iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第4部分

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in　the　air；　waiting　to　be　plastered　in　place。　And　what　es　of　it　all；　the　design　on　the　shirt　at　the　end　of　the　day；　usually　isn't　much　to　see。　I　suspect　that　whoever　buys　that　shirt；　the　one　great　patron　of　the　everlasting　theme　park；　whoever　he　is；　wakes　up　in　the　morning　and　wonders　what　he　ever　saw　in　it。　We're　the　paint　in　that　analogy；　as　I　tried　to　explain　to　Charlie　when　I　mentioned　it　once。　Time　is　what　disperses　us。
　Maybe　the　best　way　to　put　it　is　the　way　Paul　did；　not　long　after　we　met。　Even　then　he　was　a　Renaissance　fanatic；　eighteen　years　old　and　already　convinced　that　civilization　had　been　in　a　nosedive　since　the　death　of　Michelangelo。　He'd　read　all　of　my　father's　books　on　the　period；　and　he　introduced　himself　to　me　a　few　days　into　freshman　year　after　recognizing　my　middle　name　in　the　freshman　face…book。　I　have　a　peculiar　middle　name；　which　for　parts　of　my　childhood　I　carried　like　an　albatross　around　my　neck。　My　father　tried　to　name　me　after　his　favorite　poser；　a　slightly　obscure　seventeenth…century　Italian　without　whom；　he　said；　there　could've　been　no　Haydn；　and　therefore　no　Mozart。　My　mother；　on　the　other　hand；　refused　to　have　the　birth　certificate　printed　the　way　he　wanted；　insisting　until　the　moment　of　my　arrival　that　Arcangelo　Corelli　Sullivan　was　a　horrible　thing　to　foist　on　a　child；　like　a　three…headed　monster　of　names。　She　was　partial　to　Thomas；　her　father's　name；　and　whatever　it　lacked　in　imagination　it　made　up　for　in　subtlety。
　Thus；　as　the　pangs　of　labor　began；　she　held　a　delivery…bed　filibuster；　as　she　called　it；　keeping　me　out　of　this　world　until　my　father　agreed　to　a　promise。　In　a　moment　less　of　inspiration　than　of　desperation；　I　became　Thomas　Corelli　Sullivan；　and　for　better　or　worse；　the　name　stuck。　My　mother　hoped　that　I　could　hide　my　middle　name　between　the　other　two；　like　sweeping　dust　beneath　a　rug。　But　my　father；　who　believed　there　was　much　in　a　name；　always　said　that　Corelli　without　Arcangelo　was　like　a　Stradivarius　without　strings。　He'd　only　given　in　to　my　mother；　he　claimed；　because　the　stakes　were　much　higher　than　she　let　on。　Her　filibuster；　he　used　to　say　with　a　smile；　was　staged　in　the　marriage　bed；　not　on　the　delivery　bed。　He　was　the　sort　of　man　who　thought　a　pact　made　in　passion　was　the　only　good　excuse　for　bad　judgment。
　I　told　Paul　all　of　this；　several　weeks　after　we　met。
　〃You're　right；〃　he　said；　when　I　told　him　my　little　airbrush　metaphor。　〃Time　is　no　da　Vinci。〃　He　thought　for　a　moment；　then　smiled　in　that　gentle　way　of　his。　〃Not　even　a　Rembrandt。　Just　a　cheap　Jackson　Pollock。〃
　He　seemed　to　understand　me　from　the　beginning。
　All　three　of　them　did：　Paul；　Charlie；　and　Gil。
　
　Chapter　2
　
　Now　Charlie　and　I　are　standing　over　a　manhole　at　the　foot　of　Dillon　Gym；　near　the　south　of　campus。　The　Philadelphia　76ers　patch　on　his　knit　hat　is　hanging　by　a　thread；　fluttering　in　the　wind。　Above　us；　under　the　orange　eye　of　a　sodium　lamp；　snowflakes　twitch　in　huge　clouds。　We　are　waiting。　Charlie　is　beginning　to　lose　patience　because　the　two　sophomores　across　the　street　are　costing　us　time。
