The Map of the Sky Read online

  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.

  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 thi
s 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.

  The patient never fully regained consciousness. For four days he perspired, writhed around on the bed wracked with fever, and called loudly for Litina. On the eve of his final day on Earth, which had subjected him to so many humiliations, Symmes opened his eyes and found Reynolds, who had not strayed from his bedside for a moment. The ex–army officer managed a hoarse whisper. All my efforts have been in vain, he told Reynolds. Litina will never know I was the victim of a conspiracy, that I truly loved her and have gone on loving her ever since I fled her world. Reynolds watched him, his heart brimming with a compassion that was as remarkable as it was profound for a life that could have ended with dignity had it not been cut short by madness. Almost instinctively, he clasped the dying man’s hand and vowed to him, in that room reeking of medicines and mortality, that he would reach the center of the Earth if it was the last thing he did and pass on Symmes’s message to Litina. As a final gesture, Symmes was able to muster a smile of gratitude; moments later his eyes glazed over, and his mouth opened in a desperate attempt to breathe in air that was no longer his. Reynolds discovered that the saddest thing in the world is to see a man die wearing the forlorn expression of someone who has failed to fulfill his dreams.

  Ridding himself of Symmes in this way left a bitter aftertaste, yet there was no point in tormenting himself about it for the rest of his days, as a more sensitive soul would doubtless have done. And so the explorer decided to consign it to the place in his memory where he stored all his other shameful deeds and to carry on with his plan, as if the ex–army officer’s death would have happened even without his intervention. And so, unencumbered at last, Reynolds resumed giving lectures up and down the East Coast, papering the walls with illustrations by Halley, Euler, and others, just as he had done when Symmes was still alive. Given that his private expositions appeared to have failed, out of desperation Reynolds began to charge a fifty-cent admission fee for his public talks in an attempt to drum up funds for the expedition Symmes had never made. But he soon realized the gesture was more idealistic than practical and decided it was time to set his sights higher. He went from city to city proselytizing, knocked on office doors with redoubled vigor, but received only rejections. Then it occurred to him to turn America’s inferiority complex with regard to its European fellow nations to his advantage: he attempted to sell his polar expedition as the most important patriotic exploit ever undertaken. Thanks to what he instantly considered as a well-earned stroke of luck, his strategy caught the attention of John Frampton Watson, a wealthy businessman who was willing to fulfill Reynolds’s dreams. Watson’s money attracted a host of other powerful backers, who between them formed an intricate network of interests. Overnight Reynolds found himself scrutinized from behind the scenes by an alliance of powerful forces that were poised to celebrate his success—or to pounce on him if he failed. And so, amid wild cheers, the Annawan set sail from New York Harbor in search of the polar entrance to the inner Earth, while the press hailed the dream that had poisoned Symmes’s life as the Great American Expedition.

  • • •

  AND YET, HERE THEY were now in a place that did not seem to belong to the world, where the crowds’ wild cheers no longer rang out, surrounded by a silence akin to oblivion. And as if that were not enough, something completely unexpected had happened, the consequences of which Reynolds was still unable to fathom. They had arrived in the Antarctic with the aim of finding the passage to the center of the Earth and had instead chanced upon a monster from the stars. Although at that moment fear blurred everything, Reynolds could not help beginning to play with the not entirely implausible idea that this accidental discovery might also crown him with glory and bury him under a pile of money. Did not the majority of important discoveries happen by chance? Did Columbus not stumble upon the New World when he was searching for a sea route to the East Indies? Indeed, the fate of great men seemed to be ordained by forces as powerful as they were mysterious. All of this could not be mere coincidence, he told himself. He was destined for glory, to go down in History, and he was determined to succeed come what may.

  Reynolds tried to stay calm. Now more than ever he needed to study every possibility open to him. This much was obvious: if they managed to capture the demon and take him back to New York, it would cause a stir the like of which had never been seen before. The implications for humanity of the existence of other beings in outer space were incalculable. If the creature and its machine really came from there, as Peters claimed, they gave Man the opportunity to reconsider his place in nature and might even change his idea about the meaning of life. Like it or not, Man, that arrogant ruler of the universe, would have to acknowledge that Earth was just another planet in the vast firmament. In short, he would be forced to realize how terribly insignificant he was. Unquestionably, the monster from the stars would be an earth-shattering discovery, although, of course, they had to capture him first. But was that possible? All of a sudden another idea occurred to Reynolds: what if the monster from the stars was not an evil being, as everyone assumed, but had traveled to Earth on a peaceful mission? Would it be possible to communicate with him? Reynolds had no idea, but perhaps he ought to try, for it would be a far greater achievement than simply taking his head back to New York. The first ever communication with intelligent life from another world! What marvels a creature like that might reveal to the human race! And how Reynolds would be remembered for centuries as the instigator of such a miracle! The explorer had to stop his imagination from running away with him. All of this remained to be seen. First they had to find a way home, for what use would there be in freezing to death with the knowledge that other worlds existed, even if they had taken tea with a creature from one of them?

  Two figures standing out against the horizon interrupted his meditations. Reynolds took the spyglass out of the pocket of his oilskin and trained it on a pair of dark shapes advancing toward the ship. Although he could not make out their faces at that distance, it had to be Carson and Ringwald. So they had not been eaten alive by the monster. And from the way they were walking they did not seem to be injured either. Then Reynolds noticed the sled they were pulling between them, on top of which was a large mound draped in a tarpaulin. Reynolds’s jaw dropped in astonishment. This could only mean one thing: Carson and Ringwald had captured the monster from the stars.

  V

  THE ARRIVAL OF THE MEN THEY HAD GIVEN UP for dead created the same stir among the crew of the Annawan as if they had seen a ghost. Reynolds, Captain MacReady, Doctor Walker, the boatswain Fisk, and some of the sailors, among them Peters, Allan, and Griffin, clambered down the makeshift ramp to welcome their lost companions, although most of them seemed more excited by the prospect of the two men having captur
ed the monster from space. They came to a halt in front of the sled, plunged into a reverential silence.

  “Did you find the demon?” MacReady asked, still unwilling to show any admiration for the two sailors whom he considered the most inept on the ship, while pointing at the mound upon which all eyes were focused.

  “No, Captain,” Ringwald replied, “but we found this.”

  The sailor gestured to his companion, and each tugged at a corner of the tarpaulin, revealing what was on the sled. The sight drew a murmur from the crew, for it was no less shocking than if it had been a demon from the stars. What Ringwald and Carson had brought from their search was the head of a gigantic elephant seal. The neck of the animal had been ripped apart, its huge skull crushed. The animal’s wounds were so extreme that no one dared to imagine what might have caused them. While the astonished group were examining the carcass, Ringwald explained that when they had found it, the animal’s innards were still steaming, which meant it could not have been long dead. The thick fog made it impossible for them to continue, so they had decided to open up the animal’s abdomen even further and to take turns sheltering inside its still-warm interior. In this way, they had avoided freezing to death, although both had lost all feeling in their toes. Hearing their story, the others tried not to retch when they saw the thick, foul-smelling film covering the sailors’ oilskins. They could not help imagining the two of them curled up inside the bloody cocoon, brandishing their muskets at the fogbound air. Leaning over the animal, Reynolds saw near its mouth what appeared to be shreds of strange reddish skin.