MOEBIUS TORUS

"Rich, what are you doing?"

I had, spread out on a drafting table, dozens of sheets of paper, post-its,
and napkins. They all had bizarre diagrams and equations on them, which it
looked like I'd scribbled while fleeing.

What the hell is all this about,?" he said, "They already proved Fermat."

"Bah. This has nothing to do with that. Besides, I know Fermat had a much
more elegant proof in mind than Wiles' monstrosity. I know it."

"You've been talking to Ludwig again, haven't you?"

"Huh?" I looked up from my scribblings. Howard, is there anything in the
rules that says you can't promote a pawn to a piece from another game, say,
the spy in Stratego."

"That's stupid. You can see all the pieces."

"A bomb? The Monopoly shoe?"

"To what end, exactly?"

"To rattle one's opponent, of course."

"Of course."

"Remember we used to play with coins cause we kept breaking pieces? What if
I promoted to a Mercury dime, or a 1909 S VDB penny? And what if none could
be found? How about that upside- down stamp, eh? Eh? Think that'd force a
stalemate, smart guy??!!

"You're losing it."

"I'm promoting to Shakespeare's signature. J'adoube, motherfucker."

"Way far gone." He shook his head.

"No, check this out." I brought him around to my side of the table.

"The fuck is that?"

"It's a Moebius torus. Like it?"

"You're nuts, Rich. You twist a torus, you get a pretzel. By the way, we're
out of mustard."

"Fuck." I tore up three sheets of paper.

"No, you're thinking way too Euclidean. The twist doesn't occur in
threespace at all."

"Huh? You've lost it."

I said to myself while making another scribbling, "It all hinges on the
uniqueness of the number two YES!"

"No."

"No?"

"You're an idiot. Moebius torus. Get a life, get a pretzel. I can draw that
map in four colors."

"Five."

"Six." He took a step closer.

"Eight."

"Eleven." Closer still.

"Thirteen."

"Draw that map."

"I've been trying, but they just hang up on me when I call 1-800-Crayola and
try to explain why I must have crayons designed to these specifications,
which I very courteously faxed them." I handed him a page of equations. "And
no fucking salmon. I want roygbiv and no bullshit."

"Why are you so worked up over this?"

"What if I promoted to a mytholo--"

"That's it. You've lost it. Good night."

"You'll read about this one day."

"I already have. Isn't this how 'The Tell-Tale Heart' begins?"

I cackled and phoned up the Chudnovskys.

"Boys," I said, "let's talk."

RICHH
--2115, I just need that edge