“Come on,” Jack said.  “We need to get back on the subway in order to return to the hotel.  The nearest stop is a bit of a walk from here.”

“How much is ‘a bit?’” Matthew mumbled, but apparently the subject was not open to debate.  Jack quickly trotted away from the Circus Maximus, showing no signs of fatigue from his earlier exertions, forcing Matthew, who both showed and felt plenty, to hurry after him.

As they speed-walked, Matthew reflected on the fact that “nearest” is a truly dubious word.  For example, Proxima Centauri is, as its name suggests, the nearest star to our solar system, but it would still take more than a lifetime to get there.  Coincidentally (or perhaps not), this was about how long Matthew felt it was going to take for them to reach the subway station.  Jack kept walking and walking, never slowing, only barely stopping to look before crossing streets.  The storefronts and apartments they walked by seemed hardly to change at all.  Matthew tried to ask how much farther they had to go several times, but Jack never responded.  Matthew assumed that his friend was lost, which was unfortunate, because until they ran into some sort of landmark, so was he.

Even a person who wasn’t desperately searching for something recognizable probably would have spotted that, though.

“Stop!” Matthew shouted.  Somewhat to his surprise, Jack did stop.  “What the heck is that?”

Jack peered over in the direction that Matthew was pointing.  “Isn’t that a section of the Aurelian Wall?”

“No, not that,” Matthew said irritably, shifting the orientation of his finger slightly.  “I know that’s part of the Aurelian Wall.  I’m talking about that!  The huge pyramid sticking out of it!  Wait, how do you know what—”

“Well, let’s just take a look at the guidebook, shall we?” Jack suggested brightly, pulling a small but thick book out of his jacket pocket.  He started rapidly flipping through pages, completely ignoring Matthew, who was repeatedly asking him when and where he had purchased a guidebook.  “Aha, here we go!” he announced a minute or two later.  “What we have here is the Pyramid of Cestius!”

“So what is it?” Matthew asked eventually, more than a little concerned that the answers were coming from Jack and not him.

“The pyramid was built around 12 BC, as a tomb for Caius Cestius Epulo, who was praetor, tribune of plebs, and a member of the Septemviri Epulonum.  It was built during a time when Rome was going through a fad for all things Egyptian, which explains the choice of a pyramid for a tomb, though whether its relative steepness is due to influence from the Ptolemaic dynasty or the pyramids of Nubia is unclear.  Roughly three hundred years after its construction, the pyramid, along with many other existing buildings, was incorporated into the Aurelian Wall for the sake of expediency and to save money.  During the Middle Ages the tomb’s origins were lost; many came to believe that it was the tomb of Remus because of its similarity to the pyramid-shaped tomb of Romulus, a belief that was supported by Petrarch.  The tomb’s true nature was rediscovered in the 1660’s during excavations carried out by Pope Alexander VII.”

“Oh,” Matthew said.  It took him a while to digest all the information that his friend had just spouted out.  It took him even longer to wrap his head around the fact that Jack was not only capable of reading and pronouncing things like “Caius Cestius Epulo” and “Septemviri Epulonum,” but also that he appeared to be capable of understanding them.

“We’d better keep moving,” Jack said, pocketing the book and gesturing for Matthew to follow him again.  “The subway stop isn’t far now.”

“Wait, we’re just going to leave?”

“You want to stay?” Jack asked.  “There isn’t really anything else to see here.  It’s just a pyramid.  The burial chamber is sealed off, so you can’t go inside.”

Matthew stared at his friend, profoundly perplexed.  Matthew did not want to stay; the problem was that he could not understand why his friend agreed with him.  Conspiracy freaks are supposed to go absolutely nuts over pyramids, claiming either that aliens taught the Egyptians how to build them or that the Egyptians taught aliens how to build them.  And the existence of the supposedly debunked rumor that it contained the final resting place of Remus should have made it all the more enticing for a man who had just spent the past couple of hours hunting for the Lupercal.  The burial chamber may have been sealed, but Matthew would have thought that that would stop his friend from trying to get in about as much as his common sense would have, which is to say not at all.

