iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第44部分

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　The　inhabitants　of　Utopia　have　two　games　rather　like　chess。　The　first　is　a　sort　of　arithmetical　contest；　in　which　certain　numbers　〃take〃　others。　The　second　is　a　pitched　battle　between　virtues　and　vices；　which　illustrates　most　ingeniously　how　vices　tend　to　conflict　with　one　another；　but　to　bine　against　virtues。　It　shows　what　ultimately　determines　the　victory　of　one　side　or　the　other。
　
　She　took　my　hand　and　placed　the　book　in　it；　waiting　for　me　to　read　it　again。
　I　glanced　at　the　back　cover。　〃Written　in　1516；〃　I　said。　〃Less　than　twenty　years　after　the　Hypnerotomachia。〃　The　timing　wasn't　far　off。
　〃A　pitched　battle　between　virtues　and　vices；〃　she　repeated；　〃showing　what　determines　the　victory　of　one　side　or　the　other。〃
　And　it　began　to　dawn　on　me　that　she　might　be　right。
　　
　Lana　McKnight　used　to　have　a　rule；　back　in　our　dating　days。　Never　mix　books　and　bed。　In　the　spectrum　of　excitement；　sex　and　thought　were　on　opposite　ends；　both　to　be　enjoyed；　but　never　at　the　same　time。　It　amazed　me　how　such　a　smart　girl　could　suddenly　bee　so　ravenously　stupid　in　the　dark；　flailing　around　in　her　leopard…print　negligee　like　some　cavewoman　I'd　thumped　with　a　club；　barking　things　that　would've　horrified　even　the　pack　of　wolves　that　raised　her。　I　never　dared　to　tell　Lana　that　if　she　moaned　less　it　might　mean　more；　but　from　the　very　first　night　I　sensed　what　a　wonderful　thing　it　might　be　if　my　mind　and　my　body　could　be　aroused　at　the　same　time。　I　probably　should've　seen　that　possibility　in　Katie　from　the　beginning；　after　all　the　mornings　we　spent　exercising　both　muscles　at　once。　But　it　was　only　that　night　that　it　happened：　as　we　worked　out　the　implications　of　her　discovery；　the　last　residue　of　her　old　lacrosse　player　finally　slipped　off　the　page；　erased；　leaving　us　to　start　again。
　What　I　remember　most　clearly　about　that　night　is　that　Paul　had　the　grace　to　sleep　at　Ivy；　and　that　the　lights　were　on　the　whole　time　Katie　stayed。　We　kept　them　burning　while　we　read　Sir　Thomas　More；　trying　to　understand　what　game　he　was　referring　to；　in　which　great　victories　were　possible　when　virtues　were　in　harmony。　We　kept　them　burning　when　we　found　that　one　of　the　games　More　mentioned；　called　the　Philosophers'　Game；　or　Rithmomachia；　was　precisely　the　kind　Colonna　would've　favored；　the　most　challenging　of　any　played　by　medieval　or　Renaissance　men。　We　kept　them　burning　when　she　kissed　me　for　saying　I　thought　she　was　right　after　all；　because　Rithmomachia；　it　turned　out；　could　be　won　only　by　creating　a　harmony　of　numbers；　the　most　perfect　of　which　produced　the　rare　oute　called　a　great　victory。　And　we　kept　them　burning　when　she　kissed　me　again　for　admitting　my　other　ideas　must　have　been　wrong；　and　that　I　should've　listened　to　her　from　the　beginning。　I　realized；　finally；　the　misunderstanding　that　had　persisted　since　the　morning　of　our　first　jog：　while　I'd　been　struggling　to　stay　even　with　her；　she'd　been　pushing　to　stay　one　step　ahead。　She'd　been　trying　to　prove　that　she　wasn't　intimidated　by　seniors；　that　she　deserved　to　be　taken　seriously…and　it　never　occurred　to　her；　until　tonight；　that　she'd　succeeded。
