iancaldwell&dustinthomason.theruleoffour-第16章

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ass　between　streetlights　in　the　dark；　and　for　short　pulses　of　time　I　can't　see　him　at　all。　His　face　is　just　a　shadow。
　The　fact　is；　Paul　has　always　kept　secrets　from　us。　For　years　he　hid　the　truth　about　his　childhood；　the　details　of　his　parochial　school　nightmare。　Now　he's　been　hiding　the　truth　about　his　relationship　with　Taft。　Close　as　he　and　I　are；　there's　a　certain　distance　now；　a　feeling　that　while　we　have　a　lot　in　mon；　good　fences　still　make　good　neighbors。　Leonardo　wrote　that　a　painter　should　begin　every　canvas　with　a　wash　of　black；　because　all　things　in　nature　are　dark　except　where　exposed　by　the　light。　Most　painters　do　the　opposite；　starting　with　a　whitewash　and　adding　the　shadows　last。　But　Paul；　who　knows　Leonardo　so　well　you'd　think　the　old　man　slept　in　our　bottom　bunk；　understands　the　value　of　starting　with　the　shadows。　The　only　things　people　can　ever　know　about　you　are　the　ones　you　let　them　see。
　I　might　not　have　grasped　this　very　well；　except　that　an　interesting　thing　happened　on　campus　just　a　few　years　before　we　arrived；　which　caught　both　Paul's　attention　and　mine。　A　twenty…nine…year…old　bicycle　thief　named　James　Hogue　got　into　Princeton　by　claiming　to　be　someone　he　wasn't：　an　eighteen…year…old　ranch　hand　from　Utah。　Hogue　said　he'd　taught　himself　Plato　under　the　stars；　and　trained　himself　to　run　a　mile　in　just　over　four　minutes。　When　the　track　team　flew　him　out　to　campus　for　a　recruiting　trip；　he　said　it　was　the　first　time　he'd　slept　indoors　in　a　decade。　The　admissions　office　was　so　captivated　that　it　accepted　him　on　the　spot。　When　he　deferred　for　a　year；　no　one　gave　it　a　second　thought。　Hogue　said　he　was　tending　to　his　sick　mother　in　Switzerland；　in　fact；　he　was　serving　a　term　in　prison。
　What　made　the　hoax　so　intriguing　was　that；　while　roughly　half　of　it　was　an　outrageous　lie；　the　other　half　was　more　or　less　true。　Hogue　was　as　good　a　runner　as　he　let　on；　and　for　two　years　at　Princeton　he　was　a　star　on　the　track　team。　He　was　also　a　star　in　the　classroom；　shouldering　a　course　load　you　couldn't　pay　me　to　take；　and　getting　straight　A's　to　boot。　He　was　even　so　charming　that　Ivy　tapped　him　for　membership　in　the　spring　of　his　sophomore　year。　It　almost　seems　a　shame　that　his　career　ended　the　way　it　did。　By　sheer　accident　a　spectator　at　a　track　meet　recognized　him　from　a　previous　life。　When　word　spread；　Princeton　conducted　an　investigation　and　had　him　arrested　in　the　middle　of　a　science　lab。　Charges　were　pressed；　and　Hogue　pled　guilty　to　fraud。　Within　a　matter　of　months　he　was　in　prison　again；　where　he　slowly　faded　back　into　obscurity。
　To　me　the　Hogue　story　was　the　news　event　of　that　summer；　the　only　thing　to　rival　it　was　my　discovery　that　Playboy　had　run　a　Women　of　the　Ivy　League　issue　the　previous　spring。　To　Paul；　though；　it　was　much　more。　As　someone　who　always　insisted　on　a　varnish　of　fiction　in　his　own　life；　pretending　he'd　eaten　well　when　he　hadn't；　or　pretending　not　to　own　a　puter　because　he　didn't　like　using　one；　Paul　could　identify　with　a　man　who　felt　bullied　by　the　truth。　One　of　the　only　advantages　of　ing　from　nothing；　as　James　Hogue　and　Paul　both　did；　is　having　the　freedom　to　reinvent　yourself。　In　fact；　the　better　I　got　to　know　Paul；　the　more　I　understood　it　was　less　a　freedom　than　a　kind　of　obligation。
　Still；　seeing　what　became　of　Hogue；　Paul　had　to　rethink　the　line　between　reinventing　himself　and　fooling　everyone　else。　Beginning　the　day　he　arrived　at　Princeton；　he　walked　that　line　very　carefully；　keeping　secrets　rather　than　telling　lies。　An　old　fear　returns　to　me　when　I　consider　that。　My　father；　who　understood　the　way　the　Hypnerotomachia　had　seduced　him；　once　pared　the　book　to　an　affair　with　a　woman。　It　makes　you　lie；　he　said；　even　to　yourself。　Paul's　thesis　may　be　exactly　that　lie：　after　four　years　with　Taft；　Paul　has　danced　and　danced　for　the　book；　left　his　bed　and　lost　sleep　for　the　book；　and　for　all　his　sweat；　the　book　has　given　up　very　little。
