The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(22)
And so, when the audience had left the hall, shaking their heads at the gibberish they’d heard, and Symmes, with the helpless air of a drowning man, began to collect the drawings he had used to illustrate his lecture, Reynolds approached the chubby-faced speaker, congratulated him on his lecture, and offered to help him gather up his things. The delighted lecturer accepted, eager to go on spouting his ideas to this unexpected listener that Fate had sent his way. Reynolds soon found out that after the captain had quit the army, he had spent ten years traveling around the country like a zealous preacher, proclaiming his theory from every kind of pulpit, greeted with either roars of laughter or pitying smiles.
“The evidence substantiating my theory is overwhelming,” Symmes declared as he took down the drawings he had placed on various easels. “What else causes hurricanes and tornados if not the air sucked into the polar openings? And why do thousands of tropical birds migrate north in winter?”
Reynolds saw these as rhetorical questions and let them dissolve like snowflakes. He was not sure whether Symmes was saying that the migrating birds flew into the polar openings in order to nest inside the Earth, or something completely different, but either way he did not care. He decided to nod enthusiastically, pretending to listen to Symmes’s grating voice while he feverishly examined the jumble of papers, maps, illustrations, and charts with which the captain tried to give his ideas some credence. Most of them looked like serious articles, many by scientists of renown, and he regretted that the champion of all this eccentric knowledge was this clumsy, buffoonish little man. He imagined that he could give the project the veneer of credibility that was lacking from Symmes’s sideshow routine. Yes, Reynolds said to himself as he contemplated the drawings, perhaps the Hollow Earth theory was true after all.
“Not forgetting the numerous allusions in ancient myths to places in the Earth’s interior,” the captain added, studying the young man’s response. “Surely you have heard of Atlantis or the Kingdom of Agartha, my boy.”
Reynolds nodded absentmindedly: he had found Trevor Glynn’s drawings. He studied the annotations and intricate calculations jotted in the margins. They gave such an accurate account of the distances between the various deposits, the different access routes, the approximate quantities of minerals, and the geological and topographical data that it was easy to picture Glynn himself having charted the territory, strolling through those hidden caverns wielding a pencil. And Reynolds understood in a flash that this was not about believing or not, but simply about taking a chance or not. He decided there and then to take a chance on the Hollow Earth theory. He would believe in it in the same childish way he believed in God: if God turned out not to be true, the consequences of having believed in Him would no doubt be less terrible than if God did exist and Reynolds had declared himself an atheist. Even so, it was easier for Reynolds to believe in the Hollow Earth theory, for if he believed in anything at all, he believed in destiny, and it was destiny that had made him walk into the lecture hall that afternoon. He reflected about all of this, trying to blot out Symmes’s droning voice. If there was a world to discover, he was not going to waste time arguing over its existence. He would leave that to others; he had decided to take a chance on the Hollow Earth, and he would simply go to look for it. After all, the only thing he had to lose was his detestable life. And so it could be said that when he walked into a crowded lecture hall that afternoon, Reynolds discovered the hitherto elusive meaning of his life. And he had no choice but to embrace it with open arms.
Symmes’s voice interrupted his meditations.
“However,” he said, unsure whether this stranger deserved to be the beneficiary of his wisdom, of all the things he did not share with his audiences, “those are not the main reasons why I am sure the Earth is hollow.”
“Really?”
“No, it is purely a matter of thrift, my boy,” Symmes replied smugly. “Just as our bones are hollow, the idea of making the Earth hollow in order to save on materials cannot have escaped the attention of our Creator.”
Reynolds managed to conceal his scorn at such a stupid argument and instead put on the face of someone confronted with the indisputable proof that an entire civilization inhabited the center of the planet, an expression that, naturally enough, satisfied the ex–army officer’s expectations. The young man gave him a sidelong glance, which was not without compassion. He realized that, at least for the moment, if he wanted to carry out his plan, he would have to humor this ridiculous little man. Reynolds knew next to nothing about the Hollow Earth and could certainly benefit from Symmes’s knowledge and contacts, although he had already begun to sense the likely hazards of any association with him. At any rate, it was too soon to be thinking about that now. If later on it became necessary to rid himself of Symmes, he did not imagine it would be all that difficult.
And so, the very next day, Reynolds sold his shares in the Spectator, the Wilmington newspaper of which he was editor, and, free as a bird, joined Symmes in his crusade, adopting the ex–army man’s dream as though it were his own. They spent almost a year traveling around the country like a pair of evangelists heralding a weird and wonderful world that lay undiscovered, although, thanks to Reynolds’s skillful improvements, their arguments were far better thought out and more engaging. However, time after time Symmes’s ravings and eccentricities thwarted Reynolds’s efforts to make their project credible, for he was incapable of sticking to the agreed formula, or, in any case, of keeping his mouth shut. Even so, the would-be explorer tried not to give in to his despair and concentrated on carrying out the alternative plan he had elaborated behind his companion’s back. He soon knew everything there was to know about the various Hollow Earth theories and was able to distinguish which ones the public would find most appealing and easy to digest and which would interest the powerful officials whom he was intent on seducing. Encouraged by his progress, Reynolds busied himself furiously for several months, sending missives to his fellow journalists, arranging meetings with politicians, calling in every favor owed him, leaving no stone unturned in his search for funding. Gradually he succeeded in making people in different circles begin to speak of the Hollow Earth as a scientific theory, perhaps one whose inconsistencies still raised a few eyebrows, but which was certainly respectable enough not to be greeted with the usual hoots of laughter. Provided Symmes did not turn up and ruin everything, naturally.