¡Una procesión! ¡Una procesión!
Quiero dejar constancia aquí de nuestro agradecimiento a todos nuestros amigos del Amazonas por la gran amabilidad y hospitalidad que nos dispensaron en nuestro viaje de regreso.
Muy particularmente deseo agradecer al senhor Penalosa y a otros funcionarios del Gobierno brasileño por las gestiones especiales con las que nos ayudaron en el camino, y al senhor Pereira de Pará, a cuya previsión debemos el equipo completo para presentar un aspecto decente en el mundo civilizado que encontramos preparado para nosotros en esa ciudad.
Parecía una pobre retribución a toda la cortesía que recibimos el engañar a nuestros anfitriones y bienhechores, pero dadas las circunstancias no teníamos realmente otra alternativa, y por la presente les digo que solo perderán su tiempo y su dinero si intentan seguir nuestros pasos.
Incluso los nombres han sido alterados en nuestros relatos, y estoy muy seguro de que nadie, a partir del estudio más minucioso de estos, podría acercarse a menos de mil millas de nuestra tierra desconocida.
La emoción que se había provocado en aquellas regiones de América del Sur que tuvimos que cruzar la imaginábamos puramente local, y puedo asegurar a nuestros amigos en Inglaterra que no teníamos idea del revuelo que el mero rumor de nuestras experiencias había causado en toda Europa.
No fue hasta que el Ivernia se encontró a menos de quinientas millas de Southampton cuando los mensajes inalámbricos de periódico tras periódico y de agencia tras agencia, ofreciendo enormes sumas por un breve mensaje de respuesta sobre nuestros resultados reales, nos demostraron cuán tensa era la atención no solo del mundo científico, sino también del público general.
Se acordó entre nosotros, sin embargo, que no se haría ninguna declaración definitiva a la prensa hasta que nos hubiéramos reunido con los miembros del Instituto Zoológico, ya que, como delegados, era nuestro claro deber presentar nuestro primer informe al organismo del que habíamos recibido nuestro mandato de investigación.
Así, aunque encontramos Southampton lleno de periodistas, nos negamos rotundamente a dar cualquier información, lo cual tuvo el efecto natural de centrar la atención del público en la reunión anunciada para la noche del 7 de noviembre.
Para este encuentro, el Salón Zoológico, que había sido el escenario del inicio de nuestra tarea, resultó ser demasiado pequeño, y solo en el Queen’s Hall de Regent Street pudo hallarse cabida. Es ya de conocimiento general que los organizadores podrían haberse arriesgado con el Albert Hall y aun así su espacio habría resultado escaso.
Para la segunda noche después de nuestra llegada se había fijado la gran reunión.
Para la primera, cada uno de nosotros tuvo, sin duda, sus propios y apremiantes asuntos personales que le absorbieron.
De los míos aún no puedo hablar. Puede que a medida que se aleje más de mí pueda pensar en ello, e incluso hablar de ello, con menos emoción.
Le he mostrado al lector al principio de este relato dónde se encontraban los resortes de mi acción. Tal vez sea justo que continúe el cuento y muestre también los resultados.
Y, sin embargo, puede llegar el día en que no lo querría de otro modo. Al menos me he visto empujado a tomar parte en una aventura maravillosa, y no puedo dejar de estar agradecido a la fuerza que me impulsó.
