iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第49部分

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l　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　later　because　I　saw　something　derelict　in　the　way　they　seemed　to　be　ignoring　their　work。　The　night　Paul　went　to　get　ice　cream　with　Gil　instead　of　doing　more　research　on　the　Hypnerotomachia；　I　imagined　for　the　first　time　he　wasn't　pulling　his　own　weight　in　our　partnership。
　〃You've　lost　your　focus；〃　I　told　him。　My　eyes　were　getting　worse　because　I　had　to　read　in　the　dark；　and　it　couldn't　have　e　at　a　worse　time。
　〃I've　what？〃　Paul　said；　turning　around　before　climbing　to　his　bunk。　He　thought　he'd　misheard。
　〃How　many　hours　are　you　spending　on　this　a　day？〃
　〃I　don't　know。　Maybe　eight。〃
　〃I've　put　in　ten　every　day　this　week。　And　you're　the　one　going　to　get　ice　cream？〃
　〃I　was　gone　for　ten　minutes；　Tom。　And　I　made　a　lot　of　progress　tonight。　What's　the　problem？〃
　〃It's　nearly　March。　Our　deadline　is　in　a　month。〃
　He　let　the　pronoun　pass。　〃I'll　get　an　extension。〃
　〃Maybe　you　should　work　harder。〃
　It　was　probably　the　first　time　anyone　had　ever　spoken　those　words　in　Paul's　presence。　I'd　seen　him　angry　only　a　handful　of　times；　but　never　like　that。
　〃I　am　working　hard。　Who　do　you　think　you're　talking　to？〃
　〃I'm　close　to　figuring　out　the　riddle。　Where　are　you？〃
　〃Close？〃　Paul　shook　his　head。　〃You're　not　doing　this　because　you're　close。　You're　doing　it　because　you're　lost。　That　riddle　shouldn't　be　taking　you　this　long。　It　shouldn't　be　that　hard。　You've　just　lost　patience。〃
　I　glared　at　him。
　〃That's　right；〃　he　said；　as　if　he'd　been　waiting　to　say　it　for　days。　〃I've　almost　worked　out　the　next　riddle；　and　you're　still　working　on　the　last　one。　But　I've　been　trying　to　stay　out　of　this。　We　work　at　our　own　paces；　and　you　don't　even　want　my　help。　So　fine；　do　it　alone。　Just　don't　try　turning　this　back　on　me。〃
　We　didn't　speak　again　that　night。
　　
　Had　I　listened；　I　might've　learned　my　lesson　earlier。　Instead；　I　went　out　of　my　way　to　prove　Paul　wrong。　I　began　working　later　and　waking　earlier；　making　a　habit　of　rolling　my　alarm　back　fifteen　minutes　each　day；　hoping　he　would　notice　the　steady　imposition　of　discipline　on　the　untended　quarters　of　my　life。　Each　day　I　found　a　new　way　to　spend　more　time　with　Colonna；　and　each　night　I　tallied　my　hours　like　a　miser　counting　coins。　Eight　on　Monday；　nine　on　Tuesday；　ten　on　Wednesday　and　Thursday；　almost　twelve　on　Friday。
　What　do　a　blind　beetle；　a　night…owl；　and　a　twist…beaked　eagle　share？　Horned　beetles　are　hung　around　the　necks　of　infants　as　a　remedy　against　disease；　Pliny　wrote；　gold　beetles　make　a　poisonous　honey；　and　are　unable　to　survive　in　a　locality　near　Thrace　called　Cantharolethus；　black　beetles　congregate　in　dark　corners；　and　are　found　mostly　in　baths。　But　blind　beetles？
　I　found　more　time　by　not　walking　out　to　Cloister　for　meals：　every　round　trip　to　Prospect　Avenue　cost　me　half　an　hour；　and　eating　in　pany；　rather　than　alone；　probably　cost　another　half　as　well。　I　stopped　working　in　the　President's　Room　at　Ivy；　both　to　avoid　seeing　Paul　and　to　save　the　minutes　I　would　otherwise　have　spent　in　transit。　I　kept　phone　calls　to　a　minimum；　shaved　and　showered　only　as　necessary；　let　Charlie　and　Gil　answer　the　door；　and　made　a　science　of　the　economies　I　could　produce　by　giving　up　the　humble　reliables　of　my　life。
　What　do　a　blind　beetle；　a　night…owl；　and　a　twist…beaked　eagle　share？　Of　creatures　that　can　fly　and　are　bloodless；　Aristotle　wrote；　some　are　coleopterous　or　sheath…winged；　like　the　beetle；　of　birds　that　fly　by　night；　some　have　crooked　talons；　such　as　the　night…raven　and　owl；　and　in　old　age　the　upper　beak　of　the　eagle　grows　gradually　longer　and　more　crooked；　such　that　the　bird　slowly　dies　of　starvation。　But　what　do　the　three　of　them　share？
　Katie；　I'd　decided；　was　a　lost　cause。　Whatever　she'd　been　to　me；　she　became　someone　else　for　Donald　Morgan。　How　I　saw　so　much　of　them；　when　I　left　my　room　so　little；　must've　had　its　answer　in　my　thoughts　and　dreams；　where　they　were　constantly　making　fools　of　themselves。　In　corners　and　alleys；　in　shadows　and　clouds；　there　they　were：　holding　hands　and　kissing　and　making　sweet　talk；　all　of　it　for　my　benefit；　flaunting　the　way　a　shallow　heart　is　quickly　broken　but　just　as　quickly　fixed。　There　was　a　black　bra　of　Katie's　that　she'd　left　in　my　room　long　ago；　which　I'd　never　remembered　to　return；　and　it　became　a　sort　of　trophy　to　me；　a　symbol　of　the　part　of　herself　she'd　left　behind；　which　Donald　couldn't　have。　I　had　visions　of　her　standing　naked　in　my　bedroom；　souvenirs　of　the　day　we'd　enjoyed　our　own　pany　so　much　that　she　forgot　herself　around　me；　forgot　that　I　was　someone　else；　and　let　her　inhibitions　go。　Every　detail　of　her　shape　stayed　with　me；　every　freckle　on　her　back；　every　gradation　of　shadow　beneath　her　breasts。　She　danced　to　the　music　that　came　over　my　alarm　clock；　running　one　hand　through　her　hair；　keeping　one　hand　over　the　invisible　microphone　in　front　of　her　mouth；　and　I　was　the　only　audience。
　What　do　a　blind　beetle；　a　night…owl；　and　a　twist…beaked　eagle　share？　They　all　fly…but　Pliny　says　that　beetles　sometimes　burrow。　They　all　breathe…but　Aristotle　says　that　insects　do　not　inhale。　They　never　learn　from　their　mistak