The Map of Chaos (53 page)

“Don't w-worry,” said Dodgson, sitting down on one of the empty chairs opposite them. “Why, sometimes I've believed in six impossible things before breakfast.”

Wells smiled hesitantly, then exclaimed, “Oh . . . I see you have taken the chair on the right. Yes, I am almost sure of it . . . Although you might have taken the one on the left. What do you think, Jane?” Wells's wife nodded, perplexed. “Anyway, let's drop the subject . . . Where do I begin?”

“It is m-m-most usual to begin at the beginning,” Dodgson said encouragingly, “after which you carry on until you reach the end. And then you stop.”

“And yet,” Wells replied pensively, “an end can also be a beginning—”

“What year are we in? And where are we?” Jane asked abruptly, cutting short her husband's circumlocutions.

Dodgson looked at her, slightly bemused.

“This is the year of our Lord 1858, and we are in Oxford, England, in the reign of H-H-Her Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria.”

“And what is your date of birth?” Jane asked again.

“The twenty-seventh of January 1832.”

“And your profession?”

“I apply myself to the thankless t-task of teaching ill-disposed young men who have no appreciation of knowledge: in other words, I am a p-professor of m-mathematics here at Christ Church, Oxford.”

“What mathematical research are you engaged in?”

“I am c-currently working on
A Syllabus of Plane Algebraic Geometry
.”

“I think that is enough, my dear . . . ,” Wells chipped in.

“Do you write poems and children's books?” she asked, ignoring him.

“Y-Yes, I have been published in several magazines.”

“Do you ever use a pseudonym?”

“My most recent poems in
The Train
appeared under the name Lewis Carroll . . .”

Jane looked significantly at Wells while Newton, who had decided that the man was not only harmless but also a terminal bore, jumped down off his mistress's lap and began to explore the room.

“It's incredible,” Wells whispered to Jane. “This universe is almost identical to ours . . . Dodgson has a twin here, as does Queen Victoria herself . . . I suppose everyone in our world must have a replica on this side. And so must we, of course! However, since we have arrived in 1858, our twins haven't been born yet. And yet, scientifically speaking, our 1858 was far in advance of this world: this room, Charles's mathematical studies . . . and have you seen that lens?” He pointed to the tube Dodgson had left on a corner of the table.

Jane nodded.

“Why, it's positively prehistoric,” she declared.

“P-P-Prehistoric?” Dodgson said, completely taken aback. “But it belongs to the latest Sanderson camera . . .”

“Don't be offended, Mr. Dodgson,” Wells said reassuringly. “I fear my wife was exaggerating slightly when she referred to it in those terms, though I confess that in our world that way of taking photographs is completely obsolete. You see, my wife and I come from . . . another world. It was 1898 when we left. I admit that I have no idea why we landed here forty years earlier, although I intend to reflect about that as soon as I can; but while I am no expert in history, I can assure you that in 1858 our photographers had long since stopped using the collodion wet plate, nor were they forced to carry out lengthy exposures or arduous developing processes . . . For over a century now we have been capturing images of the world around us using a matrix made up of thousands of tiny photosensitive elements that transform light into an electrical signal, storing it numerically so that . . .” Seeing the young man's astonished face, Wells paused in midflow. “Never mind, I will tell you all about it when we have a quiet moment. What I am trying to say is that your world is very similar to ours . . .”

“So similar, in fact, that we feel quite at home here,” Jane went on. “The clothes, the furniture, you with the same age and appearance our Dodgson would have had in 1858 . . . all that made us believe for a moment that we had traveled back in time . . .”

“But time travel isn't possible. And seeing that lens, which you don't treat as an antique, but rather as an everyday object . . .”

“And seeing that there isn't a single mechanical servant in here . . .”

“And that you are working with mathematical theories that have been obsolete in our world for a lot longer than forty years—for centuries, in fact . . .”

“In brief, seeing all that made us realize that we haven't traveled back in time, but rather to another universe. A world very similar to ours, but with a few differences.”

The young man's mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he managed to ask, “And h-how am I to know that you aren't simply s-s-stark staring mad?”