Y ahora paso al último, supremo y trascendental momento de nuestra aventura. Mientras me devanaba los sesos sobre cuál sería la mejor forma de describirlo, mis ojos cayeron sobre el ejemplar de mi propio diario de la mañana del 8 de noviembre, con el completo y excelente relato de mi amigo y compañero cronista Macdona. ¿Qué puedo hacer mejor que transcribir su narración —titulares incluidos—? Admito que el periódico se mostró efusivo en el asunto, en agradecimiento a su propia iniciativa de enviar a un corresponsal, pero los otros grandes diarios no fueron mucho menos extensos en su crónica. Así pues, aquí está nuestro amigo Mac en su reportaje:
“The much-discussed meeting of the Zoological Institute, convened to hear the report of the Committee of Investigation sent out last year to South America to test the assertions made by Professor Challenger as to the continued existence of prehistoric life upon that continent, was held last night in the greater Queen’s Hall, and it is safe to say that it is likely to be a red letter date in the history of science, for the proceedings were of so remarkable and sensational a character that no one present is ever likely to forget them.” (Oh, brother scribe Macdona, what a monstrous opening sentence!) “The tickets were theoretically confined to members and their friends, but the latter is an elastic term, and long before eight o’clock, the hour fixed for the commencement of the proceedings, all parts of the Great Hall were tightly packed. The general public, however, which most unreasonably entertained a grievance at having been excluded, stormed the doors at a quarter to eight, after a prolonged melee in which several people were injured, including Inspector Scoble of H. Division, whose leg was unfortunately broken. After this unwarrantable invasion, which not only filled every passage, but even intruded upon the space set apart for the press, it is estimated that nearly five thousand people awaited the arrival of the travelers. When they eventually appeared, they took their places in the front of a platform which already contained all the leading scientific men, not only of this country, but of France and of Germany. Sweden was also represented, in the person of Professor Sergius, the famous zoologist of the University of Upsala.
“The entrance of the four heroes of the occasion was the signal for a remarkable demonstration of welcome, the whole audience rising and cheering for some minutes. An acute observer might, however, have detected some signs of dissent amid the applause, and gathered that the proceedings were likely to become more lively than harmonious. It may safely be prophesied, however, that no one could have foreseen the extraordinary turn which they were actually to take.
“Of the appearance of the four wanderers little need be said, since their photographs have for some time been appearing in all the papers. They bear few traces of the hardships which they are said to have undergone. Professor Challenger’s beard may be more shaggy, Professor Summerlee’s features more ascetic, Lord John Roxton’s figure more gaunt, and all three may be burned to a darker tint than when they left our shores, but each appeared to be in most excellent health. As to our own representative, the well-known athlete and international rugby football player, E. D. Malone, he looks trained to a hair, and as he surveyed the crowd a smile of good-humored contentment pervaded his honest but homely face.” (All right, Mac, wait till I get you alone!)
“When quiet had been restored and the audience resumed their seats after the ovation which they had given to the travelers, the chairman, the Duke of Durham, addressed the meeting. ‘He would not,’ he said, ‘stand for more than a moment between that vast assembly and the treat which lay before them. It was not for him to anticipate what Professor Summerlee, who was the spokesman of the committee, had to say to them, but it was common rumor that their expedition had been crowned by extraordinary success.’ (Applause.) ‘Apparently the age of romance was not dead, and there was common ground upon which the wildest imaginings of the novelist could meet the actual scientific investigations of the searcher for truth. He would only add, before he sat down, that he rejoiced—and all of them would rejoice—that these gentlemen had returned safe and sound from their difficult and dangerous task, for it cannot be denied that any disaster to such an expedition would have inflicted a well-nigh irreparable loss to the cause of zoological science.’ (Great applause, in which Professor Challenger was observed to join.)
“Professor Summerlee’s rising was the signal for another extraordinary outbreak of enthusiasm, which broke out again at intervals throughout his address. That address will not be given in extenso in these columns, for the reason that a full account of the whole adventures of the expedition is being published as a supplement from the pen of our own special correspondent. Some general indications will therefore suffice. Having described the genesis of their journey, and paid a handsome tribute to his friend Professor Challenger, coupled with an apology for the incredulity with which his assertions, now fully vindicated, had been received, he gave the actual course of their journey, carefully withholding such information as would aid the public in any attempt to locate this remarkable plateau. Having described, in general terms, their course from the main river up to the time that they actually reached the base of the cliffs, he enthralled his hearers by his account of the difficulties encountered by the expedition in their repeated attempts to mount them, and finally described how they succeeded in their desperate endeavors, which cost the lives of their two devoted half-breed servants.” (This amazing reading of the affair was the result of Summerlee’s endeavors to avoid raising any questionable matter at the meeting.)
