iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第40部分

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　〃Fine；〃　I　said；　thinking　I　was　saving　her　from　that。　〃Let's　talk　about　something　else。〃
　And　so　a　period　of　many　pleasant　weeks　began；　built　on　a　misunderstanding　as　plete　as　the　one　we　started　with。　In　the　first　month　we　dated；　up　until　the　night　Katie　spent　at　Dod；　she　built　a　fa？ade　for　me；　trying　to　create　something　she　thought　I　wanted；　and　in　the　second　month　I　returned　the　favor；　avoiding　all　mention　of　the　Hypnerotomachia　in　front　of　her；　not　because　its　significance　had　diminished　in　my　life；　but　because　I　thought　Colonna's　riddles　made　her　uneasy。
　Had　she　known　the　truth；　Katie　would've　been　right　to　worry。　The　Hypnerotomachia　was　slowly　beginning　to　bully　my　other　thoughts　and　interests　out　of　focus。　The　balance　I　thought　I'd　struck　between　Paul's　thesis　and　mine…the　waltz　between　Mary　Shelley　and　Francesco　Colonna；　which　I　imagined　more　vividly　the　more　time　I　spent　with　Katie…was　devolving　into　a　tug　of　war；　which　Colonna　gradually　won。
　Still；　before　Katie　and　I　knew　it；　trails　had　formed　in　every　corner　of　our　shared　experience。　We　ran　the　same　paths　each　morning；　stopped　at　the　same　coffee　shops　before　class；　and　snuck　her　into　my　eating　club　the　same　ways　when　my　guest　passes　ran　out。　Thursday　nights　we　danced　with　Charlie　at　Cloister　Inn；　Saturday　nights　we　shot　pool　with　Gil　at　Ivy；　and　Friday　nights；　when　the　clubs　on　Prospect　fell　quiet；　we　watched　friends　perform　in　Shakespeare　edies　or　orchestra　concerts　or　a　cappella　shows　across　campus。　The　adventure　of　our　first　days　together　gradually　blossomed　into　something　else：　a　feeling　I'd　never　had　with　Lana　or　any　of　her　predecessors；　which　I　can　only　pare　to　the　sensation　of　returning　home；　of　joining　a　balance　that　needs　no　adjusting；　as　if　the　scales　of　my　life　had　been　waiting　for　her　all　along。
　The　first　night　Katie　noticed　I　couldn't　sleep；　she　recited　a　work　by　her　favorite　author　for　me；　and　I　followed　Curious　George　to　the　ends　of　the　earth；　where　the　weight　on　my　eyelids　carried　me　off。　After　that；　there　were　many　nights　I　tossed　and　turned；　and　Katie　found　a　solution　for　each　of　them。　Late…night　episodes　of　M*A*S*H　；　long　readings　from　Camus；　radio　programs　she　used　to　listen　to　at　home；　now　caught　on　a　faint　transmission　down　the　coast。　We　left　the　windows　open　sometimes；　to　hear　the　rain　in　late　February；　or　the　conversations　of　drunk　freshmen。　There　was　even　a　rhyming　game　we　invented　for　empty　nights；　something　Francesco　Colonna　might　not　have　found　as　edifying　as　Rithmomachia；　but　that　we　enjoyed　just　the　same。
　〃There　once　was　a　man　named　Camus；〃　I　would　say；　leading　her。
　When　Katie　smiled　at　night；　she　was　like　a　Cheshire　cat　in　the　dark。
　〃Who　left　U。　Algiers　with　the　flu；〃　she　would　respond。
　〃He　had　lots　of　potential。〃
　〃But　was　not　existential。〃
　〃Which　made　old　Jean…Paul　Sartre　so　blue。〃
