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28 "You shouldn't be running around with such valuable information, you should lock it up and put it in your fire safe." "After that, I will. But I want to compare it to the original manuscript in the basement. I wonder if the original is actually more legible. In other words, I want to know what the Dean will detect?" "You want to see the manuscript? Of course, if that pleases you, no problem. Let me call Mr. Grote in the basement and have him fetch the manuscript and get it ready. Then we'll go down to the basement and you can see it for yourself." I see. But, let me tell you, there's nothing really interesting about that thing, and trying to make out what's on an ancient papyrus is next to impossible. Unless you're an expert yourself like Jeffreys or Petroporos. But still, you'll get a great thrill just looking at it - it's a manuscript from 62 A.D. that contains the lettering of Brother Jesus, the exact lettering. One day, you'll be very proud to tell yours Grandkids. Well, let's get Mr. Grote ready and we'll go downstairs."

All this happened before 10 o'clock in the morning. Now, at 8:10, Randall and Wheeler took the elevator down to the basement of the Krasnapolski Hotel.It was a specially constructed vault that safely contained the valuable materials that made the Second Resurrection and the International New Testament a reality. The escalator stopped smoothly, the doors opened automatically, and Randall followed Wheeler into the basement.Armed security officers seated in folding chairs saluted them. They walked through the dark basement talking and laughing.The sound of their shoes scraping against the concrete floor echoed in the basement hallway.Turning a corner and entering the second corridor, they were blinded by a bright fluorescent light in the distance.

"This is the basement," Wheeler explained. On the square near the fluorescent light, Randall could spot the huge fireproof basement door open, its silver latch and black and white safe dial visible. Suddenly, in the deep part of the basement, a strong man burst out.He also slammed through the door and ran toward them. Startled, Randall and Wheeler stopped.Randall was dumbfounded. The man's bald wig was askew, his bushy beard was flying, and his black top was open to reveal a bouncing holster.He is Mr. Grote, the basement keeper. He stopped suddenly in front of them, breathing very heavily.So much so that he couldn't even say what he wanted to say.

Wheeler grabs him by the shoulders. "Groot, what happened?" "Sir!" cried Grote. "Quick! It's been stolen! Call the police!" Wheeler shook him violently: "Bastard! Speak English! Speak English!" "Come on, we need help!" gasped the heavy Dutchman. "I—we've been robbed! Police, we must call the police!" "Bastard! Grote, our cops are everywhere here," Wheeler said in a rage. "What's going on? Calm down and tell me what's going on?" Grote coughed loudly for a while, and finally got himself under control. "Manuscript, manuscript number nine is gone too, gone! It was stolen!"

"You're crazy! This is absolutely impossible!" Wheeler yelled. "I've looked everywhere—everywhere," whispered Grote. "Not in the original drawer, not even in the other drawers, not in the drawers, not anywhere." "I don't believe it," Wheeler snapped. "Let me see for myself!" Wheeler hurried forward, followed by the terrified custodian. Randall followed slowly, connecting everything in his head. Arriving at the basement doorway, Randall glanced at the house, which was about 20 feet long by 10 feet wide and built of reinforced concrete.Rows of bookcases are equipped with fire-proof and anti-theft devices.With the manuscripts placed in such a place, coupled with the heavy security iron door and the armed police guarding the passage, it is almost impossible for documents to be stolen.

Randall couldn't help being fascinated by the movements of Wheeler and the basement keeper. Grote pushed out wide, low, glass-topped drawers, and Wheeler examined the contents.The two moved from drawer to drawer, and the publisher looked more and more frustrated, more and more angry. Randall asked if there were any other places in the house where manuscripts could be hidden, so they checked the basement again.Aside from two small vents and a row of dials and switches high up on the left wall, there's not much else to explore. Randall turned to see the publisher's sullen, overwhelmed burly custodian approaching him.

"It's impossible to lose, but what he said is true," Wheeler murmured. "Manuscript No. 9 is gone!" "Is that missing?" Randall asked in disbelief. "What about the others? Are the others still there?" "Just that," Wheeler said, shaking with anger and frustration. "Everything else is where it is." He walked between Randall and Grote to examine the large stainless steel door.But there were no marks on it, no peeling paint, and the door couldn't have been pried open. Randall said to the conservator, "When was the last time you saw manuscript number nine?"

"Last night," said Grote in great horror. "When I close the basement at night and come home. Every night before I leave, I check every drawer with the manuscript to make sure it's still there, and to study it so I can see if the humidifier is working properly. .” Wheeler turned around. "Has anyone been here since last night?" "No one, no," said Grote, "before you and Mr. Randall came." "What about Heldrin's guards here?" Randall wondered. "It's impossible for them," said the custodian. "They can't break in at all. They don't know the combination of complex safes."

"Who knows the synthetic code?" Randall asked. Wheeler walked among them, "I can tell you who has the right to come in. Only seven people. Of course, there is Grote, another Helderling, five publishers - Deckhard, Fontaine, Guy Da, Yang and myself, that's all." "Could someone have stolen the synthesis code?" Randall asked. "No way," said Wheeler flatly. "The synthetic code was never written down. We all memorized it." He shook his head. "It can't happen. It's unbelievable. I've never seen anything so weird in my life. There must be a reason for it. I mean it's absolutely impossible."

"It happened," Randall said, "and it happened to be that manuscript—the one we care about, the one we're looking at." "Whichever manuscript it is," cried Wheeler, "we cannot afford to lose a fragment. They belong to the Italian government. They are the national treasure of Italy. When our lease expires, we must Return them. But that is not the worst of it, we need every part of the manuscript to support the legal validity of our International New Testament." "Manuscript No. 9 in particular," Randall said quietly. "That's the controversial one."