“Having conducted his audience in fancy to the summit, and marooned them there by reason of the fall of their bridge, the Professor proceeded to describe both the horrors and the attractions of that remarkable land. Of personal adventures he said little, but laid stress upon the rich harvest reaped by science in the observations of the wonderful beast, bird, insect, and plant life of the plateau. Peculiarly rich in the coleoptera and in the lepidoptera, forty-six new species of the one and ninety-four of the other had been secured in the course of a few weeks. It was, however, in the larger animals, and especially in the larger animals supposed to have been long extinct, that the interest of the public was naturally centered. Of these he was able to give a goodly list, but had little doubt that it would be largely extended when the place had been more thoroughly investigated. He and his companions had seen at least a dozen creatures, most of them at a distance, which corresponded with nothing at present known to science. These would in time be duly classified and examined. He instanced a snake, the cast skin of which, deep purple in color, was fifty-one feet in length, and mentioned a white creature, supposed to be mammalian, which gave forth well-marked phosphorescence in the darkness; also a large black moth, the bite of which was supposed by the Indians to be highly poisonous. Setting aside these entirely new forms of life, the plateau was very rich in known prehistoric forms, dating back in some cases to early Jurassic times. Among these he mentioned the gigantic and grotesque stegosaurus, seen once by Mr. Malone at a drinking-place by the lake, and drawn in the sketchbook of that adventurous American who had first penetrated this unknown world. He described also the iguanodon and the pterodactyl—two of the first of the wonders which they had encountered. He then thrilled the assembly by some account of the terrible carnivorous dinosaurs, which had on more than one occasion pursued members of the party, and which were the most formidable of all the creatures which they had encountered. Thence he passed to the huge and ferocious bird, the phororachus, and to the great elk which still roams upon this upland. It was not, however, until he sketched the mysteries of the central lake that the full interest and enthusiasm of the audience were aroused. One had to pinch oneself to be sure that one was awake as one heard this sane and practical Professor in cold measured tones describing the monstrous three-eyed fish-lizards and the huge water-snakes which inhabit this enchanted sheet of water. Next he touched upon the Indians, and upon the extraordinary colony of anthropoid apes, which might be looked upon as an advance upon the pithecanthropus of Java, and as coming therefore nearer than any known form to that hypothetical creation, the missing link. Finally he described, amongst some merriment, the ingenious but highly dangerous aeronautic invention of Professor Challenger, and wound up a most memorable address by an account of the methods by which the committee did at last find their way back to civilization.
“It had been hoped that the proceedings would end there, and that a vote of thanks and congratulation, moved by Professor Sergius, of Upsala University, would be duly seconded and carried; but it was soon evident that the course of events was not destined to flow so smoothly. Symptoms of opposition had been evident from time to time during the evening, and now Dr. James Illingworth, of Edinburgh, rose in the center of the hall. Dr. Illingworth asked whether an amendment should not be taken before a resolution.
“ The Chairman : ‘Yes, sir, if there must be an amendment.’
“ Dr. Illingworth : ‘Your Grace, there must be an amendment.’
“ The Chairman : ‘Then let us take it at once.’
“ Professor Summerlee (springing to his feet): ‘Might I explain, your Grace, that this man is my personal enemy ever since our controversy in the Quarterly Journal of Science as to the true nature of Bathybius?’
“ The Chairman : ‘I fear I cannot go into personal matters. Proceed.’
“ Dr. Illingworth was imperfectly heard in part of his remarks on account of the strenuous opposition of the friends of the explorers. Some attempts were also made to pull him down. Being a man of enormous physique, however, and possessed of a very powerful voice, he dominated the tumult and succeeded in finishing his speech. It was clear, from the moment of his rising, that he had a number of friends and sympathizers in the hall, though they formed a minority in the audience. The attitude of the greater part of the public might be described as one of attentive neutrality.
