iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第33部分

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nna's　book　was　a　deserted　mansion　on　a　hill；　a　foreboding　shadow　over　any　nearby　thought。　Every　unpleasant　mystery　of　my　youth　seemed　to　trace　its　origins　to　those　same　unreadable　pages：　the　unaccountable　absence　of　my　father　from　our　dinner　table　so　many　nights　as　he　labored　at　his　desk；　the　old　arguments　he　and　my　mother　lapsed　into；　like　saints　falling　into　sin；　even　the　inhospitable　oddness　of　Richard　Curry；　who　fell　for　Colonna's　book　worse　than　any　man；　and　never　seemed　to　recover。　I　couldn't　understand　the　power　the　Hypnerotomachia　exerted　over　everyone　who　read　it；　but　in　my　experience　that　power　always　seemed　to　play　out　for　the　worse。　Watching　Paul　struggle　for　three　years；　even　if　it　culminated　in　this　breakthrough；　had　only　helped　me　keep　my　distance。
　If　it　seems　surprising；　then；　that　I　changed　my　mind　the　next　morning；　and　joined　Paul　in　his　work；　chalk　it　up　to　a　dream　I　had　the　night　after　he　told　me　about　the　riddle。　There　is　a　woodcut　in　the　Hypnerotomachia　that　will　always　stay　in　the　stowage　of　my　early　childhood；　a　print　that　I　bumped　into　many　times　after　sneaking　into　my　father's　office　to　investigate　what　he　was　studying。　It's　not　every　day　that　a　boy　sees　a　naked　woman　reclining　under　a　tree；　looking　up　at　him　as　he　returns　the　favor。　And　I　imagine　no　one；　outside　the　circle　of　Hypnerotomachia　scholars；　can　say　he　has　ever　seen　a　naked　satyr　standing　at　the　feet　of　such　a　woman；　with　a　horn　of　a　penis　extended　like　a　pass　needle　in　her　direction。　I　was　twelve　when　I　saw　that　picture　for　the　first　time；　all　alone　in　my　father's　office；　and　I　could　suddenly　imagine　why　he　sometimes　came　to　dinner　late。　Whatever　this　was；　strange　and　wonderful；　beef　potluck　had　nothing　on　it。
　
　It　returned　to　me　that　night；　the　woodcut　of　my　childhood…woman　lounging；　satyr　stalking；　member　rampant…and　I　must　have　done　a　lot　of　turning　in　my　bunk；　because　Paul　looked　down　from　his　and　asked；　〃You　okay；　Tom？〃
　ing　to；　I　rose　and　shot　through　the　books　on　his　desk。　That　penis；　that　misplaced　horn；　reminded　me　of　something。　There　was　a　connection　to　be　made。　Colonna　knew　what　he　was　talking　about。　Someone　had　given　Moses　horns。
　I　found　the　answer　in　Hartt's　History　of　Renaissance　Art。　I'd　seen　the　picture　before；　but　never　made　anything　of　it。
　〃What　are　these？〃　I　asked　Paul；　tossing　the　book　up　to　his　bunk；　pointing　at　the　page。
　He　squinted。　〃Michelangelo's　statue　of　Moses；〃　he　said；　staring　at　me　as　if　I'd　lost　my　mind。　〃What's　wrong；　Tom？〃
　Then；　before　I　even　had　to　explain；　he　stopped　short　and　turned　on　his　bedside　light。
　〃Of　course　。　。　。〃　he　whispered。　〃Oh　my　God；　of　course。〃
　Sure　enough；　in　the　photo　I'd　shown　him；　two　little　nubs　stuck　out　the　top　of　the　statue's　head；　like　goatish　satyr　horns。
　Paul　jumped　down　from　the　bunk；　loudly　enough　that　I　waited　for　Gil　and　Charlie　to　appear。　〃You　did　it；〃　he　said；　eyes　wide。　〃This　must　be　it。〃
　He　continued　like　that　for　a　while；　until　I　started　to　feel　an　unfortable　sense　of　dislocation；　wondering　how　Colonna　could've　put　the　answer　to　his　riddle　on　a　Michelangelo　sculpture。
　〃So　why　are　they　there？〃　I　asked　finally。
　But　Paul　was　already　far　ahead。　He　yanked　the　book　off　his　bunk　and　showed　me　the　explanation　in　the　text。　〃The　horns　have　nothing　to　do　with　being　a　cuckold。　The　riddle　was　literal：　who　gave　Moses　horns？　It's　from　a　mistranslation　of　the　Bible。　When　Moses　es　down　from　Mount　Sinai；　Exodus　says；　his　face　glows　with　rays　of　light。　But　the　Hebrew　word　for　'rays'　can　also　be　translated　as　'horns'…karan　versus　keren。　When　Saint　Jerome　translated　the　Old　Testament　into　Latin；　he　thought　no　one　but　Christ　should　glow　with　rays　of　light…so　he　advanced　the　secondary　translation。　And　that's　how　Michelangelo　carved　his　Moses。　With　horns。〃
