A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine L'Engle [57]
“Shoot you, I guess,” Calvin admitted.
“Then isn’t that what we should do with you?”
Calvin’s freckles seemed to deepen, but he answered quietly. “I’d really rather you didn’t. I mean, the earth’s my home, and I’d rather be there than anywhere in the world—I mean, the universe—and I can’t wait to get back, but we make some awful bloopers there.”
The smallest beast, the one holding Meg, said, “And perhaps they aren’t used to visitors from other planets.”
“Used to it!” Calvin exclaimed. “We’ve never had any, as far as I know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
The middle beast, a tremor of trepidation in his words, said, “You aren’t from a dark planet, are you?”
“No.” Calvin shook his head firmly, though the beast couldn’t see him. “We’re—we’re shadowed. But we’re fighting the shadow.”
The beast holding Meg questioned, “You three are fighting?”
“Yes,” Calvin answered. “Now that we know about it.”
The tall one turned back to Mr. Murry, speaking sternly. “You. The oldest. Man. From where have you come? Now.”
Mr. Murry answered steadily. “From a planet called Camazotz.” There was a mutter from the three beasts. “We do not belong there,” Mr. Murry said, slowly and distinctly. “We were strangers there as we are here. I was a prisoner there, and these children rescued me. My youngest son, my baby, is still there, trapped in the dark mind of IT.”
Meg tried to twist around in the beast’s arms to glare at her father and Calvin. Why were they being so frank? Weren’t they aware of the danger? But again her anger dissolved as the gentle warmth from the tentacles flowed through her. She realized that she could move her fingers and toes with comparative freedom, and the pain was no longer so acute.
“We must take this child back with us,” the beast holding her said.
Meg shouted at her father. “Don’t leave me the way you left Charles!” With this burst of terror a spasm of pain wracked her body and she gasped.
“Stop fighting,” the beast told her. “You make it worse. Relax.”
“That’s what IT said,” Meg cried. “Father! Calvin! Help!”
The beast turned toward Calvin and Mr. Murry. “This child is in danger. You must trust us.”
“We have no alternative,” Mr. Murry said. “Can you save her?”
“I think so.”
“May I stay with her?”
“No. But you will not be far away. We feel that you are hungry, tired, that you would like to bathe and rest. And this little—what is the word?” the beast cocked its tentacles at Calvin.
“Girl,” Calvin said.
“This little girl needs prompt and special care. The coldness of the—what is it you call it?”
“The Black Thing?”
“The Black Thing. Yes. The Black Thing burns unless it is counteracted properly.” The three beasts stood around Meg, and it seemed that they were feeling into her with their softly waving tentacles. The movement of the tentacles was as rhythmic and flowing as the dance of an undersea plant, and lying there, cradled in the four strange arms, Meg, despite herself, felt a sense of security that was deeper than anything she had known since the days when she lay in her mother’s arms in the old rocking chair and was sung to sleep. With her father’s help she had been able to resist IT. Now she could hold out no longer. She leaned her head against the beast’s chest, and realized that the gray body was covered with the softest, most delicate fur imaginable, and the fur had the same beautiful odor as the air.
I hope I don’t smell awful to it, she thought. But then she knew with a deep sense of comfort that even if she did smell awful the beasts would forgive her. As the tall figure cradled her she could feel the frigid stiffness of her body relaxing against it. This bliss could not come to her from a thing like IT. IT could only give pain, never relieve it. The beasts must be good. They had to be good. She sighed deeply, like a very small child, and suddenly she was asleep.
When she came to herself again there was in the back of her mind a memory of pain, of agonizing pain. But the pain was over now and her body was lapped in comfort. She was lying on something wonderfully soft in