Wheeler frowned. "There is no problem at all." "Pastors Plummer and Frumi will spread this to the world unless Dean Petroporos himself examines it and proves it to be true." Wheeler patted his forehead with his hand. "Petropolos! I almost forgot about him. When is he coming here?" "tomorrow morning." "Huh, hell, you have to hold him back, tell him to come later, give him a call and tell him his inspection date has to be postponed, tell him we'll be in touch with him in Helsinki." Randall's heart sank. "George, I can't do this. He's already on his way to Amsterdam." "How is this going to work, Steve? You have to do this! We have nothing to show him. Now, let's not waste time. I must notify Heldrin and his staff immediately, and Deckhard and others. Our main job is to locate the papyrus fragments and restore them." "Should the Amsterdam police be informed?" asked Grote. "We must call the police." Wheeler turned to him. "Are you crazy? If we let the goddamn police get involved, we're dead. Our security is over. Frumi will know all the truth. No, that won't work. We have our own police, I immediately informed Heldrin to start an investigation. Every staff member of the 'Second Resurrection' will be tortured, and some may be sent back to the 'home' - of course, this will be done secretly internally. Every office, Every table is to be searched. Even our staff quarters are to be searched till we get back the lost papyrus. Grote, you stand guard here, ready for action, and call The guards are here to step up. I'll go upstairs immediately and notify the appropriate people. You, Steve, inform Petroporos that we can't see him, at least not yet." Ten minutes later, when Randall returned to the office, still worried, he found an envelope in the office next to the desk calendar. This is a telegram from Athens. The signature of the declaration is Dean Mitros Petroporos. He was indeed on his way to Amsterdam, and was eager to examine the papyrus fragments.He will arrive at 10:50 tomorrow morning. Randall couldn't help crying secretly.The expert of the experts, the restorer of the world's faith, is on his way.Nothing can stop him.And there's nothing Bogardes calls a fatal mistake to show him, nothing to show him, nothing. Randall felt bad, not from the failure of validation, but from the loss of belief. The next morning, Steve Randall arrived at the airport half an hour early. He sat in the snack bar of the coffee shop and waited for the arrival of Dean Mitros Petropoulos. He was transferring to Air France in Paris. The company's flight came. Randall sipped hot coffee—this was his third cup this morning—and watched melancholy as the rows of white chandeliers rose above the counter, turning on and off like a cheerful ensemble. He felt more depressed than ever.What else could he think he could say to Abbot Petroporos but the truth?The disappearance of the manuscript is something the publishers do not want to be known about.But Randall couldn't think of a lie to tell, so he decided to tell the truth and apologize.He could imagine the abbot's surprise at the news that the manuscript had been lost.He wondered again if the dean had doubts, the same doubts that had been eating his guts since yesterday. After a long search yesterday for the missing papyrus, there was no clue at all. Helderling and his guards have questioned everyone who works at the "Second Resurrection" on the two floors of the Krasnapolsky Hotel.They also searched every corner of all offices and meeting rooms, and made a list of every member of the project team who did not work in this work area, and brought them in for interrogation one by one.From Dr. Knight working in the Rachio Pavilion to Angela Monti who has returned to the Victoria Hotel after get off work.They even searched Grott's apartment and sneaked into Bogardes's room while the original librarian was away, but found nothing. Captain Helderling and his men found nothing, and found no trace of Papyrus Nine. Neither panic nor give up, the publishers locked up Hölderlin and themselves in meetings until midnight.For everyone involved, the affair grew even more mysterious.For Randall, it only deepened his suspicions. Returning alone to his lodgings in Amstel last night, he was lost in thought.He gets a call from Angela asking him what happened and why she was being rudely interrogated, and he avoids answering those questions, pretending he's about to ask the rest of the staff.At the same time, he promised to meet Angela the next night, that is, tonight.Tonight's meeting with Angela was another hurtful event, but one that he could no longer put off. Yes, he mused last night, and he still muses now as he sits in the coffee shop at the airport.The sudden disappearance of a dubious papyrus on the eve of its