“Mr. Dodgson . . .” Jane looked at him with infinite tenderness. “Does the poem
The Hunting of the Snark
mean anything to you?”

The professor went pale.

“I . . . well, I never. It's an idea I've been mulling over for a poem, but I haven't mentioned it to anyone yet . . . How can you . . . ?”

“You will write that poem,” Jane confirmed. “You will write it in a few years' time, and it will be truly wonderful. It has always been my favorite. Our Charles once confided in me that the idea came to him when he was very young . . .”

Dodgson, whose pallor was taking on a greenish hue, leapt to his feet, although he immediately had to hold on to the back of his chair. He ran a trembling hand across his noble brow.

“Am I to u-understand that you come from . . . a-another universe?” he reiterated. “A world that is the same as this, aesthetically at least, b-but much more, er . . . evolved?”

Wells and Jane nodded as one.

“And h-how did you get here?”

“That is rather difficult to explain, Mr. . . . Charles, may I call you Charles?” Wells asked. “It feels more normal.” The young man nodded. “Oh, thank you . . . Perhaps it would help if you could imagine a kind of . . . rabbit hole that connects two different universes across hyperspace.”

“And where is that hole now?” asked Dodgson, gesturing toward their surroundings.

“It must have imploded after we came through it,” replied Wells, recalling the deafening noise he had heard shortly before he jumped. “I fear this was a one-way journey.”

He shot Jane a worried look, but she pressed his hand. After a brief silence, Dodgson ventured another question.

“And on the other side of that rabbit hole someone identical to me, w-with my name, is living a p-parallel life to mine?”

“That's right, Charles,” said Wells proudly. “He was my teacher. A brilliant scientist. He created the hole that brought us here.”

“And why hasn't he come with you?”

Wells and Jane looked at each other, this time with deep sadness.

“Well, you see . . . ,” Wells began.

“Because they killed him before he had the chance,” interrupted Jane.

She gave a brief summary of what had happened in his laboratory on the Other Side before they managed to jump. By the time she finished, Dodgson was looking at her aghast. Just then the kettle started whistling in the kitchen. Bobbing his head politely, the young man left the room swaying like a drunkard, moving his lips and shaking his head, as if he were talking to himself. And while he was away, the couple held the following hurried conversation in hushed tones:

“Why did you tell him he had died, Jane?” Wells asked. “Do you think that was a good idea?”

“Why should he care?” Jane said, surprised. “After all,
he
didn't die, his
other
self did . . .”

“Yes, but if the two Charleses were born on the same day and have so many other things in common . . . don't you think they might also die on the same day? And who wants to know the possible date of his own death?”

“You could be right . . . And yet, as you can see for yourself, they aren't
that
similar. As far as I recall, our Charles was never keen on photography, nor do I think he cultivated the friendship of little girls when he was young . . . Wait a moment!” Jane squeezed Wells's arm. “What name did he call that little girl?”

“Alice . . .” Wells searched his memory. “That's all I remember.”

“Liddell,” Jane declared, her eyes flashing with excitement. “Alice Liddell. And what is our Charles's wife called?”

“You know perfectly well, my dear, she was your friend: Pleasance Dodgson . . .”

“Yes, yes.” Jane nodded impatiently. “But her maiden name is Liddell! And can you guess what her middle name is?”

Wells, who was flabbergasted, didn't reply.

“Her full name is Pleasance
Alice
Liddell . . . ,” Jane explained. “Do you see? Our Pleasance is that little girl! Although here it seems her parents have changed her names around. Lie down, Newton! Now it all makes sense . . . Our Charles was twenty years older than his wife, do you remember, and neither of them liked talking much about how and where they met. It was rumored that during his wedding preparations there were more inspections than usual, and that Charles had to make countless visits to his relationship advisor as well as go through his prenuptial reports several times . . .”

“Good grief! If the Church knew that Charles had spent years waiting for that little girl to grow up just so that he could marry her, it must have been terribly difficult to persuade the vicar that such an excessive love wouldn't cause him to stray from the path towards Knowl—”

A timid cough made them look up. They had been so absorbed in their tête-à-tête that they hadn't heard Dodgson come in. He was standing beside the table, holding the tea tray, and the expression on his face left them in no doubt that he had heard the end of their conversation.