　In　all　the　excitement；　I　don't　think　I　even　sensed　what　was　happening。　The　Hypnerotomachia　had　slunk　back　into　my　life；　ferrying　me　across　a　river　I　never　intended　to　cross。　All　that　stood　in　our　way　was　figuring　out　the　significance　of　Saint　Jerome；　who　had　applied　the　Latin　word　cornuta　to　Moses；　thus　giving　him　horns。　But　for　the　following　week；　that　was　a　burden　Paul　happily　took　upon　himself。　Beginning　that　night；　and　continuing　for　some　time；　I　was　only　a　hired　gun；　his　last　resort　against　the　Hypnerotomachia。　I　thought　it　was　a　position　I　could　keep；　a　distance　I　could　maintain　from　the　book；　letting　Paul　play　the　middleman。　And　so；　as　he　returned　to　Firestone；　white…hot　with　the　possibilities　of　what　we'd　found；　I　went　off　and　made　another　discovery　of　my　own。　Still　strutting　after　my　encounter　with　Francesco　Colonna；　I　can　only　imagine　the　impression　I　made　on　her。
　　
　We　met　where　neither　of　us　belonged；　but　where　both　of　us　felt　at　home：　Ivy。　For　my　part；　I'd　spent　as　many　weekends　there　as　I　had　at　my　own　club。　For　hers；　she　was　already　one　of　Gil's　favorites；　months　before　bicker　for　her　sophomore　class　began；　and　it　was　his　first　thought　to　introduce　us。
　〃Katie；〃　he　said；　after　getting　both　of　us　to　the　club　on　the　same　Saturday　night；　〃this　is　my　roommate；　Tom。〃
　I　gave　a　lazy　smile；　thinking　I　didn't　have　to　flex　much　muscle　to　charm　a　sophomore。
　Then　she　spoke。　And　like　a　fly　in　a　pitcher　plant；　expecting　nectar　and　finding　death；　I　realized　who　was　hunting　who。
　〃So　you're　Tom；〃　she　said；　as　if　I　met　the　description　of　a　convict　from　a　post　office　wall。　〃Charlie　told　me　about　you。〃
　The　best　part　about　being　described　to　someone　by　Charlie　is　that　things　can　only　get　better　from　there。　Apparently　he'd　met　Katie　at　Ivy　several　nights　earlier；　and　when　he　realized　that　Gil　intended　to　make　the　match；　he　eagerly　chipped　in　with　details。
　〃What　did　he　tell　you？〃　I　asked；　trying　not　to　look　concerned。
　She　thought　for　a　second；　searching　for　his　exact　words。
　〃Something　about　astronomy。　About　stars。〃
　〃White　dwarf；〃　I　told　her。　〃It's　a　science　joke。〃
　Katie　frowned。
　〃I　don't　get　it　either；〃　I　admitted；　trying　to　undo　my　first　impression。　〃I'm　not　much　for　that　kind　of　stuff。〃
　〃English　major？〃　she　asked；　as　if　she　could　tell。
　I　nodded。　Gil　had　told　me　she　was　into　philosophy。
　She　eyed　me　suspiciously。　〃Who's　your　favorite　author？〃
　〃Impossible　question。　Who's　your　favorite　philosopher？〃
　〃Camus；〃　she　said；　even　though　I　meant　it　rhetorically。　〃And　my　favorite　author　is　H。　A。　Rey。〃
　The　words　came　out　like　a　test。　I'd　never　heard　of　Rey；　he　sounded　like　a　modernist；　a　more　obscure　T。　S。　Eliot；　an　uppercase　e。　e。　cummings。
　〃He　wrote　poetry？〃　I　ventured；　because　I　could　imagine　her　reading　Frenchmen　by　firelight。
　Katie　blinked。　Then　for　the　first　time　since　we'd　met；　she　smiled。
　〃He　wrote　Curious　George；〃　she　said；　and　laughed　out　loud　when　I　tried　not　to　blush。
　That　was　the　recipe　of　our　relationship；　I　think。　We　gave　each　other　what　we　never　expected　to　find。　In　my　earliest　days　at　Princeton　I　had　learned　never　to　talk　shop　with　my　girlfriends；　even　poetry　will　kill　romance；　Gil　had　taught　me；　if　you　mistake　it　for　conversation。　But　Katie　had　learned　the　same　lesson；　and　neither　of　us　liked　it。　Freshman　year　she　dated　a　lacrosse　player　I'd　met　in　one　of　my　literature　seminars。　He　was　smart；　taking　to　Pynchon　and　DeLillo　in　a　way　I　never　did；　but　he　refused　to　speak　a　word　about　them　outside　of　class。　It　drove　her　crazy；　the　lines　he　drew　through　his　life；　the　walls　he　put　up　between　work　and　play。　In　twenty　minutes　of　conversation　that　night　at　Ivy；　we　both　saw　something　we　liked；　a　willingness　to　have　no　walls；　or　maybe　just　an　unwillingness　to　keep　them　standing。　It　pleased　Gil　that　he'd　made　such　a　good　match。　Before　long　I　found　myself　waiting　for　the　weekends；　hoping　to　run　into　her　between　classes；　thinking　of　her　before　bed；　in　the　shower；　in　the　middle　of　tests。　Within　a　month；　we　were　dating。
　As　the　senior　in　our　relationship；　I　imagined　for　a　while　that　it　was　my　job　to　apply　the　wisdom　of　my　experience　to　everything　we　did。　I　made　sure　we　kept　to　familiar　places　and　friendly　crowds；　having　learned　from　past　girlfriends　that　familiarity　always　arrives　in　the　wake　of　infatuation：　two　people　who　think　they're　in　love　can　find　out；　when　left　alone；　exactly　how　little　they　know　about　each　other。　So　I　insisted　on　public　places…weeken