final verification is too strange a coincidence.The loss of this original papyrus is not only an irreparable loss to the five publishers, but also an irreparable loss to his faith.Without this original Papyrus No. 9.The International New Testament is as indefensible without all the original papyri and parchments.He himself could no longer have any beliefs.It is almost impossible for the loss of this manuscript to be the work of an internal staff, but it is also impossible for an outsider to do it. Another hiss came from the airport loudspeaker, this time calling him, "Mr. Steve Randall. Mr. Steve Randall, please come to the information desk." how could be? Randall paid the bill in a hurry, left the coffee shop and went straight to the information desk in the airport lobby. He gave his name to the pretty Dutch girl who was the first waiter behind the information desk. The girl found a note and handed it to him. It read: "Mr. Steve Randall. Call Mr. George L. Wheeler at the Krasnapolski Hotel immediately. It is urgent." Randall quickly dialed and waited for Wheeler's secretary to connect him with the American publisher. Randall pressed the receiver tightly to his ear, not knowing what to expect, except for one thing he knew for sure, that is, the Air France plane from Paris carrying Dean Petroporos Flight 912 will arrive on time in 4 minutes. Wheeler's voice came through the receiver, not a buzzing bee nor a barking dog, but a string of bells, a cheerful sound like bells. "Steve, is that you? Great news! Best news! We've found it—we've found the lost papyrus!" His heart was pounding, "Did you find it?" "Can you believe it? It wasn't stolen—nor was it taken out of the basement. It's always been there. How do you feel? In fact, it was found in the last desperate moment when we had nothing else to do. An hour ago , I suggest doing another look at the basement. This time I had all the metal and glass drawers removed, taken out and disassembled. Two carpenters got to work. When we took out the ninth drawer and put it in the ground , we found it, we found the lost papyrus! Here's why: the back of the drawer was loose and out of joint, and somehow the piece of papyrus slipped to the back, along an opening in the back of the drawer Down there, clipped to the wall behind the bookcase. We found it hanging there. Thankfully, it was untouched and undamaged. Steve, what do you think?" "I'm happy!" Randall breathed out. "I'm very happy." "So bring your Abbot Petroporos. The papyrus awaits here. We are ready for his arrival." Randall hung up the phone, resting his arms and head behind the phone, heaving a weary sigh of relief. At this moment, he heard the loudspeaker beeping. "Air France Flight 912 from Paris has just landed." He got up and walked to the waiting room, where the passengers came out after being checked by customs. He waited, and waited for the Dean, and the truth, and—again—waited for faith. It was a puzzling scene, Randall recalls now. All of them gathered in the basement, in the basement of the Kranaspolski Hotel.He watched with bated breath, at least 20 minutes passed.All their attention was focused on the only seated figure in the room--Mitros Petroporos, abbot of the monastery of St. Themopetra. The dean wore a black felt hat, wrapped in a black robe, and brushed his snow-white beard to the edge of the table.He is hunched over the sheets of brown papyrus.The membrane-bound paper clips of the papyrus have been removed and are now pressed flat between two glass plates.The Dean was completely fascinated by these Aramaic texts.Occasionally, almost absent-mindedly, as he leaned over the table, he would reach for a thick magnifying glass and hold it in front of his eyes.On several occasions, he consulted rare reference books, then picked up the pen at his elbow and made some notes on a nearby pad. Behind the Dean, Dr. Deckhard, George L. Wheeler, Mr. Gaida, Trevor, Mr. Yang and Mr. Fontaine stood politely at some distance from him, watching him nervously .Mr. Grote, besides the publisher, waited gravely, with some relief. Randall stood in the basement, fascinated by his suspenseful performance.Around him stood Dr. Jeffries, Dr. Knight, Professor Soberlier and Ricardi. Suddenly, a thought flashed in Randall's mind: whether this judgment of truth or falsehood is of life and death importance to everyone.He checked the time, and now twenty-five minutes—tick—tick—tick, twenty-six minutes had passed. Suddenly, Abbot Petroporos moved.His weak body sat up straight and leaned against the back of the chair. "Excellent," he said with the utmost certainty.Twirling his mustache, he turned to his publishers and said, "I'm satisfied now." The silence was broken, but the others remained silent. The dean continued: "The contradiction