The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(23)

One evening, while Symmes was celebrating what he considered his latest triumph, and Reynolds his latest act of sabotage, Reynolds finally accepted that the ex–army officer had a serious problem with alcohol. As usual, they had spent the day revealing the mysteries of the Hollow Earth to anyone who cared to listen, and now, with several beers in front of them, it was time to show each other the far simpler workings of their minds. Or at least that is what Symmes liked to engage in at the end of their evening repast, while his companion listened with a mixture of compassion and exasperation. For the past few nights, as the drink loosened Symmes’s tongue, Reynolds had watched him become more and more bogged down in the miasma of his own illusions, which he soon labeled delusions. Symmes appeared to him increasingly pathetic, but also an increasing threat to Reynolds’s plans. Symmes had imagined the subterranean world in the minutest detail, and the result was a kind of utopian sanctuary where happiness was in the very air and there were none of the torments that plagued men on the Earth’s surface. In short, a world where it was impossible not to be happy, whose marvels Symmes described to him night after night with the feverish look of a man about to die, with his gaze already fixed on the joys of Heaven.

However, the night in question, which started out like any other, took a turn that allowed Reynolds to understand the full extent of his companion’s insanity. Leaning sideways precariously in his chair, tankard in hand, his speech slurred, Symmes admitted that the reason he was able to imagine so clearly what the subterranean world looked like, and why he was so adamant that what was beneath their feet was exactly as he had described it and not otherwise, was because he had been there himself. The ex–army officer’s sudden revelation naturally took Reynolds by surprise, and he listened in astonishment to Symmes’s fantastical account of how he had traveled to the center of the Earth.

Unfortunately, to tell it in the same amount of detail as Symmes did would distract from our main story, so I shall limit myself to stating briefly that the alleged event took place in 1814 during the war against the British. The regiment under Symmes’s command had been ambushed, and it soon became clear to officers and men alike that there was no sense in giving or obeying orders, that it was each man for himself. Pursued by two British soldiers, Symmes hid in a cave he came across. After wandering deep inside it for hours, he discovered a small staircase that appeared to lead to the center of the Earth. Descending it, he had found a beautiful domed city straight out of The Thousand and One Nights, as was the story he was now telling the stunned Reynolds. This included a romance with a beautiful princess of the realm, a palace mutiny, a revolution, and finally a hasty escape that left behind the aforementioned princess dying of love. And as Symmes ended his story, weeping bitter tears for the loss of his beloved Litina, princess of the subterranean kingdom of Milmor, Reynolds felt a sickening shiver run down his spine: he realized he had to get rid of the little fellow as soon as possible or he would never be able to achieve his goal. But that was easier said than done, for Symmes, despite his pathetic behavior, also had sudden flashes of inspiration, and during one of these had made them both sign a declaration that they would travel together to the center of the Earth, prohibiting either of them from embarking upon such a venture alone, unless one party predeceased the other. Now that he knew how difficult the little man was to handle, Reynolds could not help kicking himself for having signed it.

In the days that followed, not a moment went by when he did not wonder how he might get rid of Symmes. His companion was steadily drinking more, even during the day, and particularly before the lectures, as though he thought it would improve his oratory. And Reynolds was in a continual state of anxiety, fearful that Symmes would choose one of their meetings or lectures to reveal his idiotic personal story to the world, turning them into the laughingstock of the country. The only solution Reynolds could think of, since doing away with Symmes personally was out of the question, even for an amoral being such as he, was to limit the damage as much as possible. He began to arrange meetings behind Symmes’s back and even encouraged him to drink more during the day, in order to keep him in a state of compliant semiconsciousness. This enabled him to go alone to the lectures, leaving Symmes asleep in his hotel room.

And then, one day, the opportunity he had been waiting for finally arrived. Reynolds was in the middle of a meeting with two senators in his hotel room when Symmes suddenly turned up in his underwear, drunk as a lord, and, kneeling before the two illustrious gentlemen, begged them to sponsor the project, to give his friend and him some money. He explained that at that very moment beneath their feet was a beautiful lovesick princess, whose sighs they could hear if they put their ears to the carpet, and what in life was worth fighting for more than true love? Thereupon, he collapsed at their feet and began snoring peacefully. Reynolds watched him with a look of disgust. He apologized cursorily and bade farewell to the two senators, who were still stunned by the grotesque apparition. Once alone in the room with Symmes, Reynolds studied him closely for a few moments, his look of revulsion giving way to a sinister smile. Did he have the guts to do it? If he allowed this opportunity to slip away, he might never have another one, he concluded. And so, avoiding thinking about the real significance of his actions, he went round opening all the windows with the diligence of a servant airing the room. They were in Boston, in the middle of a particularly harsh winter. An icy wind began to whip the curtains, while a torrent of dancing snowflakes invaded the room, flecking the carpet and the rest of the floor with white patches. After making sure everything was going according to plan, Reynolds left Symmes sprawled half naked on the floor, exposed to the raging storm, and, after telling reception he was not to be disturbed on any account, he went to sleep in Symmes’s room. And it has to be said that Reynolds had no trouble falling asleep, undisturbed by the possible consequences of his actions. The following morning he returned to his room and found Symmes still unconscious, although a few yards from where he had left him, as though at some point during the night he had woken up and tried to drag himself over to the bed in search of shelter. His face had turned a bluish purple, his skin was burning, and he had difficulty breathing, emitting a noise like a death rattle or the sound of a trombone muted with damp cloths. Reynolds quickly carried Symmes back to his own room, where he laid him out on the bed. Then he called the doctor, who took one look at him and diagnosed pneumonia.