iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第43部分

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fact　that；　technically；　the　kicking　of　old　people　was　what　got　me　bagged。　It　was　the　strange　mania　of　the　second　line　that　she　read　into。
　〃Why　silver　and　gold？〃　she　said；　sitting　me　down　in　the　small　back　room　of　the　bookstore；　where　she　kept　the　overstocks　and　old　filing　cabinets。
　〃What　do　you　mean？〃　I　asked。　There　was　an　outdated　calendar　on　the　wall　from　the　Columbus　Museum　of　Art；　turned　to　the　month　of　May；　showing　an　Edward　Hopper　painting　of　a　woman　sitting　alone　in　her　bed。　I　couldn't　help　staring　at　it。
　〃Why　not　bottle　rockets？〃　she　asked。　〃Or　campfires？〃
　〃Because　those　don't　work。〃　I　remember　feeling　annoyed；　the　answers　seemed　so　obvious。　〃The　last　word　has　to　rhyme　with　old。〃
　〃Listen　to　me；　Tom。〃　My　mother　placed　a　hand　on　my　chin　and　turned　my　head　until　I　was　facing　her。　Her　hair　seemed　gold　in　the　right　light；　the　same　way　the　woman's　did　in　the　Hopper　painting。　〃It's　unnatural。　A　boy　your　age　shouldn't　care　about　silver　and　gold。〃
　〃I　don't。　What　does　it　matter？〃
　〃Because　every　desire　has　its　proper　object。〃
　It　sounded　like　something　I'd　been　told　once　at　Sunday　school。　〃What's　that　supposed　to　mean？〃
　〃It　means　people　spend　their　lives　wanting　things　they　shouldn't。　The　world　confuses　them　into　taking　their　love　and　aiming　it　where　it　doesn't　belong。〃　She　adjusted　the　neck　on　her　sundress；　then　sat　beside　me。　〃All　it　takes　to　be　happy　is　to　love　the　right　things；　in　the　right　amounts。　Not　money。　Not　books。　People。　Adults　who　don't　understand　that　never　feel　fulfilled。　I　don't　want　you　to　turn　out　like　that。〃
　Why　it　meant　so　much　to　her；　this　correct　aiming　of　my　passions；　I　never　understood。　I　just　nodded　in　a　solemn　way；　promised　that　I　would　never　sing　about　precious　metals　again；　and　sensed　that　my　mother　was　pacified。
　But　precious　metals　were　never　the　problem。　What　I　realize　now　is　that　my　mother　was　waging　a　bigger　war；　trying　to　save　me　from　something　worse：　being　my　father。　My　father's　fixation　on　the　Hypnerotomachia　was　the　essence　of　misguided　passion　to　her；　and　she　struggled　with　it　until　the　day　he　died。　She　believed；　I　think；　that　his　love　for　the　book　was　nothing　but　a　perversion；　a　crooked　deflection；　of　his　love　for　his　wife　and　family。　No　amount　of　force　or　persuasion　could　correct　it；　and　I　suppose　it　was　when　she　knew　she'd　lost　the　battle　to　realign　my　father's　life　that　she　brought　the　fight　to　me。
　How　well　I　kept　my　promise；　I'm　afraid　to　say。　The　stubbornness　of　boys　in　their　childish　ways　must　be　a　prodigy　to　women；　who　learn　faster　than　angels　how　not　to　misbehave。　Throughout　my　childhood　there　was　a　monopoly　on　mistakes　in　my　house；　and　I　was　its　Rockefeller。　I　never　imagined　the　magnitude　of　the　error　my　mother　was　warning　me　against；　until　I　had　the　misfortune　of　falling　into　it。　By　that　time；　though；　it　was　Katie；　and　not　my　family；　who　had　to　suffer　for　it。
　　
　January　came；　and　Colonna's　first　riddle　gave　way　to　another；　then　a　third。　Paul　knew　where　to　look　for　them；　having　detected　a　pattern　in　the　Hypnerotomachia　：　following　a　regular　cycle；　the　chapters　grew　in　length　from　five　or　ten　pages；　to　twenty；　thirty；　or　even　forty。　The　shorter　chapters　came　in　a　row；　three　or　four　at　a　time；　while　the　long　ones　were　more　solitary。　When　graphed；　the　long　periods　of　low　intensity　were　interrupted　by　sharp　upticks　in　chapter　length；　creating　a　visual　profile　we　both　came　to　conceive　of　as　the　Hypnerotomachia's　pulse。　The　pattern　continued　until　the　first　half　of　the　book　ended；　at　which　point　a　strange；　muddled　sequence　began；　no　chapter　exceeding　eleven　pages。
　Paul　quickly　made　sense　of　it；　using　our　success　with　Moses　and　his　horns：　each　spike　of　long；　solitary　chapters　provided　a　riddle；　the　riddle's　solution；　its　cipher；　was　then　applied　to　the　run　of　short　chapters　following　it；　yielding　the　next　part　of　Colonna's　message。　The　second　half　of　the　book；　Paul　guessed；　must　be　filler；　just　as　the　opening　chapters　of　the　first　half　appeared　to　be：　a　distraction　to　maintain　the　impression　of　narrative　in　an　otherwise　fragmented　story。