“You’re not Jack, are you?”

Jack nodded.  “But the question is,” he began, reaching down into another, surprisingly deep pocket of his jacket and whipping out a gray hooded cloak, “who am I?”

“Oh,” Matthew said, sounding a little disappointed and bored.  “This is a dream.”  He walked over to the pyramid and punched it as hard as he could.  No pain.  “Yup.  Dream.”

Matthew woke up immediately.  He was in the bed of the small hotel room that he and Jack were sharing.  Now that he was awake, he could see several reasons why the dream should have been obvious from the beginning: the Circus Maximus had its own perfectly good subway stop, his friend never would have worn a jacket on such a warm day, and every single person he had passed on the street was wearing either a toga or a full set of centurion’s armor.

He glanced over at Jack, who was sleeping in the cot they were taking turns using for the night.  He made a mental note never to go near the Pyramid of Cestius.  Sure, it had just been a dream, but he didn’t want to risk a repeat.  Once was unnerving enough.

Cloud was in an old reactor
Filled with an eerie green light
He looked around, thought to himself
“What did I eat last night?”

On the ground a corpse, a sword
A good sword; no, the best
Next to them knelt Tifa
She was . . . like a cowgirl dressed?

“Dad! Oh, Dad!” the young girl cried
Cloud felt an awkward tic
“Great,” he thought. “Just what I need
Another crying chick”

Suddenly she seized the sword
Roared like one’d in a brawl
“Mako! Shinra! SOLDIER!
Sephiroth! I hate them all!”

The dream abruptly ended there
‘Twas quite the cliffhanger
Tifa elbowed Barret
“Look. He’s starting now to stir”

Tifa held up hand, told Cloud
“Count the fingers you see”
Cloud, grinning, inquired
“You were worried about me?”

“Worried? Ha!” the big man scoffed
“You think that I’m your mom?
Now come on, don’t waste no more time
Just go and set the bomb”

This week’s puzzle:

One man escapes capture and death using a lighter, an umbrella, and a pen. Another man wrecks a boat, breaks a window, ruins a perfectly good motorcycle, crash-lands a plane, and loses his hat.

Last week’s puzzle:

A poor joke-teller travels the world looking for something that was taken from him, but he never asks people for help. Meanwhile, his son joins a rebellious gang and is nearly killed when a sabotage plan goes horribly wrong.

And the answer is . . . ▼

To explore space, the final frontier
They set out on a mission, five-year
Where no man’d been before
They would go there, and more
It began with a Thursday premiere

“Hey, you wanna run a couple of laps of this thing?”

Matthew eyed his friend with amazement.  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m deadly serious,” Jack said, and Matthew could tell that, unfortunately, he was.  “We’ve got to stay in shape if we’re going to take down this conspiracy.  We’re up against the Catholic Church, or maybe the oil industry, or alien overlords, or possibly even something worse than all of those put together!  We’ll have to narrowly escape from certain death in the nick of time every time!  How can you expect us to be able to do that if we don’t get a little exercise now and then?”

Matthew didn’t know what Jack’s definition of “a little” exercise was, but he was pretty sure that it was not remotely close to what either he or Noah Webster thought it should be.  “We’ve been walking all day,” he pointed out.  “Ever since we got off the subway this morning.”

“So?  We’re going to be walking all day every day that we’re here, aren’t we?  We need to be prepared for any situation.  The agents of evil aren’t necessarily going to attack us first thing in the morning, you know.  Don’t you remember when we were chased out of the Vatican by those guards?”

There were many things from Matthew’s past that he wished he could remember but had been lost in the flow of time: the feeling of the fur on his first dog, the name of the girl he had had a crush on in fifth grade just before he moved, countless other glimpses of childhood innocence.  On the other hand, he recalled with crystal clarity every incident of his life in which Jack had been present, and he could only assume it was because he wanted so desperately to forget them.

