iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第43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！


f　my　rolls　before　the　senior　photographers　take　over　the　darkroom；〃　she　says　on　the　way；　more　for　Sam's　benefit　than　for　mine。　〃You're　a　distraction。〃
　The　artifice　is　wasted。　Sam's　earphones　are　still　in　place；　focused　on　her　typing；　she　doesn't　notice　me　leaving。
　At　the　door；　Katie　takes　her　hands　away　from　the　small　of　my　back。　She　seems　prepared　to　speak；　but　doesn't。　Instead；　she　leans　over　and　gives　me　a　kiss　on　the　cheek；　the　kind　I　used　to　get　in　our　earliest　days；　as　a　reward　for　jogs　in　the　morning。　Then　she　holds　the　door　for　me　as　I　leave。
　
　Chapter　18
　
　Love　conquers　all。
　In　seventh　grade；　at　a　small　souvenir　stand　in　New　York；　I　bought　a　silver　bracelet　with　that　inscription　for　a　girl　named　Jenny　Harlow。　I　thought　it　was；　in　one　stroke；　a　portrait　of　the　young　man　she　wanted　to　date：　cosmopolitan；　with　its　Manhattan　pedigree；　romantic；　with　its　poetic…sounding　motto；　and　classy；　with　its　understated　shine。　I　left　the　bracelet　anonymously　in　Jenny's　locker　on　Valentine's　Day；　then　waited　all　day　for　a　response；　thinking　she　was　sure　to　know　who'd　left　it。
　Cosmopolitan；　romantic；　and　classy；　unfortunately；　didn't　form　a　trail　of　breadcrumbs　leading　directly　back　to　me。　An　eighth　grader　named　Julius　Murphy　must've　had　that　bination　of　virtues　in　much　greater　supply　than　I　did；　because　it　was　Julius　who　got　a　kiss　from　Jenny　Harlow　at　the　end　of　the　day；　while　I　was　left　with　nothing　but　a　dark　suspicion　that　the　family　vacation　to　New　York　had　been　for　naught。
　The　whole　experience；　like　so　much　of　childhood；　was　built　on　misunderstanding。　It　wouldn't　occur　to　me　until　much　later　that　the　bracelet　wasn't　made　in　New　York；　any　more　than　it　was　made　of　silver。　But　that　very　Valentine's　night；　my　father　explained　the　particular　misinterpretation　he　found　most　telling；　which　was　that　the　poetic…sounding　motto　wasn't　quite　as　romantic　as　Julius；　Jenny；　and　I　thought。
　〃You　may　have　gotten　the　wrong　impression　from　Chaucer；〃　he　began；　with　the　smile　of　paternal　wisdom。　〃There's　more　to　'love　conquers　all'　than　just　the　Prioress's　brooch。〃
　I　sensed　that　this　was　going　to　be　a　lot　like　the　conversation　we'd　had　about　babies　and　storks　a　few　years　before：　well　intentioned；　but　based　on　a　serious　misunderstanding　about　what　I'd　been　learning　in　school。
　A　long　explanation　followed；　about　Virgil's　tenth　eclogue　and　omnia　vincit　amor；　with　digressions　about　Sithonian　snows　and　Ethiopian　sheep；　all　of　which　mattered　a　lot　less　to　me　than　why　Jenny　Harlow　didn't　think　I　was　romantic；　and　why　I'd　found　such　a　useless　way　of　blowing　twelve　dollars。　If　love　conquered　all；　I　decided；　then　love　had　never　met　Julius　Murphy。
　But　my　father　was　a　wise　man　in　his　way；　and　when　he　saw　he　wasn't　getting　through　to　me；　he　opened　a　book　and　showed　me　a　picture　that　made　his　point　for　him。
　〃Agostino　Carracci　made　this　engraving；　called　Love　Conquers　All；〃　he　said。　〃What　do　you　see？〃
　
　On　the　right　side　of　the　picture　were　two　naked　women。　On　the　left　side；　a　baby　boy　was　beating　up　a　much　larger　and　more　muscular　satyr。