“ Dr. Illingworth began his remarks by expressing his high appreciation of the scientific work both of Professor Challenger and of Professor Summerlee. He much regretted that any personal bias should have been read into his remarks, which were entirely dictated by his desire for scientific truth. His position, in fact, was substantially the same as that taken up by Professor Summerlee at the last meeting. At that last meeting Professor Challenger had made certain assertions which had been queried by his colleague. Now this colleague came forward himself with the same assertions and expected them to remain unquestioned. Was this reasonable? (‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ and prolonged interruption, during which Professor Challenger was heard from the press box to ask leave from the chairman to put Dr. Illingworth into the street.) A year ago one man said certain things. Now four men said other and more startling ones. Was this to constitute a final proof where the matters in question were of the most revolutionary and incredible character? There had been recent examples of travelers arriving from the unknown with certain tales which had been too readily accepted. Was the London Zoological Institute to place itself in this position? He admitted that the members of the committee were men of character. But human nature was very complex. Even Professors might be misled by the desire for notoriety. Like moths, we all love best to flutter in the light. Heavy-game shots liked to be in a position to cap the tales of their rivals, and journalists were not averse from sensational coups, even when imagination had to aid fact in the process. Each member of the committee had his own motive for making the most of his results. (‘Shame! shame!’) He had no desire to be offensive. (‘You are!’ and interruption.) The corroboration of these wondrous tales was really of the most slender description. What did it amount to? Some photographs. (Was it possible that in this age of ingenious manipulation photographs could be accepted as evidence?) What more? We have a story of a flight and a descent by ropes which precluded the production of larger specimens. It was ingenious, but not convincing. It was understood that Lord John Roxton claimed to have the skull of a phororachus. He could only say that he would like to see that skull.
“ Lord John Roxton : ‘Is this fellow calling me a liar?’ (Uproar.)
“ The Chairman : ‘Order! order! Dr. Illingworth, I must direct you to bring your remarks to a conclusion and to move your amendment.’
“ Dr. Illingworth : ‘Your Grace, I have more to say, but I bow to your ruling. I move, then, that, while Professor Summerlee be thanked for his interesting address, the whole matter shall be regarded as “non-proven,” and shall be referred back to a larger, and possibly more reliable Committee of Investigation.’
“It is difficult to describe the confusion caused by this amendment. A large section of the audience expressed their indignation at such a slur upon the travelers by noisy shouts of dissent and cries of, ‘Don’t put it!’ ‘Withdraw!’ ‘Turn him out!’ On the other hand, the malcontents—and it cannot be denied that they were fairly numerous—cheered for the amendment, with cries of ‘Order!’ ‘Chair!’ and ‘Fair play!’ A scuffle broke out in the back benches, and blows were freely exchanged among the medical students who crowded that part of the hall. It was only the moderating influence of the presence of large numbers of ladies which prevented an absolute riot. Suddenly, however, there was a pause, a hush, and then complete silence. Professor Challenger was on his feet. His appearance and manner are peculiarly arresting, and as he raised his hand for order the whole audience settled down expectantly to give him a hearing.
“ ‘It will be within the recollection of many present,’ said Professor Challenger, ‘that similar foolish and unmannerly scenes marked the last meeting at which I have been able to address them. On that occasion Professor Summerlee was the chief offender, and though he is now chastened and contrite, the matter could not be entirely forgotten. I have heard tonight similar, but even more offensive, sentiments from the person who has just sat down, and though it is a conscious effort of self-effacement to come down to that person’s mental level, I will endeavor to do so, in order to allay any reasonable doubt which could possibly exist in the minds of anyone.’ (Laughter and interruption.) ‘I need not remind this audience that, though Professor Summerlee, as the head of the Committee of Investigation, has been put up to speak tonight, still it is I who am the real prime mover in this business, and that it is mainly to me that any successful result must be ascribed. I have safely conducted these three gentlemen to the spot mentioned, and I have, as you have heard, convinced them of the accuracy of my previous account. We had hoped that we should find upon our return that no one was so dense as to dispute our joint conclusions. Warned, however, by my previous experience, I have not come without such proofs as may convince a reasonable man. As explained by Professor Summerlee, our cameras have been tampered with by the ape-men when they ransacked our camp, and most of our negatives ruined.’ (Jeers, laughter, and ‘Tell us another!’ from the back.) ‘I have mentioned the ape-men, and I cannot forbear from saying that some of the sounds which now meet my ears bring back most vividly to my recollection my experiences with those interesting creatures.’ (Laughter.) ‘In spite of the destruction of so many invaluable negatives, there still remains in our collection a certain number of corroborative photographs showing the conditions of life upon the plateau. Did they accuse them of having forged these photographs?’ (A voice, ‘Yes,’ and considerable interruption which ended in several men being put out of the hall.) ‘The negatives were open to the inspection of experts. But what other evidence had they? Under the conditions of their escape it was naturally impossible to bring a large amount of baggage, but they had rescued Professor Summerlee’s collections of butterflies and beetles, containing many new species. Was this not evidence?’ (Several voices, ‘No.’) ‘Who said no?’