“We English always manage to turn up in time for tea, even when traveling between universes,” Wells tried to jest.

But that didn't distract the young Dodgson, who murmured, his cheeks turning bright pink, “In your world, my twin married his Alice . . .” He placed the tea tray abruptly on the table and sat down as if he felt suddenly dizzy. He took several minutes to compose himself before asking, “Tell me, w-what was Alice like as a grown-up? What sort of w-woman did she turn into?”

“This time you sat down in the chair on the left . . . ,” Wells ventured.

“Why didn't you sit on the same chair as before?” Jane asked.

“Well . . . I c-can change seats if you like,” Dodgson said solicitously, moving to the other chair with unexpected alacrity. “Very well,” he proposed, once he was ensconced, “now, t-tell me your story, and that of the o-other Charles . . .”

“Of course, of course . . . Now, in our world—” Wells began, but instantly broke off. “Forgive me, Charles, but did you actually change seats, or did you only have the intention of doing so?”

“For heaven's sake!” the young man exclaimed. “What is your problem with the chairs? You appear to have a peculiar obsession with randomness . . .”

The couple looked at him in astonishment.

“What problem could we possibly have with a concept that is so completely theoretical and unreal?” Wells asked.

Now it was Dodgson's turn in that improvised contest of flabbergasted expressions, and I must say he came out of it rather well.

“Do you m-mean that e-everything in your w-world is predetermined?”

“Predetermined? What the deuce does that mean?” Wells replied crossly. “In our world things simply happen the only way they
can
happen. It would never have occurred to me that it could be any other way . . . And yet, objects in this world have the tiresome habit of never staying still . . . It is like wanting to take something off a shelf only to find that it has moved to another shelf out of reach . . . And every decision is so . . .”

“So impossible, so uncertain . . . ,” murmured Jane.

“It is a peculiar and frustrating sensation . . . ,” Wells added, genuinely despondent.

“So we c-could say that everything is
impocertain
and at the s-same time
pecuriating
.” Dodgson smiled with a dreamy air.

The couple gaped at him while Dodgson gazed back at them, apparently lost in thought.

“I have an idea,” he said at last, with sudden excitement, or rather with
sudditement
. “Each time you have a d-doubt about which ch-chair I am sitting on, why don't you shout ‘Change seats!' and the three of us will move up one, do you agree? I imagine that this circular movement might ease your anxiety, at least long enough for us to carry on a quiet conversation . . .”

Wells and Jane exchanged looks and cried, “Change seats!”

“Oh . . . v-very well.” And all three of them stood up and moved to the chair on their right. Then, smiling politely, Dodgson said, “Good, now that we are all in our proper places . . . for the time being, George, Catherine, would you kindly tell me all those incredible things I have to believe in before breakfast tomorrow, assuming there are more to tell?”

And this was how the mad tea party that would mark the beginning of their friendship commenced. Had anyone been spying on them through the window, he would have never suspected that, although what he was seeing looked very like a game for children without any children, a miracle was taking place in that room, because amid the heated debates, theorizing, and hypothesizing, as the teacups piled up on the table, three exceptional minds had begun to stumble upon what until then no one else had ever grasped: the true nature of the universe.

D
URING THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED
, Wells and Jane were heartened to be able to count on Dodgson in what they would soon consider to be the greatest adventure of their lives. They couldn't imagine what would have become of them had they been set adrift in that universe so similar and yet so different from their own without the help of the young mathematician, who was not only good at resolving practical problems, such as finding a way of earning a living or inventing an identity with which to be able to integrate into society, but also at other equally important things, such as staying sane. It was clear that only someone like Dodgson could have accepted their unbelievable tale almost without turning a hair, for the young professor saw the world through a child's eyes, and, as everyone knows, children respond perfectly to nonsense: only they allow strange things to remain strange, refusing to apply to them the rules of any rational system. And it was thanks to this method that Wells, Jane, and Dodgson discovered many answers to their questions.