can be explained. This is just a small error, which is understandable. The error is not in the original manuscript, but in the translation. Once this small error is corrected, no one will doubt the original manuscript. The authenticity is beyond doubt." The nervous faces of the five publishers relaxed like a person, and they suddenly became radiant. Everyone flocked to the dean one after another, stretched out their hands, and shook hands with him one by one, full of gratitude. "Excellent, excellent!" exclaimed Dr. Deckhard. "Now can you point out the error you found?" The abbot found his notebook, "This troublesome sentence in Aramaic has been translated by your translators as 'Our Lord passed through the vast land of Lake Fucinas on the night he escaped from Rome with his followers. .The lake had been drained by Julius Caesar long ago, and the Romans had already cultivated it at that time. This may be because a few unclear strokes have been ignored. However, if you find this problem, the The text and meaning have changed. The correct translation should be, 'Our Lord, on the night he escaped from Rome with his disciples, passed through the large land near Lake Fucinus. That lake will be sent by Julius Caesar Drained and then plowed and plowed by the Romans'. You see, the problem is that 'the lake will be drained' is mistranslated as 'the lake has been drained'." The dean put down the wipe pad. "Your mystery has been solved. All is well. Gentlemen, I would like to add that I regard the sight of James's manuscript as one of the most exciting moments of my life. This discovery in the workings of the human mind will produce A big and good impact that will change the course of Christianity. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be so close to God's intimate people." "We owe you our thanks, thank you!" Dr. Deckhard said excitedly.He and Wheeler helped the Dean to his feet. "Now," announced the German publisher, "let's go upstairs to lunch to celebrate. Father, you must come to our party before we send you to Helsinki." "I'm honored," said the dean. Wheeler has brought the dean's notebook. "I'm going to be late. I'd better call Karl Henning in Mainz and ask him to correct the translation immediately." "Yes, yes, it has to be done right away," agreed Dr. Deckhard. "Tell Henning that we can't delay any more, and as for the factory's costs and the workers' overtime, we pay extra." When the dean left the basement, Randall and the five publishers immediately made way for the dean.When the dean passed Randall, he paused, "Mr. Randall, you understand now what I said when I showed me the picture of the manuscript at the Abbey of Simopietra. The picture is not very clear, because the picture No depth, no indication of indentations pressed into the manuscript. Generally speaking, for someone like me who has worked with ancient documents for a long time, the original is easier to understand than the reproduction." "Yes, I'm glad you got to see the manuscript, Father," Randall said. "You did help solve a big problem." The dean smiled and said, "You will share this honor with me." With that said, the dean left the basement surrounded by the publishers, and Sobriel and Riccardi also left the basement.Randall finds himself alone in the basement with a distraught Dr. Jeffries, a jolly Dr. Knight and a fussy Mr. Glott. "Wait a minute, Mr. Glott," cried Jeffries, "before you put away the papyrus, let me have one more look at this obnoxious thing." Randall and Knight followed as Dr. Jeffries staggered to the papyrus pressed between the glass panels. Dr. Jeffries looked embarrassed.Because the translation team is ultimately in his charge.Such a blunder was a severe blow to his pride.At this point, you can already see it from his expression. He runs his fingers through his matted white hair and rubs his pink nose until it turns from pink to red.He straightened his glasses, stared down at the manuscript, and reviewed it carefully. Randall hadn't seen this controversial papyrus manuscript before, so he also took a look at it at this time.It was a large piece of ancient brown paper, crumpled and spotted, thin and brittle, peeling off on all sides.In addition, there are two irregular holes on it, as if the silver han fish had gnawed out the pith bit by bit.Most surprising is the clarity of the original Aramaic manuscript.Even with his untrained eye, without a magnifying glass, he could distinguish the dense lines. "Well, I don't understand," murmured Dr. Jeffries, "I never understood how I could have mistranslated the sentence. Now that I see the manuscript so clear, the Dean's translation is quite correct. There are just a few blurred places, but these characters should still be recognizable." He shook his head sadly, "It