The Map of Time (Trilogía Victoriana #1)(154)

But do not think of dirigibles firing at one another to see who could burst the enemy’s hydrogen balloons first. Man had conquered the skies with a flying machine that was heavier than air, similar to the one Verne had envisaged in his novel Robur the Conqueror, only these were not made of papier-maché glued together, and they dropped bombs.

Death came from above now, announcing its arrival with a terrifying whistle. And although, because of complex alliances, seventy different countries had been drawn into the atrocious war, in no time England was the only country left standing, while the rest of the world contemplated, astonished, the birth of a new order. Intent on breaking England’s resistance, Germany subjected our country to a remorseless bombardment, which, while to begin with it was confined to airfields and harbors (in keeping with the curious code of honor that sometimes underlies acts of war) soon spread to the cities. After several nights of repeated bombing, our beloved London was reduced to smoking rubble, from which the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral emerged miraculously, the embodiment of our invincible spirit. Yes, England resisted, and even counterattacked with brief sallies over German territory. One of these left the historic town Lübeck, on the banks of the River Trave partially destroyed.

In angry retaliation, the Germans decided to increase their attacks twofold. Even so, Alice and I felt relatively safe in Norwich, a town of no strategic interest whatsoever. Except that Norwich had been blessed with three stars in the celebrated Baedeker guide, and this was the one Germany consulted when it resolved to destroy our historical heritage.

Karl Baedeker’s guide recommended visiting its Romanesque cathedral, its twelfth-century castle as well as its many churches, but the German chancellor preferred to drop bombs on them.

The intrusion of the war took us by surprise as we listened to Bishop Helmore’s sermon in the cathedral.

Sensing it would be one of the enemy’s prime targets, the bishop urged us to flee the house of God, and while some people chose to remain—whether because they were paralyzed by fear or because their faith convinced them there could be no safer refuge, I do not know—I grabbed Alice’s hand and dragged her towards the exit, fighting my way through the terrified crowd blocking the nave. We got outside just as the first wave of bombs began to fall. How can I describe such horror to you? Perhaps by saying that the wrath of God pales beside that of man. People fled in panic in all directions, even as the force of the bombs ripped into the earth, toppling buildings and shaking the air with the roar of thunder. The world fell down around us, torn to shreds. I tried to find a safe place, but all I could think of as I ran hand in hand with Alice through the mounting destruction was of how little we valued human life in the end.

Then, in the middle of all that frenzied running, I began to feel a familiar dizziness stealing over me. My head began to throb, everything around me became blurred, and I realized what was about to happen. Instantaneously, I stopped our frantic dash and asked Alice to grip my hands as tightly as she could. She looked at me, puzzled, but did as I said, and as reality dissolved and my body became weightless for a third time, I gritted my teeth and tried to take her with me. I had no idea where I was going, but I was not prepared to leave her behind the way I had left Jane, my life, and everything that was dear to me. The sensations that subsequently overtook me were the same as before: I felt myself float upwards for a split second, leaving my body then returning to it, slipping back between my bones, except that this time I could feel the warm sensation of someone else’s hands in mine. I opened my eyes, blinking sluggishly, struggling not to vomit. I beamed with joy when I saw Alice’s hands still clasping mine. Small, delicate hands I would cover with grateful kisses after we made love, hands joined to slender forearms covered in a delightful golden down. The only part of her I had managed to bring with me.

I buried Alice’s hands in the garden where I appeared in the Norwich of 1982, which did not look as if it had ever been shelled, except for the monument to the dead in the middle of one of its squares. There I discovered Alice’s name, among the many others, although I always wondered whether it was the war that killed her, or Otto Lidenbrock, the man who loved her. In any event, it was something I was condemned to live with, for I had leapt into the future to escape the bombs. Another forty years: that seemed to be as far as I could jump.

The world I now found myself was apparently wiser, intent on forging its own identity and displaying its playful, innovative spirit in every aspect of life. Yes, this was an arrogant world that celebrated its achievements with a child’s jubilant pride, and yet it was a peaceful world where war was a painful memory, a shameful recognition that human nature had a terrible side which had to be concealed, if only under a fa?ade of politeness. The world had been forced to rebuild itself, and it had been then, while clearing the rubble and gathering up the dead, while putting up new buildings and sticking bridges back together again, patching up the holes that war had wreaked on his soul and his lineage that man had become brutally aware of what had happened, had suddenly realized that everything which had seemed rational at first had become irrational, like a ball in which the music stops. I could not help rejoicing: the zeal with which those around me condemned their grandfathers” actions convinced me there would be no more wars like the one I had lived through. And I will tell you I was also right about that. Man can learn, Bertie, even if, as with circus animals, it has to be beaten into him.

In any event, I had to start again from scratch, to build another wretched life from the very beginning. I left Norwich, where I had no ties, and went back to London, where, after being astounded by the advances of science, I tried to find a job that might be suitable for a man from the Victorian age going by the name of Harry Grant. Was I doomed, then, to wander through time, floating from one period to another like a leaf blown in the wind, alone forever? No, things would be different this time. I was alone, yes, but I knew I would not be lonely for very long. I had a future appointment to keep, one that did not require me to travel in time again. This future was close enough for me to wait until it came to me.