　〃Just　tell　me　what　we're　supposed　to　do；〃　I　say。
　A　light　pulses　on　his　watch　and　he　glances　down。　〃It's　7：07。　Proctors　change　shifts　at　7：30。　We've　got　twenty…three　minutes。〃
　〃You　think　twenty　minutes　is　enough　to　catch　them？〃
　〃Sure；〃　he　says。　〃If　we　can　figure　out　where　they'll　be。〃　Charlie　looks　back　over　across　the　street。　〃e　on；　girls。〃
　One　of　them　is　mincing　through　the　drifts　in　a　spring　skirt；　as　if　the　snow　caught　her　by　surprise　while　she　was　dressing。　The　other；　a　Peruvian　girl　I　know　from　an　intramural　petition；　wears　the　trademark　orange　parka　of　the　swim　and　dive　team。
　〃I　forgot　to　call　Katie；〃　I　say；　as　it　dawns　on　me。
　Charlie　turns。
　〃It's　her　birthday。　I　was　supposed　to　tell　her　when　I　was　ing　over。〃
　Katie　Marchand；　a　sophomore；　has　slowly　bee　the　kind　of　girlfriend　I　didn't　deserve　to　find。　Her　rising　importance　in　my　life　is　a　fact　Charlie　accepts　by　reminding　himself　that　sharp　women　often　have　terrible　taste　in　men。
　〃Did　you　get　her　something？〃　he　asks。
　〃Yeah。〃　I　make　a　rectangle　with　my　hands。　〃A　photo　from　this　gallery　in…〃
　He　nods。　〃Then　it's　okay　if　you　don't　call。〃　A　grunting　sound　follows；　sort　of　a　half…laugh。　〃Anyway；　she's　probably　got　other　things　on　her　mind　right　now。〃
　〃What's　that　supposed　to　mean？〃
　Charlie　holds　his　hand　out；　catching　a　snowflake。　〃First　snow　of　the　year。　Nude　Olympics。〃
　〃Jesus。　I　forgot。〃
　The　Nude　Olympics　is　one　of　Princeton's　most　beloved　traditions。　Every　year；　on　the　night　of　the　first　snowfall；　sophomores　gather　in　the　courtyard　of　Holder　Hall。　Surrounded　by　dorms　crawling　with　spectators　from　across　campus；　they　show　up　in　herds；　hundreds　upon　hundreds　of　them；　and　with　the　heroic　unconcern　of　lemmings　they　take　their　clothes　off　and　run　around　wildly。　It's　a　rite　that　must　have　arisen　in　the　old　days　of　the　college；　when　Princeton　was　a　men's　institution　and　mass　nudity　was　an　expression　of　the　male　prerogative；　like　pissing　upright　or　waging　war。　But　it　was　when　women　joined　the　fray　that　this　cozy　little　scrum　became　the　must…see　event　of　the　academic　year。　Even　the　media　turn　out　to　record　it；　with　satellite　vans　and　video　cameras　ing　from　as　far　as　Philadelphia　and　New　York。　Mere　thought　of　the　Nude　Olympics　usually　lights　a　fire　under　the　cold　months　of　college；　but　this　year；　with　Katie's　turn　ing　around；　I'm　more　interested　in　keeping　the　home　fires　burning。
　〃You　ready？〃　Charlie　asks　once　the　two　sophomores　have　finally　passed　by。
　I　shift　my　foot　across　the　manhole　cover；　dusting　off　the　snow。
　He　kneels　down　and　hooks　his　index　fingers　into　the　gaps　of　the　manhole　cover。　The　snow　dampens　the　scrape　of　steel　on　asphalt　as　he　drags　it　back。　I　look　down　the　road　again。
　〃You　first；〃　he　says；　placing　a　hand　at　my　back。
　〃What　about　the　packs？〃
　〃Quit　stalling。　Go。〃
　I　drop　to　my　knees　and　press　my　palms　on　either　side　of　the　open　hole。　A　thick　heat　pours　up　from　below。　When　I　try　to　lower　myself　into　it；　the　bulges　in　my　ski　jacket　fight　at　the　edge　of　the　opening。
