。　Henry　story…James　who　sold　his　gold　watch　to　buy　Della　bs　for　her　hair；　and　Della　who　sold　her　hair　to　buy　James　a　chain　for　his　watch…their　gifts　and　sacrifices　match　perfectly。　But　this　time　there's　a　happy　twist。　The　only　thing　one　had　to　give　was　all　the　other　needed。
　I　can't　hold　it　against　Paul　that　he's　had　this　kind　of　luck。　If　anyone　deserves　it；　he's　the　one。　Paul　never　had　a　family；　a　face　in　a　picture　frame；　a　voice　on　the　other　end　of　the　line。　Even　after　my　father　died　I　had　all　of　those　things；　imperfect　as　they　might　be。　Yet　there's　something　larger　at　stake　here。　The　portmaster's　diary　may　prove　that　my　father　was　right　about　the　Hypnerotomachia…that　he　saw　it　for　what　it　was；　past　the　dust　and　the　ages；　through　the　forest　of　dead　languages　and　woodcuts。　I　disbelieved　him；　thinking　it　was　ridiculous　and　vain　and　shortsighted；　the　whole　idea　that　there　could　be　anything　special　about　such　a　tired　old　book。　And　all　that　time；　while　I　accused　him　of　an　error　of　perspective；　the　only　error　of　perspective　was　mine。
　〃Don't　do　it　to　yourself；　Tom；〃　Paul　says　unexpectedly　from　above；　so　quiet　that　I　barely　hear　him。
　〃Do　what？〃
　〃Feel　sorry　for　yourself。〃
　〃I　was　thinking　about　my　dad。〃
　〃I　know。　Try　to　think　of　something　else。〃
　〃Like　what？〃
　〃I　don't　know。　Like　us。〃
　〃I　don't　understand。〃
　〃The　four　of　us。　Try　to　be　grateful　for　what　you　have。〃　He　hesitates。　〃What　about　next　year？　Which　way　are　you　leaning？〃
　〃I　don't　know。〃
　〃Texas？〃
　〃Maybe。　But　Katie　will　still　be　back　here。〃
　His　sheets　rustle　as　he　repositions　himself。　〃What　if　I　told　you　I　might　be　in　Chicago？〃
　〃What　do　you　mean？〃
　〃For　a　Ph。D。　I　got　my　letter　the　day　after　you　did。〃
　I'm　stunned。
　〃Where　did　you　think　I　was　going　next　year？〃　he　asks。
　〃To　work　with　Pinto　at　Yale。　Why　Chicago？〃
　〃Pinto's　retiring　this　year。　And　Chicago's　a　better　program　anyway。　Melotti　is　still　there。〃
　Melotti。　One　of　the　few　other　Hypnerotomachia　scholars　I　actually　remember　my　father　mentioning。
　〃Besides；〃　Paul　adds；　〃if　it　was　good　enough　for　your　dad；　then　it's　good　enough　for　me；　right？〃
　The　same　idea　occurred　to　me　before　applying；　but　what　I'd　meant　by　it　was；　if　my　father　could　get　in；　then　so　could　I。
　〃I　guess。〃
　〃So　what　do　you　think？〃
　〃About　you　going　to　Chicago？〃
　He　hesitates　again。　I've　missed　the　point。
　〃About　us　going　to　Chicago。〃
　Floorboards　creak　above　us；　movement　in　another　world。
　〃Why　didn't　you　tell　me？〃
　〃I　didn't　know　how　you'd　feel；〃　he　says。
　〃You'd　be　doing　the　same　program　he　did。〃
　〃As　much　as　I　could。〃
　I'm　not　sure　I　could　take　it；　being　dogged　by　my　father　for　five　more　years。　I　would　see　him　in　Paul's　shadow　even　more　than　I　do　now。
　〃Is　that　your　first　choice？〃
　It's　a　long　time　before　he　responds。
　〃Taft　and　Melotti　are　the　only　two　left。〃
　Hypnerotomachia　scholars；　I　realize　he　means。
　〃I　could　always　work　with　a　nonspecialist　on　campus　here；〃　he　says。　〃Batali　or　Todesco。〃
　But　writing　a　Hypnerotomachia　dissertation　for　a　nonspecialist　would　be　like　writing　music　for　the　deaf。
　〃You　should　go　to　Chicago；〃　I　say；　trying　to　sound　like　my　heart's　in　it。　And　maybe　it　is。
　〃Does　that　mean　you're　going　to　Texas？〃
　〃I　haven't　made　up　my　mind。〃
　〃You　know；　it　doesn't　always　have　to　be　about　him。〃
　〃It's　not。〃
　〃Well；〃　Paul　says；　deciding　not　to　press；　〃I　guess　we've　got　the　same　deadline。〃
　The　two　envelopes　are　lying　where　I　left　them；　side　by　side　on　his　desk。　The　desk；　it　occurs　to　me；　where　Paul　began　to　unlock　the　Hypnerotomachia。　For　a　second　I　imagine　my　father　hovering　over　it；　a　guardian　angel；　guiding　Paul　toward　the　truth　every　night　since　the　beginning。　Strange　to　think　I　was　right　here；　just　a　few　feet　away；　asleep　almost　the　whole　time。