“ Dr. Illingworth (rising): ‘Our point is that such a collection might have been made in other places than a prehistoric plateau.’ (Applause.)
“ Professor Challenger : ‘No doubt, sir, we have to bow to your scientific authority, although I must admit that the name is unfamiliar. Passing, then, both the photographs and the entomological collection, I come to the varied and accurate information which we bring with us upon points which have never before been elucidated. For example, upon the domestic habits of the pterodactyl—’ (A voice: ‘Bosh,’ and uproar)—‘I say, that upon the domestic habits of the pterodactyl we can throw a flood of light. I can exhibit to you from my portfolio a picture of that creature taken from life which would convince your—’
“ Dr. Illingworth : ‘No picture could convince us of anything.’
“ Professor Challenger : ‘You would require to see the thing itself?’
“ Dr. Illingworth : ‘Undoubtedly.’
“ Professor Challenger : ‘And you would accept that?’
“ Dr. Illingworth (laughing): ‘Beyond a doubt.’
“It was at this point that the sensation of the evening arose—a sensation so dramatic that it can never have been paralleled in the history of scientific gatherings. Professor Challenger raised his hand in the air as a signal, and at once our colleague, Mr. E. D. Malone, was observed to rise and to make his way to the back of the platform. An instant later he reappeared in company of a gigantic negro, the two of them bearing between them a large square packing-case. It was evidently of great weight, and was slowly carried forward and placed in front of the Professor’s chair. All sound had hushed in the audience and everyone was absorbed in the spectacle before them. Professor Challenger drew off the top of the case, which formed a sliding lid. Peering down into the box he snapped his fingers several times and was heard from the press seat to say, ‘Come, then, pretty, pretty!’ in a coaxing voice. An instant later, with a scratching, rattling sound, a most horrible and loathsome creature appeared from below and perched itself upon the side of the case. Even the unexpected fall of the Duke of Durham into the orchestra, which occurred at this moment, could not distract the petrified attention of the vast audience. The face of the creature was like the wildest gargoyle that the imagination of a mad medieval builder could have conceived. It was malicious, horrible, with two small red eyes as bright as points of burning coal. Its long, savage mouth, which was held half-open, was full of a double row of shark-like teeth. Its shoulders were humped, and round them were draped what appeared to be a faded gray shawl. It was the devil of our childhood in person. There was a turmoil in the audience—someone screamed, two ladies in the front row fell senseless from their chairs, and there was a general movement upon the platform to follow their chairman into the orchestra. For a moment there was danger of a general panic. Professor Challenger threw up his hands to still the commotion, but the movement alarmed the creature beside him. Its strange shawl suddenly unfurled, spread, and fluttered as a pair of leathery wings. Its owner grabbed at its legs, but too late to hold it. It had sprung from the perch and was circling slowly round the Queen’s Hall with a dry, leathery flapping of its ten-foot wings, while a putrid and insidious odor pervaded the room. The cries of the people in the galleries, who were alarmed at the near approach of those glowing eyes and that murderous beak, excited the creature to a frenzy. Faster and faster it flew, beating against walls and chandeliers in a blind frenzy of alarm. ‘The window! For heaven’s sake shut that window!’ roared the Professor from the platform, dancing and wringing his hands in an agony of apprehension. Alas, his warning was too late! In a moment the creature, beating and bumping along the wall like a huge moth within a gas-shade, came upon the opening, squeezed its hideous bulk through it, and was gone. Professor Challenger fell back into his chair with his face buried in his hands, while the audience gave one long, deep sigh of relief as they realized that the incident was over.