　〃Damn；　Tom；　the　dead　move　faster。　Kick　around　until　your　foot　finds　a　step　iron。　There's　a　ladder　in　the　wall。〃
　Feeling　my　shoe　snag　the　top　rung；　I　begin　to　descend。
　〃All　right；〃　Charlie　says。　〃Take　this。〃
　He　pushes　my　pack　through　the　opening；　followed　by　his。
　A　network　of　pipes　extends　into　the　dark　in　both　directions。　Visibility　is　low；　and　the　air　is　full　of　metallic　clanks　and　hisses。　This　is　Princeton's　circulatory　system；　the　passageways　pushing　steam　from　a　distant　central　boiler　to　dorms　and　academic　buildings　up　north。　Charlie　says　the　vapor　inside　the　pipes　is　pressurized　at　two　hundred　and　fifty　pounds　per　square　inch。　The　smaller　cylinders　carry　high…voltage　lines　or　natural　gas。　Still；　I've　never　seen　any　warnings　in　the　tunnels；　not　a　single　fluorescent　triangle　or　posting　of　university　policy。　The　college　would　like　to　forget　that　this　place　exists。　The　only　message　at　this　entrance；　written　long　ago　in　black　paint；　is　LASCIATE　OGNE　SPERANZA；　VOI　CH'INTRATE。　Paul；　who　has　never　seemed　to　fear　anything　in　this　place；　smiled　the　first　time　he　saw　it。　Abandon　all　hope；　he　said；　translating　Dante　for　the　rest　of　us；　ye　that　enter　here。
　Charlie　makes　his　way　down；　scraping　the　cover　back　onto　its　place　after　him。　As　he　steps　from　the　bottom　rung；　he　pulls　off　his　hat。　Light　dances　across　the　beads　of　sweat　on　his　forehead。　The　afro　he's　grown　after　four　months　without　a　haircut　barely　clears　the　ceiling。　It's　not　an　afro；　he's　been　telling　us。　It's　just　a　half…fro。
　He　takes　a　few　whiffs　of　the　stale　air；　then　produces　a　container　of　Vick's　VapoRub　from　his　pack。　〃Put　some　under　your　nose。　You　won't　smell　anything。〃
　I　wave　him　off。　It's　a　trick　he　learned　as　a　summer　intern　with　the　local　medical　examiner；　a　way　to　avoid　smelling　the　corpses　during　autopsies。　After　what　happened　to　my　father　I've　never　held　the　medical　profession　in　particularly　high　esteem；　doctors　are　drones　to　me；　second　opinions　with　shifting　faces。　But　to　see　Charlie　in　a　hospital　is　another　thing　entirely。　He's　the　strongman　of　the　local　ambulance　squad；　the　go…to　guy　for　tough　cases；　and　he'll　find　a　twenty…fifth　hour　in　any　day　to　give　people　he's　never　met　a　fighting　chance　to　beat　what　he　calls　the　Thief。
　Charlie　unloads　a　pair　of　pin…striped　gray　laser　guns；　then　the　set　of　Velcro　straps　with　dark　plastic　domes　in　the　middle。　While　he　keeps　fiddling　with　the　packs；　I　start　to　unzip　my　jacket。　The　collar　of　my　shirt　is　already　sticking　to　my　neck。
　〃Careful；〃　he　says；　extending　an　arm　out　before　I　can　sling　my　coat　across　the　largest　pipe。　〃Remember　what　happened　to　Gil's　old　jacket？〃
　I'd　pletely　forgotten。　A　steam　pipe　melted　the　nylon　shell　and　set　the　filler　on　fire。　We　had　to　stomp　out　the　flames　on　the　ground。
　〃We'll　leave　the　coats　here　and　pick　them　up　on　the　way　out；〃　he　says；　grabbing　the　jacket　from　my　hand　and　rolling　it　up　with　his　in　an　expandable　duffel　bag。　He　suspends　it　from　a　ceiling　fixture　by　one　of　its　straps。
　〃So　the　rats　don't　get　at　it；〃　he　says；　unloading　a　few　more　objects　from　the　pack。
　After　handing　me　a　flashlight　and　a　two…way　hand　radio；　he　pulls　out　two　large