Read A Wind in the Door Online
Authors: Madeleine L'Engle
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Science Fiction, #Classics, #Time Travel, #Retail, #Personal
A Wind in the Door (3 page)
“She certainly isn’t larger than Dr. Louise.”
Dennys bristled. “Louise the Larger is very large for a snake who lives in a garden wall, and Dr. Louise is a
very small doctor—I mean, she’s a tiny person. I suppose as a doctor she’s pretty mammoth.”
very small doctor—I mean, she’s a tiny person. I suppose as a doctor she’s pretty mammoth.”
“Well, doctors don’t have to be any size. But you’re right, Den, she is tiny. And our snake is big.” The twins seldom disagreed about anything for long.
“The only trouble is, she’s more like a bird than a snake.”
“Didn’t snakes and birds, way back in evolution, didn’t they evolve originally from the same phylum, or whatever you call it? Anyhow, Louise is a very good name for our snake.”
Dr. Louise, fortunately, was highly amused. Snakes were misunderstood creatures, she told the twins, and she was honored to have such a handsome one named after her. And snakes, she added, were on the caduceus, which is the emblem for doctors, so it was all most appropriate.
Louise the Larger had grown considerably since her baptism, and Meg, though not actively afraid of her, was always careful to look for Louise before she sat. Louise, at this moment, was nowhere to be seen, so Meg relaxed and turned her thoughts again to Charles Wallace. “You’re a lot brighter than the twins, but the twins are far from dumb. How do
they
manage?”
they
manage?”
Charles Wallace said, “I wish they’d tell me.”
“They don’t talk at school the way they do at home, for one thing.”
“I thought if I was interested in mitochondria and farandolae, other people would be, too.”
“You were wrong.”
“I really
am
interested in them. Why is that so peculiar?”
am
interested in them. Why is that so peculiar?”
“I don’t suppose it
is
so peculiar for the son of a physicist and a biologist.”
is
so peculiar for the son of a physicist and a biologist.”
“Most people aren’t. Interested, I mean.”
“They aren’t children of two scientists, either. Our parents provide us with all kinds of disadvantages. I’ll never be as beautiful as Mother.”
Charles Wallace was tired of reassuring Meg. “And the incredible thing about farandolae is their size.”
Meg was thinking about her hair, the ordinary straight brown of a field mouse, as against her mother’s auburn waves. “What about it?”
“They’re so small that all anyone can do is postulate them; even the most powerful micro-electron microscope can’t show them. But they’re important to us—we’d die if we didn’t have farandolae. But nobody at school is remotely interested. Our teacher has the mind of a grasshopper. As you were saying, it’s not an advantage having famous parents.”
“If they weren’t famous—you bet everybody knows when L.A. calls, or Father makes a trip to the White House—they’d be in for it, too. We’re all different, our family. Except the twins. They do all right. Maybe because
they’re normal. Or know how to act it. But then I wonder what normal is, anyhow, or isn’t? Why are you so interested in farandolae?”
they’re normal. Or know how to act it. But then I wonder what normal is, anyhow, or isn’t? Why are you so interested in farandolae?”
“Mother’s working on them.”
“She’s worked on lots of things and you haven’t been this interested.”
“If she really proves their existence, she’ll probably get the Nobel Prize.”
“So? That’s not what’s bugging you about them.”
“Meg, if something happens to our farandolae—well, it would be disastrous.”
“Why?” Meg shivered, suddenly cold, and buttoned her cardigan. Clouds were scudding across the sky, and with them a rising wind.
“I mentioned mitochondria, didn’t I?”
“You did. What about them?”
“Mitochondria are tiny little organisms living in our cells. That gives you an idea of how tiny they are, doesn’t it?”
“Enough.”
“A human being is a whole world to a mitochondrion, just the way our planet is to us. But we’re much more dependent on our mitochondria than the earth is on us. The earth could get along perfectly well without people, but if anything happened to our mitochondria, we’d die.”
“Why should anything happen to them?”
Charles Wallace gave a small shrug. In the darkening light he looked very pale. “Accidents happen to people. Or diseases. Things can happen to anything. But what I’ve sort of picked up from Mother is that quite a lot of mitochondria are in some kind of trouble because of their farandolae.”
“Has Mother actually told you all this?”