“I remember,” Matthew said, though he remembered differently.  “But I also remember running all the way up the Palatine Hill less than an hour ago, so I think I’m going to have to pass on the exercise for right now.  Honestly, I’m surprised that my legs let me walk this far without giving up.”

At that moment, Matthew’s legs, deciding to follow the Central Tenet of Cartoon Physics (namely, that no force in the universe can take effect until the person on whom it is trying to act realizes that it should be), collapsed underneath him, settling him into a sitting position on the grass surrounding the great dirt oval.  “See?” he said, wincing and wishing that he had been standing over a slightly less bumpy patch of ground.

Jack frowned but nodded.  It was plain to see that he had forgotten, both physically and mentally, running up the hill like a lunatic.  “I guess I’ll just have to run twice as many laps to cover your share as well.  Wait right there until I come back!” he said as he took off.

For various reasons, Matthew had no intention whatsoever of disobeying Jack’s order.  He also had no intention of telling Jack that his plan to run extra laps to cover up for him was absolute nonsense.  The longer his friend spent running around the old racetrack, the more time he had to rest and recuperate.

As Jack tore around the ancient dirt track, forcing the other tourists to wonder if he was an athlete in training or just some lunatic, Matthew sat in the stands of the Circus Maximus during the height of its glory.  A young, up-and-coming freedman chariot racer (whom Matthew could not get to stop looking like Charlton Heston despite his best efforts) flew by, and Matthew was close enough to feel the sting of the small particles that the whirring wooden wheels kicked up as they spun.

The race was not his primary focus, however; Matthew was more interested in the people in the stands.  He heard them roar with excitement, and he heard them roar even more loudly in disappointment when the favorite was beaten by a wealthy merchant’s dissolute son (some things don’t change much over the centuries).  There was even an emperor in attendance.  Matthew decided it was . . . oh, I don’t know.  Vespasian.

Entranced by his vision of the world that was, Matthew was able forget about his surroundings.  He could ignore the pain in his weary legs, and he didn’t have to worry about all the strange looks his friend was getting as he ran around and around the Circus Maximus.

But . . .

Every now and then, when there was a lull in the action, his mind slipped back to the present, and it invariably spent that time searching for the figure in gray.  He looked under trees, atop buildings, all along the Palatine ruins.  He did not really expect to find what he was looking for, but that did little to quell his need to look.

Matthew decided that enough was enough.  He was not going to put up with this obsession with the mystery figure.  He was going to catch him in the act, pull off the white sheet, shut down old man Macgregor’s projector and kazoo operation.  If he found out who the person was, he felt, it would no longer bother him.  Matthew did not yet know how he was going to do it, but he was certain he could come up with something.  At that moment his biggest concern was making sure that Jack did not find out, because his friend would undoubtedly want to help.

An excited Jack returned to the spot where Matthew was sitting.  “Hey, guess what I found?”

“What?” Matthew responded.  Then he remembered what Jack was looking for and immediately regretted his decision.

Words spilled from his mouth.  “There’s some stone stuff over in the corner in this fenced-off area and—”

“It’s not the cave.”

“Well how do you know?  You’re not even helping to look.”

“I can’t,” Matthew said.  He did not add, “I’m looking for something else.”

A poem of mine modeled after Ernest Thayer’s “Casey at the Bat” appeared today in the Minneapolis Star Tribune.  Unfortunately, due to space constraints, they were unable to print the work in its entirety.  Here is the full poem:

Nathan on the Mound: A Ballad of the Republic Sung in 2009

The outlook wasn’t perfect for the Laketown ten that day;
The score stood four to two, but with three innings left to play.
And then when Punto popped up short, and Young was out at home
A most familiar muttering was heard throughout the Dome.

Even then a few fans left, to be looked at askance.
The rest remain’ed in their seats, for they believed in chance.
Insurance or no insurance, they would stick around
Just in case Joe Nathan got a chance to take the mound.

