Wrinkle in Time

Laddie-me-love.’

Calvin bent down, blushing, and awkwardly kissed her cheek.

The Medium tweaked his nose. ‘You’ve got a lot to learn, my boy,’ she told him.

‘Now, goodbye Medium dear, and many thanks,’ Mrs Whatsit said. ‘I dare say we’ll see you in an aeon or two.’

‘Where are you going in case I want to tune in?’ the Medium asked.

‘Camazotz,’ Mrs Whatsit told her. (Where and what was Camazotz? Meg did not like the sound of the word or the way in which Mrs Whatsit pronounced it.) ‘But please don’t distress yourself on our behalf. You know you don’t like looking in on the dark and it’s very upsetting to us when you aren’t happy.’

‘But I must know what happens to the children,’ the Medium said. ‘It’s my worst trouble, getting fond. If I didn’t get fond I could be happy all the time. Oh, well, ho hum, I manage to keep pretty jolly, and a little snooze will do wonders for me right now. Goodbye everyb—’ and her word got lost in the general b-b-bz-z of a snore.

‘Ccome,’ Mrs Which ordered, and they followed her out of the darkness of the cave to the impersonal greyness of the Medium’s planet.

‘Nnoww, cchilldrenn, yyouu musstt nott bee frrightennedd att whatt iss ggoingg tto hhappenn,’ Mrs Which warned.

‘Be angry, little Meg,’ Mrs Whatsit whispered. ‘You will need all your anger now.’

Without warning Meg was swept into nothingness again. This time the nothingness was interrupted by a feeling of clammy coldness such as she had never felt before. The coldness deepened and swirled all about her and through her, and was filled with a new and strange kind of darkness that was a completely tangible thing, a thing that wanted to eat and digest her like some enormous malignant beast of prey.

Then the darkness was gone. Had it been the shadow, the Black Thing? Had they had to travel through it to get to her father?

There was the by-now-familiar tingling in her hands and feet and the push through hardness, and she was on her feet, breathless but unharmed, standing beside Calvin and Charles Wallace.

‘Is this Camazotz?’ Charles Wallace asked as Mrs Whatsit materialized in front of him.

‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘Now let us just stand and get our breath and look around.’

They were standing on a hill and as Meg looked about her she felt that it could easily be a hill on earth. There were the familiar trees she knew so well at home: birches, pines, maples. And though it was warmer than it had been when they so precipitously left the apple orchard, there was a faintly autumnal touch to the air; near them were several small trees with reddened leaves very like sumac, and a big patch of goldenrod-like flowers. As she looked down the hill she could see the smokestacks of a town, and it might have been one of any number of familiar towns. There seemed to be nothing strange, or different, or frightening, in the landscape.

But Mrs Whatsit came to her and put an arm around her comfortingly. ‘I can’t stay with you here, you know, love,’ she said. ‘You three children will be on your own. We will be near you; we will be watching you. But you will not be able to see us or to ask us for help, and we will not be able to come to you.’

‘But is father here?’ Meg asked tremblingly.

‘Yes.’

‘But where? When will we see him?’ She was poised for running, as though she were going to sprint off, immediately, to wherever her father was.

‘That I cannot tell you. You will just have to wait until the propitious moment.’

Charles Wallace looked steadily at Mrs Whatsit. ‘Are you afraid for us?’

‘A little.’

‘But if you weren’t afraid to do what you did when you were a star, why should you be afraid for us now?’

‘But I was afraid,’ Mrs Whatsit said gently. She looked steadily at each of the three children in turn. ‘You will need help,’ she told them, ‘but all I am allowed to give you is a little talisman. Calvin, your great gift is your ability to communicate, to communicate with all kinds of people. So, for you, I will strengthen this gift. Meg, I give you your faults.’

‘My faults!’ Meg cried.

‘Your faults.’

‘But I’m always trying to get rid of my faults!’

‘Yes,’ Mrs Whatsit said. ‘However, I think you’ll find they’ll come in very handy on Camazotz. Charles Wallace, to you I can give only the resilience of your childhood.’

From somewhere Mrs Who’s glasses glimmered and they heard her voice. ‘Calvin,’ she said, ‘a hint. For you a hint. Listen well:

“… For that thou wast a spirit too delicate

To act their earthy and abhorr’d commands,

Refusing their grand hests, they did confine thee

By help of their more potent ministers,

And in their most unmitigable rage,

Into a cloven pine; within which rift

Imprisoned, thou didst painfully remain…”

Shakespeare. The Tempest.’

‘Where are you, Mrs Who?’ Charles Wallace asked. ‘Where is Mrs Which?’

‘We cannot come to you now,’ Mrs Who’s voice blew to them like the wind. ‘Allwissend bin ich nicht; doch viel ist mir bewisst. Goethe. I do not know everything; still many things I understand. That is for you, Charles. Remember that you do not know everything.’ Then the voice was directed to Meg. ‘To you I leave my glasses, little blind-as-a-bat. But do not use them except as a last resort. Save them for the final moment of peril.’ As she spoke there was another shimmer of spectacles, and then it was gone, and the voice faded out with it. The spectacles were in Meg’s hand. She put them carefully into the breast pocket of her blazer, and the knowledge that they were there somehow made her a little less afraid.

‘Tto alll tthreee off yyou I ggive mmy ccommandd,’ Mrs Which said. ‘Ggo ddownn innttoo tthee ttownn. Ggo ttogetherr. Ddoo nnott llett tthemm ssepparate yyou. Bbee sstrongg.’ There was a flicker and then it vanished. Meg shivered.

Mrs Whatsit must have seen the shiver, for she patted Meg on the shoulder. Then she turned to Calvin. ‘Take care of Meg.’

‘I can take care of Meg,’ Charles Wallace said rather sharply. ‘I always have.’

Mrs Whatsit looked at Charles Wallace, and the creaky voice seemed somehow both to soften and to deepen at the same time. ‘Charles Wallace, the danger here is greatest for you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because of what you are. Just exactly because of what you are you will be by far the most vulnerable. You must stay with Meg and Calvin. You must not go off on your own. Beware of pride and arrogance, Charles, for they may betray you.’

At the tone of Mrs Whatsit’s voice, both warning and frightening, Meg shivered again. And Charles Wallace butted up against Mrs Whatsit in the way he often did with his mother, whispering, ‘Now I think I know what you meant about being afraid.’

‘Only a fool is not afraid,’ Mrs Whatsit told him. ‘Now go.’ And where she had been there was only sky and grasses and a small rock.

‘Come on,’ Meg said impatiently. ‘Come on, let’s go!’ She was completely unaware that her voice was trembling like an aspen leaf. She took Charles Wallace and Calvin each by the hand and started down the hill.

Below them the town was laid out in harsh angular patterns. The houses in the outskirts were all exactly alike, small square boxes painted grey. Each had a small, rectangular plot of lawn in front, with a straight line of dull-looking flowers edging the path to the door. Meg had a feeling that if she could count the flowers there would be exactly the same number for each house. In front of all the houses children were playing. Some were skipping rope, some were bouncing balls. Meg felt vaguely that something was wrong with their play. It seemed exactly like children playing around any housing development at home, and yet there was something different about it. She