iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第42章

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　Floorboards　creak　above　us；　movement　in　another　world。
　〃Why　didn't　you　tell　me？〃
　〃I　didn't　know　how　you'd　feel；〃　he　says。
　〃You'd　be　doing　the　same　program　he　did。〃
　〃As　much　as　I　could。〃
　I'm　not　sure　I　could　take　it；　being　dogged　by　my　father　for　five　more　years。　I　would　see　him　in　Paul's　shadow　even　more　than　I　do　now。
　〃Is　that　your　first　choice？〃
　It's　a　long　time　before　he　responds。
　〃Taft　and　Melotti　are　the　only　two　left。〃
　Hypnerotomachia　scholars；　I　realize　he　means。
　〃I　could　always　work　with　a　nonspecialist　on　campus　here；〃　he　says。　〃Batali　or　Todesco。〃
　But　writing　a　Hypnerotomachia　dissertation　for　a　nonspecialist　would　be　like　writing　music　for　the　deaf。
　〃You　should　go　to　Chicago；〃　I　say；　trying　to　sound　like　my　heart's　in　it。　And　maybe　it　is。
　〃Does　that　mean　you're　going　to　Texas？〃
　〃I　haven't　made　up　my　mind。〃
　〃You　know；　it　doesn't　always　have　to　be　about　him。〃
　〃It's　not。〃
　〃Well；〃　Paul　says；　deciding　not　to　press；　〃I　guess　we've　got　the　same　deadline。〃
　The　two　envelopes　are　lying　where　I　left　them；　side　by　side　on　his　desk。　The　desk；　it　occurs　to　me；　where　Paul　began　to　unlock　the　Hypnerotomachia。　For　a　second　I　imagine　my　father　hovering　over　it；　a　guardian　angel；　guiding　Paul　toward　the　truth　every　night　since　the　beginning。　Strange　to　think　I　was　right　here；　just　a　few　feet　away；　asleep　almost　the　whole　time。
　〃Get　some　rest；〃　Paul　says；　and　I　can　hear　him　roll　over　in　his　bunk　with　a　long；　labored　breath。　The　force　of　what's　happened　is　returning。
　〃What　are　you　going　to　do　in　the　morning？〃　I　ask；　wondering　if　he　wants　to　talk　about　it。
　〃I　have　to　ask　Richard　about　those　letters；〃　he　says。
　〃Do　you　want　me　to　e　with　you？〃
　〃I　should　go　alone。〃
　We　don't　speak　again　that　night。
　　
　Paul　falls　asleep　quickly；　to　judge　from　his　breathing。　I　wish　I　could　do　the　same；　but　my　mind　is　too　crowded　for　that。　I　wonder　what　my　father　would've　thought；　knowing　we'd　found　the　portmaster's　diary　after　all　these　years。　It　might've　lightened　the　loneliness　I　always　supposed　he　felt；　working　so　long　at　something　that　meant　so　little　to　so　few。　I　think　it　would've　changed　things　for　him；　knowing　his　son　had　finally　e　around。
　〃Why'd　you　e　late？〃　I'd　asked　him　one　night；　after　he　showed　up　at　halftime　during　the　last　basketball　game　I　ever　played。
　〃I'm　sorry；〃　he　said。　〃It　took　me　longer　than　I　expected。〃
　He　was　walking　in　front　of　me　back　to　the　car；　preparing　to　drive　us　home。　I　fixed　my　eyes　on　the　patch　of　hair　he　always　forgot　to　b；　the　one　he　couldn't　see　in　the　mirror。　It　was　mid…November；　but　he'd　e　to　the　game　in　a　spring　jacket；　so　absorbed　at　the　office　that　he'd　picked　the　wrong　one　from　the　coatrack。
　〃What　did？〃　I　prodded。　〃Work？〃
　Work　was　the　euphemism　I　used；　avoiding　the　title　that　was　such　an　embarrassment　to　me　around　my　friends。
　〃Not　work；〃　he　said　quietly。　〃Traffic。〃
　On　the　way　back；　he　kept　the　speedometer　just　two　or　three　miles　per　hour　above　the　speed　limit；　the　way　he　always　did。　The　tiny　disobedience　of　it；　the　way　he　refused　to　be　bound　by　rules；　but　could　never　really　break　them；　grated　on　me　more　and　more　after　getting　my　driver's　permit。
　〃You　played　well；　I　thought；〃　he　said；　looking　over　at　me　in　the　passenger's　seat。　〃You　made　both　of　the　foul　shots　I　saw。〃
　〃I　was　oh…for…five　in　the　first　half。　I　told　Coach　Ames　I　didn't　want　to　play　anymore。〃
　That　he　didn't　pause　told　me　he'd　seen　it　ing。
　〃You　quit？　Why？〃
　〃The　smart　take　from　the　strong；〃　I　said；　knowing　it　would　be　the　next　thing　out　of　his　mouth。　〃But　the　tall　take　from　the　short。〃
　He　seemed　to　blame　himself　after　that；　as　if　basketball　had　been　the　final　straw　between　us。　Two　weeks　later；　when　I　returned　from　school；　the　hoop　and　backboard　in　our　driveway　had　been　taken　down　and　given　to　a　local　charity。　My　mother　said　she　wasn't　sure　why　he'd　done　it。　Because　he　thought　it　would　make　things　better；　was　all　she　could　say。
