The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(146)

He began working day and night on the map, which he decided to call the Great Mathematical Map of Inexorable Chaos. Jane thought the name sounded rather pompous, but Wells was adamant: if this was to be his magnum opus, one that would enable him to go down in history as the Savior of Humanity, the title should reflect that importance. He soon became absorbed in the Herculean task, and once more it was Jane’s task to look after him, as she had during the dark days: making sure he ate, washed, and had enough sleep, besides bolstering his enthusiasm each time he started to flag. Such commitment forced them to sacrifice their beloved sessions in front of the fire as well, for by the time evening came Wells was so exhausted he scarcely had the strength to drag himself to bed.

And while he was shut away in his study, grappling with contradictory formulas, reaching conclusions that rendered all previous ones void, and lamenting bitterly that Dodgson wasn’t there to help him, Jane would take refuge, in her quiet moments, in the cozy little study she had made for herself in one of the spare rooms. Sitting at her desk, where there was always a vase of freshly cut roses, she would spend a few hours every day trying to alleviate her loneliness. She and Wells had decided that she would help revise each chapter, which would require the fresh insight of a mind uncontaminated by the tortuous process of calculating and writing. Otherwise, she would devote herself to solving the no less important domestic aspects of life, so that Wells could work on his magnum opus without interruption. For the first time in many years, this division of labor forced them to remain sadly apart for several hours a day, although I would be lying, dear reader, if I didn’t tell you that, during those hours of solitude, Jane also felt contentment. True, she missed her husband dreadfully, despite their being separated only by a partition wall, for the bond between them was so close they had ended up becoming a single entity. Jane experienced her husband’s absence in every fiber of her being as an unpleasant sensation, like leaving her coat and hat at home on a particularly breezy day. And yet, that discomfort would occasionally turn into an exhilarating feeling of freedom, as if, once she had accepted the inevitable oversight, she had no choice but to brace herself against the wind as she felt it freeze her face and tousle her hair.

However, her husband did not appear to cope so well with those forced separations. Ever since his wife had told him she was planning to make a study for herself in one of their spare rooms, Wells had resolved to spend part of his very limited and valuable spare time trying to discover exactly what his wife was doing in there. Direct questioning had failed, because she merely replied with a shrug. Joshing hadn’t worked either. “Are you drawing pictures of animals in there?” he had once asked, but Jane hadn’t laughed the way she usually did when he said that. Her silence was tomb-like, and since torture was not an option, Wells had been forced to resort to surprise incursions. And so he had discovered that Jane went into her study to write. In fact, this wasn’t much of a discovery, as he could almost have worked it out without having to go in there. She was hardly likely to use the room for breeding rabbits, practicing devil worship, or dancing naked. Besides, she had half jokingly threatened him with it. Now all he had to do was find out what she was writing.

“Oh, nothing of any interest,” Jane replied, quickly hiding the sheets of paper in her desk drawer, the lock of which Wells had unsuccessfully tried to force open. “I’ll let you read it once it’s finished.”

Once it was finished . . . That meant nothing. What if it was never finished? What if for some reason she decided not to finish it? What if the world came to an end first? If it did, he would never know what Jane had been doing during the three or four hours she spent in her study every day. Was she writing a diary? Or perhaps a recipe book? But why be so cagey about a recipe book?

“One of the things I most hate in life is couples who keep secrets from each other,” Wells said, being deliberately dramatic.

“I thought what you most hated was the fact that no one has invented an electric razor yet,” Jane chuckled. She went on talking to him as she took his arm and led him toward the door, trying not to give the impression she was getting rid of him. “But don’t be such a grouch. What does it matter what I write? Your work is the important thing, Bertie, so stop wasting your time spying on me and get writing.”

After shrugging a few times, Wells went down to the ground floor, where he hid away in his study. There he contemplated the sheaf of blank pages before him, where he had proposed to record all his hard-earned wisdom, everything he had seen. He reached for his pen, ready to begin his “crowning work,” as Jane had called it, while the sounds from the street and the neighboring park seeped in through his window, noises from a world that went by immersed in the smug satisfaction of believing it was unique . . . and safe from harm.

? ? ?

IT TOOK WELLS ALMOST a year to finish the book, which—after several prunings that extended even to the pretentious title—ended up being called simply The Map of Chaos. By the time Jane had revised the final pages and given her husband’s mathematical extravaganza her approval, the year was 1897 in their adopted world. They had arrived there four decades ago, and a lot had changed since then. The two sprites now looked like an elderly couple approaching a hundred (although Wells had just turned seventy and Jane sixty-five), and indeed that is what they felt like: extremely old and tired. The past year had been very difficult for them both. Neither had connected with any of their twins during those many months, for nearly all their time and energy had been devoted to the colossal task of creating The Map of Chaos. Besides, neither Wells nor Jane wanted to see how the epidemic and the cruel extermination of those infected was running its course. It would only have made them more anxious. If the end of the world took place before they finished the map, they would soon know about it, for they doubted whether the cosmic explosions caused by infinite worlds colliding would go unnoticed. But finish it they had. And, for the time being at least, the universe was still in one piece.