　But　for　all　the　ways　Katie　had　found　to　make　me　sleep；　the　Hypnerotomachia　still　kept　me　awake　more　often　than　not。　I'd　figured　out　what　the　smallest　harmony　of　a　great　victory　was：　in　Rithmomachia；　where　the　goal　is　to　establish　number　patterns　containing　arithmetical；　geometric；　or　musical　harmonies；　only　three　sequences　produce　all　three　harmonies　at　once…the　requirement　for　a　great　victory。　The　smallest　of　these；　the　one　Colonna　wanted；　was　the　sequence　3…4…6…9。
　Paul　quickly　took　the　numbers　and　made　a　cipher　of　them。　He　read　the　third　letter；　then　the　fourth　after　that；　followed　by　the　sixth　and　ninth；　from　the　appropriate　chapters；　and　within　an　hour；　we　had　another　message　from　Colonna：
　
　I　begin　my　story　with　a　confession。　In　the　keeping　of　this　secret　many　men　have　died。　Some　have　perished　in　the　construction　of　my　crypt；　which；　imagined　by　Bramante　and　executed　by　my　Roman　brother　Terragni；　is　an　unequalled　contrivance　for　its　purpose；　impervious　to　all　things；　but　above　all　to　water。　It　has　taken　many　victims；　even　among　the　most　experienced　men。　Three　have　died　in　the　movement　of　great　stones；　two　in　the　felling　of　trees；　five　in　the　process　of　building　itself。　Others　of　the　dead　I　do　not　mention；　for　they　have　perished　shamefully　and　will　be　forgotten。
　Here　I　will　convey　the　nature　of　the　enemy　I　face；　whose　rising　power　lies　at　the　heart　of　my　actions。　Reader；　you　will　wonder　why　I　have　dated　this　book　1467；　some　thirty　years　before　I　wrote　these　words。　It　was　for　this　reason：　in　that　year　the　war　began　which　we　are　still　fighting；　and　which　we　are　now　losing。　Three　years　earlier　His　Holiness；　Paul　the　Second；　fired　the　court　abbreviators；　making　clear　his　intentions　toward　my　brotherhood。　Yet　the　members　of　my　uncle's　generation　were　powerful　men；　with　much　influence；　and　the　expelled　brethren　flocked　to　the　Accademia　Romana；　which　good　Pomponio　Leto　sustained。　Paul　saw　that　our　number　persisted；　and　his　fury　increased。　In　that　year；　1467；　he　crushed　the　Academy　by　force。　So　that　all　would　know　the　strength　of　his　determination；　he　imprisoned　Pomponio　Leto；　and　had　him　accused　as　a　sodomite。　Others　of　our　group　were　tortured。　One；　at　least；　would　die。
　Now　we　are　challenged　by　an　old　enemy；　suddenly　reborn。　This　new　spirit　grows　in　strength；　and　finds　a　more　powerful　voice；　so　that　I　have　no　choice　but　to　construct；　with　the　assistance　of　friends　wiser　than　I；　this　device　whose　secret　I　disguise　here。　Even　the　priest；　philosopher　though　he　may　be；　is　not　equal　to　it。
　Continue；　reader；　and　I　will　tell　more。
　
　〃The　court　abbreviators　were　the　humanists；〃　Paul　explained。　〃The　pope　thought　humanism　bred　moral　corruption。　He　didn't　even　want　children　to　hear　the　works　of　the　ancient　poets。　Pope　Paul　made　an　example　of　Leto。　For　some　reason；　Francesco　took　it　as　a　declaration　of　war。〃
　Colonna's　words　stayed　with　me　that　night；　and　each　night　that　followed。　For　the　first　time；　I　missed　a　morning　run　with　Katie；　too　tired　to　pull　myself　from　bed。　Something　told　me　Paul　was　wrong　about　the　new　riddle…How　many　arms　from　your　feet　to　the　horizon？…and　that　Eratosthenes　and　geometry　were　not　the　solution。　Charlie　confirmed　that　the　distance　to　the　horizon　would　depend　on　the　height　of　the　observer；　and　even　if　we　could　find　a　single　answer　and　calculate　it　in　braccia；　I　realized；　the　answer　would　be　enormous；　far　too　big　to　be　useful　as　a　cipher。
