Foucault's pendulum - Umberto Eco [258]
And, very circumspectly, he replied: “In the manuscript, of course, there was also the map, or, rather, a precise description of the map, of the original. It’s surprising; you can’t imagine how simple the solution is. The map was within everyone’s grasp, in full view; why, thousands of people have passed it every day, for centuries. And the method of orientation is so elementary that you just have to memorize the pattern and the map can be reproduced on the spot, anywhere. So simple and so unexpected... Imagine—this is just to give you an idea—it’s as if the map were inscribed in the Pyramid of Cheops, its elements displayed for everyone to see, and for centuries people have read and reread and deciphered the pyramid, seeking other allusions, other calculations, completely overlooking its incredible, splendid simplicity. A masterpiece of innocence. And fiendish cunning. The Templars of Provins were wizards.”
“You pique my curiosity. Would you allow me to see it?”
“I must confess I destroyed everything: the ten pages, the map. I was frightened. You understand, don’t you?”
“You mean to tell me you destroyed a document of such importance?...”
“I destroyed it. But, as I said, the revelation was of an absolute simplicity. The map is here,” and Belbo touched his forehead. “For over ten years I’ve carried it with me, for over ten years I’ve carried the secret here,” and he touched his forehead again, “like an obsession, for I fear the power that would be mine if I put forth my hand and grasped the heritage of the Thirty-six Invisibles. Now you realize why I persuaded Garamond to publish Isis Unveiled and the History of Magic. I’m waiting for the right contact.” Then, more and more carried away by the role he had taken on, and to put Aglie definitively to the test, he recited, word for word, Arsene Lupin’s ardent speech at the conclusion of Z,’’Aiguille Creuse: “There are moments when my power makes my head swim. I am drunk with dominion.”
“Come now, dear friend,” Aglie said. “What if you have given excessive credence to the daydreams of some fanatic? Are you sure the text was authentic? Why don’t you trust my experience in these matters? If you only knew how many revelations of this sort I’ve heard in my life, and how many proved, with my help, to be unfounded. I can boast some expertise at least— modest, perhaps, but precise—in the field of historical cartography. ‘‘
“Dr. Aglie,” Belbo said, “you would be the first to remind me that, once revealed, a mystic secret is no longer of any use. I have been silent for years; I can go on being silent.”
And he was silent. Aglie too, rogue or not, performed his role in earnest. He had spent his life amusing himself with impenetrable secrets, so he was quite convinced that Belbo’s lips would be sealed forever.
At that point Gudrun came in and told Belbo that the Bologna meeting had been set for Wednesday at noon. “You can take the morning Intercity,” she said.
“Delightful train, the Intercity,” Aglie said. “But you should reserve a seat, especially at this season.”
Belbo said that even if you boarded at the last moment, you could find something, perhaps in the dining car, where they served breakfast. “I wish you luck, then,” Aglie said. “Bologna. Beautiful city, but so hot in June...”
“I’ll be there only two or three hours. I have to discuss a text on ancient inscriptions. There are problems with the illustrations.” Then he fired his big gun: “I haven’t had my vacation yet. I’ll take it around the summer solstice. I may make up my mind to...You understand me. And I rely on your discretion. I’ve spoken to you as a friend.”
“I can keep silent even better than you. In any case, I thank you, most sincerely, for your trust.” And Aglie left.
From this encounter Belbo emerged confident: total victory of his astral narrative over the wretchedness and shame of the sublunar world.
The next day, he received a phone call from Aglie. “You must forgive me, dear friend. I have encountered a small contretemps. You know that,