　We　divided　the　labor　between　us。　Paul　hunted　for　riddles　in　the　longer　chapters；　leaving　each　one　behind　for　me　to　solve。　The　first　I　tackled　was　this：　What　is　the　smallest　harmony　of　a　great　victory？
　〃It　makes　me　think　of　Pythagoras；〃　Katie　said　when　I　told　her　over　pound　cake　and　hot　chocolate　at　Small　World　Coffee。　〃Everything　with　Pythagoras　was　harmonies。　Astronomy；　virtue；　math　。　。　。〃
　〃I　think　it　has　to　do　with　warfare；〃　I　countered；　having　spent　some　time　at　Firestone　looking　at　Renaissance　texts　on　engineering。　Leonardo；　in　a　letter　to　the　Duke　of　Milan；　claimed　he　could　build　impenetrable　chariots；　like　Renaissance　tanks；　along　with　portable　mortars　and　great　catapults　for　use　in　sieges。　Philosophy　and　technology　were　merging：　there　was　a　mathematics　to　victory；　a　set　of　proportions　to　the　perfect　war　machine。　It　was　only　a　small　step　from　math　into　music。
　The　next　morning；　Katie　woke　me　at　7：30　to　go　jogging　before　her　9：00　class。
　〃Warfare　doesn't　make　sense；〃　she　said；　beginning　to　parse　the　riddle　as　only　a　philosophy　major　could。　〃There　are　two　parts　to　the　question：　smallest　harmony　and　great　victory。　Great　victory　could　mean　anything。　You　should　focus　on　the　clearer　part。　Smallest　harmony　has　fewer　concrete　meanings。〃
　I　grumbled　as　we　passed　the　Dinky　train　station　on　our　way　to　the　west　of　campus；　envying　the　stray　passengers　waiting　for　the　7：43。　Running　and　thinking　were　unnatural　things　to　be　doing　while　the　sun　was　still　rising；　and　she　knew　the　fog　wouldn't　burn　off　my　thoughts　until　noon。　This　was　just　taking　advantage；　punishing　me　for　not　taking　Pythagoras　seriously。
　〃So　what　are　you　suggesting？〃　I　asked。
　She　didn't　even　seem　to　be　breathing　hard。　〃We'll　stop　at　Firestone　on　our　way　back　around。　I'll　show　you　where　I　think　you　should　look。〃
　It　continued　like　that　for　two　weeks；　waking　at　dawn　for　calisthenics　and　brainteasers；　telling　Katie　my　half…baked　ideas　about　Colonna　so　that　she　would　have　to　slow　down　to　listen；　then　forcing　myself　to　run　faster　so　that　she　would　have　less　time　to　tell　me　how　I　was　wrong。　We　were　spending　the　last　part　of　so　many　evenings　with　each　other；　and　the　earliest　part　of　so　many　mornings；　that　I　thought　it　would　eventually　occur　to　her；　rational　as　she　was；　that　spending　the　night　at　Dod　would　be　more　efficient　than　trekking　back　and　forth　to　Holder。　Every　morning；　seeing　her　in　spandex　and　a　sweatshirt；　I　tried　to　think　of　a　new　way　to　extend　the　invitation；　but　Katie　always　made　a　point　of　not　understanding。　Gil　told　me　that　her　old　boyfriend；　the　lacrosse　player　from　one　of　my　seminars；　had　made　a　game　of　her　from　the　start；　not　pushing　her　for　affection　on　the　few　occasions　when　she　was　drunk；　so　that　she　would　melt　with　gratitude　when　she　was　sober。　The　pattern　of　his　manipulation　took　so　long　for　her　to　realize　that　she　brought　the　aftertaste　of　it　to　her　first　month　with　me。
　〃What　should　I　do？〃　I　asked　one　night　after　Katie　left；　when　the　frustration　was　almost　too　much。　I　was　getting　a　tiny　kiss　on　the　cheek　after　each　morning　run；　which；　all　things　considered；　hardly　covered　my　expenses；　and　now　that　I　was　spending　more　and　more　time　on　the　Hypnerotomachia；　and　getting　by　on　five　or　six　hours　of　sleep　a　night；　an　entirely　new　sort　of　debt　was　accruing。　Tantalus　and　his　grapes　had　nothing　on　me：　when　I　wanted　Katie；　all　I　got　was　Colonna；　when　I　tried　to　focus　on　Colonna；　all　I　could　think　of　was　sleep；　and　when；　at　last；　I　tried　to　sleep；　the　knock　would　e　at　our　door；　and　it　would　be　time　for　another　jog　with　Katie。　The　edy　of　being　chronically　late　for　my　own　life　was　lost　on　me。　I　was　due　for　something　better。
　For　once；　though；　Gil　and　Charlie　spoke　with　one　voice：　〃Be　patient；〃　they　said。　〃She's　worth　it。〃
　And；　as　usual；　they　were　right。　One　night　in　our　fifth　week　together；　Katie　eclipsed　us　all。　Returning　from　a　philosophy　seminar；　she　stopped　by　Dod　with　an　idea。
　〃Listen　to　this；〃　she　said；　pulling　a　copy　of　Thomas　More's　Utopia　from　her　bag　and　reading　from　it。
　
　The　inhabitants　of　Utopia　have　two　games　rather　like　chess。　The　first　is　a　sort　of　arithmetical　contest；　in　which　certain　numbers　〃take〃　others。