A Wrinkle in Time Quintet

by Madeleine L'engle

  Again Dennys shook his head. “I don’t know. I know a lot less than I did before we came to the oasis.”

  “Anyhow”—Sandy’s voice was flat—“it didn’t work.”

  “What didn’t work?”

  “The flood. Wiping out all those people, and then starting all over again. People are taller, and we do even worse things to one another because we know more.”

  Dennys took the palm frond out of Sandy’s hand. “I wouldn’t choose Ham and Anah to repopulate the world, if I were doing the choosing.”

  “Oh, they’re not that bad,” Sandy said. “And Shem and Elisheba are all right. Not terribly exciting. But solid. And Japheth and Oholibamah are terrific.”

  “Well. What you said. It didn’t work.”

  “Maybe nobody should’ve been saved.” Sandy’s voice was hoarse.

  Yet again, Dennys shook his head. “Human beings—people have done terrible things, but we’re not all that bad, not all of us.”

  “Like who?”

  “There’ve been people like—oh, Euclid and Pasteur and Tycho Brahe.”

  Sandy nodded. His voice came out more normally. “I like the way Tycho Brahe was so in awe of the maker of the heavens that he put on his court robes before going to his telescope.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Meg.”

  “I like that, I really do. Hey, and I think Meg would like us to mention Maria Mitchell. Wasn’t she the first famous woman astronomer?”

  “I miss Meg. And Charles Wallace. And our parents.”

  But Dennys was still involved in his list. “And the wise men who followed the star. They were astronomers. Hey!”

  “What?”

  “If the flood had drowned everybody, if the earth hadn’t been repopulated, then Jesus would never have been born.”

  Sandy, his nostrils assailed by a now familiar but still disturbing odor, hardly heard. “Shh.”

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  A small, shadowy form left the public path and came toward them. “Tiglah.”

  “She doesn’t give up,” Dennys mumbled.

  Tiglah had learned that Dennys was not to be touched, not by her fingers, at any rate. She approached the twins demurely, eyes cast down, giving her eyelashes the full benefit of their lustrous length. She reached out and put her hand lightly against Sandy, as though to steady herself. “It’s a fine evening, after all,” she said.

  Dennys pulled back from the mingled odor of sweat and perfume.

  “It’s okay.” Sandy looked dubiously at the yellow light pulsing on the horizon.

  Tiglah said, “I thought you might like to know that Mahlah is going to have her baby tonight.”

  “How do you know?” Dennys demanded.

  “Rofocale told me.”

  “How does he know?” Sandy asked.

  “He and Ugiel are friends. Yalith and Oholibamah are going to help.”

  The twins had seen kittens and puppies being born, and once a calf, and they had played with baby lambs and piglets on a neighboring farm. They looked at each other. “I’ll bet Oholibamah’s a good midwife,” Dennys said.

  Tiglah continued, “They tell me that Oholibamah’s mother had a hard time birthing her. Nephil babies tend to be large.” She sounded anxious.

  Dennys looked at her sharply. “Does that worry you?”

  “It might, one day. I hope it won’t be too hard on Mahlah. She’s such a little thing. Like me.”

  “Well,” Dennys said. “Thanks for telling us.” His tone was dismissive.

  “It’s going to be a beautiful night.” Tiglah’s fingers strayed toward Sandy’s arm.

  Dennys turned his face away and looked toward the tent. The flap was still pegged open. Higgaion was sitting in the opening, waving his trunk slightly, as though to catch the breeze.

  Sandy looked at Tiglah, hesitated.

  Swiftly, Tiglah coaxed. “It’s such a nice night for a walk. After Mahlah’s baby is born, Yalith and Oholibamah will be walking home and we might meet them…”

  Sandy rose to the bait. “Well … but not far … or for long…”

  “Of course not,” Tiglah reassured. “Just a little walk.”

  Sandy became aware of Dennys carefully not looking at him. “Are you coming?”

  “No.”

  “Do you mind if I go?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  “Feel free.”

  They were not communicating. Sandy did not like the feeling. But he stood. Tiglah reached up and put her small hand in his much larger one. When they reached the public path, he looked back. Higgaion had left the tent and was standing by Dennys.

