Mason & Dixon

by Thomas Pynchon

“Then as we’ve no choice, I may speak freely and share with you some of my darker Sentiments. Suppose Maskelyne’s a French Spy. Suppose a secret force of Jesuits, receives each Day a summary of Observations made at Greenwich, and transcalculates it according to a system known to the Kabbalists of the Second Century as Gematria, whereby Messages may be extracted from lines of Text sacred and otherwise, a Knowledge preserv’d by various Custodians over the centuries, and since the Last, possess’d by Jesuit and Freemason alike. The Dispute over Bradley’s Obs, then, as over Flamsteed’s before him, would keep ever as their unspoken intention that the Numbers nocturnally obtain’d be set side by side, and arrang’d into Lines, like those of a Text, manipulated till a Message be reveal’d.” “Bit sophisticated for me. Tho’ I don’t mind a likely Conspiracy, I prefer it be form’d in the interests of Trade,— the mystickal sort you fancy is fair beyond me, I’m but a simple son of the Pit.” “ ‘Trade.’— Aha. You heard me mention Jesuits,— so now you’re making veil’d allusions to the East India Company, in response,— I do see, yes . . . Drivel, of course.” “Come, Sir, can you not sense here, there, just ’round the corner, the pattering feet and swift Hands of John Company, the Lanthorns of the East . . . ? the scent of fresh Coriander, the whisper of a Sarong . . . ?” “Sari,” corrects Mason. “Not at all Sir,— ’twas I who was sarong.”