The Map of the Sky (Trilogía Victoriana #2)(73)

And so it would have gone on, had not a freak gust of wind quite literally changed everything. Until then, Murray, like most people, thought that wind was the result of masses of air moving in the atmosphere. However, after what occurred on that certain Sunday morning, Murray fancied it was something else, something far deeper, more decisive, transcendental, perhaps the very breath of the Creator Himself. The day was so luminous that to remain indoors would have been criminal, and the whole of New York seemed resolved to savor it. Even Murray could not help leaving his shell and enjoying a walk with his dog in Central Park.

The moment he walked through the entrance, he could see the park was teeming with people who had had the same idea as he. Many were strolling in couples or in groups, reading on benches, or enjoying improvised picnics on the grass or teaching their children how to fly kites, and as Murray walked stiffly among them, as though to an altogether different tune, unable to blend in with his happy, lively surroundings, Eternal frolicked gaily up and down, jumping around eagerly. To Murray’s surprise, just like a normal dog Eternal seemed willing to fetch anything Murray threw for him, even things he had not thrown. And so it was that after retrieving a stick and then a stone, the dog dropped a pretty red sun hat at his master’s feet. Murray looked up, searching for the owner of the elegant bonnet he was now clasping. In the distance, he made out a group of young women sitting on the grass, near an artificial lake. At that precise moment, one of them had stood up and was gesturing to him to come over. As she was the only one not wearing a hat, Murray easily deduced that a gust of wind had sent hers rolling across the grass, providing an irresistible temptation for Eternal. And now the hat was in his possession. He cursed. Because of that evil conspiracy between the wind and his dog, he would now be obliged to go over and give it back, and no doubt strike up a conversation with that woman, something that, given his limited experience of talking to ladies, filled him with dread. He walked nervously over to the unknown woman, clearing his throat and practicing a few polite phrases that would smooth the progress of the unavoidable conversation.

Moving with deliberate slowness over the grass, accompanied by his dog, Murray began to realize that the girl who his faltering steps were bringing into focus was lovely, although he did not appreciate how much so until he was much closer. As the gap between them closed, Murray took the opportunity to study her beguiling features. Taken one by one, they were not conventionally beautiful: her nose seemed too big, her eyes too narrow, her skin a peculiar color, and yet together they created an effect that left anyone who saw her speechless. And then something happened to him that he had never believed could: he fell in love. Or at any rate he experienced, one by one, all the symptoms of love at first sight, descriptions of which he had so often read in novels, causing him invariably to stop reading in irritation, convinced that something so absurd and impulsive could only take place in the exaggerated world of romantic fiction. And yet now he was feeling every symptom! His heart throbbed painfully, as though straining inside his constricted chest like a trapped animal; he felt lighter, as though he were floating across the grass; the colors around him had taken on a dazzling intensity; even the breeze seemed to rumple his hair almost with tenderness. And by the time he had closed the distance between them, Murray was certain there was no other woman in the world more exquisite than the owner of that hat, and he knew it without any need for the rest of womankind to parade before him in all their finery. He came to a halt in front of her and stood, completely spellbound, while the young lady arched her eyebrows daintily, waiting for the gigantic fellow into whose hands her hat had found its way to say something. However, Murray had forgotten that what differentiated Man from the animals was his gift of speech. At that moment, Murray was only capable of one thing: contemplating that girl with adoration.

Whoever had fashioned her appeared to know Murray’s tastes better than he did himself. Everything that appealed to him in a woman, and everything he did not know appealed to him, converged harmoniously in the young woman before him. Her delicate bone structure was enclosed in silky skin, which instead of the customary paleness seemed to have been sprinkled with cinnamon. From her face, framed by long dark locks grazing her brow, shone two intriguing eyes, which, besides surveying her surroundings, appeared to enfold them in a pleasant glow, as if they had been exposed to the winter sun. And as a finishing touch, Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom had added a mole to the only place where it would not look like a blemish: above the corner of her top lip, as though marking it out for a kiss. Yet for Murray none of that would have had more than a purely aesthetic meaning, had he not also been captivated by the soul that brought it all to life, making her move in a delightful series of gestures.

However, as he was admiring her, a frown had appeared on that adorable brow, instantly awakening Murray from his reverie. The hat, he remembered with a jolt; he had gone over there to give back the hat. He swiftly handed it to her, only to realize what he was giving her was nothing more than a soiled, chewed-up bit of rag. Due to his embarrassment, their ensuing exchange was as brief as it was insipid, to the point where he could not even remember it.

Even so, on his way home, Eternal walking meekly by his side, Murray found himself imagining a happy scene: he sitting with a book beside a glowing hearth, she sitting at a piano, sprinkling the room with lively notes, while upstairs, the nanny was putting to bed the fruit of their love, two, possibly three, why not four beautiful cherubs. He felt complete, buoyant, as though with a run and a jump he might soar above the street. He did not know whether that feeling was love, for he had never experienced anything like it before, but he certainly felt a new sense of purpose. For the very first time he was no longer the focus of his own world, because now, to his surprise, everything centered on that extraordinary, unknown woman. What was his life like before their encounter in the park? He could no longer remember. His only desire was to see her again, to make that his sole purpose in life. But he also needed to find out who she really was, what tea she preferred, her most painful childhood memory, her most ardent desire. In short, he needed to see inside her soul and discover how she became who she was. Could that young woman be the missing piece that would make him whole, the person destined to know him better than he knew himself, his guiding light, and all the other clichés used to describe the one we love? Murray had no idea, yet he knew he would never give up until he had found out. He, Gilliam Murray, would conquer that mysterious territory the same way he had conquered the fourth dimension. He had never wanted anything so passionately. Never. And so, when he arrived home, he ordered Elmer to go to the park and follow the only hatless girl there to her house and find out her name. The following day, he sent an array of hats to the address his footman had given him, together with a card on which he wrote the message he had ruminated over all night: