Read Online The Penny Ferry - Rick Boyer by Rick Boyer - Free Book Online Page B

its
crest. The museum was all dark inside though.
    "Help you?" said a voice. It belonged to a
Harvard campus security guard, who wouldn't open the Fogg doors for
us even when Joe flashed his badge. But he did give Joe the phone
number of the right person to contact regarding Fogg exhibits and
their sponsors. While Joe went off to make his phone calls, I went to
the john in the lower level of a red-brick building that was pointed
out to me by the guard. Standing in from of one of the urinals in the
men's room, I was struck by the graffiti. Yes Virginia, there is
graffiti on the walls of Harvard rest rooms. However, it was all
neatly lettered and obviously not the product of average minds. For
example, there was a running debate penned on the wall above me
concerning the behavior of accelerated particles in cloud chambers at
various temperatures. This was complete with lots of Greek letters
and appropriate formulas. Underneath the arguments was the wry
observation that perhaps the warring factions would do themselves and
everyone else who used the facilities a favor by transferring to
M.I.T. Then there was this:
CONSERVE GRAVITY: WEAR THICK-SOLED SHOES!
    Followed by this, from the first book of Gargantua
and Pantagruel :
Come sit an cack
With
lusty back
But leave no wrack
Beside
our closet.
Void, spurt and pump
Your
turdous rump
But leave no lump
Here
for deposit.
He shall know shame
Who
misses aim,
St. Anthony's flame
Burn
his scut sear,
Who will not swab
His
thingumabob
To the last blob
Ere
he leave here!
         — Rabelais
    Well, I was impressed. I glanced around and saw the
greatest names of science, literature, and philosophy well
represented in the Crimson maison de merde .
Perhaps fittingly, most of the quotes and
diatribes concerned politics.
    Finally, as I dried my hands and prepared to depart,
I saw this terse warning:
FOOLS NAMES AND FOOLS FACES
OFT
APPEARIN PUBLIC PLACES
                                   — Shakespeare
    Hell, I considered as I sprinted up the steps back
out into Harvard Yard, I was wasting my money sending jack and Tony
to Bowdoin and Williams. I could save almost forty grand a year by
making them hang around the Harvard johns. Joe was still on the
phone. I heard his cop voice haranguing some poor soul on the other
end. He hung up and turned to me.
    "Guess what? We're going to pay a brief visit—
I promised her, and I promise you, it will be brief to Lucia
Fabrianni over at the Copley."
    "You said we. Where do you get we?"
    "Aw c'mon, Doc. It's only eleven-thirty. We'll
only see her twenty minutes."
    So we went to Copley Square, where the Fabriarmi
family was ensconced in Boston for the duration of their show.
According to our information they owned the whole kit and kaboodle of
the treasures from San Marino, and the senior Mr. Paolo Fabrianni was
anxious to display the art treasures to increase tourism to his tiny
country. But Joe told me during the ride over the Charles River to
Boston that Lucia Fabrianni had sounded put out and wasn't at all
eager for an interview with the police, especially on Sunday.
    " Know what she said to me?" asked Joe as we
strode into the ornate lobby of the Copley Plaza Hotel and punched
the elevator Button. "I spoke some Italian phrases to her, you
know, to kinda break the ice a little. The extra effort, you know?
What she says is, 'You're from the South, aren't you? I can tell
you're from Naples.'jeez!"
    The elevator arrived, and
we went up.
    * * *
    We sat in the small parlor room decorated with Louis
Quinze furniture. Or was it Louis Seize? Well whatever, it was one of
them. The furniture was white and gold with bent legs and claw feet.
The chair backs and seats were overstuffed. ellipses of velveteen.
There was scrollwork and curlicues everywhere. Give me Shaker any
day.
    Lucia Fabrianni entered the room. She was everything
we thought she'd be, and more. She was rich and beautiful. After a
few