Eco: Foucalt's Pendulum eco foucault (highly illogical behavior txt) 📖

again, when Icame upon a man looking down over the railing, someone I seemed torecognize. The face was wrinkled and pale, the hair white, the lookowlish. But the clothes were not right¡XI had seen that facebefore, above some uniform. It was like meeting, after many years,a priest now in civilian clothes, or a Capuchin without a beard.The man looked back at me, also hesitating. As usually happens insuch situations, there was some fencing of furtive glances beforehe took the initiative and greeted me in Italian. Suddenly I couldpicture him in his usual dress: if he had been wearing a longyellow smock, he would have been Signer Salon: A. Salon,taxidermist. His laboratory was next door to my office on thecorridor of the former factory building where I was the Marlowe ofculture. I had encountered him at times on the stairs, and we hadnodded to each other.

"Strange," he said,holding out his hand. "We have been fellow-tenants for so long, andwe introduce ourselves in the bowels of the earth a thousand milesaway."

We exchanged a fewpolite remarks. I got the impression that he knew exactly what Idid, which was an achievement of sorts, since I wasn't sure myself."How do you happen to be in a technological museum? I thought yourpublishing firm was concerned with more spiritualthings."

"How did you knowthat?"

"Oh"¡Xhe gesturedvaguely¡X"people talk, I have many customers..."

"What sort of people goto a taxidermist?"

"You are thinking, likeeveryone else, that it's not an ordinary profession. But I do notlack for customers, and I have all kinds: museums, privatecollectors."

"I don't often seestuffed animals in people's homes," I said.

"No? It depends on thehomes you visit...Or the cellars."

"Stuffed animals arekept in cellars?"

"Some people keep themin cellars. Not all creches are in the light of the sun or themoon. I'm suspicious of such customers, but you know how it is: ajob is a job...I'm suspicious of everythingunderground."

"Then why are youstrolling in tunnels?"

"I'm checking. Idistrust the underground world, but I want to understand it. Therearen't many opportunities. The Roman catacombs, you'll say. Nomystery there, too many tourists, and everything is under thecontrol of the Church. And then there are the sewers ofParis...Have you been? They can be visited on Monday, Wednesday,and the last Saturday of every month. But that's another touristattraction. Naturally, there are catacombs in Paris, too, andcaves. Not to mention the Metro. Have you ever been to 145 rueLafayette?''

"I must confess Ihaven't."

"It's a bit out of theway, between Gare de 1'Est and Gare du Nord. An unremarkablebuilding at first sight. But if you look at it more closely, yourealize that though the door looks wooden, it is actually paintediron, and the windows appear to belong to rooms unoccupied forcenturies. People walk past and don't know the truth."

"What is thetruth?"

"That the house is fake.It's a facade, an enclosure with no room, no interior. It is reallya chimney, a ventilation flue that serves to release the vapors ofthe regional Metro. And once you know this, you feel you arestanding at the mouth of the underworld: if you could penetratethose walls, you would have access to subterranean Paris. I havehad occasion to spend hours and hours in front of that door thatconceals the door of doors, the point of departure for the journeyto the center of the earth. Why do you think they madeit?"

"To ventilate the Metro,as you said."

"A few ducts would havebeen enough for that. No, when I see those subterranean passages,my suspicions are aroused. Do you know why?"

As he spoke of darkness,he seemed to give off light. I asked him why his suspicions werearoused.

"Because if the Mastersof the World exist, they can only be underground: this is a truththat all sense but few dare utter. Perhaps the only man bold enoughto say it in print was Saint-Yves d'Alveydre. You knowhim?"

I may have heard thename mentioned by one of our Diabolicals, but I wasn'tsure.

"He is the one who toldus about Agarttha, the underground headquarters of the King of theWorld, the occult center of the Synarchy," the taxidermist said."He had no fear; he felt sure of himself. But all those who spokeout after him were eliminated, because they knew toomuch."

As we walked along thetunnel, Signer Salon cast nervous glances at the mouths of newpassageways, as if in those shadows he was seeking confirmation ofhis suspicions.

"Have you ever wonderedwhy in the last century all the great metropolises hastened tobuild subways?''

"To solve trafficproblems?"

"Before there wereautomobiles, when there were only horse-drawn carriages? From a manof your intelligence I would have expected a more perceptiveexplanation."

"You haveone?"

"Perhaps," Signor Salonsaid, and he looked pensive, absent. The conversation died. Then hesaid that he had to be running along. But, after shaking my hand,he lingered another few seconds, as if struck by a thought."Apropos, that colonel¡Xwhat was his name?¡Xthe one who came toGaramond some time ago to talk to you about a Templartreasure...have you had any news of him?''

It was like a slap inthe face, this brutal and indiscreet display of knowledge aboutsomething I considered private and buried.

I wanted to ask him howhe knew, but I was afraid. I confined myself to saying, in anindifferent tone, "Oh, that old story. I'd forgotten all about it.But apropos: why did you say apropos?"

"Did I say that? Ah,yes, well, it seemed to me he had discovered something,underground..."

"How do youknow?"

"I really can't say. Ican't remember who spoke to me about it. A customer, perhaps. Butmy curiosity is always aroused when the underground world isinvolved. The little manias of old age. Good evening."

He went off, and I stoodthere, to ponder the meaning of this encounter.

52

In certain regions ofthe Himalayas, among the twenty-two temples that represent thetwenty-two Arcana of Hermes and the twenty-two letters of somesacred alphabets, Agarttha forms the mystic Zero, which cannot befound...A colossal chessboard that extends beneath the earth,through almost all the regions of the Globe.

¡XSaint-Yves d'Alveydre,Mission de I'lnde en Europe, Paris, Calmann Levy, 1886, pp. 54 and65

When I got back, I toldthe story to Belbo and Diotallevi, and we ventured varioushypotheses. Perhaps Salon, a gossiping eccentric who dabbled inmysteries, had happened to meet Ar-denti, and that was the wholestory. Unless Salon knew something about