Wrinkle in Time

cannot pretend that we are doing anything but sending you into the gravest kind of danger. I have to acknowledge quite openly that it may be a fatal danger. I know this. But I do not believe it. And the Happy Medium doesn’t believe it, either.’

‘Can’t she see what’s going to happen?’ Calvin asked.

‘Oh, not in this kind of thing.’ Mrs Whatsit sounded surprised at his question. ‘If we knew ahead of time what was going to happen we’d be — we’d be like the people on Camazotz, with no lives of our own, with everything all planned and done for us. How can I explain it to you? Oh, I know. In your language you have a form of poetry called the sonnet.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Calvin said impatiently. ‘What’s that got to do with the Happy Medium?’

‘Kindly pay me the courtesy of listening to me.’ Mrs Whatsit’s voice was stern, and for a moment Calvin stopped pawing the ground like a nervous colt. ‘It is a very strict form of poetry, is it not?’

‘Yes.’

‘There are fourteen lines, I believe, all in iambic pentameter. That’s a very strict rhythm or metre, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Calvin nodded.

‘And each line has to end with a rigid rhyme pattern. And if the poet does not do it exactly this way, it is not a sonnet, is it?’

‘No.’

‘But within this strict form the poet has complete freedom to say whatever he wants, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes.’ Calvin nodded again.

‘So,’ Mrs Whatsit said.

‘So what?’

‘Oh, do not be stupid, boy!’ Mrs Whatsit scolded. ‘You know perfectly well what I’m driving at!’

‘You mean you’re comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it?’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Whatsit said. ‘You’re given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.’

‘Please,’ Meg said. ‘Please. If I’ve got to go I want to go and get it over with. Each minute you put it off makes it harder.’

‘Sshee iss rrightt,’ boomed Mrs Which’s voice. ‘Itt iss ttime.’

‘You may say goodbye.’ Mrs Whatsit was giving her not permission, but a command.

Meg curtsied clumsily to the beasts. ‘Thank you all. Very much. I know you saved my life.’ She did not add what she could not help thinking: Saved it for what? So that IT could get me?

She put her arms about Aunt Beast, pressed up against the soft, fragrant fur. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I love you.’

‘And I, you, little one.’ Aunt Beast pressed gentle tendrils against Meg’s face.

‘Cal —’ Meg said, holding out her hand.

Calvin came to her and took her hand, then drew her roughly to him and kissed her. He didn’t say anything, and he turned away before he had a chance to see the surprised happiness that brightened Meg’s eyes.

At last she turned to her father. ‘I’m — I’m sorry, Father.’

He took both her hands in his, bent down to her with his short-sighted eyes. ‘Sorry for what, Megatron?’

Tears almost came to her eyes at the gentle use of the old nickname. ‘I wanted you to do it all for me. I wanted everything to be all easy and simple… So I tried to pretend that it was all your fault… because I was scared, and I didn’t want to have to do anything myself —’

‘But I wanted to do it for you,’ Mr Murry said. ‘That’s what every parent wants.’ He looked into her dark, frightened eyes. ‘I won’t let you go, Meg. I am going.’

‘No.’ Mrs Whatsit’s voice was sterner than Meg had ever heard it. ‘You are going to allow Meg the privilege of accepting this danger. You are a wise man, Mr Murry. You are going to let her go.’

Mr Murry sighed. He drew Meg close to him. ‘Little Megaparsec. Don’t be afraid to be afraid. We will try to have courage for you. That is all we can do. Your mother —’

‘Mother was always shoving me out in the world,’ Meg said. ‘She’d want me to do this. You know she would. Tell her —’ she started, choked, then held up her head and said, ‘No. Never mind. I’ll tell her myself.’

‘Good girl. Of course you will.’

Now Meg walked slowly around the great table to where Mrs Whatsit was still poised between the columns. ‘Are you going with me?’

‘No. Only Mrs Which.’

‘The Black Thing —’ Fear made her voice tremble. ‘When Father tessered me through it, it almost got me.’

‘Your father is singularly inexperienced,’ Mrs Whatsit said, ‘though a fine man, and worth teaching. At the moment he still treats tessering as though he were working with a machine. We will not let the Black Thing get you. I don’t think.’

This was not exactly comforting.

The momentary vision and faith that had come to Meg dwindled. ‘But suppose I can’t get Charles Wallace away from IT —’

‘Stop.’ Mrs Whatsit held up her hand. ‘We gave you gifts the last time we took you to Camazotz. We will not let you go empty handed this time. But what we can give you now is nothing you can touch with your hands. I give you my love, Meg. Never forget that. My love always.’

Mrs Who, eyes shining behind spectacles, beamed at Meg. Meg felt in her blazer pocket and handed back the spectacles she had used on Camazotz.

‘Your father is right.’ Mrs Who took the spectacles and hid them somewhere in the folds of her robes. ‘The virtue is gone from them. And what I have to give you this time you must try to understand not word by word, but in a flash, as you understand the tesseract. Listen, Meg. Listen well. The foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men. For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called, but God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty. And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought thingsthat are.’ She paused, and then she said, ‘Tт May the right prevail.’ Her spectacles seemed to flicker. Behind her, through her, one of the columns became visible. There was a final gleam from the glasses, and she was gone. Meg looked nervously to where Mrs Whatsit had been standing before Mrs Who spoke. But Mrs Whatsit was no longer there.

‘No!’ Mr Murry cried, and stepped towards Meg.

Mrs Which’s voice came through her shimmer. ‘I ccannnott hholldd yyourr hanndd, chilldd.’

Immediately Meg was swept into darkness, into nothingness, and then into the icy devouring cold of the Black Thing. — Mrs Which won’t let it get me, she thought over and over while the cold of the Black Thing seemed to crunch at her bones.

Then they were through it, and she was standing breathlessly on her feet on the same hill on which they had first landed on Camazotz. She was cold and a little numb, but no worse than she had often been in the winter in the country when she had spent an afternoon skating on the pond. She was completely alone. Her heart began to pound.

Then, seeming to echo from all around her, came Mrs Which’s unforgettable voice. ‘I hhave nnott ggivenn yyou mmyy ggifftt. Yyou hhave ssomethinngg thattITThhass nnott. Thiss ssomethinngg iss yyourr onlly wweapponn. Bbutt yyou mmusstt ffinndd itt fforr yyourrssellff.’ Then the voice ceased, and Meg knew that she was alone.

She walked slowly down the hill, her heart thumping painfully against her ribs. There below her was the same row of identical houses they had seen before, and beyond these the linear buildings of the city. She walked along the quiet street. It was dark and the street was deserted. No children playing ball or skipping rope. No mother figures at the doors. No father figures returning from work. In the same window of each house was a light, and as Meg walked down the street all the lights were extinguished simultaneously. Was it because of her presence, or was it simply that it was time for lights out?

She felt numb, beyond rage or disappointment or even fear. She put one foot ahead of the other with precise regularity, not allowing her pace to lag. She was not thinking; she was not planning; she was simply walking slowly