  The night was heavier than usual. The stars looked blurred, and almost close enough to touch. The rainless storm had increased rather than decreased the heat. The mountain smoked.

  “Let’s go by the desert,” Tiglah suggested, “and watch the moonrise.”

  To step off the oasis onto the desert was like stepping off a ship onto the sea. The desert sand felt cool to Sandy’s feet, which were now accustomed to the hot sands by day, to walking on stones, on sharp, dry grasses.

  Tiglah led the way to a ledge of rock. “Let’s sit.”

  Moonrise over this early desert was very different from moonrise at home. At home, as the moon lifted above the horizon, it was a deep yellow, sometimes almost red. Here, in a time when the sea of air above the planet was still clear and clean, the moon rose with a great blaze of diamonds.

  Sandy’s eyes were focused on the brilliant light of the rising moon, and he was not prepared to have the light suddenly darkened by Tiglah’s face as she pressed her lips against his. She was up on her knees in order to reach him, and her lips smelled of berries. Then he was surrounded by her particular odor of scented oils and her own unwashed body.

  He knew what she wanted, and he wanted it, too; he was ready, but not, despite her gorgeousness, with Tiglah. Tiglah was not worth losing his ability to touch a unicorn.

  But Yalith—

  He knew that he and Dennys should do nothing to change the story, to alter history. Even with Yalith …

  He was getting ahead of himself. Yalith was not Tiglah. Yalith smiled on both of them with equal loveliness.

  Tiglah’s red hair, turned silver-gold in the moonlight, tumbled about his face, drowning him in its scent. She massaged the back of his head, his neck. Her breathing mingled with his. He knew that if he did not break this off, he would not be able to. With a deep inward sigh, he pulled away. Stood.

  Tiglah scrambled to her feet, stared up at him reproachfully. “Don’t you like it? Don’t you like what I was doing?”

  “Yes, I like it.” His voice was hoarse. “I like it too much.”

  “Too much? How can anything be too much? What is there in life except pleasure, and the more the better! How can you talk of too much?”

  “You’re too much.” He tried to laugh. “I think I’d better go now. Grandfather Lamech isn’t well.”

  “He’s dying,” Tiglah said bluntly. “Rofocale told me.”

  “Rofocale doesn’t know everything.”

  “He knows more than we do, more than any mortal.”

  Sandy stood still. He thought he heard the shrill whine of a mosquito. Then silence. He turned and started walking back to the oasis. Tiglah slid down from the rock, ran to catch up with him, and reached for his hand.

  “You, too,” she said. “You must be of the same breed as Rofocale, so tall, so strong. You could pick me up, and throw me over your shoulder. Where do you come from?”

  He was tired of answering the old questions. “Another part of the planet. Another time.”

  “Why have you come?”

  “It was a mistake,” he said shortly.

  “But why was it a mistake to come? It’s wonderful that you’re here! How long are you going to stay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you do have plans? What are
you going to do?”

  “Take care of Grandfather Lamech’s garden and groves.”

  “Is that all? You didn’t come all this way just for that! You must have come for some reason.”

  “No,” he said. He removed his arm from her hand.

  * * *

  “No,” Tiglah said. “I didn’t find out anything. I asked him all the questions you told me to, but he didn’t tell me anything.”

  Rofocale towered over her, his wings flaming like the sun even in the moonlight. “He must have said something.”

  “He said he came from far away, and that it was a mistake to come.”

  “Mistake?” Rofocale queried. The garnet pool of his eyes looked opaque. “Could El have made another mistake?”

  “You think your El sent them?”

  “Who else? They are certainly not native. They may be as much of a threat to us as the seraphim. At least the seraphim are careful not to manipulate or change things.”

  “You think the young giants will?”

  “Who knows? And you couldn’t get anything out of him?”

  The dimple in Tiglah’s chin deepened. “At least he came with me this time.”

  “So he did. And did you kiss him?”

  She nodded. “He tasted so young. Young as the morning.”

  “Did he like it?”