must be because of my age, alas, my age, and my eyes..." "Have you translated that part?" Randall asked. "Yes." Dr. Jeffries sighed. "But four members of your committee checked the translation after you finished it, Dr. Jeffries. They also ignored it." "Well, that's right. However, this mistake..." "Mistake," quipped Mr. Knight, with a slanted eye, "because colleagues who work with such a famous figure as Bernard Jeffries are intimidated by his reputation. If he expresses an opinion, then It has become a commandment and command, and no one dares to question it. I just say this to show my admiration for Dr. Jeffries' knowledge." Dr. Jeffries snorted coldly: "Academics require sharp eyesight. My eyesight is no longer sharp. I will never undertake such projects again. In fact," he turned to his disciple: "Now It's time for young people to come into their prime with good eyesight and quick thinking. Florian, I may be retiring from my post at Oxford soon. I may move to Geneva to take up some other job. When I resign , they'll ask me to recommend a replacement. I'll remember my promise to you, Florian. I can't think of anyone more qualified than you right now." Dr. Knight nodded his thanks. "Dr. Jeffries, I am very happy for your praise of me. Today is really auspicious." He pointed to the papyrus manuscript, "This discovery is especially important, as the Dean said just now, it will have great impact on Christianity Make a huge and good impact on the future of Christianity, changing the course of Christianity." Randall pointed to the unfolded manuscript and said, "Dr. Jeffries, these are the lines that the dean just translated, aren't they?" "The lines that caused the trouble?" said Jeffries. "Yes, those lines." Randall leaned forward, keeping his head inches from the manuscript.He was engrossed in the tiny lettering. "Strange," he said, "they are much clearer and easier to read than the photo of my manuscript." He looked up. It’s a photo of the unclear place, isn’t it?” "I dare not nod at that." Dr. Jeffries had lost interest. "I remember hearing it once from Edron. If true, the photograph should be much clearer and easier to read than the original here." "People will always read the manuscript if it's accurate," said Dr. Jeffries impatiently, "and it won't distort it. Well, let's end this nuisance and let's go up to lunch, I'm ashamed Now." After the three of them took the elevator to the second floor, Randall decided not to attend the luncheon. He bid farewell to the two Oxford scholars and went straight to the office.Passing by the secretary's office, luckily Angela was not there.However, the thought of seeing Angela before tonight made her uncomfortable. The thought of being alone for a while—without Angela, Wheeler, and the others—was comforting.He entered the office, took off his coat, loosened his tie, lit his pipe, and began to pace the room slowly. In the dining room, publishers are toasting. Randall was alone in the office, not in the mood for celebration.Worry and doubt still haunted him, and he tried to clear his mind.Hans Bogardes pointed out that errors in the Gospel of James clouded the publication plan, but now one of the most authoritative experts from Greece has clarified the facts.And again claiming that the new "Bible" is originally authentic, all of which are true.There shouldn't have been any more questions, but Randall was still haunted by what had happened during his trip to the Holy Mountain. At the Holy Mountain, the abbot was reluctant to pass judgment on the photo of the dubious manuscript, but he believed at the time that the translation of the manuscript was accurate.If the translation is wrong, then the whole manuscript must be suspect.But a few days later, the dean studied the exact same original manuscript and concluded that there was something wrong with the Aramaic translation.Therefore, the "International New Testament" has no problem at all. What changed the dean's judgment?Is it a new view on the papyrus, or is it a new papyrus? There is also the most incredible thing, the disappearance of Papyrus No. 9, an incredible disappearance, and it disappeared at the critical moment when it was necessary to look at it.Is it a coincidence?Let's think it's a coincidence, so another unbelievable recovery, and at the moment when the dean arrives, is this another coincidence? Well, maybe it is. maybe. The indistinct Aramaic language of the papyrus is strange, and it is strange that a few micron-long sketches can distinguish evil deception from divine truth.Just identifying a few tiny strokes (which were previously invisible but now visible) saved the lives of five religious publishers.On how little do men's great fortunes and prospects depend. The photo is what bothers Randall the most.If the Dean couldn't make out the Aramaic writing on the photographs, it should have been even more difficult for him to make out the originals.Damn, it's a mess, it doesn't make sense, he said to himself.He was almost convinced that infrared photography could bring back things that couldn't be seen clearly in the original manuscript.However, the writing on the photo was indeed much blurrier than the original manuscript he had just observed. It doesn't make sense, or perhaps, the reasoning is too subtle. Standing in front of his fireproof filing cabinet, Randall unlocked it, slid the safety latch slightly, and pulled the drawer out.He pulled out the photo folder of Papyrus No. 9 that was stored in the drawer at Wheeler's insistence yesterday, and went back to the swivel chair to examine it carefully. The folder containing the photographs taken by Edron—the only set in the building—was in front of him now.Randall reached for the first photo to find it.This is not number nine, but a photo of number one.Mistake, he had thought that when he put number nine back in the folder, it was on top.Randall looked at this group of photos page by page. The photo of the No. 9 Papyrus manuscript is the last one, and it is placed at the end. He doesn't think that's enough to arouse suspicion, he's been sloppy with his save files before.He probably just stuffed the picture of Manuscript 9 into the folder without regard to where he put it. He took this enlarged, smooth, 14-inch-long, 11-inch-wide photo of the papyrus manuscript to the desk again, and sat on the swivel chair to study it. While they were in the basement together, Dr. Jeffries had confirmed which lines of Aramaic were in dispute.Now Randall started looking and found it quickly.His eyes stared at them motionlessly, as if under hypnotism. Same as before, but the lines don't seem to be quite the same in some way. ------------------ 29 He blinks.They were more legible than the photographs of the manuscript he remembered seeing on the Holy Mountain, or so it seemed.Asshole, it was as legible as or more readable than the original he had just seen in the basement.If this had been the one he had shown Abbot Petroporos on the Holy Mountain, the Abbot would have easily recognized the writing.Randall threw the photo on the table and rubbed his eyes. Are the eyes deceiving themselves?Is this the original one?Or is it just my own old problem - paranoia?Hell, whatever the reason, there's a way to find it out. He got off the swivel chair, grabbed the photo, and went to get his coat. Someone will provide the answer.One person, the only one, ever took this picture.Edron, photographer for the "Second Resurrection" project.The person he was going to meet soon was photographer Edron. Half an hour later, Randall took a taxi to Edron's place.After getting out of the taxi, what appeared before his eyes was a nineteenth-century Dutch old-fashioned three-story building. Randall learns that the house was rented by the Second Resurrection group as a residence for some of the people who participated in the project.Kramer, O'Neill, Alexander and others all live here. Randall's taxi failed to stop directly in front of the house.Because the parking space has been taken by a red sedan that looks like an official vehicle, and the driver in the car is wearing an unfamiliar livery.As Randall walked towards the building, he looked at the red car carefully, wondering what the gilded cockscomb on the door of the car meant.Next to the cockscomb are written these words: Heldhaftig, Vastberaden. Barmhartig. The driver seemed to see what Randall was thinking. When Randall passed the car, the driver leaned forward and asked loudly, "Are you an American?" These words mean: hero, determination, and help. This is the motto of the Amsterdam Fire Brigade. This is the vehicle of the Commander-in-Chief – the Commander-in-Chief of the Fire Brigade.” "Thank you," Randall said loudly, and he was immediately surprised: what is the commander-in-chief of the fire department doing here? Randall turned and walked towards the door of the building. At this moment, the door opened, and Edron walked over with a strong Dutch officer.Edlon's face, full of forlornness, was melancholy.The officer, who must have been the commanding officer, wore a black billed hat with a red badge in the center, and a navy blue uniform with gold buttons and four gold stripes sewn into the sleeves. Despite their intense conversation, Edron caught sight of Randall and raised a finger to ask him to wait.Randall waited, still thinking.Finally, Edron shook hands with the fire brigade officer and said goodbye, and the officer turned and left quickly.The officer gave Randall a friendly nod as he passed, got into the car, and sped off in a short while. Randall walked towards the building, puzzled, and the Swiss photographer walked towards him. "I should have called you beforehand to see if you were available," Randall said apologetically.He gestured in the direction the car was leaving and asked, "What's going on?" Edron ran his fingers through his tousled red hair. "Trouble, all trouble," he said sullenly. "Forgive me if I'm upset. The gentleman you saw was the chief of the fire brigade in Amsterdam, and he's just come to give me this report. His onderbrandmester—" "His what?" “他的助理队长和一些随从在这里一直检查到今天早晨。”