“Some of it. The rest I’ve just—gathered.”
Charles Wallace did gather things out of his mother’s mind, out of Meg’s mind, as another child might gather daisies in a field. “What are farandolae, then?” She shifted position on the hard rocks of the wall.
“Farandolae live in a mitochondrion sort of the same way a mitochondrion lives in a human cell. They’re genetically independent of their mitochondria, just as mitochondria are of us. And if anything happens to the farandolae in a mitochondrion, the mitochondrion gets—gets sick. And probably dies.”
A dry leaf separated from its stem and drifted past Meg’s cheek. “Why should anything happen to them?” she repeated.
Charles Wallace repeated, too, “Accidents happen to people, don’t they? And disease. And people killing each other in wars.”
“Yes, but that’s people. Why are you going on so about mitochondria and farandolae?”
“Meg, Mother’s been working in her lab, night and
day, almost literally, for several weeks now. You’ve noticed that.”
day, almost literally, for several weeks now. You’ve noticed that.”
“She often does when she’s on to something.”
“She’s on to farandolae. She thinks she’s proved their existence by studying some mitochondria, mitochondria which are dying.”
“You’re not talking about all this stuff at school, are you?”
“I do learn some things, Meg. You aren’t really listening to me.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Then
listen
. The reason Mother’s been in her lab so much trying to find the effect of farandolae on mitochondria is that she thinks there’s something wrong with my mitochondria.”
listen
. The reason Mother’s been in her lab so much trying to find the effect of farandolae on mitochondria is that she thinks there’s something wrong with my mitochondria.”
“What?” Meg jumped down from the stone wall and swung around to face her brother.
He spoke very quietly, so that she had to bend down to hear. “If my mitochondria get sick, then so do I.”
All the fear which Meg had been trying to hold back threatened to break loose. “How serious is it? Can Mother give you something for it?”
“I don’t know. She won’t talk to me. I’m only guessing. She’s trying to shut me out till she knows more, and I can only get in through the chinks. Maybe it’s not really serious. Maybe it’s all just school; I really do get
punched or knocked down almost every day. It’s enough to make me feel—Hey—look at Louise!”
punched or knocked down almost every day. It’s enough to make me feel—Hey—look at Louise!”
Meg turned, following his gaze. Louise the Larger was slithering along the stones of the wall towards them, moving rapidly, sinuously, her black curves shimmering purple and silver in the autumn light. Meg cried, “Charles! Quick!”
He did not move. “She won’t hurt us.”
“Charles, run! She’s going to attack!”
But Louise stopped her advance, just a few feet from Charles Wallace, and raised herself up, uncoiling until she stood, barely on the last few inches of her length, rearing up and looking around expectantly.
Charles Wallace said, “There’s someone near. Someone Louise knows.”
“The—the dragons?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see anything. Hush, let me feel.” He closed his eyes, not to shut out Louise, not to shut out Meg, but in order to see with his inner eye. “The dragons—I think—and a man, but more than a man—very tall and—” He opened his eyes, and pointed into the shadows where the trees crowded thickly together. “Look!”
Meg thought she saw a dim giant shape moving towards them, but before she could be sure, Fortinbras came galloping across the orchard, barking wildly. It
was not his angry bark, but the loud announcing bark with which he greeted either of the Murry parents when they had been away. Then, with his heavy black tail lifted straight out behind him, his nose pointing and quivering, he stalked the length of the orchard, jumped the wall to the north pasture, and ran, still sniffing, to one of the big glacial rocks.
was not his angry bark, but the loud announcing bark with which he greeted either of the Murry parents when they had been away. Then, with his heavy black tail lifted straight out behind him, his nose pointing and quivering, he stalked the length of the orchard, jumped the wall to the north pasture, and ran, still sniffing, to one of the big glacial rocks.
Charles Wallace, panting with effort, followed him. “He’s going to where my dragons were! Come on, Meg, maybe he’s found fewmets!”
She hurried after boy and dog. “How would you know a dragon dropping? Fewmets probably look like bigger and better cow pies.”
Charles Wallace was down on his hands and knees. “Look.”
On the moss around the rock was a small drift of feathers. They did not look like bird feathers. They were extraordinarily soft and sparkling at the same time; and between the feathers were bits of glinting silver-gold, leaf-shaped scales which, Meg thought, might well belong to dragons.