“Then—oh! how shall one describe what took place then—when the full exuberance of the majority and the full reaction of the minority united to make one great wave of enthusiasm, which rolled from the back of the hall, gathering volume as it came, swept over the orchestra, submerged the platform, and carried the four heroes away upon its crest?” (Good for you, Mac!) “If the audience had done less than justice, surely it made ample amends. Everyone was on his feet. Everyone was moving, shouting, gesticulating. A dense crowd of cheering men were round the four travelers. ‘Up with them! up with them!’ cried a hundred voices. In a moment four figures shot up above the crowd. In vain they strove to break loose. They were held in their lofty places of honor. It would have been hard to let them down if it had been wished, so dense was the crowd around them. ‘Regent Street! Regent Street!’ sounded the voices. There was a swirl in the packed multitude, and a slow current, bearing the four upon their shoulders, made for the door. Out in the street the scene was extraordinary. An assemblage of not less than a hundred thousand people was waiting. The close-packed throng extended from the other side of the Langham Hotel to Oxford Circus. A roar of acclamation greeted the four adventurers as they appeared, high above the heads of the people, under the vivid electric lamps outside the hall. ‘A procession! A procession!’ was the cry. In a dense phalanx, blocking the streets from side to side, the crowd set forth, taking the route of Regent Street, Pall Mall, St. James’s Street, and Piccadilly. The whole central traffic of London was held up, and many collisions were reported between the demonstrators upon the one side and the police and taxi-cabmen upon the other. Finally, it was not until after midnight that the four travelers were released at the entrance to Lord John Roxton’s chambers in the Albany, and that the exuberant crowd, having sung ‘They are Jolly Good Fellows’ in chorus, concluded their program with ‘God Save the King.’ So ended one of the most remarkable evenings that London has seen for a considerable time.”
Hasta aquí mi amigo Macdona; y esto puede tomarse como una relación bastante exacta, aunque florida, de los acontecimientos.
En cuanto al incidente principal, fue una sorpresa desconcertante para el público, pero no, huelga decirlo, para nosotros. El lector recordará cómo me encontré con lord John Roxton justo en la ocasión en que, con su miriñaque protector, había ido a buscar el «pollo del diablo», como él lo llamaba, para el profesor Challenger.
He insinuado también los apuros que nos dio el equipaje del Profesor cuando abandonamos la meseta, y si hubiera descrito nuestro viaje, podría haber hablado largo y tendido de la zozobra que pasamos para estimular con pescado podrido el apetito de nuestro inmundo compañero.
Si no he hablado mucho de ello antes, fue, por supuesto, debido al firme deseo del Profesor de que no se filtrara el menor rumor sobre la prueba irrefutable que transportábamos hasta que llegara el momento de confundir a sus enemigos.
Una palabra sobre el destino del pterodáctilo de Londres. No se puede decir que haya nada seguro en este punto.
Existe el testimonio de dos mujeres aterrorizadas que aseguran que se posó en el tejado del Queen’s Hall y permaneció allí como una estatua diabólica durante varias horas.
Al día siguiente se publicó en los vespertinos que el soldado Miles, de la Guardia de Coldstream, de servicio frente a Marlborough House, había abandonado su puesto sin permiso y, por lo tanto, había sido sometido a un consejo de guerra. La versión del soldado Miles —según la cual arrojó su fusil y salió huyendo por The Mall porque, al levantar la vista, había visto de repente al diablo entre él y la luna— no fue aceptada por el tribunal y, sin embargo, tal vez guarde relación directa con la cuestión en debate.
El único otro testimonio que puedo aportar proviene del cuaderno de bitácora del S.S. Friesland, un transatlántico holandés-americano, que afirma que a las nueve de la mañana siguiente, encontrándose el cabo Start a diez millas de su amura de estribor, fueron cruzados por algo a medio camino entre una cabra voladora y un murciélago monstruoso, que se dirigía a un ritmo prodigioso hacia el sur y el oeste.
Si su instinto de orientación lo condujo por el buen camino, no cabe duda de que en algún lugar de las extensiones del Atlántico el último pterodáctilo europeo encontró su final.
Y Gladys—¡oh, mi Gladys!—, Gladys del lago místico, que ahora pasará a llamarse Central, pues jamás alcanzará la inmortalidad a través de mí. ¿Acaso no vi siempre cierta fibra dura en su naturaleza? ¿Acaso no sentí, aun en la época en que me enorgullecía acatar sus mandatos, que era sin duda un amor pobre aquel que podía empujar a un amante a la muerte o al peligro de ella? ¿Acaso no contemplé, en mis pensamientos más sinceros, siempre recurrentes y siempre descartados, más allá de la belleza del rostro y, escudriñando en el alma, discerní las sombras gemizas del egoísmo y de la inconstancia oscureciendo el fondo de este? ¿Amaba ella lo heroico y lo espectacular por su noble causa, o por la gloria que, sin esfuerzo ni sacrificio, pudiera reflejarse en ella misma? ¿O son estos pensamientos la vana sabiduría que llega después de los hechos? Fue el golpe de mi vida. Por un momento me había vuelto un cínico. Pero ya, mientras escribo, ha pasado una semana, y hemos tenido nuestra trascendental entrevista con lord John Roxton y—bueno, tal vez las cosas podrían ir peor.
