A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine L'Engle [44]
“Thanks,” Calvin said wryly. “Now, if you are our friend, will you tell us who—or what—you are?”
“It is not necessary for you to know who I am. I am the Prime Coordinator, that is all you need to know.”
“But you’re being spoken through, aren’t you, just like Charles Wallace? Are you hypnotized, too?”
“I told you that was too primitive a word, without the correct connotations.”
“Is it you who are going to take us to Mr. Murry?”
“No. It is not necessary, nor is it possible, for me to leave here. Charles Wallace will conduct you.”
“Charles Wallace?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Now.” The man with red eyes made the frightening grimace that passed for his smile. “Yes, I think it might as well be now.”
Charles Wallace gave a slight jerk of his head, saying, “Come,” and started to walk in a strange, gliding, mechanical manner. Calvin followed him. Meg hesitated, looking from the man with red eyes to Charles and Calvin. She wanted to reach out and grab Calvin’s hand, but it seemed that ever since they had begun their journeyings she had been looking for a hand to hold, so she stuffed her fists into her pockets and walked along behind the two boys.—I’ve got to be brave, she said to herself.—I will be.
They moved down a long, white, and seemingly endless corridor. Charles Wallace continued the jerky rhythm of his walk and did not once look back to see if they were with him.
Suddenly Meg broke into a run and caught up with Calvin. “Cal,” she said, “listen. Quick. Remember Mrs Whatsit said your gift was communication and that was what she was giving you. We’ve been trying to fight Charles physically, and that isn’t any good. Can’t you try to communicate with him? Can’t you try to get in to him?”
“Golly day, you’re right.” Calvin’s face lit up with hope, and his eyes, which had been somber, regained their usual sparkle. “I’ve been in such a swivet—It may not do any good, but at least I can try.” They quickened their pace until they were level with Charles Wallace. Calvin reached out for his arm, but Charles flung it off.
“Leave me alone,” he snarled.
“I’m not going to hurt you, old sport,” Calvin said. “I’m just trying to be friendly. Let’s make it up, hunh?”
“You mean you’re coming around?” Charles Wallace asked.
“Sure,” Calvin’s voice was coaxing. “We’re reasonable people, after all. Just look at me for a minute, Charlibus.”
Charles Wallace stopped and turned slowly to look at Calvin with his cold, vacant eyes. Calvin looked back, and Meg could feel the intensity of his concentration. An enormous shudder shook Charles Wallace. For a brief flash his eyes seemed to see. Then his whole body twirled wildly, and went rigid. He started his marionette’s walk again. “I should have known better,” he said. “If you want to see Murry you’d better come with me and not try any more hanky-panky.”
“Is that what you call your father—Murry?” Calvin asked. Meg could see that he was angry and upset at his near success.
“Father? What is a father?” Charles Wallace intoned. “Merely another misconception. If you feel the need of a father, then I would suggest that you turn to IT.”
IT again.
“Who’s this IT?” Meg asked.
“All in good time,” Charles Wallace said. “You’re not ready for IT yet. First of all I will tell you something about this beautiful, enlightened planet of Camazotz.” His voice took on the dry, pedantic tones of Mr. Jenkins. “Perhaps you do not realize that on Camazotz we have conquered all illness, all deformity—”
“We?” Calvin interrupted.
Charles continued as though he had not heard. And of course he hadn’t, Meg thought. “We let no one suffer. It is so much kinder simply to annihilate anyone who is ill. Nobody has weeks and weeks of runny noses and sore throats. Rather than endure such discomfort they are simply put to sleep.”
“You mean they’re put to sleep while they have a cold, or that they’re murdered?” Calvin demanded.
“Murder is a most primitive word,” Charles Wallace said. “There is no such thing as murder on Camazotz.