“You see, Meg! They were here! My dragons were here!”
W
hen Meg and Charles Wallace returned to the house, silently, each holding strange and new thoughts, evening was moving in with the wind. The twins were waiting for them, and wanted Charles Wallace to go out in the last of the light to play catch.
hen Meg and Charles Wallace returned to the house, silently, each holding strange and new thoughts, evening was moving in with the wind. The twins were waiting for them, and wanted Charles Wallace to go out in the last of the light to play catch.
“It’s too dark already,” Charles Wallace said.
“We’ve got a few minutes. Come on, Charles. You may be bright, but you’re slow at playing ball. I could pitch when I was six, and you can’t even catch without fumbling.”
Dennys patted Charles, a pat more like a whack. “He’s improving. Come on, we’ve only got a few minutes.”
Charles Wallace shook his head. He did not mention that he did not feel well; he just said, firmly, “Not tonight.”
Meg left the twins still arguing with him, and went into the kitchen. Mrs. Murry was just coming in from
the laboratory, and her mind was still on her work. She peered vaguely into the refrigerator.
the laboratory, and her mind was still on her work. She peered vaguely into the refrigerator.
Meg confronted her. “Mother, Charles Wallace thinks something is wrong with his mitochondria or farandolae or something.”
Mrs. Murry shut the refrigerator door. “Sometimes Charles Wallace thinks too much.”
“What does Dr. Colubra think? About this mitochondria bit?”
“That it’s a possibility. Louise thinks the bad flu strain this autumn, which has caused a lot of deaths, may not be flu at all, but mitochondritis.”
“And that’s what Charles maybe has?”
“I don’t know, Meg. I’m trying to find out. When I know something, I will tell you. I’ve already said that. Meanwhile, let me alone.”
Meg took a step backwards, sat down on one of the dining chairs. Her mother never talked in that cold, shutting-out way to her children. It must mean that she was very worried indeed.
Mrs. Murry turned towards Meg with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Megatron. I didn’t mean to be sharp. I’m in the difficult position of knowing more about the possible ailments of mitochondria than almost anybody else today. I didn’t expect to be confronted with the results of my work quite so soon. And I still don’t know enough to tell you—or Louise—anything definite.
Meanwhile, there’s no point in our getting all worried unless we know there’s a real reason. Right now we’d better concentrate on Charles Wallace’s problems at school.”
Meanwhile, there’s no point in our getting all worried unless we know there’s a real reason. Right now we’d better concentrate on Charles Wallace’s problems at school.”
“Is he well enough to go to school?”
“I think so. For now. I don’t want to take him out until I have to.”
“Why not?”
“He’d just have to go back eventually, Meg, and then things would be harder than ever. If he can just get through these first weeks—”
“Mother, nobody around here has ever known a six-year-old boy like Charles.”
“He’s extremely intelligent. But there was a day when it wasn’t unusual for a twelve- or thirteen-year-old to graduate from Harvard, or Oxford or Cambridge.”
“It’s unusual today. And you and Father can hardly send him to Harvard at six. Anyhow, it isn’t just that he’s intelligent. How does he know what we’re thinking and feeling? I don’t know how much you’ve told him, but he knows an awful lot about mitochondria and farandolae.”
“I’ve told him a reasonable amount.”
“He knows more than a reasonable amount. And he knows you’re worried about him.”
Mrs. Murry perched on one of the high stools by the
kitchen counter which divided the work area from the rest of the bright, rambly dining and studying room. She sighed, “You’re right, Meg. Charles Wallace not only has a good mind, he has extraordinary powers of intuition. If he can learn to discipline and channel them when he grows up—if he—” She broke off. “I have to think about getting dinner.”
kitchen counter which divided the work area from the rest of the bright, rambly dining and studying room. She sighed, “You’re right, Meg. Charles Wallace not only has a good mind, he has extraordinary powers of intuition. If he can learn to discipline and channel them when he grows up—if he—” She broke off. “I have to think about getting dinner.”
Meg knew when to stop pushing her mother. “I’ll help. What’re we having?” She did not mention Charles Wallace’s dragons. She did not mention Louise the Larger’s strange behavior, nor the shadow of whatever it was they had not quite seen.