　〃When　did　Eratosthenes　make　that　calculation？〃　I　asked。
　〃Around　200B。C。〃
　That　sealed　it。
　〃I　think　you're　wrong；〃　I　said。　〃All　the　riddles　so　far　have　to　do　with　Renaissance　knowledge；　Renaissance　discoveries。　He's　testing　us　on　what　humanists　would've　known　in　the　1400s。〃
　〃Moses　and　cornuta　had　to　do　with　linguistics；〃　Paul　said；　trying　on　the　idea　for　size。　〃Correcting　faulty　translations；　like　what　Valla　did　with　the　Donation　of　Constantine。〃
　〃And　the　Rithmomachia　riddle　had　to　do　with　math；〃　I　went　on。　〃So　Colonna　wouldn't　use　math　again。　I　think　he's　choosing　a　different　discipline　every　time。〃
　It　was　only　when　Paul　looked　so　surprised　by　the　clarity　of　my　thinking　that　I　realized　how　my　role　had　changed。　We　were　equals　now；　partners　in　the　enterprise。
　The　two　of　us　began　meeting　at　Ivy　each　night；　back　in　those　days　when　he　kept　the　President's　Room　in　better　shape；　expecting　Gil　to　check　up　on　him　at　any　minute。　I　ate　dinner　upstairs　with　Gil　and　with　Katie；　who　was　only　weeks　away　from　beginning　the　bicker　process；　then　returned　downstairs　to　join　Paul　and　Francesco　Colonna。　I　thought　it　just　as　well　to　leave　her　alone；　hard　as　she　was　trying　to　position　herself　for　admission　to　the　club。　Busy　with　the　rituals；　she　seemed　not　to　make　much　of　my　disappearances。
　But　the　night　after　I　missed　my　third　morning　run；　all　of　that　changed。　I　was　on　the　cusp　of　a　solution　to　the　riddle；　I　thought；　when　by　sheer　accident　she　realized　how　I　was　spending　our　hours　apart。
　〃This　is　for　you；〃　she　said；　letting　herself　into　our　room　in　Dod。
　Gil　had　left　the　door　unlocked　again；　and　Katie　no　longer　knocked　when　she　thought　I　was　alone。
　It　was　a　cup　of　soup　she'd　brought　me　from　a　local　deli。　She　thought　I'd　been　holed　up　with　my　thesis　this　whole　time。
　〃What　are　you　doing？〃　she　asked。　〃More　Frankenstein？〃
　Then　she　saw　the　books　spread　out　around　me；　each　with　some　reference　to　the　Renaissance　in　the　title。
　I　never　thought　it　was　possible；　to　lie　without　knowing　it。　I'd　strung　her　along　for　weeks　on　a　raft　of　pretexts…Mary　Shelley；　insomnia；　the　pressures　we　were　both　facing；　which　made　it　hard　to　spend　time　together…and　eventually　it　carried　me　away；　drifting　from　the　truth　so　slowly　that　the　distance　each　day　seemed　no　greater　than　the　last。　She　knew　I　was　working　on　Paul's　thesis；　I　thought；　she　just　didn't　want　to　hear　about　it。　That　was　the　arrangement　we'd　e　to；　without　ever　having　to　say　it。
　The　conversation　that　followed　was　all　silences；　hashed　out　in　the　way　she　looked　at　me　and　I　tried　to　hold　her　stare。　Finally；　Katie　put　the　cup　of　soup　on　my　dresser　and　buttoned　her　coat。　She　looked　around　the　room；　as　if　to　remember　the　details　of　where　things　stood；　then　returned　to　the　door　and　locked　it　before　letting　herself　out。
　I　was　going　to　call　her　that　night…as　I　knew　she　expected　me　to；　when　she　returned　to　her　room　alone　and　waited　by　the　phone；　the　way　her　roommates　later　told　me　she　did…except　that　something　got　in　the