　Looking　back　in　the　mirror　again；　I　can　see　him　watching　the　snow。　There　is　a　blank　look　in　his　eyes　and　his　face　seems　pale。　In　the　distance　a　traffic　light　is　flashing　yellow。　My　father　taught　me　something　else　without　ever　saying　a　word：　never　invest　yourself　in　anything　so　deeply　that　its　failure　could　cost　you　your　happiness。　Paul　would　sell　his　last　cow　for　a　handful　of　magical　beans。　Only　now　is　he　beginning　to　wonder　if　the　beanstalk　will　grow。
　
　Chapter　9
　
　I　think　it　was　my　mother　who　told　me　that　a　good　friend　stands　in　harm's　way　for　you　the　second　you　ask…but　a　great　friend　does　it　without　being　asked　at　all。　There　are　so　few　times　in　a　person's　life　when　a　single　great　friend　es　around　that　it　almost　seems　unnatural　when　three　e　around　all　at　once。
　The　four　of　us　met　on　a　cool　night　during　the　fall　of　our　freshman　year。　Paul　and　I　were　already　spending　much　of　our　time　together；　and　Charlie…who'd　introduced　himself　on　the　first　day　of　school　by　barging　into　Paul's　room　and　offering　to　help　him　unpack…was　living　in　a　single　room　down　the　hall。　Thinking　nothing　could　be　worse　than　being　alone；　Charlie　was　always　on　the　prowl　for　new　friends。
　Paul　immediately　had　misgivings　about　this　wild；　imposing　character　who　never　stopped　pounding　at　his　door　with　new　adventures　in　mind。　Something　about　Charlie's　athletic　build　seemed　to　conjure　a　spell　of　fear　in　him；　as　if　he'd　been　tortured　by　a　bully　of　that　description　as　a　child。　For　my　part；　I　was　surprised　that　Charlie　hadn't　gotten　tired　of　us；　sedate　as　we　were。　Most　of　that　first　semester；　I　was　convinced　that　he　would　abandon　us　for　panions　more　like　himself。　I　pegged　him　for　a　wealthy　minority　jock…the　kind　who　had　a　neurosurgeon　mother　and　an　executive　father；　who　eased　through　a　regional　prep　school　with　more　tutors　than　trouble；　and　who　arrived　at　Princeton　with　nothing　particular　in　mind　except　to　have　some　fun　and　graduate　in　the　solid　middle　of　the　class。
　That　all　seems　funny　now。　The　truth　was；　Charlie　grew　up　in　the　heart　of　Philadelphia；　riding　with　the　volunteer　ambulance　squad　through　the　worst　crime　districts　in　the　city。　He　was　a　middle…class　kid　from　a　public　school；　whose　father　was　a　regional　sales　rep　for　an　East　Coast　chemical　manufacturer；　and　whose　mother　taught　seventh…grade　science。　When　he　applied　to　college；　his　parents　made　it　clear　that　anything　beyond　in…state　tuition　was　a　burden　he　would　shoulder　himself。　The　day　Charlie　arrived　on　campus；　he'd　taken　on　more　student　loans；　and　was　more　deeply　in　debt；　than　the　rest　of　us　would　be　when　we　graduated。　Even　Paul；　who　came　from　less；　had　been　given　a　full　scholarship　because　his　need　was　so　great。
　Maybe　that　was　why；　other　than　Paul　during　his　month　of　insomnia　as　thesis　deadlines　approached；　none　of　us　did　more　and　slept　less　than　Charlie。　He　expected　great　things　for　his　money；　and　to　justify　his　sacrifice；　he　sacrificed　even　more。　It　wasn't　an　easy　thing　to　maintain　a　sense　of　identity　at　a　school　where　only　one　in　fifteen　students　was　black；　and　only　half　of　those　were　men。　But　identity　for　Charlie　never　ran　along　pletely　conventional　lines　anyway。　He　had　a　world…beating　personality　and　an　irresistible　sense　of　purpose；　and　from　the　beginning　I　felt　it　was　his　world　we　were　living　in；　not　ours。