　〃Get　some　rest；〃　Paul　says；　and　I　can　hear　him　roll　over　in　his　bunk　with　a　long；　labored　breath。　The　force　of　what's　happened　is　returning。
　〃What　are　you　going　to　do　in　the　morning？〃　I　ask；　wondering　if　he　wants　to　talk　about　it。
　〃I　have　to　ask　Richard　about　those　letters；〃　he　says。
　〃Do　you　want　me　to　e　with　you？〃
　〃I　should　go　alone。〃
　We　don't　speak　again　that　night。
　　
　Paul　falls　asleep　quickly；　to　judge　from　his　breathing。　I　wish　I　could　do　the　same；　but　my　mind　is　too　crowded　for　that。　I　wonder　what　my　father　would've　thought；　knowing　we'd　found　the　portmaster's　diary　after　all　these　years。　It　might've　lightened　the　loneliness　I　always　supposed　he　felt；　working　so　long　at　something　that　meant　so　little　to　so　few。　I　think　it　would've　changed　things　for　him；　knowing　his　son　had　finally　e　around。
　〃Why'd　you　e　late？〃　I'd　asked　him　one　night；　after　he　showed　up　at　halftime　during　the　last　basketball　game　I　ever　played。
　〃I'm　sorry；〃　he　said。　〃It　took　me　longer　than　I　expected。〃
　He　was　walking　in　front　of　me　back　to　the　car；　preparing　to　drive　us　home。　I　fixed　my　eyes　on　the　patch　of　hair　he　always　forgot　to　b；　the　one　he　couldn't　see　in　the　mirror。　It　was　mid…November；　but　he'd　e　to　the　game　in　a　spring　jacket；　so　absorbed　at　the　office　that　he'd　picked　the　wrong　one　from　the　coatrack。
　〃What　did？〃　I　prodded。　〃Work？〃
　Work　was　the　euphemism　I　used；　avoiding　the　title　that　was　such　an　embarrassment　to　me　around　my　friends。
　〃Not　work；〃　he　said　quietly。　〃Traffic。〃
　On　the　way　back；　he　kept　the　speedometer　just　two　or　three　miles　per　hour　above　the　speed　limit；　the　way　he　always　did。　The　tiny　disobedience　of　it；　the　way　he　refused　to　be　bound　by　rules；　but　could　never　really　break　them；　grated　on　me　more　and　more　after　getting　my　driver's　permit。
　〃You　played　well；　I　thought；〃　he　said；　looking　over　at　me　in　the　passenger's　seat。　〃You　made　both　of　the　foul　shots　I　saw。〃
　〃I　was　oh…for…five　in　the　first　half。　I　told　Coach　Ames　I　didn't　want　to　play　anymore。〃
　That　he　didn't　pause　told　me　he'd　seen　it　ing。
　〃You　quit？　Why？〃
　〃The　smart　take　from　the　strong；〃　I　said；　knowing　it　would　be　the　next　thing　out　of　his　mouth。　〃But　the　tall　take　from　the　short。〃
　He　seemed　to　blame　himself　after　that；　as　if　basketball　had　been　the　final　straw　between　us。　Two　weeks　later；　when　I　returned　from　school；　the　hoop　and　backboard　in　our　driveway　had　been　taken　down　and　given　to　a　local　charity。　My　mother　said　she　wasn't　sure　why　he'd　done　it。　Because　he　thought　it　would　make　things　better；　was　all　she　could　say。
　With　that　in　mind；　I　try　to　imagine　the　greatest　gift　I　could've　given　my　father。　And　as　sleep　descends　on　me；　the　answer　seems　strangely　clear：　my　faith　in　his　idols。　That　was　what　he　wanted　all　along…to　feel　that　we　were　united　by　something　permanent；　to　know　that　as　long　as　he　and　I　believed　in　the　same　things；　we　would　never　be　apart。　What　a　job　I　did；　making　sure　that　never　happened。　The　Hypnerotomachia　was　no　different　from　piano　lessons　and　basketball　and　the　way　he　parted　his　hair：　his　mistake。　Then；　just　as　he　must've　known　would　happen；　the　moment　I　lost　faith　in　that　book；　we　were　more　and　more　apart；　even　sitting　around　the　same　dinner　table。　He'd　done　his　best　to　tie　a　knot　that　would　never　slip；　and　I　managed　to　untie　it。
　Hope；　Paul　said　to　me　once；　which　whispered　from　Pandora's　box　only　after　all　the　other　plagues　and　sorrows　had　escaped；　is　the　best　and　last　of　all　things。　Without　it；　there　is　only　time。　And　time　pushes　at　our　backs　like　a　centrifuge；　forcing　us　outward　and　away；　until　it　nudges　us　into　oblivion。　That；　I　think；　is　the　only　explanation　for　what　happened　to　my　father　and　me；　just　as　it　happened　to　Taft　and　Curry；　the　same　way　it　will　happen　to　the　four　of　us　here　in　Dod；　inseparable　as　we　seem。　It's　a　law　of　motion；　a　fact　of　physics　that