　With　that　in　mind；　I　try　to　imagine　the　greatest　gift　I　could've　given　my　father。　And　as　sleep　descends　on　me；　the　answer　seems　strangely　clear：　my　faith　in　his　idols。　That　was　what　he　wanted　all　along…to　feel　that　we　were　united　by　something　permanent；　to　know　that　as　long　as　he　and　I　believed　in　the　same　things；　we　would　never　be　apart。　What　a　job　I　did；　making　sure　that　never　happened。　The　Hypnerotomachia　was　no　different　from　piano　lessons　and　basketball　and　the　way　he　parted　his　hair：　his　mistake。　Then；　just　as　he　must've　known　would　happen；　the　moment　I　lost　faith　in　that　book；　we　were　more　and　more　apart；　even　sitting　around　the　same　dinner　table。　He'd　done　his　best　to　tie　a　knot　that　would　never　slip；　and　I　managed　to　untie　it。
　Hope；　Paul　said　to　me　once；　which　whispered　from　Pandora's　box　only　after　all　the　other　plagues　and　sorrows　had　escaped；　is　the　best　and　last　of　all　things。　Without　it；　there　is　only　time。　And　time　pushes　at　our　backs　like　a　centrifuge；　forcing　us　outward　and　away；　until　it　nudges　us　into　oblivion。　That；　I　think；　is　the　only　explanation　for　what　happened　to　my　father　and　me；　just　as　it　happened　to　Taft　and　Curry；　the　same　way　it　will　happen　to　the　four　of　us　here　in　Dod；　inseparable　as　we　seem。　It's　a　law　of　motion；　a　fact　of　physics　that　Charlie　could　name；　no　different　from　the　stages　of　white　dwarfs　and　red　giants。　Like　all　things　in　the　universe；　we　are　destined　from　birth　to　diverge。　Time　is　simply　the　yardstick　of　our　separation。　If　we　are　particles　in　a　sea　of　distance；　exploded　from　an　original　whole；　then　there　is　a　science　to　our　solitude。　We　are　lonely　in　proportion　to　our　years。
　
　Chapter　16
　
　The　summer　after　sixth　grade；　my　father　sent　me　to　camp；　a　two…week　affair　for　wayward　ex…Boy　Scouts；　the　purpose　of　which；　I　realize　now；　was　to　get　me　reinstated　among　my　merit…badge　peers。　I'd　been　de…kerchiefed　the　year　before　for　lighting　bottle　rockets　in　Willy　Carlson's　tent；　and　more　specifically　for　saying　I　still　thought　it　was　funny　even　after　Willy's　weak　constitution　and　excitable　bladder　were　explained　to　me。　Time　had　passed；　and；　my　parents　hoped；　indiscretions　had　been　forgotten。　In　the　hubbub　surrounding　twelve…year…old　Jake　Ferguson；　whose　pornographic　ic　book　business　had　turned　the　morally　constipating　experience　of　Scout　camp　into　a　lucrative　and　horizon…broadening　enterprise；　I　was　demoted　to　lesser…evil　status。　Fourteen　days　on　the　south　shore　of　Lake　Erie；　my　parents　seemed　to　think；　would　bring　me　back　into　the　fold。
　It　took　less　than　ninety…six　hours　to　prove　them　wrong。　Halfway　through　the　first　week；　a　scoutmaster　dropped　me　back　at　home　and　drove　off　in　a　wordless　huff。　I'd　been　dishonorably　discharged；　this　time　for　teaching　campmates　an　immoral　song。　A　three…page　letter　from　the　camp　director；　heavy　with　correctional；　parole…style　adjectives；　ranked　me　among　the　worst　Boy　Scout　recidivists　of　greater　central　Ohio。　Unsure　what　a　recidivist　was；　I　told　my　parents　what　I'd　done。
　A　troop　of　Girl　Scouts　had　met　us　for　a　day　of　canoeing；　singing　a　song　I　knew　from　my　sisters'　own　dark　days　of　camps　and　badges：　Make　new　friends；　but　keep　the　old；　one　is　silver；　the　other　is　gold。　Having　inherited　a　set　of　alternative　lyrics；　I　shared　them　with　my　fellow　men。
　
　Make　no　friends；　and　kick　the　old。
　All　I　want　is　silver　and　gold。
　
　Those　lines　alone　were　hardly　grounds　for　expulsion；　but　Willy　Carlson；　in　a　brilliant　stroke　of　retribution；　gave　the　oldest　camp　counselor　a　kick　as　he　bent　over　to　light　a　campfire；　then　blamed　the　act　on　my　influence；　the　new　lyrics　having　conjured　his　foot　into　the　old　man's　ass。　Within　hours；　the　full　machinery　of　Boy　Scout　justice　was　in　motion；　and　both　of　us　were　packing　our　bags。
　Only　two　things　came　out　of　that　experience；　other　than　my　permanent　retirement　from　scouting。　First；　I　became　good　friends　with　Willy　Carlson；　whose　excitable　bladder；　it　turned　out；　was　nothing　but　another　lie　he'd　told　the　scoutmasters　to　get　me　kicked　out　the　first　time　around。　You　had　to　like　the　guy。　And　second；　I　got　a　stern　lecture　from　my　mother；　the　motivation　for　which　I　never　understood　until　my　Princeton　years　were　almost　over。　It　wasn't　the　first　line　of　the　revised　lyrics　she　objected　to；　despite　the　fact　that；　tec