“Oh, spaghetti’s easy”—Mrs. Murry pushed a curl of dark red hair back from her forehead—“and good on an autumn night.”
“And we’ve got all the tomatoes and peppers and stuff from the twins’ garden. Mother, I love the twins even when they get in my hair, but Charles—”
“I know, Meg. You and Charles have always had a very special relationship.”
“Mother, I can’t stand what’s happening to him at school.”
“Neither can I, Meg.”
“Then what are you doing about it?”
“We’re trying to do nothing. It would be easy—for now—to take Charles out of school. We thought about
that immediately, even before he—But Charles Wallace is going to have to live in a world made up of people who don’t think at all in any of the ways that he does, and the sooner he starts learning to get along with them, the better. Neither you nor Charles has the ability to adapt that the twins do.”
that immediately, even before he—But Charles Wallace is going to have to live in a world made up of people who don’t think at all in any of the ways that he does, and the sooner he starts learning to get along with them, the better. Neither you nor Charles has the ability to adapt that the twins do.”
“Charles is a lot brighter than the twins.”
“A life form which can’t adapt doesn’t last very long.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Neither do your father and I, Meg. Bear with us. Remember, you do have a tendency to rush in when the best thing to do is wait and be patient for a while.”
“I’m not in the
least
patient.”
least
patient.”
“Is that for my information?” Mrs. Murry took tomatoes, onions, green and red peppers, garlic and leeks out of the vegetable bin. Then, starting to slice onions into a large, black iron pot, she said thoughtfully, “You know, Meg, you went through a pretty rough time at school yourself.”
“Not as bad as Charles. And I’m not as bright as Charles—except maybe in math.”
“Possibly you’re not—though you do tend to underestimate your own particular capacities. What I’m getting at is that you do seem, this year, to be finding school moderately bearable.”
“Mr. Jenkins isn’t there any more. And Calvin O’Keefe
is. Calvin’s important. He’s the basketball star and president of the senior class and everything. Anybody Calvin likes is sort of protected by his—his aura.”
is. Calvin’s important. He’s the basketball star and president of the senior class and everything. Anybody Calvin likes is sort of protected by his—his aura.”
“Why do you suppose Calvin likes you?”
“Not because of my beauty, that’s for sure.”
“But he does like you, doesn’t he, Meg?”
“Well, yes, I guess so, but Calvin likes lots of people. And he could have any girl in school if he wanted to.”
“But he chose you, didn’t he?”
Meg could feel herself flushing. She put her hands up to her cheeks. “Well. Yes. But it’s different. It’s because of some of the things we’ve been through together. And we’re friend-friends—I mean, we’re not like most of the other kids.”
“I’m glad you’re friend-friends. I’ve become very fond of that skinny, carrot-headed young man.”
Meg laughed. “I think Calvin confuses you with Pallas Athene. You’re his absolute ideal. And he likes all of us. His own family’s certainly a mess. I really think he likes me only because of our family.”
Mrs. Murry sighed. “Stop being self-deprecating, Meg.”
“Maybe at least I can learn to cook as well as you do. Did you know it was one of Calvin’s brothers who beat Charles Wallace up today? I bet he’s upset—I don’t mean Whippy, he couldn’t care less—Calvin. Somebody’s bound to have told him.”
“Do you want to call him?”
“Not me. Not Calvin. I just have to wait. Maybe he’ll come over or something.” She sighed. “I wish life didn’t have to be so complicated. Do you suppose I’ll ever be a double Ph.D. like you, Mother?”
Mrs. Murry looked up from slicing peppers, and laughed. “It’s really not the answer to all problems. There are other solutions. At this point I’m more interested in knowing whether or not I’ve put too many red peppers in the spaghetti sauce; I’ve lost count.”
They had just sat down to dinner when Mr. Murry phoned to tell them that he was going directly from Washington to Brookhaven for a week. Such trips were not unusual for either of their parents, but right now anything that took either her father or mother away struck Meg as sinister. Without much conviction she said, “I hope he has fun. He likes lots of the people there.” But she felt a panicky dependence on having both her parents home at night. It wasn’t only because of her fears for Charles Wallace; it was that suddenly the whole world was unsafe and uncertain. Several houses nearby had been broken into that autumn, and while nothing of great value had been taken, drawers had been emptied with casual maliciousness, food dumped on living-room floors, upholstery slashed. Even their safe little village was revealing itself to be unpredictable and irrational and precarious, and while Meg had already
begun to understand this with her mind, she had never before felt it with the whole of herself. Now a cold awareness of the uncertainty of all life, no matter how careful the planning, hollowed emptily in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed.
begun to understand this with her mind, she had never before felt it with the whole of herself. Now a cold awareness of the uncertainty of all life, no matter how careful the planning, hollowed emptily in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed.
