iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第12章

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twice；　and　waits　for　a　sound。
　〃Mrs。　Lockhart？〃　es　the　reply　in　a　high；　shifting　voice。
　〃It's　me；〃　Paul　says。
　A　lock　clicks　on　the　other　side；　and　the　door　opens　slowly。　Bill　Stein　appears　before　us；　a　half…foot　taller　than　either　Paul　or　me。　The　first　thing　I　notice　is　the　gunmetal　eyes；　how　bloodshot　they　are。　The　first　thing　they　notice　is　me。
　〃Tom　came　with　you；〃　he　says；　scratching　at　his　face。　〃Okay。　Good；　fine。〃
　Bill　speaks　in　shades　of　the　obvious；　some　stopgap　between　his　mouth　and　mind　gone　missing。　The　impression　is　misleading。　After　a　few　minutes　of　the　mundane　you　see　flashes　of　his　aptitude。
　〃It　was　a　bad　day；〃　he　says；　guiding　us　in。　〃A　bad　week。　Not　a　big　deal。　I'm　fine。〃
　〃Why　couldn't　we　talk　on　the　phone？〃　Paul　asks。
　Stein's　mouth　opens；　but　he　doesn't　answer。　Now　he's　scratching　at　something　between　his　front　teeth。　He　unzips　his　jacket；　then　turns　back　to　Paul。　〃Has　someone　been　checking　out　your　books？〃　he　asks。
　〃What？〃
　〃Because　someone's　been　checking　out　mine。〃
　〃Bill；　it　happens。〃
　〃My　William　Caxton　paper？　My　Aldus　microfilm？〃
　〃Caxton's　a　major　figure；〃　Paul　says。
　I've　never　heard　of　William　Caxton　in　my　life。
　〃The　1877　paper　on　him？〃　Bill　says。　〃It's　only　at　the　Forrestal　Annex。　And　Aldus's　Letters　of　Saint　Catherine…〃　He　turns　to　me。　〃Not；　as　generally　believed；　the　first　use　of　italics…〃　Then　back　to　Paul。　〃Microfilm　last　viewed　by　someone　other　than　you　or　me　in　the　seventies。　Seventy…one；　seventy…two。　Someone　put　a　hold　on　it　yesterday。　This　isn't　happening　to　you？〃
　Paul　frowns。　〃Have　you　talked　to　Circulation？〃
　〃Circulation？　I　talked　to　Rhoda　Carter。　They　know　nothing。〃
　Rhoda　Carter；　head　librarian　of　Firestone。　Where　the　book　stops。
　〃I　don't　know；〃　Paul　says；　trying　not　to　get　Bill　more　excited。　〃It's　probably　nothing。　I　wouldn't　worry　about　it。〃
　〃I　don't。　I'm　not。　But　here's　the　thing。〃　Bill　works　his　way　around　the　far　edge　of　the　room；　where　the　space　between　the　wall　and　the　table　seems　too　narrow　to　pass。　He　slips　through　without　a　sound　and　pats　at　the　pocket　of　his　old　leather　jacket。　〃I　get　these　phone　calls。　Pick　up　。　。　。　click。　Pick　up　。　。　。　click。　First　at　my　apartment；　now　at　my　office。〃　He　shakes　his　head。　〃Never　mind。　Down　to　business。　I　found　something。〃　He　glances　at　Paul　nervously。　〃Maybe　what　you　need；　maybe　not。　I　don't　know。　But　I　think　it'll　help　you　finish。〃
　From　inside　his　jacket　he　pulls　out　something　roughly　the　size　of　a　brick；　wrapped　in　layers　of　cloth。　Placing　it　gently　on　the　table；　he　begins　to　unwrap　it。　It's　a　quirk　of　Stein's　I've　noticed　before；　that　his　hands　twitch　until　they　have　a　book　between　them。　The　same　thing　happens　now：　as　he　unravels　the　cloth；　his　movements　bee　more　controlled。　Inside　the　swaddling　is　a　worn　volume；　hardly　more　than　a　hundred　pages。　It　smells　of　something　briny。