他奇怪地看着兰德尔，“你不知道？对不起，昨晚房后突然失火。” "Is anyone hurt?" “没有，值得庆幸的是火灾发生时屋子里没人。所有的人都被召集到办公室去参加一个所谓的会议。” “夜间紧急会议？是关于什么的？” “出版商们召集的，但是只有戴克哈德博士和邓恩小姐代表他们出席，给我们讲加快工作的重要性。会议不重要，只是说了些鼓舞士气的话。” “恰巧你们不在时起的火？” “是的，”埃德隆闷闷不乐地说，“一位邻居看见黑烟，就给消防队打电话。一辆救火车几分钟内赶到了。等我们返回时，火已被扑灭了，但是熬了几个小时，等待消防队队长及其队员查出起火原因。” 兰德尔环视着这座楼房，“你的房子看起来损坏得并不厉害。” “火势被控制在起火地点。火苗从我的暗室和工作间窜出，在它开始蔓延之前就得到控制。但是我的暗室和工作间就损坏得很厉害。” “你是说你摄影室被毁，其它地方安然无恙？” “正是这样。暗室大约一半遭毁，其余部分部分受损，我带你看看去。” 他们穿过一条充满刺鼻的厨房气味的狭窄过厅，又经过一间天花板很高的起居室，室内有绿色丝绒长沙发椅和带有雕刻图案的碗柜，这里能明显地闻到烟味，现在他们来到后面一间单独的小屋，屋内烟臭味更为浓烈。 一扇厚重的栎木门敞开着，被斧子破坏了。门上的两用锁也被破坏了，这把锁和保护克拉斯纳波斯基地下室的那把锁相似。门的木头被烧焦了，漆黑一团。 “我的暗室和工作间，或者还剩下些什么东西，”埃德隆说，“在通电之前，你是看不清楚的。红灯现在也不亮了。屋的这部分是用来冲胶卷，然后挂起来、晾干的地方。这些是瓷砖墙，在这张桌面涂有甲酸的桌子上我打开胶卷。这些水槽是——唉，这些你不会感兴趣。但是你是否能看见？右边墙和设备被烧焦了。前面的墙几乎烧光了。把这间屋子和我邻室隔开的帘子也给烧没了。如果你愿意随我来……” 埃德隆小心翼翼地穿过气味呛人的暗室，兰德尔跟在后面，经过一台机器，脚踏板被火烧得不成形，来到另一间屋子，这里照像机、反射器的残骸，加上一个翻得乱七八糟的档案柜让人目不忍睹。 埃德隆无助地环视着第二间屋子，“很显然，火是从这里燃起的。发生在一个糟糕的时间，我不得不下一步白天黑夜地干来弥补所造成的损失。” “是什么引起火灾的？”兰德尔问道。 “起初，消防队助理队长坚持认为是故意纵火，我向他解释这是不可能的。这间暗室——实际上这两间房子一起——为安全起见，设计得十分特别，以保护这块地方。你瞧，没有办法能闯进来——那些加罩的通风孔太小——除非通过这道很重的防火栎木门，你见过了。消防队带着水管进来时不得不把这道门毁坏。在这之前，门没被故意搞破坏的人动过，也没有任何纵火犯能打开两用锁。” “有多少人知道这把两用锁的号码？” “当然了，我有两用锁的号码，”埃德隆说，“除我之外没有人使用这间办公室。”他想了一会儿，“我想'第二次复活'中其它人知道这把两用锁的号码，因为是他们给我建的这间暗室。我想赫尔德林队长能有拨号，戴克哈德博士和其他出版商也应知道，我不清楚。我最终说服了助理队长，不会是故意搞破坏的人干的，因为他们无法进来。” “如果故意搞破坏的人通过'第二次复活'中的某个人而进来的，那会如何？” 埃德隆瞥了兰德尔一眼，“我也想到了这一层，但是这不太合逻辑。为什么我们项目组中会有人希望毁掉我们的工作呢？” “没错，为什么会有这样的人？”兰德尔说道，一半是说给自己听的。 “所以消防队继续检查，就在刚才你来的时候，消防队队长将报告交给我。队长认为火因是电路连接错误，当然这份报告并不是最终的确定结论。”埃德隆捏了一下鼻子，“这儿太呛人，咱们出去吧。” 他们离开暗室，走进被毁的栎木门上方的过道。憔悴的摄影师递给兰德尔一支香烟，兰德尔谢绝了，埃德隆自己取出一支，点上说：“因为我无关紧要的遭遇而让你产生负担我深感抱歉，”他说道，“尤其是你第一次来我这里，我这个主人当得太差了，你有事要商量吗，史蒂夫？” “不多，只一件事，”他指了指他携带的马尼拉信封，“我想看看你给我做的一张原稿照片的底片——你那张九号纸草纸文稿照片的底片。” 埃德隆做出了十分吃惊的反应，“那是我损失的一部分啊。你见过那间四室里面被毁坏的机器和档案。我全套底片，全部底片——都和其它东西一起变成烟灰了。你瞧，我今天没法接待你了。但这并不十分严重，我已安排明天就去给地下室里的纸草纸和羊皮纸照新照片。后天我就有新底片了，你想看哪张我就给你看。所以你并没有什么损失，不用担心。” “我并不担心这个问题，”兰德尔警惕地说，“我有一整套原稿的照片，我只想将我这儿的九号纸草纸照片与原底片比较一下，想看看这张照片是否将原底片的一切都显示出来了。” 埃德隆迷惑不解。“那当然了，底片上有的你照片里也有。为什么会没有？我自己冲卷，自己印照片。我做得非常细心……” “别误会，”兰德尔很快打断他，“我不是在怀疑你的工作。是这么一回事，嗯，在我们决定用哪张照片作宣传时，我们浏览了整套复制品，我们发现有一张，就是这张，看起来同其它的质量——什么清晰度啊，精确度——不相同。” “哪张？九号？不可能。他们完全一样，质量相同，以同样方法制作。照片呢，你带来了吗？让我看看。” 兰德尔从信封里取出九号纸草纸长14英寸宽11英寸光滑的照片，递给埃德隆，“给你。” 他迅速地看了一眼照片。“没什么不对。”他说，“与其它的质量相同，里面的一切都清楚。对不起，史蒂夫，这张与我做的其它复制品没什么不同。” “制作这张照片时使用了红外线技术，对吗？” "of course." “告诉我为何使用红外线？” “我认为你知道的。当你必须给最起码有部分不清晰的东西照相时，就使用红外线照相技术。普通的方法无法显示出看不清楚的部分，而红外线则能。纸草纸反射投到它上面的红外线辐射，从而变得——嗯——变得明亮且更加清晰可辨了。” “你就是用这种办法制作你手中这张照片吧？”兰德尔有些迟疑，“你照了那张照片吗？再看一眼，你愿意发誓你照过那张照片？” 埃德隆并没有再看照片，而是盯着兰德尔。“史蒂夫，你在说些什么？当然是我照的那张照片。还会有谁会被允许这样做呢？我是'第二次复活'计划中唯一的摄影师，唯一的一位能保证清晰度、唯一的一位被雇来为你们部门制作艺术品的人。是我照的所有照片。是什么让你觉得我没有准备这张照片？” “仅因为它看起来与另外一些似乎不同。它的质量不同或者——风格也不一样。” “质量？风格？我不知道你到底指什么？”埃德隆有些恼怒，他再次举起照片，在眼前调调角度以便让过道里的光线照射照片。这一次他仔仔细细地审视着照片。 “奥斯卡，请特别看看第一栏里第四、五两行，”兰德尔督促道。 “好吧。它们百分之百的正常，百分之百的清晰。” “我就是指的这一点。”兰德尔说道。他想他该不该把心中所想的说出来。那就是他第一次把照片拿到圣山的西莫皮特拉修道院给彼得罗波罗斯院长看的时候，那两行不大清楚，但现在连原稿带照片都清晰可见。但他决定暂不说这事，而是装作他以前曾亲眼见过纸草纸文稿。“我第一次看见纸草纸文稿时，这些行是最难读的，几乎无法辨认。但从这张照片里可以看得清清楚楚。这听起来没有道理。” “对你来说没有道理，而对一位摄影师来说却极有道理。我每次在拍摄一张几个地方不清的纸草纸原稿时，总有一种叫回避的技巧来处理它，那就是要用不同的曝光来分几次拍摄。这样的话，原稿上不明显的地方在摄制出来后就变得很清楚了。我给你举例说明。” 他把那张照片拿近兰德尔。 “这儿，你看我就是用回避技术使第四、五行模糊的阿拉米语显示出来并把它变清晰的。我记得这片纸草纸文稿上还有块地方同样暗弱不清，我……”，他的声音弱下去，他站在那儿惊愕地看着下边一行阿拉米文，“真奇怪。”他喃喃自语。 “什么奇怪，奥斯卡？”兰德尔马上问道。 “下边这块地方，这儿曝光过度。并不是没有使用回避技巧，但是——但是回避得不够好。这看起来不像是我做的，显得这么草率、低劣。我相信——或者说我肯定——我使用曝光技术均匀，各个地方都匀称有致，我敢肯定我是那样做的。我曾上百次地看过这些照片，一直都很满意。可是这块地方曝光过度。我是说，对其他用裸眼观察的人来说，可能不会察觉这一点。但是在我看来这是很显然的，我不明白是怎么一回事。” 兰德尔轻轻地从他那儿拿过相片，“也许这张照片并不是你制作的。” “是我做的，因为所有的都是我做的。”他固执地说，“不过，这样拙劣的技术不像是出自我的手，很奇怪居然会发生这样的事。” “是的，”兰德尔说：“最近发生了许多莫名其妙的事。” 对于兰德尔来说，有许多找不到答案的问题。照片上有几行在圣山看着模糊不清，到了阿姆斯特丹却奇怪地变得清晰了许多；还有一张纸草纸文稿就在他想看一看的当天奇怪地失踪了，在第二天却十分便当地再现了；另外，就在他想将照片与它的底片作一比较时，底片却在仅仅几小时前被火给毁掉了；再者，令人感到奇怪的是埃德隆的回避技术未能精确熟练地应用到另一张照片上，也就是第九号纸草纸文稿的照片。 对兰德尔来说，这有问题，却找不到令人满意的答案。很自然，埃德隆手头没有那张关键的底片，又坚信自己是项目组中唯一的摄影帅，另外没有别人，因而他不可能提供什么答案。 兰德尔推测着：除非有人或在某个地方能证实他的怀疑或永远澄清这些疑虑，否则他将不得不怀着盲目信仰投身于“第二次复活”的工作之中。他也深知，一旦双眼睁开了，再想装瞎是很困难的，或者几乎是不可能的。 霎时间，他有了主意，他的双眼看到了一种完全被他忽略的可能的解决办法，这是所有可能性中最显而易见的一种。 “奥斯卡，我用一下你的电话不介意吧？” “你身后的墙上就有一部，打吧，如果你不介意的话，我去清扫一下了。” 兰德尔谢过摄影师，等待他离去，最后他走到电话前，给“第二次复活”的总机拨了电话。 他告诉总服务台的接线员，他要跟彼得罗波罗斯通话。一会儿，电话被接到戴克哈德的秘书处。 “我是史蒂夫?兰德尔，彼得罗波罗斯院长还在吗？” “在，兰德尔先生，他刚同出版商们一起吃完午饭回来了。他正在戴克哈德博士的办公室与他们交谈。” “你能否把电话转到里面？我想跟他通话。” “对不起，兰德尔先生，我接到的指示是不能有电话或其它事情中断会谈。” “喂，没人会介意的。他们知道院长来这里是我负责安排的。打断他们一下，我有重要的事情。” “我没法照办，兰德尔先生。