Intergalactic P.S. 3

by Madeleine L'engle

  The cherubim quivered. “That’s a dark planet.”

  “Yes,” Meg said. “It was horrible.”

  Meg felt the cherubim anxiously probing into her mind. “Your planet—tell me—is it dark?”

  “No,” Meg said. “It’s shadowed, but it isn’t dark. At least not yet.”

  “But you have wars? People fighting? Killing each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “And children going hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there’s—there’s hate?”

  “Yes.”

  The cherubim pulled all its wings about itself in a protective gesture. Now it reminded Meg not of a great lady using a fan, but of an ostrich. Small jets of flame and smoke came out from under the wings. Meg could feel it thinking grumpily—They told me it was going to be difficult.… Why couldn’t they have sent me off some place quiet to memorize the stars?… Why not I.G.P.S. 1 or 2 or any place else? Or if I had to come here why couldn’t I have had another partner? I’m too young, I’m scared of shadowed planets, what kind of a star has it got anyhow…?

  Mr. Jenkins stepped out from behind the cherubim. “Why, Meg, how very nice to see you here!”

  CHAPTER 7

  Meg took an involuntary step backwards and ran her tongue nervously over the sharp line of her braces. Mr. Jenkins looked exactly as he did at school. He wore a dark business suit, and no matter how often it was brushed there was always a small snowfall of dandruff on the shoulders. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut very short, and he had an equally short mustache making a rough bristle on his upper lip. His eyes were a muddy brown behind bifocals. He was neither short nor tall, fat nor thin, and whenever Meg saw him she responded like a porcupine throwing out quills.

  “Meg, don’t you know me?”

  She whispered, “Mr. Jenkins—”

  The cherubim peered with a few of its eyes out from under one wing. For some reason he reminded Meg of Charles Wallace. She felt him probing, gently now, into her mind, in much the same way her brother did.

  “Meg,” Mr. Jenkins said, “I’m afraid I’ve always misunderstood you. Won’t you please accept my apologies?”

  “You can’t be here, Mr. Jenkins.” Her voice trembled. “It isn’t possible.”

  “Why not? If you’re here, why shouldn’t I be?”

  “But this is a school for children.”

  “Precisely. And I’ve been sent to help you. You know you’re going to find it difficult to pass the examination by yourself.”

  “Pro—Progo—Cherubim!” Meg cried. “Who do you see?”

  The wings shifted. More eyes opened and shut. “I think I only see what you think you see—it’s an earth form. It makes me understand that your planet is indeed shadowed—”

  “Then it probably is Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Meg, do, please, try to calm down.” Mr. Jenkins used the reasonable voice with which he always started out when Meg was sent to his office. “I have only been sent here to Framoch to help you. It is in earth’s interests to have you pass this examination.”

  “It is indeed,” said Mr. Jenkins, and Mr. Jenkins strolled out from behind the cherubim. Another Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Jenkins Number Two bowed to Mr. Jenkins Number One. “You’ve had your little game. Hadn’t you better be going?”

  Meg backed right into Proginoskes, who opened one of its wings and pulled her close. She could feel a tremendous, wild heartbeat, a frightened heartbeat, thundering in her ears.

  “We’re Namers,” she heard through the racing of the heart. “We’re Namers. What is their Name?”

  “Mr. Jenkins.”

  “No, no. This is the test, Meg. We have to give them the right name. We have to know.”

  Meg looked at the two men who stood glaring at each other. “Progo, you can feel in to me. Can’t you feel in to them?”

  “You’re you,” the cherubim told her. “I don’t know who they are. You’re the one who knows the prototype.”

  “The what?”

  “The real one. The only Mr. Jenkins who is Mr. Jenkins. Look—”

  Meg tried to follow the cherubic eyes, all of which were fully open. Behind the ferocious- looking creature, calmly mounting the hill towards them, was a third Mr. Jenkins. He raised one hand in greeting, not to Meg or Proginoskes, but to the other Mr. Jenkinses. “Leave the children alone for a few minutes,” Mr. Jenkins Number Three said.