　My　mattress　was　craggy　with　books　by　the　time　we　got　around　to　lying　down　together；　hardly　even　pretending　to　read　anymore。　It's　probably　true　that　the　room　was　too　hot　for　the　sweater　she　was　wearing。　And　it's　probably　true　that　the　room　would've　been　too　hot　for　the　sweater　she　was　wearing　even　if　the　air…conditioning　had　been　on　and　the　snow　had　been　falling　the　way　it　did　Easter　weekend。　She　was　wearing　a　T…shirt　beneath　it；　and　a　black　bra　under　that；　but　it　was　watching　Katie　take　off　that　sweater；　and　seeing　the　way　it　left　her　hair　mussed；　strands　floating　in　a　halo　of　static　electricity；　that　gave　me　the　feeling　Tantalus　never　quite　got　to；　that　a　sensational　future　had　finally　pressed　itself　up　against　a　heavy；　hopeful　present；　throwing　the　switch　that　pletes　the　circuit　of　time。
　When　my　turn　came　around　to　take　clothes　off；　to　share　with　Katie　the　wreckage　of　my　left　leg；　scars　and　all；　I　never　hesitated；　and　when　she　saw　them；　neither　did　she。　Had　we　spent　those　hours　in　the　dark；　I　would　never　have　made　anything　of　it。　But　we　were　never　in　the　dark　that　night。　We　rolled；　one　over　another；　across　Saint　Thomas　More　and　the　pages　of　his　Utopia；　into　the　new　positions　of　our　relationship；　and　the　lights　were　always　burning。
　　
　The　first　sign　that　I'd　misunderstood　the　forces　at　work　in　my　life　came　the　following　week。　Paul　and　I　spent　much　of　the　next　Monday　and　Tuesday　debating　the　meaning　of　the　newest　riddle：　How　many　arms　from　your　feet　to　the　horizon？
　〃I　think　it　has　to　do　with　geometry；〃　Paul　said。
　〃Euclid？〃
　But　he　shook　his　head。　〃Earth　measurement。　Eratosthenes　approximated　the　earth's　circumference　by　figuring　out　the　different　angles　of　the　shadows　cast　in　Syene　and　Alexandria　at　noon　on　the　summer　solstice。　Then　he　used　the　angles　。　。　。〃
　I　realized　only　midway　through　his　explanation　that　he　was　using　an　etymological　sense　of　the　word　geometry…literally；　as　he'd　said；　〃earth　measurement。〃
　〃So　that；　knowing　the　distance　between　the　two　cities；　he　could　triangulate　back　to　the　curvature　of　the　earth。〃
　〃What　does　that　have　to　do　with　the　riddle？〃　I　said。
　〃Francesco's　asking　for　the　distance　between　you　and　the　horizon。　Calculate　how　far　it　is　from　any　given　point　in　the　world　to　the　line　where　the　earth　curves　over；　and　you've　got　an　answer。　Or　just　look　it　up　in　your　physics　textbook。　It's　probably　a　constant。〃
　He　said　it　as　if　the　answer　were　a　foregone　conclusion；　but　I　suspected　otherwise。
　〃Why　would　Colonna　ask　for　that　distance　in　arms？〃　I　asked。
　Paul　leaned　over　and　crossed　out　arms　on　my　copy；　replacing　it　with　something　in　Italian。　〃That　should　probably　be　braccia；〃　he　said。　〃It's　the　same　word；　but　braccia　were　Florentine　units　of　measurement。　One　braccio　is　about　the　length　of　an　arm。〃
　For　the　first　time；　I　was　sleeping　less　than　he　was；　the　sudden　high　in　my　life　needling　me　to　keep　pressing　my　luck；　to　keep　mixing　my　drinks；　because　this　cocktail　of　Katie　and　Francesco　Colonna　seemed　to　be　just　what　the　doctor　ordered。　I　took　it　as　a　sign；　the　fact　that　my　return　to　the　Hypnerotomachia　had　brought　a　new　structure　to　the　world　I　lived　in。　Quickly　I　began　to　fall　into　my　father's　trap；　the　one　my　mother　tried　to　warn　me　about。
　Wednesday　morning；　when　I　mentioned　to　Katie　that　I'd　dreamt　of　my　father；　she　did　something　that　in　all　our　days　of　jogging　she'd　never　done　before：　she　stopped。
　〃Tom；　I　don't　want　to　keep　talking　about　this；〃　she　said。
　〃About　what？〃
　〃Paul's　thesis。　Let's　talk　about　something　else。〃
　〃I　was　telling　you　about　my　dad。〃
　But　I'd　grown　too　used　to　conversations　with　Paul；　invoking　my　father's　name　in　any　situation　and　expecting　it　to　deflate　all　criticism。
　〃Your　dad　worked　on　the　book　Paul's　studying；〃　she　said。　〃It's　the　same　thing。〃
　I　mistook　the　sentiment　behind　her　words　for　fear：　fear　that　she　would　be　unable　to　solve　another　riddle　the　way　she　solved　the　last　one；　and　that　my　interest　in　her　might　fade。
　〃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