Charles Wallace looked at her and said, unsmilingly, “The best laid plans of mice and men …”
“Gang aft agley,” Sandy finished.
“Man proposes, God disposes,” Dennys added, not to be outdone.
The twins held out their plates for more spaghetti, neither one ever having been known to lose his appetite. “Why does Father have to stay a whole week?” Sandy asked.
“It’s his work, after all,” Dennys said. “Mother, I think you could have put more hot peppers in the sauce.”
“He’s been away a lot this autumn. He ought to stay home with his family at least some of the time. I think the sauce is okay.”
“Of course it’s okay. I just like it a little hotter.”
Meg was not thinking about spaghetti, although she was sprinkling Parmesan over hers. She wondered what their mother would say if Charles Wallace told her about his dragons. If there really were dragons, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, in the north pasture, oughtn’t their parents to know?
Sandy said, “When I grow up I’m going to be a banker and make money. Someone in this family has to stay in the real world.”
“Not that we don’t think science is the real world, Mother,” Dennys said, “but you and Father aren’t practical scientists, you’re theoretical scientists.”
Mrs. Murry demurred. “I’m not wholly impractical, you know, Sandy, and neither is your father.”
“Spending hours and hours peering into your micro-electron microscope, and listening to that micro-sonar whatsit isn’t practical,” Sandy announced.
“You just look at things nobody else can see,” Dennys added, “and listen to things nobody else can hear, and think about them.”
Meg defended her mother. “It would be a good idea if more people knew how to think. After Mother thinks about something long enough, then she puts it into practice. Or someone else does.”
Charles Wallace cocked his head with a pleased look. “Does
practical
mean that something works out in practice?”
practical
mean that something works out in practice?”
His mother nodded.
“So it doesn’t matter if Mother sits and thinks. Or if Father spends weeks over one equation. Even if he writes it on the tablecloth. His equations are practical if someone else makes them work out in practice.” He reached in his pocket, as though in answer to Meg’s
thoughts about the dragons, and drew out a feather, not a bird feather, but a strange glitter catching the light. “All right, my practical brothers, what is this?”
thoughts about the dragons, and drew out a feather, not a bird feather, but a strange glitter catching the light. “All right, my practical brothers, what is this?”
Sandy, sitting next to Charles Wallace, bent over the dragon feather. “A feather.”
Dennys got up and went around the table so that he could see. “Let me—”
Charles Wallace held the feather between them. “What kind is it?”
“Hey, this is most peculiar!” Sandy touched the base of the feather. “I don’t think it’s from a bird.”
“Why not?” Charles Wallace asked.
“The rachis isn’t right.”
“The what?” Meg asked.
“The rachis. Sort of part of the quill. The rachis should be hollow, and this is solid, and seems to be metallic. Hey, Charles, where’d you get this thing?”
Charles Wallace handed the feather to his mother. She looked at it carefully. “Sandy’s right. The rachis isn’t like a bird’s.”
Dennys said, “Then what—”
Charles Wallace retrieved the feather and put it back in his pocket. “It was on the ground by the big rocks in the north pasture. Not just this one feather. Quite a few others.”
Meg suppressed a slightly hysterical giggle. “Charles and I think it may be fewmets.”
Sandy turned to her with injured dignity. “Fewmets are dragon droppings.”
Dennys said, “Don’t be silly.” Then, “Do you know what it is, Mother?”
She shook her head. “What do you think it is, Charles?”
Charles Wallace, as he occasionally did, retreated into himself. When Meg had decided he wasn’t going to answer at all, he said, “It’s something that’s not in Sandy’s and Dennys’s practical world. When I find out more, I’ll tell you.” He sounded very like their mother.
“Okay, then.” Dennys had lost interest. He returned to his chair. “Did Father tell you why he has to go rushing off to Brookhaven, or is it another of those top-secret classified things?”
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