Déjeme contarlo en pocas palabras.
No había llegado ninguna carta ni telegrama para mí a Southampton, y llegué al pequeño chalé de Streatham sobre las diez de esa noche con una fiebre de alarma.
¿Estaba viva o muerta? ¿Dónde habían quedado todos mis sueños nocturnos de brazos abiertos, rostro sonriente y palabras de elogio para su hombre que se había arriesgado la vida para complacer su capricho? Ya había bajado de las altas cumbres para ponerme con los pies en la tierra. Con todo, algunas buenas razones dadas aún podrían elevarme a las nubes una vez más.
Corrí por el sendero del jardín, golpeé la puerta, oí la voz de Gladys dentro, pasé de largo a la criada boquiabierta y entré a zancadas en la sala de estar. Ella estaba sentada en un diván bajo, bajo la lámpara de pie con pantalla junto al piano. En tres pasos crucé la habitación y tomé ambas manos suyas entre las mías.
—¡Gladys! —grité—, ¡Gladys!
Alzó la vista con asombro en el rostro.
Había cambiado de algún modo sutil. La expresión de sus ojos, la dura mirada hacia arriba, la postura de los labios, me eran nuevas.
Retiró las manos.
—¿Qué quieres decir? —dijo ella.
—¡Gladys! —grité—. ¿Qué te pasa? Eres mi Gladys, ¿verdad?, ¿la pequeña Gladys Hungerton?
—No —dijo ella—, soy Gladys Potts. Permítame que le presente a mi marido.
¡Qué absurdo es la vida!
Me encontré haciendo reverencias mecánicamente y estrechándole la mano a un hombrecito de pelo pelirrojo que estaba acurrucado en el sillón orejero que antes había sido de uso exclusivo mío. Nos inclinamos y sonreímos el uno frente al otro.
“Papá nos deja quedar aquí. Estamos preparando nuestra casa”, dijo Gladys.
—Ah, sí —dije.
—¿No recibiste mi carta en Pará, entonces?
—No, no recibí ninguna carta.
—¡Oh, qué lástima! Habría aclarado todo.
—Es bastante evidente —dije.
—Le he contado todo a William sobre ti —dijo ella—. No tenemos secretos. Lo siento muchísimo por lo nuestro. Pero no debió de ser algo muy profundo, ¿verdad?, si pudiste irte a la otra punta del mundo y dejarme aquí sola. No estás enfadado, ¿verdad?
“No, no, en absoluto. Creo que me iré”.
“Tome un refresco”, dijo el hombrecillo, y añadió, en tono confidencial: “Siempre es así, ¿verdad? Y tiene que serlo a menos que hubiera poligamia, solo que al revés; ya me entiende”.
Se rio como un idiota, mientras yo me dirigía hacia la puerta.
Había terminado con aquello, cuando de repente me asaltó un impulso fantástico, y volví junto a mi victorioso rival, quien miraba con nerviosismo el botón eléctrico.
—¿Responderás a una pregunta? —le pregunté.
—Bueno, dentro de lo razonable —dijo él.
—¿Cómo lo hiciste? ¿Has buscado un tesoro oculto, o has descubierto un polo, o has cumplido condena en un barco pirata, o has cruzado el Canal en avión, o qué? ¿Dónde está el encanto del romanticismo? ¿Cómo lo conseguiste?
Me miró con una expresión desolada en su carita regordeta, bonachona, sin afeitar y vacua.
—¿No crees que todo esto es demasiado personal? —dijo él.
—Bueno, solo una pregunta —grité—. ¿Qué es usted? ¿Cuál es su profesión?
—Soy pasante de procurador —dijo—. El segundo en la firma Johnson y Merivale, en el número 41 de Chancery Lane.
