A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine L'Engle [37]
“She told you not to go off by yourself. I’m the oldest and I should go in first.”
“No.” Meg’s voice was flat. “Charles is right, Cal. We have to stay together. Suppose you didn’t come out and we had to go in after you? Unh-unh. Come on. But let’s hold hands if you don’t mind.”
Holding hands, they crossed the square. The huge CENTRAL Central Intelligence Building had only one door, but it was an enormous one, at least two stories high and wider than a room, made of a dull, bronzelike material.
“Do we just knock?” Meg giggled.
Calvin studied the door. “There isn’t any handle or knob or latch or anything. Maybe there’s another way to get in.”
“Let’s try knocking anyhow,” Charles said. He raised his hand, but before he touched the door it slid up from the top and to each side, splitting into three sections that had been completely invisible a moment before. The startled children looked into a great entrance hall of dull, greeny marble. Marble benches lined three of the walls. People were sitting there like statues. The green of the marble reflecting on their faces made them look bilious. They turned their heads as the door opened, saw the children, looked away again.
“Come on,” Charles said, and, still holding hands, they stepped in. As they crossed the threshold the door shut silently behind them. Meg looked at Calvin and Charles and they, like the waiting people, were a sickly green.
The children went up to the blank fourth wall. It seemed unsubstantial, as though one might almost be able to walk through it. Charles put out his hand. “It’s solid, and icy cold.”
Calvin touched it, too. “Ugh.”
Meg’s left hand was held by Charles, her right by Calvin, and she had no desire to let go either of them to touch the wall.
“Let’s ask somebody something.” Charles led them over to one of the benches. “Er, could you tell us what’s the procedure around here?” he asked one of the men. The men all wore nondescript business suits, and though their features were as different one from the other as the features of men on earth, there was also a sameness to them.
—Like the sameness of people riding in a subway, Meg thought.—Only on a subway every once in a while there’s somebody different and here there isn’t.
The man looked at the children warily. “The procedure for what?”
“How do we see whoever’s in authority?” Charles asked.
“You present your papers to the A machine. You ought to know that,” the man said severely.
“Where is the A machine?” Calvin asked.
The man pointed to the blank wall.
“But there isn’t a door or anything,” Calvin said. “How do we get in?”
“You put your S papers in the B slot,” the man said. “Why are you asking me these stupid questions? Do you think I don’t know the answers? You’d better not play any games around here or you’ll have to go through the Process machine again and you don’t want to do that.”
“We’re strangers here,” Calvin said. “That’s why we don’t know about things. Please tell us, sir, who you are and what you do.”
“I run a number-one spelling machine on the second-grade level.”
“But what are you doing here now?” Charles Wallace asked.
“I am here to report that one of my letters is jamming, and until it can be properly oiled by an F Grade oiler there is danger of jammed minds.”
“Strawberry jam or raspberry?” Charles Wallace murmured. Calvin looked down at Charles and shook his head warningly. Meg gave the little boy’s hand a slight, understanding pressure. Charles Wallace, she was quite sure, was not trying to be rude or funny; it was his way of whistling in the dark.
The man looked at Charles sharply. “I think I shall have to report you. I’m fond of children, due to the nature of my work and I don’t like to get them in trouble, but rather than run the risk myself of reprocessing I must report you.”
“Maybe that’s a good idea,” Charles said. “Who do you report us to?”
“To whom do I report you.”
“Well, to whom, then. I’m not on the second-grade level yet.”
—I wish he wouldn’t act so sure of himself, Meg thought,