　Of　course；　we　didn't　know　all　that　on　the　late　October　night；　only　six　weeks　after　we　first　met　him；　when　he　came　to　Paul's　door　with　his　most　daring　plan　to　date。　Since　roughly　the　Civil　War；　students　at　Princeton　had　been　in　the　habit　of　stealing　the　clapper　from　the　bell　atop　Nassau　Hall；　the　oldest　building　on　campus。　The　original　idea　was　that　if　the　bell　couldn't　toll　the　beginning　of　a　new　academic　year；　then　the　new　academic　year　couldn't　begin。　Whether　anyone　actually　believed　that；　I　don't　know；　but　I　do　know　that　stealing　the　clapper　became　a　tradition；　and　that　students　tried　everything　from　picking　locks　to　scaling　walls　to　do　it。　After　more　than　a　hundred　years；　the　administration　got　so　tired　of　the　stunt；　and　so　worried　about　a　lawsuit；　that　it　finally　announced　the　clapper　had　been　removed。　Only；　Charlie　had　information　to　the　contrary。　The　removal　was　a　hoax；　he　said；　the　clapper　was　intact。　And　tonight；　with　our　help；　he　was　going　to　steal　it。
　I　don't　need　to　explain　that　breaking　into　a　historic　landmark　with　a　set　of　stolen　keys　and　then　fleeing　from　proctors　on　my　bad　leg；　all　in　the　name　of　a　worthless　bell　clapper　and　fifteen　minutes　of　campus　fame；　didn't　strike　me　as　a　world…class　idea。　But　the　longer　Charlie　argued　his　case；　the　more　I　saw　his　point：　if　juniors　and　seniors　have　their　research　papers　and　theses；　and　sophomores　choose　their　majors　and　eating　clubs；　then　all　that's　left　for　freshmen　is　to　take　risks　or　get　caught　trying。　The　deans　will　never　be　more　forgiving；　he　argued；　than　they　will　now。　And　when　Charlie　insisted　it　would　take　three　people…no　fewer…he　and　I　decided　that　the　only　fair　way　to　resolve　things　was　to　take　a　vote。　In　a　reassuring　test　of　democracy；　we　held　a　slim　majority　over　Paul；　and　Paul；　never　being　one　to　rock　the　boat；　gave　in。　We　agreed　to　be　lookouts　for　Charlie；　and　after　planning　our　course　of　attack；　the　three　of　us　assembled　what　we　could　in　the　way　of　black　clothing　and　set　out　for　Nassau　Hall　at　midnight。
　Now；　I've　said　before　that　the　new　Tom…the　one　who　survived　the　terrible　car　wreck　and　lived　to　fight　another　day…was　made　of　braver；　more　adventurous　stuff　than　the　shrinking　violet　who　was　old　Tom。　But　let's　be　clear。　Old　or　new；　Evel　Knievel　I　am　not。　For　an　hour　after　we　arrived　at　Nassau　Hall；　I　stood　at　my　post　in　a　tense　sweat；　fearing　every　shadow　and　twitching　at　every　sound。　Then；　shortly　after　one　o'clock；　it　happened。　As　the　first　of　the　eating　clubs　closed　their　taprooms　for　the　night；　a　westward　migration　began　of　students　and　security　officers　retreating　to　campus。　Charlie　had　promised　that　we　would　be　well　clear　of　Nassau　Hall　by　then；　but　now　he　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。
　I　turned　and　hissed　at　Paul；　〃What's　taking　so　long？〃
　But　there　was　no　response。
　Taking　a　step　toward　the　darkness；　I　called　out　again；　squinting　into　the　shadows。
　〃What's　he　doing　up　there？〃
　But　when　I　peered　around　the　corner；　there　was　no　sign　of　Paul。　The　front　door　to　the　building　was　ajar。
　I　ran　to　the　entrance。　Sticking　my　head　inside；　I　could　make　out　Paul　and　Charlie　in　a　distant　conversation。　〃It's　not　up　there；〃　Charlie　was　saying。
　〃Hurry　up！〃　I　said。　〃They're　ing。〃
　Suddenly　a　voice　rose　from　the　darkness　behind　me。　〃Campus　police！　Stop　right　there！〃
　I　turned　in　terror。　Charlie's　voice　choked　into　silence。　I　must　have　misheard；　because　I　thought　Paul　swore。
　〃Put　your　hands　on　your　hips；〃　came　the　voice　again。
　My　mind　fogged　up。　I　imagined　probation；　dean's　warnings；　expulsion。
　〃Put　your　hands　on　your　hips；〃　the　voice　repeated；　louder　now。
　I　obeyed。
　For　a　moment　there　was　silence。　I　strained　to　make　out　the　proctor　in　the　darkness；　but　I　could　see　nothing。
　The　next　sound　I　heard　was　his　laughter。
　〃Now　shake　it；　baby。　Dance。〃
　The　figure　who　emerged　from　the　shadows　was　a　student。　He　laughed　again　and　did　a　tipsy　rumba　thrust　as　he　approached。　He　was　about　halfway　between　my　height　and　Charlie's；　with　dark　hair　that　fell　over　his　face。　His　tailored　black　blazer　covered　a　starched　white　shirt　with　too