—¡Buenas noches! —dije, y desaparecí, como todo héroe desconsolado y con el corazón roto, en la oscuridad, con la pena, la rabia y la risa hirviendo en mi interior a fuego lento como una olla en ebullición.
Una pequeña escena más, y habré terminado.
Anoche cenamos todos en las habitaciones de Lord John Roxton, y sentados juntos después, fumamos en buena camaradería y repasamos nuestras aventuras.
Resultaba extrañeza bajo estos cambiantes alrededores ver los viejos y conocidos rostros y figuras.
- Allí estaba Challenger, con su sonrisa de condescendencia, sus párpados caídos, sus ojos intolerantes, su barba agresiva, su enorme pecho que se hinchaba y resoplaba mientras le dictaba cátedra a Summerlee.
- Y Summerlee también, allí estaba con su pipa de brezo corta entre su fino bigote y su barba de chivo gris, su rostro gastado proyectado en un debate apasionado mientras cuestionaba todas las proposiciones de Challenger.
- Finalmente, estaba nuestro anfitrión, con su rostro curtido de águila y sus fríos ojos azules de glaciar, con un destello constante de travesura y de humor en lo más profundo de ellos.
Tal es la última imagen que me he llevado de ellos.
Era después de cenar, en su propio santuario —la habitación del resplandor rosado y los innumerables trofeos—, cuando lord John Roxton tuvo algo que decirnos. De un armario había sacado una vieja caja de puros, y la puso ante sí sobre la mesa.
—Hay una cosa —dijo—, de la que tal vez debería haber hablado antes de esto, pero quería saber un poco más con certeza dónde estaba pisando. No sirve de nada avivar esperanzas para luego volver a derrumbarlas. Pero ahora tratamos con hechos, no con esperanzas.
Quizá recuerden aquel día en que encontramos el criadero de pterodáctilos en el pantano, ¿eh? Bueno, algo en la disposición del terreno me llamó la atención. Puede que se les haya escapado, así que se lo diré. Era una chimenea volcánica llena de arcilla azul.
Los profesores asintieron.
“Pues bien, en todo el mundo solo he tenido que ver con un lugar que era una chimenea volcánica de arcilla azul. Esa fue la gran mina de diamantes De Beers de Kimberley, ¿qué tal? Así que ya ve, se me metieron los diamantes en la cabeza. Preparé un artilugio para alejar a esas apestosas bestias y pasé allí un feliz día con una almocafre. Esto es lo que conseguí”.
Abrió su caja de puros y, inclinándola, vertió sobre la mesa unos veinte o treinta guijarros ásperos, que iban desde el tamaño de judías hasta el de castañas.
«Quizás pienses que debí habértelo dicho entonces. Bueno, pues así debería haber sido, solo que sé que hay muchas trampas para los incautos, y que las piedras pueden ser de cualquier tamaño y, sin embargo, valer muy poco cuando el color y la consistencia dejan mucho que desear. Por lo tanto, las traje de vuelta, y el primer día en casa llevé una a lo de Spink y le pedí que la tallara un poco y la tasara».
Sacó un pastillero del bolsillo y volcó de él un hermoso y brillante diamante, una de las mejores piedras que jamás haya visto.
“Ahí tiene el resultado”, dijo él.
“Calcula el valor de todo en un mínimo de doscientas mil libras. Por supuesto, a partes iguales entre nosotros. No quiero oír hablar de otra cosa. Bien, Challenger, ¿qué hará usted con sus cincuenta mil?”.
—Si realmente persiste usted en su generoso punto de vista —dijo el profesor—, fundaría un museo privado, lo cual ha sido desde hace mucho tiempo uno de mis sueños.
—¿Y usted, Summerlee?
“Me retiraría de la enseñanza y así encontraría tiempo para mi clasificación definitiva de los fósiles de la greda”.
—Yo emplearé la mía —dijo lord John Roxton— en equipar una expedición en condiciones y echarle otro vistazo a la querida vieja meseta. En cuanto a ti, muchacho, tú, por supuesto, te gastarás la tuya en casarte.
“Todavía no”, dije con una sonrisa melancólica. “Creo que, si me acepta, preferiría ir con usted”.
Lord Roxton no dijo nada, pero una mano morena se extendió hacia mí por encima de la mesa.