The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(39)
Reynolds repositioned the glasses on the table for the umpteenth time and looked up at the clock, wondering whether Allan could hear his heart pounding in his chest from inside the cupboard. The mixture of dread and exhilaration that overwhelmed him was understandable: he was about to speak with a creature from outer space. Two intelligent life-forms originating on two different planets in the universe were about to listen to each other, have a conversation, perform a small miracle unbeknownst to the world. Realizing this, Reynolds felt strangely light-headed. Then he remembered the flash of anger he had glimpsed in Carson’s eyes when the dogs began to bark, and he wondered whether, exposed to his scrutiny for a longer time, their owner would be able to hide the memory of what they had seen, for that creature from the stars had traveled through space in a flying machine on its way to Earth and must have seen a host of meteorites, shooting stars, and all manner of things the Creator had been pleased to place out of Man’s sight.
At that moment, there was a gentle knock at the cabin door. Reynolds started. Casting a meaningful glance at the cupboard, where he knew Allan could see him through the latticework, he nodded, as though signaling to the audience that the show was about to begin, and went to open the cabin door, doing his best to keep his knees from knocking. Carson entered, greeting him timidly as he unraveled the kerchief wound around his head and took off his mittens. Reynolds was struck by Carson’s rather clumsy way of walking, which despite the sailor’s attempts to conceal it, looked unnatural, as though he were wearing his shoes on the wrong foot. Doing his best not to give in to panic at the thought that this hideous little man might be no man at all, but a monster from outer space capable of pulverizing him in a second, Reynolds offered Carson a seat before quickly ensconcing himself in his armchair, where he felt instantly cocooned by its leather and wood. Once they were seated, Reynolds poured two glasses of brandy as calmly as he could. The sailor watched him in silence with a blank expression. The explorer fancied he had never seen a face less fitted to registering any form of emotion. It looked like the work of a Creator already weary of inventing men. When he had finished pouring their drinks, he picked up his glass and quickly raised it in the air, as though thrusting with a rapier, before downing it in one. Reynolds had been unable to avoid taking advantage of this point in the pantomime to steel himself. Carson looked on impassively, his glass untouched before him.
“Go ahead, Carson, try it,” Reynolds urged, doing his best to steady his voice. “You will see I wasn’t exaggerating when I said it was an excellent brandy.”
The sailor picked up his glass gingerly, as though fearful he might break it if he gripped it too tightly, raised it to his lips, and took a small mouthful. He contrived a grimace of pleasure that replaced the bovine look stuck to his face when it had nothing to express, then set his glass down again on the table, as though with that birdlike sip he had observed the customary courtesies required of him.
“I imagine you have still not recovered from the shock of what you saw,” Reynolds remarked, trying to recall whether he had ever seen the real Carson drink, or whether he was in fact in the presence of the only teetotaler in the entire crew and was jumping to conclusions. “Although I have to confess, your description of the creature has not been much help in understanding what we are up against.”
As he spoke, Reynolds fancied he glimpsed that strange flash in Carson’s eyes once more. He instinctively drew back slightly from the table as he imagined the creature observing him with suspicion from inside the sailor.
“I’m sorry, sir, it all happened so quickly,” Carson said at last, as if he had suddenly noticed Reynolds was waiting for him to reply.
“There’s no need to apologize, Carson. It’s normal you should not want to speak of the matter. I imagine you are afraid.” The explorer waved a reassuring hand. Then he stared fixedly at him. “I am right in thinking that you are afraid, am I not . . . Carson?”
Reynolds uttered the sailor’s name with deliberate irony, wondering whether Allan would find that subtle or downright crude.
“I suppose I am, sir,” replied the sailor.
“Of course you are, of course you are, we all are,” the explorer went on, his smile broadening. “There is no need to be ashamed. However, you must understand that a more detailed description of the creature would be invaluable. It is quite conceivable that we appear as hideous and threatening to the monster as it does to us, perhaps even more so. I am only interested in knowing as much about it as possible because I wish to acquaint myself with it, to try to communicate with it,” Reynolds said, staring intently at the sailor. “I am convinced we may be able to understand each other. Do you see what I am saying . . . Carson?”
“I think so, but I’m afraid I can’t help you,” the sailor said apologetically. “I remember nothing of what I saw. Only the sound of my own screams. Although in my humble opinion the creature wasn’t afraid when it tore the doctor limb from limb, at least no more than I was . . . sir.”
Reynolds forced himself to nod sympathetically.
“So you don’t think the creature was afraid,” Reynolds went on, willing himself to produce one of his most dazzling smiles. “Isn’t that a very bold statement, Carson? After all, who could possibly understand the feelings of a creature so different from us? Surely only the creature itself. We could only discover what it felt if we asked it directly, don’t you think?”