PRIMORDIUM NULLA RETRORSUM
Chapter 6
AUTHOR: TowandaBR, Thisbee, Lady Cris Krux
Translation, Lady Cris Krux
DISCLAIMER: All of the characters of the series "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are property of John Landis, Telescene, Coote/Hayes, DirecTV, New Line Television, Space, Action Adventure Network, Goodman/Rosen Productions, and Richmel Productions.
SPOILERS: After HEART OF THE STORM
To all people who keep TLW alive by any means.
Cris, Roxana, Phoenix. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Also in Portuguese: "PRIMORDIUM NULLA RETRORSUM"
Edward Malone had gotten a job in the newspaper owned by Gladys' father, where he started to write chronicles with an enthusiasm inversely proportional to his need of rewrite his lost journals about the lost world.
Maybe for being too discouraged to notice that his destiny belonged only to him, he had retaken his relationship with the young woman.
She dragged him to parties, introducing him as her courageous fiancé who had been in the famous Challenger expedition and who had survived the dangers of the jungle. When they began to ask him about his life during those years, he just shrugged saying that they would have to wait for the publication of his work. Or he simply would excuse himself and, following the waiter, he helped himself a cup of wine, staying the rest of the night hidden by a corner.
Gladys became furious and when they were back on the car, driven by a professional driver, she talked and talked no-stopping all the way back home late at night.
"Good night, Gladys." – He said invariably, leaving the car and ascending the four stairway floors that separated him from his refuge.
He lived at a small room of a boarding-house in the suburbs, with a narrow bed, table, chair, and an old small wooden wardrobe, that was more than he thought he needed on those days. Even as Gladys' fiancé he received, without knowing, a wage just a little bit higher than that would be pay to other journalist in the same position.
He woke up at 4.30AM, washed himself and, after getting dressed, walked, still in darkness, the three blocks that separated him from the train that would take him for almost two hours to London downtown. During the route, the journalist leaned his head against the window glass and looked outside with a melancholic face. He never slept during the journey, but he also didn't notice anything of the world around him. When reaching his destiny, he descended dragging himself to the writing desk, where he greeted mechanically all people who showed themselves untruly indulgent to that young pathetic man who would become son-in-law of the newspaper's owner.
It was offered to him a full-time job, but Ned refused. He needed that free time to dedicate to what was much more important.
And he seemed possessed by some power. From his mind sprouted such vivid memories of the three years in that stranded land, that he almost could touch them. Fearing to lose them in an irremediable way, he wrote without stopping until his ink was over. Then, afflicted, he took the pencil and continued until his fingers hurt or he was beaten by the fatigue and slept on top of the yellowish pages that he used.
In his few nights of real sleep, he would take a bath in the shared bathroom of the boarding-house and he lied down in his bed, hugged to the worn journal, with worn leather layer, that he had always with him and that sent him back to that sweet glance. Then Edward Malone dreamed. But, when waking up in the following day, when the sun was high making him loose his working day, he tried to recall the words with what she had caressed his ears in his dream, but he couldn't.
Sometimes he tortured himself with the idea that, without any picture to help him remember, he could forget her face.
In a rainy afternoon, Ned closed his eyes searching for her face and finally he noticed that, on the contrary of the lost world that was recorded in his brain and for that reason it would need to be quickly transferred to the paper, Veronica was carved in an indelible way in his soul.
And she was so proud of the person he had became during that time. And she trusted that he was a fair man and that he would do anything he needed to find his place in the world.
After months of apathy, he finally decided that the moment to rewrite his own history had come.
Malone ate very little during the dinner. Instead of that, he observed with attention the ambient that surrounded him, the luxury, the people, the employees of the restaurant always in a rigid pose, silent and educated. The customers, dressed in impeccable vests, formal, talking about subjects that Ned imagined that many of them actually didn't understand.
He also observed his companion.
Gladys had complained for several times. The slightly inadequate wine's temperature, the service that she didn't consider immediate, the heat.
The journalist was irritated and still thought about doing some comment, but he gave up when noticing that the problem was not the restaurant, the people that surrounded him, nor London and neither Gladys. Although he refused to admit for a long time already, he noticed in a clearer way than ever that he no more belonged and he would never belong to that place again.
He had stopped being Ned Malone, the journalist interested in his professional status and that had fun at elegant parties. He had become the man interested in tell histories and stories, interested to be a part of them and in tasting a wonderful meal in good friends' company, without worrying so much about good manners.
After dinner, differently from usual, he took Gladys back to her home.
"We need to talk, Gladys." - She took him to the elegant library.
"Do you want to drink something, Neddy?"
"No, thank you." - Malone hesitated and finally noticed that he couldn't postpone that conversation anymore – "I need to go back, Gladys."
"It's still early."
"You didn't understand. I'll be back to the lost world."
Gladys forced a smile.
"This is a good joke." - She stopped to observe her fiancé. He held a sad glance. - "You're not kidding, are you?"
"No. I'm not."
"What about your book? "
"I'm also sorry to tell you that I wouldn't like to publish it through your father's publishing house."
"But you dreamed about that all your life, Neddy."
"I know that, but I have changed and my dreams also have changed."
"And what about me? "
"Forgive me, Gladys, but my new dreams don't include you. I'm sorry."
"I can be a part of them again, Neddy. I love you"
"You also know that's not true. We were young and it was very convenient for me and for you that we stayed together. I think we really believed that one day we could fall in love, but I know now that it will not be possible anymore."
"That girl from the jungle is the cause of all of this, isn't she?"
"No. We are the reason of all of this, Gladys. If there was really something strong between me and you, there wouldn't be doubts about what to do."
"Did you already think that she may not want you?"
The journalist turned to face her.
"You didn't understand, did you? I'm not coming back because of her, but because of me. If it was just for her, I would never have left. I had to do that journey back to discover the place where I belong."
"And how do you intend to do that? To go back? You will need money and you are completely broken."
"Honestly, I don't know. Maybe I never get back there. But having a goal again makes me feel alive. I want to work a lot, save money, publish my book... "
"All I need to do is to say one single word to my father, and you shall not publish anything in Europe for the rest of your life."
Malone smiled.
"I needed to write, Gladys, and that I did. If I have to publish what I've written in inferior pamphlets, then shall it be. If not even in this way I can publish my diaries, that's how life is."
"Neddy?"
"Be happy, Gladys."
He said that and left wandering through the streets of London, feeling light and alive as he didn't feel since a long time.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Please R&R