The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(132)

However, being able to see Alice for only a few fleeting moments each day tormented Dodgson, and, after grappling with his secret pain for a year, Christmas 1863 seemed to give him the perfect pretext to present her with the manuscript he had written for her, provisionally entitled Alice’s Adventures Under Ground. At the insistence of the girls, above all Alice, who threatened to stop eating until she was a hundred if they didn’t let her accept her present, the Liddells were obliged to relent, although there was nothing to prevent them from receiving the young professor with unimaginable coldness. But Dodgson would not let himself be deterred by such an inauspicious beginning. He had gone to the Liddells’ house with a definite aim, and he was determined to carry it through. And so, at some point during the afternoon, between pitiful stammers and nervous digressions, he posed the following question to the self-righteous Mr. Liddell and the horrified Mrs. Liddell: “Might it be p-possible, s-seven or eight years from now, when Alice is a woman, and assuming she reciprocates my feelings, for you to consider, er . . . a u-union between us?” Despite Dodgson’s good intentions and the genuineness of his feelings, the effect was the same as if he had collected a barrow of cow dung and emptied it over them. And so the Liddells, who dreamed of marrying their pretty daughters into the aristocracy, if possible to someone of royal descent, replied without even conferring: “Never.” It was clear that never before had they agreed so firmly about anything.

Everyone acknowledged that, of all the blunders Dodgson had made in his life, this was undoubtedly his greatest. After Dodgson’s outrageous proposal of marriage, Mrs. Liddell resolutely forbade any more communal boat trips, or indeed any meeting that didn’t take place under her strict surveillance. Even so, during the months that followed, Dodgson remained hopeful that things would go back to normal. With childlike na?veté, he was convinced their golden afternoons would return, that summer would survive the onset of autumn, and he clung to those ideas, continuing to impart his lectures as best he could, yet increasingly prey to resentment and apathy. And where five years before the Wellses had wondered what they would have done without their young friend, now it was Dodgson’s turn to wonder what would have become of him without his friends from the Other Side. Wells and Jane strove to watch over him and, to cheer him up, reminded him that in the world they came from his love for Alice had overcome far greater obstacles. However, Dodgson would listen with a rueful smile before saying, “My dear sprites, I fear that in this theater the play will end very differently for me.” Fortunately, his revision of the manuscript of Alice’s adventures, and his search for a publisher, kept him occupied for a time. At last, on July 4, 1865, the third anniversary of the golden afternoon on which it was invented, The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland was published by Macmillan under the pseudonym Lewis Carroll. On that same day, Alice Liddell received her copy. And Dodgson waited anxiously for a thank-you letter that never came.

However, he scarcely had time to feel sorry for himself, for he was swept away by the overnight success of his book by a tide of literary events and public receptions, which once again kept him busy. It also allowed the Wellses to reflect further about the matter that for the past few weeks had been occupying their minds, and about which they had said nothing to Dodgson for fear it would plunge him even deeper into despair. If the roles they were acting out on that stage coincided in time with the world they came from, the following year, on September 21, 1866, to be precise, a baby boy named Herbert George Wells would be born in Bromley, and six years later a baby girl called Amy Catherine Robbins, who would be Wells’s pupil and then his wife. And for some reason they were still unable to fathom, the Wellses felt duty-bound to remain as close as they could to their twins, who would soon take to the stage. They could find no logical justification for such a profound conviction, unless their gift for observation, which had so far served the sole purpose of driving them crazy, was warning them about something their conscious minds were unaware of. Taking advantage of the fact that the queen herself had sent a letter congratulating Dodgson on his wonderful book, and that this had perked him up a bit, the Wellses resolved to tell him their plans, a little nervous that he might not respond well to being abandoned. But once more their friend surprised them. He encouraged them to move to London at the first opportunity and even declared that he might go with them. “Yes, w-why not?” he said, a flash of excitement in his eyes. “I’ve had enough of all this, of teaching math to a lot of impudent young men, of being pressured by Liddell . . . Why, I’m the famous Lewis Carroll! I can devote myself to writing. And you, George, might try to find a post at the Normal School of Science, where your young twin will study, assuming he follows in your footsteps . . . Just imagine that! You his teacher, a witness to or even the architect of his intellectual coming-of-age! . . . London, the great capital, far away from the meadows and our golden afternoons . . . Yes, I b-believe that would be for the best . . .”

The Wellses also believed it would, but their belief was genuine.

This being the case, the three friends concurred that when Dodgson returned from a trip to Europe and Russia, which he had promised to go on with his friend the Reverend Henry Liddon, they would arrange his move to London without delay.

But Dodgson never returned.

One windy November evening, two months after baby Wells came into the world, Professor Dodgson informed Reverend Liddon, with whom he had just had supper in the sumptuous dining room aboard the ship that was ferrying them home to England, that he needed to take a little air before retiring to his cabin. Liddon warned him that this might not be such a good idea, as the sea was quite rough. “Oh, I have very good reasons to think that my death won’t occur for another thirty-two years, my friend,” said Dodgson; he grinned at him mysteriously and began to leave the dining room. “Not that way,” Liddon told him, “the other way.” Dodgson observed both exits, and then his blue eyes settled on the reverend once more. “When you don’t know where you are going, any path will do,” he said with bitterness, before walking out of the dining room, leaving behind his notebook, which had been with him throughout the trip. Shaking his head, Liddon picked up the notebook to leaf through it while he finished his coffee. In it Dodgson had described, with a child’s enchanted gaze, all the palaces, museums, theaters, churches, and synagogues they had seen over the past months. Reading those words, Liddon felt as though he had spent the entire trip blindfolded. He slipped the notebook into his pocket, meaning to return it to his friend the following morning; only Dodgson did not show up at breakfast time. After a thorough search of the entire ship, it was concluded he must have fallen overboard. Reverend Liddon stood for a long while on deck, staring at the grey waters, imagining Dodgson on the seabed, telling stories to fish and enchanting mermaids with his syllogisms.