  “He liked it. But just as I thought he was ready to go further, he pulled back. But give me time, Rofocale. This is, after all, the first time he’s been willing to go with me.”

  Rofocale in a movement of swift grace knelt so that their eyes were level. “You must work fast, my little Tiglah.”

  “Why? What’s the hurry?”

  Rofocale rubbed the back of his hand against his forehead. “Some of our powers have been weakened. We can no longer tell—but Noah knows something. His sons married abnormally young, and hurriedly. Noah still speaks with the One on whom I have turned my back. There may not be another hundred years.”

  “But why do you want me to—to seduce him?”

  “Wouldn’t that put him in your—and my—power?” He drew her to him. “What you do with the naked giant will not make you any less mine, little lovely one. I like my women to be experienced in the ways of lust.”

  “Will I make a baby for you?”

  He spread his wings so that she was wrapped in a cloud of flame. “Soon.”

  * * *

  “Soon,” Oholibamah said. “Soon. Press down, Mahlah, press down. Hard.”

  “Soon,” Yalith echoed reassuringly. “It will come soon.”

  Matred said nothing.

  Mahlah, lying on her back on a pile of skins, screamed. Her hands groped frantically, and Matred took them in a firm grasp, while Mahlah clutched.

  “It’s gone on so long,” Yalith whispered. “How much more can she take?”

  “Get up,” Matred ordered Mahlah.

  Mahlah wailed, “I can’t. I can’t. Oh, let it come, let it come soon—”

  “Get up,” Matred repeated. “Squat.”

  “I did, I did, until I was so tired I couldn’t—”

  “You’ve rested enough.” Matred’s voice was rough. “Help her up,” she ordered Yalith and Oholibamah.

  The two girls had to use all their strength to pull the resisting Mahlah off the skins.

  “Squat,” Matred said. “Bear down. Now. Now. Push.”

  “The moon is setting,” Yalith said.

  Oholibamah looked at Matred. “My mother went through this. She is still alive.”

  “Yes, my dear,” Matred said. “Thank you.” It was Oholibamah’s first open acknowledgment that she had been sired by one of the nephilim, and Matred pressed her shoulder in gratitude.

  The moon set. The sun rose. It was stifling in the small white clay house. The four women streamed sweat. Mahlah’s hair was as wet as though it had been dipped in the water jar. Her eyes were wide open in agony. She moaned, screamed, shrieked. Occasionally, between contractions, her mouth would fall open laxly and her lids would droop shut as she dropped into an exhausted sleep, only to be wakened as she was assailed by a fresh pain.

  The sun slid low in the sky.

  “Squat,” Matred ordered. “You must squat again.”

  Three nights and three days. Squatting, lying, screaming.

  —She will die, Yalith thought.—This cannot go on.

  “Soon,” Oholibamah continued to reassure the tortured Mahlah. “It will come soon. Press down. Harder.”

  Matred’s voice was sharp with anxiety. “Work, Mahlah, work. We cannot have this baby for you. Work. Push.”

  For the fourth night, the moon rose.

  “Push,” Matred commanded.

  A long, grunting groan came from Mahlah, more terrible than her screams.

  “Now. Now.”

  The groan seemed as though it would tear Mahlah apart.

  “Now.” And at last Matred reached between Mahlah’s legs to help draw the baby out of her body. The baby’s head was so large that Yalith could hear Mahlah’s flesh rip as the child came out. Matred shook it, patted its buttocks, and the air rushed into its lungs and it howled.

  * * *

  While Sandy was with Tiglah, Dennys went in to Grandfather Lamech, uneasy about him. He walked to where the old man was lying.

  “Son?”

  “It’s Dennys, Grandfather.”

  An old hand groped for his. Dennys held it, and it was cold, deathly cold. “Can I do something for you, Grandfather?”

  A serene smile wreathed the old man’s face. “El has spoken.”

  Dennys waited.

  The old man seemed to be trying to suck in enough air to speak. Finally he said, “All will not be lost. Oh, my son, Den, El has repented. While you were in the garden, El spoke to me here in the tent. I have never heard him here before. Oh, my son, Den, my son, my son, Noah will be spared. Noah and his family. El has spoken.”

