A Wind in the Door (6 page)
Read A Wind in the Door Online
Authors: Madeleine L'Engle
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Science Fiction, #Classics, #Time Travel, #Retail, #Personal
“What’s my assignment, Blajeny?” Meg asked.
The Teacher frowned briefly, in thought. Then, “I am trying to put it into earth terms, terms which you will understand. You must pass three tests, or trials. You must start immediately on the first one.”
“What is it?”
“Part of the trial is that you must discover for yourself what it is.”
“But how?”
“That I cannot tell you. But you will not be alone. Proginoskes is to work with you. You will be what I think you would call partners. Together you must pass the three tests.”
“But suppose we fail?”
Proginoskes flung several wings over his eyes in horror at the thought.
Blajeny said quietly, “It is a possibility, but I would prefer you not to suppose any such thing. Remember that these three trials will be nothing you could imagine or expect right now.”
“But Blajeny—I can hardly take a cherubim to school with me!”
Blajeny looked affectionately at the great creature, whose wings were still folded protectingly about himself. “That is for the two of you to decide. He is not always visible, you know. Myself, I find him a little simpler when he’s just a wind or a flame, but he was convinced he’d be more reassuring to earthlings if he enfleshed himself.”
Charles Wallace reached out and slipped his hand into the Teacher’s. “If I could take him, just this way, looking like a drive of dragons, into the schoolyard with me, I bet I wouldn’t have any trouble.”
Meg said, “Didn’t you tell me you were supposed to bring a pet to school tomorrow?”
Charles Wallace laughed. “We
may
bring a small pet tomorrow to share with the class.”
may
bring a small pet tomorrow to share with the class.”
Proginoskes peered under one wing. “I am not a joking matter.”
“Oh, Progo,” Meg assured him. “It’s only whistling in the dark.”
Charles Wallace, still holding the Teacher’s hand, asked him, “Will you come home with us now and meet my mother?”
“Not tonight, Charles, it is very late for you to be up, and who knows what tomorrow will bring?”
“Don’t
you
know?”
you
know?”
“I am only a Teacher, and I would not arrange the future ahead of time if I could. Come, I will walk part of the way back to the house with you.”
Meg asked, “What about Progo—Proginoskes?”
The cherubim replied, “If it is not the time for Blajeny to meet your family, it is hardly the time for me. I am quite comfortable here. Perhaps you could come meet me early tomorrow morning, and we can compare our night thoughts.”
“Well—okay. I guess that’s best. Good night, then.”
“Good night, Megling.” He waved a wing at her, then folded himself up into a great puff. No eyes showed, no flame, no smoke.
Meg shivered.
Blajeny asked, “Are you cold?”
She shivered again. “That thunderstorm before dinner—I suppose it was caused by a cold front meeting a warm front, but it did seem awfully cosmic. I never expected to meet a cherubim …”
“Blajeny,” Calvin said, “you haven’t given me an assignment.”
“No, my son. There is work for you, difficult work, and dangerous, but I cannot tell you yet what it is. Your assignment is to wait, without question. Please come to the Murrys’ house after school tomorrow—you are free to do that?”
“Oh, sure,” Calvin said. “I can skip my after-school stuff for once.”
“Good. Until then. Now, let us go.”
Charles Wallace led the way, with Meg and Calvin close behind. The wind was blowing out of the northwest, colder, it seemed, with each gust. When they reached the stone wall to the apple orchard, the moon was shining clearly, with that extraordinary brightness which makes light and dark acute and separate. Some apples still clung to their branches; a few as dark as Blajeny, others shining with a silvery light, almost as though they were illuminated from within.
On top of the pale stones of the wall lay a dark shadow, which was moving slowly, sinuously. It rose up, carefully uncoiling, seeming to spread a hood as it loomed over them. Its forked tongue flickered, catching the light, and a hissing issued from its mouth.
Louise.
But this was not the threatening Louise who had hissed and clacked at the impossible Mr. Jenkins; this was the Louise Meg and Charles Wallace had seen that
afternoon, the Louise who had been waiting to greet the unknown shadow—the shadow who, Meg suddenly understood, must have been Blajeny.
afternoon, the Louise who had been waiting to greet the unknown shadow—the shadow who, Meg suddenly understood, must have been Blajeny.
Nevertheless, she pressed closer to Calvin; she had never felt very secure around Louise, and the snake’s strange behavior that afternoon and evening made her seem even more alien than when she was only the twins’ pet.
Now Louise was weaving slowly back and forth in a gentle rhythm, almost as though she were making a serpentine version of a deep curtsy; and the sibilant sound was a gentle, treble fluting.