But Nathan was the closer; before him, Guerrier and Crain.
And the former was beleaguered and the latter was in pain.
So from that diehard audience excitement now did bleed.
It seemed not at all likely that Joe Nathan’d get the lead.

But there was something mystical that day in Guerrier’s stance.
And Crain he swore to heav’n above he’d let no man advance.
And when the turf had quieted, and all was said and told
There was Guerrier with three flipped K’s, and Crain received a Hold.

From 20,000 throats and more there rose a thund’rous roar.
‘Twas one that always would arise, regardless of the score.
It echoed off that Teflon dome and shook the very ground,
For Nathan, mighty Nathan, was advancing to the mound.

There was grit in Nathan’s bearing.  There was grit upon his face.
There was grit in ev’ry step he made to gravely take his place.
And when, responding to the crowd, he gave a gentle wave
There could be doubt in no one’s mind; Joe Nathan’d get the save.

Twenty thousand mouths yelled out when he ground ball in glove.
Twelve thousand eyes were on him (to see better, some did shove).
And when the condemned batter stepped into the batter’s box
A smile sprung from Nathan’s lips; he’d beat those damn White Sox.

Now Mauer tried to call for heat, but Nathan shook him off.
“Use my best stuff?  Against this guy?” he fairly seemed to scoff.
And from his pitches that poor batter nearly had to jump.
“That’d be too easy,” Nathan said.  “A walk,” declared the ump.

Then from the stands there rose a noise, like some great devil’s song.
Sure, the call was obvious, but the ump’s always wrong.
“Sue him!  Sue the umpire!” one blustering man said.
And he would’ve seen some lawsuits, had not Nathan shook his head.

A smile of benevolence went out from Nathan’s face.
Where is the challenge in a save, without some men on base?
He got the crowd to settle down, ended the nasty calls.
And pitched to the next batter.  Said the umpire: “Base on balls.”

“Cheat!” the angry fans exclaimed.  “He’s on Guillen’s payroll!”
But one stern look from Nathan and they swallowed their words whole
They saw the smile leave his lips, his hubris drain away,
And knew that he would let no more men get on base that day.

Now Nathan blows out his cheeks, looks like a thoroughbred.
He grinds the ball into his glove until it must be dead.
And now Joe Nathan holds the ball, and now he lets it go.
The clocking man’s astonished, for his gun reads: one-oh-oh.

Oh, somewhere in this land of lakes the people see the sun.
Air fills with scents of barbeque, and children races run.
And somewhere life is filled with song, and somewhere hearts aren’t grave.
But there is no joy in Laketown—mighty Nathan blew the save.

“This is all my fault!” Jess sobbed
“I caused all that train fuss
A change I made to Cloud’s ID’s
What set them on to us”

Cloud sighed, let Tifa console
Barret stifled a groan
All of them were thinking:
“Oh right. Jess. We should have known”

“Sorry,” Jess choked. “This mission
I did not want to blow
See, I—” but Cloud stopped her
“No thanks. I don’t want to know”

Soon they tracked down Wedge and Biggs
Said, “We’ll leave Jess to you”
Maybe not the best choice?
They had better things to do

That problem taken care of
They promptly resumed their route
But when they fin’lly reached the core
Cloud started freaking out

As Cloud fainted, Barret asked
“Man, what’s wrong with this guy?
Is he sick or something?”
Tifa said, “Wish I knew why”

This week’s puzzle:

A poor joke-teller travels the world looking for something that was taken from him, but he never asks people for help. Meanwhile, his son joins a rebellious gang and is nearly killed when a sabotage plan goes horribly wrong.

Last week’s puzzle:

A businessman gets held up on a trip when his customers insist that he stay longer. He ends up leaving something behind, and an old friend goes to pick it up, but by the time the friend comes back he’s already got a replacement.

And the answer is . . . ▼

They once traveled in flocks a mile wide
No one thought their numbers could subside
Soon there were all too few
In an Ohio zoo
Martha, the passenger pigeon, died