戴克哈德博士明确地作过指示，不允许有人打扰。” 兰德尔恼怒了，他采取新的策略，“好吧，院长将在那儿呆多久？” “45分钟以后戴克哈德博士将陪同院长去机场。” “好吧，我半小时内赶回。你能否记个便条，并保证在彼得罗波罗斯院长一出来时就能让他拿到？” "of course can." “告诉他，——”他仔细地考虑着要留的话，然后慢慢地口述。“告诉他，史蒂夫?兰德尔在他前往机场之前想与他见一面。告诉他如果他能来我办公室坐一会儿，我将很感激他。就说我想——冉次向他表示我个人的歉意并和他道别。记下来了吗？” 她记下来了。兰德尔满意地挂了电话，他匆匆出门找出租车。 25分钟后，他回到克拉斯纳波斯基酒店的一楼，急切地想给彼得罗波罗斯院长看一看这令人遗憾的第九号纸草纸文稿的照片。 他走进办公室，准备等待院长的到来，这时他才意识到办公室里并非只有他一个人。 站在屋那头的是乔治?L?惠勒。兰德尔以前从未见到惠勒现在的这副样子。这位出版商红润的圆脸上不见了推销员式神采奕奕的表演。他抽着烟，让他那魁梧的身体走向前，直竖在兰德尔的面前。 “你到底哪去了？”他咆哮着。 兰德尔被他出乎意料的架式吓了一跳，吞吞吐吐地说：“嗯，我想把一些宣传用的照片集中到一起，并且——” “少说废话，”惠勒说，“我知道你去哪儿了。你去埃德隆那儿了，你刚才还在那儿。” “是的，他暗室里起火了，我们……” “火他妈的事我全知道。我只想知道你在那儿探听什么。你去那儿并不是为了取宣传用的照片。你之所以去那儿是因为你还在对第九号纸草纸文稿胡思乱想。” “我有几点疑惑之处，想去查一查。” “和埃德隆一起查。当他无能为力时，你就决定再次烦扰彼得罗波罗斯院长。”惠勒怒气冲冲地说。“好吧，我这就告诉你你今天见不到院长了，10分钟前他就去机场了。如果你有什么妙主意想与他在赫尔辛基或圣山取得联系以便故技重演的话，还是打消这个念头吧。有人已建议他不要接见任何人，也不要同任何人谈论有关詹姆斯福音书的任何事，包括我们自己的人员。他一百个赞成。他也想保存好上帝的文件，以免有人从内部或外部制造麻烦。” “乔治，我并非制造麻烦。我只是想搞清楚我们所看到的的确是真实的。” “院长对它的真实性感到满意，我们也就满意了。那么你到底想干什么？” “我只是想满足我自己的兴趣，再说我毕竟也是这项目中的一员啊！” “好吧，真见鬼，一意孤行。”惠勒脸色铁青，“你要做的像我们的人干的事，别像弗鲁米的人的所作所为。你把你自己要找的人带来检查，他检查了那张纸草纸原稿，肯定了它的真实。你到底还想干什么？” 兰德尔默不作答。 惠勒的身子朝前迈了一步，“告诉你我们的想法。我们想换掉你，但是我们知道换掉你会延误一些事情，因此我们达成一致意见，只要你老老实实做你的工作，少管闲事，我们将与你合作下去。我们雇佣你向公众推销我们的《国际新约》，报酬丰厚。我并不是把你雇来研究调查我们的秘密的。它已经过有资格的人士上千次的调查研究，这些人不是吃白饭的。我们也不是把你雇来推行魔鬼的主张。弗鲁米那帮人已经够我们受的了。你在这儿只有一项任务，那就是推销我们的产品。我被选派来提醒你记住你真正的工作，你最好照做——做好你的工作，闲事少管。” “我打算这么做。”兰德尔平静地说。 “我对打算毫无兴趣。我只对结果感兴趣，我们需要的是果。听着，我们知道是谁设法破坏了埃德隆的暗室。那是弗鲁米那帮流氓干的。” “弗鲁米？他或者他的手下怎么能进入那地方？” “别管怎么进去的，只要记住是谁就行了。是弗鲁米，你只管记住我们的话。现在我们已不再听凭这个恶棍的胡作非为了。他已绝望疯狂，什么事都干得出来。我们决定好好教训他一顿。因此我们已将宣布日作了最后一次改变，8天后，即7月15号，星期五我们就要宣布。一个钟头前我和你手下的人谈过了，告诉他们应积极工作。我们希望宣传人员——指的是你们——从通告之日起夜以继日地工作。我们希望我们走进皇宫向全世界介绍我们的《国际新约》时，所有的工作都准备就绪。听见我说的话了吗？史蒂夫，从现在起什么也不允许干扰你的工作。” "All right, George." 惠勒昂首阔步地走向办公室的门，打开后又转过身来。“史蒂夫，不管你想追究出什么东西，不管你目的何在，记住我的话，你不会有什么结果的，因为它根本就不存在，所以不要捕风捉影，干些没有什么根据的事，尽管相信我们好了。” he's gone. 兰德尔呆在那里，满脑子装的尽是问题，却找不出答案。突然之间，他又想起了一个问题，还有一线希望。 他又想起一个人，最后这个人或许知道答案。 他期盼着今晚与安杰拉?蒙蒂见面，这对他来说还是第一次。 他与他的工作人员工作到很晚。直到晚上10点钟他才得以离开办公室去与安杰拉?蒙蒂见面，这见面被耽误得太久了。 可是他盼望会面的心情跟他害怕会面的心情同样剧烈。在巴黎他得知安杰拉欺骗了他后，在去圣山的途中他对她怒火中烧，但是由于以后又连续发生了太多的事情，随着时间的流逝，他的怒气渐渐消退了，但他对她仍然有种不信任感。如果他能做选择的话，他一定会尽量避免与她见面，尽量避免跟她挑明真相的。可是他知道他别无选择，他必须见到她，此举关系重大。 当兰德尔不太情愿地敲响维多利亚饭店105房间的门时，他下定决心要对安杰拉表现得冷淡平静，开门见山。然而当门开后，安杰拉那蓬乱的黑发、颇具诱惑力的绿色眼睛，还有她白色睡裙下煽动情欲的躯体几乎使他忘记自己刚才的决心。他又一次接受了她的拥抱，陶醉于她香水的芬芳之中。她丰满的双乳紧贴在他胸部，双手紧紧勾住他的脖子，让他气也喘不过来。尽管他试图控制住自己，可还是无能为力，还是对她做出了激烈的反应。她的面颊反复地触磨他的双唇。他最终还是挣脱了她，走进了舒适的旅馆房问。 接下来，他和她别别扭扭地聊了一会儿，她询问他的情况，她配制了一杯苏格兰威士忌酒递给他，又给自己倒了一杯法国白兰地。他无法直接进入正题，时间一分一秒地溜走了，他越来越怀疑她的诚实，尽管这件事实在让人难以启齿，但兰德尔还是准备向她提出责问。 他一直尽力把话题限制在工作范围内，但这并不容易，不过他的确想放长线钓大鱼。照片——他已经提出了照片的问题。他说宣传促销需要多种多样的照片，他原指望埃德隆能满足他的要求。不幸的是，埃德隆又遭了灾。兰德尔给她讲述了暗室失火的情况，她对此表示了同情。然后，兰德尔与她回忆他们在米兰第一次见面的情景，她曾提起她收藏了一些照片，那些照片是她父亲在奥斯蒂亚?安蒂卡的挖掘过程中摄下的，有一些是她父亲本人的照片。 “你现在带着这些照片吗？”他问道，“我十分迫切地想看看你父亲在发现詹姆斯纸草纸文稿时所照的照片，或者最好是在文稿经过处理，被放置在玻璃板底下时照的特写照片。” 的确，她曾把一些照片带到了阿姆斯特丹。她走到装潢精美的大柜子前，取出一个硬纸盒子。打开后，她把一大堆照片倒在房子中间的绿色地毯上。这时半小时过去了，两人一起坐到地板上，他脱掉外衣，盘着腿，仔细地观察她递过来的每张照片。 对兰德尔来说，能亲睹记录挖掘现场的照片是件妙不可言的事，这些生动的记录给他提供了许多信息，从照片里他第一次看到蒙蒂教授的模样：一位矮胖的年长者，慈眉善目，正直诚恳，活像一位以在街头演奏手摇风琴营生的艺人。照片上还有些意大利劳工在壕沟里挖掘的照片，他们大汗淋漓，头顶上是罗马火辣辣的太阳直射下来。还有几张是安杰拉和她姐姐、父亲摆好姿势后照的照片，她姐姐和安杰拉相比更高更瘦一些，不及安杰拉漂亮，她父亲脸上洋溢着成功的喜悦。另外有一些照片是蒙蒂教授在展示他的发现时照下的，由于照像机离被照物较远，所以纸草纸上面的阿拉米语看不清楚，可兰德尔偏要找的就是这个。 他看完最后几张照片，抬起头来，说道：“很好，安杰拉，许多照片都对我们的宣传促销活动有用处。周末我再仔细地重新看一遍这些照片，选出其中最好的几张大量地复制下来。” 她的眼睛注视着他，“你说话好像不太热心的样子。” “噢，这些都挺好，但我想我原希望——噢——我更希望你有一些纸草纸的特写照片。” “如果我没记错的话，是应该有一些特写照片的。”她说，“我父亲过去常常一坐几个小时地观赏那些照片。那是得到证实井且被意大利政府发表这个消息以前的事了。父亲自学过阿拉米语，他的阅读纸草纸文稿的能力和阅读意大利文、德文或者英文的能力一样强。实际上，他把纸草纸文稿全部背下来了，每个字符，每个细微之处，他都了如指掌，他对此极为骄傲。他对纸草纸文稿有着很深的感情。” “现在这些特写照片放在哪里？” “我不知道。我来阿姆斯特丹时，我设法找过，想把这些照片一起带来，可是我一张也没有找到。我问过父亲，但他是那种典型的心不在焉的人，他也记不清这些照片放到哪儿去了，我想他并不在意，因为他已把它们清清楚楚地印在脑子里了。不过，我想他也许把它们交给了教育部，教育部又将它们转交给了戴克哈德博士。”她一副满怀希望的神情，“或许你可以问一问戴克哈德博士。” “是的，我想我要去问问他。” “不管怎么样，我想你从埃德隆那里已搞到一套照片。” “我的确有，只是——嗯——都不太重要。我只是想能多看一些照片。” 她好奇地看看他，他避开她的目光，忙着把地板上散放的照片收起来，放回硬纸盒里。 照片放好以后，他意识到安杰拉还在仔细观察着他。 “史蒂夫，”她平静地说，“你为什么老躲着我？” “我是在躲着你吗？” “是的。发生了什么事吧。你什么时候才会再爱我呢？” 他感觉到脖子后的肌肉发僵。“安杰拉，等我能再信任你的时候。”他说。 “难道你现在不信任我吗？” “不，”他生硬地说，“不，我不信任你，安杰拉。” 他终于说出来了，他感觉轻松了许多，他再一次愤怒不已，而且认为自己愤怒得很有理由。他直视着她，做好迎接她抗议的准备，可是她一言不发，也没有什么反应。她美丽的面孔上，除了睫毛时而闪动几下外没有一点表情。 “好吧，”他说，“既然你问到此事，那咱们就打开天窗说亮话。” 她默默地等待着。 “我不信任你，是因为我无法冉相信你说的话，”他说，“安杰拉，上星期你又对我撒谎了。你从前对我说过谎，不过，那只是一个小小的谎言，无关紧要。可是这次不同寻常。” 他期待着安杰拉做出反应，可是她仍毫无反应。她看上去与其说是愤怒，不如说是悲伤。 “关于圣山的事情你对我说了谎，”他继续说道，“你告诉我你同你父亲一起去圣山找过彼得罗波罗斯院长。你告诉我院长认真研究了纸草纸文稿，并且证实了它们的真实性。这件事你还记得吗？全是胡编乱造的谎话，安杰拉，这我知道，因为我亲自去过圣山。你知道上周我去过圣山吗？” “是的，史蒂夫，我知道。” 他没有问她如何得知的。他不想岔开话题。“我去了圣山，而你却没去。1000多年以来任何女的都不允许踏上那个半岛半步。你从来未去过，你父亲也没去过。今天早晨以前，院长从未见过你父亲——或者从未见过纸草纸文稿。你能否认这一点吗？” “不，我不能否认，史蒂夫，我不会否认的，”她的声音低得仅能到被听到的程度，“我的确对你说过谎。” “那么你怎么能指望我信任你呢——信任你呀——怎么叫我相信你说的话呢？” 她闭上眼睛，用手抹了一把脸，而后又痛苦地看着他。“史蒂夫，我——我不知道是否能让你理解。你大多时候都在用理智思考，而很少用心去体会。只有心才能体会到有时候谎言是最真实的东西。史蒂夫，当你从巴黎给我打电话时，我的心能感知你的心，能听出你的本性，而你的本性是最令我担忧的，也是我最不喜欢的。” “我的本性如何？”他咄咄逼人地问。 “你的怀疑主义，你那个理性的、自我防卫、自我保护的怀疑主义。或许，它对你来说是自我保护，史蒂夫，能使你免受伤害。但是这种怀疑主义是反生活的，它站在你与生活之间阻止你接受或者付出真爱，深爱。一个没有信仰的人是无法爱的