Blajeny bowed to the snake.
Louise most definitely returned the bow.
Blajeny explained gravely, “She is a colleague of mine.”
“But—but—hey, now,” Calvin sputtered, “wait a minute—”
“She is a Teacher. That is why she is so fond of the two boys—Sandy and Dennys. One day they will be Teachers, too.”
Meg said, “They’re going to be successful businessmen and support the rest of us in the way to which we are not accustomed.”
Blajeny waved this aside. “They will be Teachers. It is a High Calling, and you must not be distressed that it is not yours. You, too, have a Work.”
Louise, with a last burst of her tiny, strange melody, dropped back to the wall and disappeared among the stones.
“Perhaps we’re dreaming after all,” Calvin said, wonderingly.
“What is real?” the Teacher asked again. “I will say good night to you now.”
Charles Wallace was reluctant to leave. “We won’t wake up in the morning and find it all never happened? We won’t wake up and find we dreamed everything?”
“If only one of us does,” Meg said, “and nobody else remembers any of it, then it’s a dream. But if we all wake up remembering, then it really happened.”
“Wait until tomorrow to find what tomorrow holds,” Blajeny advised. “Good night, my children.”
They did not ask him where he was going to spend the night—though Meg wondered—because it was the kind of presumptuous question one could not possibly ask Blajeny. They left him standing and watching after them, the folds of his robes chiseled like granite, his dark face catching and refracting the moonlight like fused glass.
They crossed the orchard and garden and entered the house, as usual, by the back way, through the pantry. The door to the lab was open, and the lights on. Mrs. Murry was bent over her microscope, and Dr. Colubra
was curled up in an old red leather chair, reading. The lab was a long, narrow room with great slabs of stone for the floor. It had originally been used to keep milk and butter and other perishables, long before the days of refrigerators, and it was still difficult to heat in winter. The long work counter with the stone sink at one end was ideal for Mrs. Murry’s lab equipment. In one corner were two comfortable chairs and a reading lamp, which softened the clinical glare of the lights over the counter. But Meg could not think of a time when she had seen her mother relaxing in one of those chairs; she inevitably perched on one of the lab stools.
was curled up in an old red leather chair, reading. The lab was a long, narrow room with great slabs of stone for the floor. It had originally been used to keep milk and butter and other perishables, long before the days of refrigerators, and it was still difficult to heat in winter. The long work counter with the stone sink at one end was ideal for Mrs. Murry’s lab equipment. In one corner were two comfortable chairs and a reading lamp, which softened the clinical glare of the lights over the counter. But Meg could not think of a time when she had seen her mother relaxing in one of those chairs; she inevitably perched on one of the lab stools.
She looked up from the strange convolutions of the micro-electron microscope. “Charles! What are you doing out of bed?”
“I woke up,” Charles Wallace said blandly. “I knew Meg and Calvin were outside, so I went to get them.”
Mrs. Murry glanced sharply at her son, then greeted Calvin warmly.
Charles Wallace asked, “Is it okay if we make some cocoa?”
“It’s very late for you to be up, Charles, and tomorrow’s a school day.”
“It’ll help me get back to sleep.”
Mrs. Murry seemed about to refuse, but Dr. Colubra closed her book, saying, “Why not, for once? Let
Charles have a nap when he gets home in the afternoon. I’d like some cocoa myself. Let’s make it out here while your mother goes on with her work. I’ll do it.”
Charles have a nap when he gets home in the afternoon. I’d like some cocoa myself. Let’s make it out here while your mother goes on with her work. I’ll do it.”
“I’ll get the milk and stuff from the kitchen,” Meg said.
With Dr. Louise present they were not, she felt, free to talk to their mother about the events of the evening. The children were all fond of Dr. Louise, and trusted her completely as a physician, but they were not quite sure that she had their parents’ capacity to accept the extraordinary. Almost sure, but not quite. Dr. Colubra had a good deal in common with their parents; she, too, had given up work which paid extremely well in both money and prestige, to come live in this small rural village. (“Too many of my colleagues have forgotten that they are supposed to practice the
art
of healing. If I don’t have the gift of healing in my hands, then all my expensive training isn’t worth very much.”) She, too, had turned her back on the glitter of worldly success. Meg knew that her parents, despite the fact that they were consulted by the president of the United States, had given up much when they moved to the country in order to devote their lives to pure research. Their discoveries, many of them made in this stone laboratory, had made the Murrys more, rather than less, open to the strange, to the mysterious, to the unexplainable. Dr. Colubra’s work was perforce more straightforward, and
Meg was not sure how she would respond to talk of a strange dark Teacher, eight or nine feet tall, and even less sure how she would react to their description of a cherubim. She’d probably insist they were suffering from mass psychosis and that they all should see a psychiatrist at once.