　〃I　don't　know；〃　I　said；　unsure　which　side　of　the　picture　I　was　supposed　to　be　learning　from。
　〃That；〃　my　father　said；　pointing　to　the　boy；　〃is　Love。〃
　He　let　it　sink　in。
　〃He's　not　supposed　to　be　on　your　side。　You　fight　with　him；　you　try　to　undo　what　he　does　to　others。　But　he's　too　powerful。　No　matter　how　much　we　suffer；　Virgil　says；　our　hardships　cannot　move　him。〃
　I'm　not　sure　I　ever　pletely　understood　the　lesson　my　father　was　imparting。　I　got　the　simplest　bit　of　it；　I　think：　by　trying　to　make　Jenny　Harlow　fall　head　over　heels　for　me；　I　was　arm…wrestling　Love；　which　my　own　cheap　bracelet　had　been　telling　me　was　futile。　But　I　sensed；　even　then；　that　my　father　was　only　using　Jenny　and　Julius　as　an　object　lesson。　What　he　really　wanted　to　offer　was　a　piece　of　wisdom　he'd　e　by　the　hard　way；　which　he　hoped　to　impress　upon　me　while　the　stakes　of　my　own　failures　were　still　small。　My　mother　had　warned　me　about　misguided　love；　my　father's　affair　with　the　Hypnerotomachia　always　in　the　back　of　her　mind；　and　now　my　father　was　offering　his　counterpoint；　riddled　in　Virgil　and　Chaucer。　He　knew　exactly　how　she　felt；　he　was　saying；　he　may　even　have　agreed。　But　how　could　he　stop　it；　what　power　did　he　have　against　the　force　he　was　fighting；　when　Love　conquered　all？
　I've　never　known　which　of　the　two　of　them　was　right。　The　world　is　a　Jenny　Harlow；　I　think；　we're　all　just　fishermen　telling　stories　about　the　one　that　got　away。　But　to　this　day；　I'm　not　sure　how　Chaucer's　Prioress　interpreted　Virgil；　or　how　Virgil　interpreted　love。　All　that　stays　with　me　is　the　picture　my　father　showed　me；　the　part　he　never　said　a　word　about；　where　the　two　naked　women　are　watching　Love　bully　the　satyr。　I've　always　wondered　why　Carracci　put　two　women　in　that　engraving；　when　he　only　needed　one。　Somewhere　in　that　is　the　moral　I　took　from　the　story：　in　the　geometry　of　love；　everything　is　triangular。　For　every　Tom　and　Jenny；　there　is　a　Julius；　for　every　Katie　and　Tom；　there　is　a　Francesco　Colonna；　and　the　tongue　of　desire　is　forked；　kissing　two　but　loving　one。　Love　draws　lines　between　us　like　an　astronomer　plotting　a　constellation　from　stars；　joining　points　into　patterns　that　have　no　basis　in　nature。　The　butt　of　every　triangle　bees　the　heart　of　another；　until　the　roof　of　reality　is　a　tessellation　of　love　affairs。　Taken　together；　they　have　the　pattern　of　netting；　and　behind　them；　I　think；　is　Love。　Love　is　the　only　perfect　fisherman；　the　one　who　casts　the　broadest　net；　which　no　fish　can　escape。　His　reward　is　to　sit　alone　in　the　tavern　of　life；　forever　a　boy　among　men；　hoping　someday　to　tell　stories　about　the　one　that　got　away。
　　
　The　rumor　was　that　Katie　had　found　someone　else。　I'd　been　replaced　by　a　junior　named　Donald　Morgan；　a　wiry　tower　of　a　man　who　wore　a　blazer　when　a　simple　dress　shirt　would　do；　and　who　was　already　priming　himself　to　be　Gil's　successor　as　Ivy　president。　I　happened　on　the　new　couple　one　night　in　late　February　at　Small　World　Coffee；　the　same　place　where　I'd　met　Paul　three　years　earlier；　and　a　cool　exchange　followed。　Donald　managed　to　say　only　two　or　three　chummy；　innocuous　things　before　realizing　I　wasn't　a　potential　voter　in　the　club　elections；　at　which　point　he　ushered　Katie　out　of　the　shop　and　into　his　old　Shelby　Cobra　on　the　street。