  “From what, Grandfather Lamech?”

  “Eh?”

  “From what will they be spared?”

  The old fingers trembled in Dennys’s hand. “El spoke of many waters. This I do not understand. But no matter. What is of concern is that my son will be spared.” The fingers pressed against Dennys’s. “But you, my son? What will happen to you? I do not know.”

  “I don’t know either, Grandfather.” Dennys massaged the withered old hand until a little warmth returned.

  * * *

  Ugiel stood looking down at the baby lying between Mahlah’s breasts. The young mother looked pale and exhausted, but radiant.

  The three women who had shared her labor were nearly as exhausted as Mahlah. Oholibamah had deep circles under her eyes, and her cheeks were ashen. It was she who had somehow or other stanched the blood that poured out, nearly taking Mahlah’s life with it; she who had brought the afterbirth out safely. Her hands and arms were stained red from holding Mahlah’s torn flesh together until the rush of blood slowed to a trickle and the danger of hemorrhaging was over.

  Ugiel paid no attention to the others. He gazed at his baby. It had a full head of hair, black, like Mahlah’s. He flipped it over and fingered the soft down outlining the shoulder blades. “I am pleased,” he said.

  Matred was sharp. “And well you might be. It almost killed her. Without Oholibamah, it would have.” She turned away from Ugiel and fed Mahlah some of the strengthening broth Elisheba had sent over.

  “Go home,” she said to Yalith and Oholibamah. “Go and get something to eat, and rest. I will stay with Mahlah. Elisheba will be by later.”

  Oholibamah, also ignoring Ugiel, looked at mother and child. “She will need much care for the next several days. Be sure to call me if the bleeding starts again.”

  “I will,” Matred promised.

  Ugiel bent over Mahlah and with one long finger touched the baby on its eyelids, its nose. “I am pleased,” Ugiel said again.

  * * *

  Oholibamah sat in the big tent, letting Elisheba feed them lentil soup.

>   Oholibamah said, “He didn’t care whether she lived or not, as long as she had the baby.”

  Yalith paused in the act of raising her bowl to her lips. “Do you really think that?”

  “You heard him, didn’t you? ‘Why doesn’t she get on with it?’ he said. ‘Why is it taking so long?’ And then he would go away and not come back for hours and hours.”

  “Mother said she didn’t want him around—” Then Yalith stopped. Matred had been with her older daughters when they gave birth, shooing their husbands away but giving a running account of the delivery. Nor had the husbands gone far away. They had, in fact, been maddeningly underfoot. They had not simply vanished, like Ugiel, leaving everything to the women. She finished her soup in silence.

  Oholibamah, too, drank. Her dark brows drew together. Her raven-black hair had come loose from its thong and fallen about her shoulders.

  “Oholibamah—” Yalith said softly.

  “What is it?”

  “The nephilim marry our women, give them babies. But the seraphim—”

  “They do not marry. Or give babies.”

  “But in many ways they are like the nephilim.”

  Oholibamah pushed her dark hair back in a weary gesture. “No. I think that once the nephilim were like the seraphim.”

  “What happened to change them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Yalith thought of Aariel, with the bright amber eyes and leonine grace, and then of Eblis, and she was glad she had run from the purple-winged nephil. She wanted nothing to do with Eblis, if he was like Ugiel, who did not care whether his wife lived or died. Could Ugiel once have been like Aariel? Could Eblis?

  Oholibamah said, “I think that the seraphim are free to leave us for the stars at any time if they want to. I don’t think the nephilim can. Not anymore. They stay with us, not because they have chosen to, but because they have to.”

  Noah and Japheth came into the tent, their arms and hands as stained with grape juice as Oholibamah’s had been with blood. Japheth embraced his wife. Yalith ran to her father. “Mahlah has had her baby! It is all right!”

  Noah put his arms around his youngest child, but he seemed strangely disinterested.

  “Did you hear, Father?” Yalith demanded. “Mahlah’s long travail is over at last!”

  “That is good to hear,” Noah said heavily. “We were worried.”