art
of healing. If I don’t have the gift of healing in my hands, then all my expensive training isn’t worth very much.”) She, too, had turned her back on the glitter of worldly success. Meg knew that her parents, despite the fact that they were consulted by the president of the United States, had given up much when they moved to the country in order to devote their lives to pure research. Their discoveries, many of them made in this stone laboratory, had made the Murrys more, rather than less, open to the strange, to the mysterious, to the unexplainable. Dr. Colubra’s work was perforce more straightforward, and
Meg was not sure how she would respond to talk of a strange dark Teacher, eight or nine feet tall, and even less sure how she would react to their description of a cherubim. She’d probably insist they were suffering from mass psychosis and that they all should see a psychiatrist at once.
—Or is it just that I’m afraid to talk about it, even to Mother? Meg wondered, as she took sugar, cocoa, milk, and a saucepan from the kitchen and returned to the pantry.
Dr. Colubra was saying, “That stuff about cosmic screams and rips in distant galaxies offends every bit of the rational part of me.”
Mrs. Murry leaned against the counter. “You didn’t believe in farandolae, either, until I proved them to you.”
“You haven’t proven them to me,” Dr. Louise said. “Yet.” She looked slightly ruffled, like a little grey bird. Her short, curly hair was grey; her eyes were grey above a small beak of a nose; she wore a grey flannel suit. “The main reason I think you may be right is that you go to that idiot machine—” she pointed at the micro-electron microscope—“the way my husband used to go to his violin. It was always like a lovers’ meeting.”
Mrs. Murry turned away from her “idiot machine.” “I think I wish I’d never heard of farandolae, much less come to the conclusions—” She stopped abruptly, then said, “By the way, kids, I was rather surprised, just before
you all barged into the lab, to have Mr. Jenkins call to suggest that we give Charles Wallace lessons in selfdefense.”
you all barged into the lab, to have Mr. Jenkins call to suggest that we give Charles Wallace lessons in selfdefense.”
Mr. Jenkins? Meg wondered. Aloud she said, “But Mr. Jenkins never calls parents. Parents have to go to him.” She almost asked, “Are you sure it was Mr. Jenkins?” And stopped herself as she remembered that she had not told Blajeny about the horrible Mr. Jenkins-not-Mr. Jenkins who had turned into a bird of nothingness, the Mr. Jenkins Louise had resented so fiercely. She should have told Blajeny; she would tell him first thing in the morning.
Charles Wallace climbed up onto one of the lab stools and perched close to his mother. “What I really need are lessons in adaptation. I’ve been reading Darwin, but he hasn’t helped me much.”
“See what we mean?” Calvin asked Dr. Louise. “That’s hardly what one expects from a six-year-old.”
“He really does read Darwin,” Meg assured the doctor.
“And I still haven’t learned how to adapt,” Charles Wallace added.
Dr. Louise was making a paste of cocoa, sugar, and a little hot water from one of Mrs. Murry’s retorts. “This
is
just water, isn’t it?” she asked.
is
just water, isn’t it?” she asked.
“From our artesian well. The very best water.”
Dr. Louise added milk, little by little. “You kids are too young to remember, and your mother is a good ten
years younger than I am, but I’ll never forget, a great many years ago, when the first astronauts went to the moon, and I sat up all night to watch them.”
years younger than I am, but I’ll never forget, a great many years ago, when the first astronauts went to the moon, and I sat up all night to watch them.”
“I remember it all right,” Mrs. Murry said. “I wasn’t that young.”
Dr. Louise stirred the cocoa which was heating over a Bunsen burner. “Do you remember those first steps on the moon, so tentative to begin with, on that strange, airless, alien terrain? And then, in a short time, Armstrong and Aldrin were striding about confidently, and the commentator remarked on this as an extraordinary example of man’s remarkable ability to adapt.”
“But all they had to adapt to was the moon’s surface!” Meg objected. “It wasn’t inhabited. I’ll bet when our astronauts reach some place with inhabitants it won’t be so easy. It’s a lot simpler to adapt to low gravity, or no atmosphere, or even sandstorms, than it is to hostile inhabitants.”
Fortinbras, who had an uncanine fondness for cocoa, came padding out to the lab, his nose twitching in anticipation. He stood on his hind legs and put his front paws on Charles Wallace’s shoulders.
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