　It　was　death　by　papercut；　watching　him　turn　the　engine　three　times　before　it　finally　roared　to　life。　I　couldn't　tell　whether　it　was　for　my　benefit　or　his　vanity；　the　way　he　idled　in　his　space　for　another　minute　until　the　road　was　pletely　empty　before　pulling　out。　All　I　noticed　was　that　Katie　never　looked　at　me；　not　even　as　they　drove　away；　worse；　she　seemed　to　be　ignoring　me　out　of　anger　rather　than　embarrassment；　as　if　it　were　my　fault；　not　hers；　that　we'd　e　to　this。　The　outrage　of　it　festered　until　I　decided　there　was　nothing　else　I　could　do　but　surrender。　Let　her　have　Donald　Morgan；　I　thought。　Let　her　make　her　bed　at　Ivy。
　Of　course；　Katie　was　right。　It　was　my　fault。　I'd　been　struggling　for　weeks　with　the　fourth　riddle…What　do　a　blind　beetle；　a　night…owl；　and　a　twist…beaked　eagle　share？…and　I　sensed　that　my　luck　had　run　dry。　Animals　in　the　intellectual　world　of　the　Renaissance　were　tricky　subjects。　In　the　same　year　Carracci　made　his　engraving；　Omnia　Vincit　Amor；　an　Italian　professor　named　Ulisse　Aldrovandi　published　the　first　of　his　fourteen　volumes　on　natural　history。　In　one　of　the　most　famous　examples　of　his　approach　to　classification；　Aldrovandi　spent　only　two　pages　identifying　the　various　breeds　of　chickens；　then　added　another　three　hundred　pages　on　chicken　mythology；　chicken…related　recipes；　and　even　chicken…based　cosmetic　treatments。
　Meanwhile；　Pliny　the　Elder；　the　ancient　world's　authority　on　animals；　placed　unicorns；　basilisks；　and　manticores　on　the　page　directly　between　rhinos　and　wolves；　and　offered　his　own　accounts　of　how　chicken　eggs　could　foretell　the　sex　of　a　pregnant　woman's　child。　Within　ten　days　of　staring　at　the　riddle；　I　felt　like　one　of　the　dolphins　Pliny　described；　enchanted　by　human　music　but　unable　to　make　any　of　my　own。　Surely　Colonna　had　something　clever　in　mind　with　this　riddle　of　his；　I　was　just　dumb　to　its　magic。
　The　first　thesis　deadline　I　missed　came　three　days　later；　when　I　realized；　half…sunk　in　a　pile　of　Aldrovandi　photocopies；　that　a　draft　of　my　final　chapter　on　Frankenstein　lay　unfinished　on　my　desk。　My　advisor；　Dr。　Montrose；　a　sly　old　English　professor；　saw　my　bloodshot　look　and　knew　I　must　be　up　to　something。　Never　suspecting　it　was　anyone　other　than　Mary　Shelley　who'd　kept　me　up　so　many　nights；　he　let　the　deadline　slip。　The　next　one　slipped　too；　and　so；　very　quietly；　began　the　lowest　period　of　my　senior　year；　a　stretch　of　weeks　when　no　one　seemed　to　notice　my　slow　withdrawal　from　my　own　life。
　I　slept　through　morning　classes；　and　spent　afternoon　lectures　working　riddle　solutions　in　my　head。　More　than　one　night　I　watched　Paul　break　from　his　studies　early；　hardly　past　eleven；　to　walk　with　Charlie　to　Hoagie　Haven　for　a　late…night　sandwich。　They　always　asked　me　to　e　along；　then　asked　if　they　could　bring　me　anything　back；　but　I　always　refused；　at　first　because　I　took　pride　in　the　monastic　quality　my　life　had　assumed；　then　lat