　〃What　collection　is　it　from？〃　I　ask；　seeing　no　title　on　the　spine。
　〃No　collection；〃　he　says。　〃New　York。　An　antiquarian　shop。　I　found　it。〃
　Paul　is　silent。　Slowly　he　extends　a　hand　toward　the　book。　The　animal…hide　binding　is　crude　and　cracked；　stitched　together　with　leather　twine。　The　pages　are　hand…cut。　A　frontier　artifact；　maybe。　A　book　kept　by　a　pioneer。
　〃It　must　be　a　hundred　years　old；〃　I　say；　when　Stein　doesn't　offer　any　details。　〃A　hundred　and　fifty。〃
　An　irritated　look　crosses　Stein's　face；　as　if　a　dog　has　just　fouled　his　carpet。　〃Wrong；〃　he　says。　〃Wrong。〃　It　dawns　on　me　that　I'm　the　dog。　〃Five　hundred　years。〃
　I　focus　back　on　the　book。
　〃From　Genoa；〃　Bill　continues；　focusing　on　Paul。　〃Smell　it。〃
　Paul　is　silent。　He　pulls　an　unsharpened　pencil　from　his　pocket；　turns　it　backward；　and　gently　opens　the　cover　using　the　soft　nub　of　the　eraser。　Bill　has　bookmarked　a　page　with　a　silk　ribbon。
　〃Careful；〃　Stein　says；　splaying　his　hands　out　above　the　book。　His　nails　are　bitten　to　the　quick。　〃Don't　leave　marks。　I　have　it　on　loan。〃　He　hesitates。　〃I　have　to　return　it　when　I'm　done。〃
　〃Who　had　this？〃　Paul　asks。
　〃The　Argosy　Book　Store；〃　Bill　repeats。　〃In　New　York。　It's　what　you　needed；　isn't　it？　We　can　finish　now。〃
　Paul　doesn't　seem　to　notice　the　pronouns　changing　in　Stein's　language。
　〃What　is　it？〃　I　say　more　assertively。
　〃It's　the　diary　of　the　portmaster　from　Genoa；〃　Paul　says。　His　voice　is　quiet；　his　eyes　circling　the　script　on　each　page。
　I'm　stunned。　〃Richard　Curry's　diary？〃
　Paul　nods。　Curry　was　working　on　an　ancient　Genoese　manuscript　thirty　years　ago；　which　he　claimed　would　unlock　the　Hypnerotomachia。　Shortly　after　he　told　Taft　about　the　book；　it　was　stolen　from　his　apartment。　Curry　insisted　Taft　had　stolen　it。　Whatever　the　truth　was；　Paul　and　I　had　accepted　from　the　beginning　that　the　book　was　lost　to　us。　We'd　gone　about　our　work　without　it。　Now；　with　Paul　pushing　to　finish　his　thesis；　the　diary　could　be　invaluable。
　〃Richard　told　me　there　were　references　to　Francesco　Colonna　in　here；〃　Paul　says。　〃Francesco　was　waiting　for　a　ship　to　e　into　port。　The　portmaster　made　daily　entries　about　him　and　his　men。　Where　they　stayed；　what　they　did。〃
　〃Take　it　for　a　day；〃　Bill　says；　interrupting。　He　stands　up　and　moves　toward　the　door。　〃Make　a　copy　if　you　need　to。　A　hand　copy。　Whatever　will　help　finish　the　work。　But　I　need　it　back。〃
　Paul's　concentration　breaks。　〃You're　leaving？〃
　〃I　have　to　go。〃
　〃We'll　see　you　at　Vincent's　lecture？〃
　〃Lecture？〃　Stein　stops。　〃No。　I　can't。〃
　It's　making　me　nervous；　just　watching　how　twitchy　he　is。
　〃I'll　be　in　my　office；〃　he　continues；　wrapping　a　red　tartan　scarf　around　his　neck。　〃Remember；　I　need　it　back。〃
　〃Sure；〃　Paul　says；　drawing　the　little　bundle　closer　to　him。　〃I'll　go　through　it　tonight。　I　can　make　notes。〃
　〃And　don't　tell　Vincent；〃　Stein　adds；　zipping　up　his　coat。　〃Just　between　us。〃
　〃I'll　have　it　back　for　you　tomorrow；〃　Paul　tells　him。　〃My　deadline　is　midnight。〃
　〃Tomorrow；　then；〃　Stein　says；　flicking　the　scarf　behind　him　and　slinking　off。　His　exits　always　seem　dramatic；　being　so　abrupt。　In　a　few　lanky　strides　he's　crossed　the　threshold　where　Mrs。　Lockhart　presides；　and　is　gone。　The　ancient　librarian　places　a　wilted　palm　on　a　frayed　copy　of　Victor　Hugo；　stroking　the　neck　of　an　old　boyfriend。
　〃Mrs。　Lockhart；〃　es　Bill's　voice；　fading　from　a　place　we　can't　see。　〃Good…bye。〃
　　
　〃It's　really　the　diary？〃　I　ask　as　soon　as　he's　gone。
　〃Just　listen；〃　Paul　says。
　He　refocuses　on　the　little　book　and　begins　reading　out　loud。　The　translation　proceeds　haltingly　at　first；　Paul　struggling　with　the　Ligurian　dialect；　the　language　of　Columbus's　Genoa；　fused　with　stray　French…sounding　words。　But　gradually　his　pace　improves。
　〃High　seas　last　night。　One　ship　。　。　。　broken　on　the　shore。　Sharks　washed　up；　one　very　large。　French　sailors　go　to　the　brothels。　A　Moorish　。　。　。　corsair？　。　。　。　seen　in　close　waters。〃
　He　turns　several　pages；　reading　at　random。
　〃Fine　day。　Maria　is　recovering。　Her　urine　is　improving；　the　doctor　says。　Expensive　quack！　The　。　。　。　herbalist　。　。　。　says　he　will　treat　her　for　half　the　price。　And　twice　as　quickly！〃　Paul　pauses；　staring　at　the　page。　〃Bat　dung；〃　he　continues；　〃will　cure　anything。〃
　I　interrupt。　〃What　does　this　have　to　do　with　the　Hypnerotomachia？〃
　But　he　keeps　shuttling　through　the　pages。
　〃A　Venetian　captain　drank　too　much　last　night　and　began　boasting。　Our　weakness　at　Fornovo。　The　old　defeat　at　Portofino。　The　men　brought　him　to　the　。　。　。　shipyard　。　。　。　and　strung　him　from　a　tall　mast。　He　is　still　hanging　there　this　morning。〃
　Before　I　can　repeat　my　question；　Paul's　eyes　go　wide。
　〃The　same　man　from　Rome　came　again　last　night；〃　he　reads。　〃Dressed　more　richly　than　a　duke。　No　one　knows　his　business　here。　Why　has　he　e？　I　ask　others。　Those　who　know　anything　will　not　speak。　A　ship　of　his　is　ing　to　port；　the　rumor　goes。　He　has　e　to　see　that　it　arrives　safely。〃
　I　sit　forward　in　my　chair。　Paul　flips　the　page　and　continues。
　〃What　is　of　such　importance　that　a　man　like　this　es　to　see　it？　What　cargo？　Women；　says　the　drunkard　Barbo。　Turk　slaves；　a　harem。　But　I　have　seen　this　man；　called　Master　Colonna　by　his　servants；　Brother　Colonna　by　his　friends：　he　is　a　gentleman。　And　I　have　seen　what　is　in　his　eyes。　It　is　not　desire。　It　is　fear。　He　looks　like　a　wolf　that　has　seen　a　tiger。〃
　Paul　stops；　staring　at　th