  The three Mr. Jenkinses walked past Meg and Proginoskes and went down the other side of the hill.

  “We must think, we must think.” Proginoskes sent up small spurts of smoke.

  Meg sat down on the grass, still held within the strength of the cherubim’s wings. The great beast seemed far less strange to her than the three school principals. “If you really are a cherubim—”

  There was a great and smoking surge of indignation all around her.

  She hit the palm of her hand sharply against one of its pinions. “Wait. Shut up and listen. You told me to think and I’ve thought.”

  “You don’t have to think out loud. You’re deafening me.”

  “If I’m going to think, I’m going to talk to you.”

  “You mean it’s easier for you to put it all into spoken earth-words?”

  “Yes. Please, Progo.”

  “All right. It means I have to think back at you in earth-words, too. What a bore.”

  Meg shouted, “This isn’t any time for boredom!”

  The wings were raised as though to cover invisible ears. “I’m just trying to be brave.”

  “Listen, Progo. Listen. Cherubim have come to my planet before. I think you’ve helped us fight the Dark Shadow.”

  “All I want to do,” Proginoskes repeated, “is go some place quiet and memorize the stars…”

  “Progo! You said we were Namers.”

  “I’ve told you and told you—”

  “Yes, but I still don’t know: what is a Namer?”

  “I’ve told you. It’s—what’s your earth-word? It’s a case of identity. You’re a shadowed planet, and that means that people don’t know their own names. They don’t know who they are. A Namer makes persons be themselves.”

  “How?”

  “You’ve got a funny earth-word, and nobody knows what it means: if I say it you’ll just misunderstand.”

  “You have to say it.”

  “It’s a four-letter word. Aren’t four-letter words the bad ones on your planet?”

  “Yes, but which one? Look, don’t be embarrassed. I’ve seen all the four-letter words on the walls of the washroom at school.”

  “Love, then. That’s how you make persons know who they are. You’ve got a lot of it, Meg, but you don’t know what to do with it. If you don’t fail the exam you’ll be taught—oh, some of the things I was taught my first year at school. I had to pass a billion exams before I could qualify as a Star Namer. But you’re a human person, and it’s different with you. I keep forgetting that. Am I lov-able? To you?” All about Meg eyes opened and shut; wings shifted; a small flame burned her hand and was rapidly withdrawn; smoke choked her.

  And she wanted to put her arms around Proginoskes as she would Charles Wallace. “Very.”

  “But not the way you feel about that skinny Calvin? Meg, don’t withdraw!”

  “That’s different.”

  “I thought so. That’s the confusing kind. Not the kind you have to have in order to name Mr. Jenkins.”

  “But he’s already named.”

  “Not by you.”

  “I hate Mr. Jenkins.”

  “Meg, it’s the test. You have to name the real Mr. Jenkins, and I have to help you. If you fail, I fail, too.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “What would happen?”

  “You’d be tessered back to earth. You know that.”

  “And you?”

  “I will be given a choice. I can go with the others—”

  “What others?”

  “The Planet Darkeners. The dragons; the worms; the ones who mad
e war in heaven. That’s what most of those who fail choose to do.”

  “Or—”

  “I can choose to not myself.”

  “To what?”

  “To not. Not be.”

  “No—no—”

  “But that’s the choice. To go with the others or to not myself.”

  “This not-business: does it last forever?”

  “Nobody knows. Nobody will know till the end of time.”

  “Charles!” Meg called loudly. “Charles Wallace!”

  “Leave him alone,” Proginoskes said faintly. “He has his own test to pass. We have to do it with the partners who are chosen for us.”

  “But he said to call him.”

  “You mustn’t. He’ll come. And he won’t be able to help you and it might make him and Sporos fail. Every time anyone fails the test here, it’s a victory for the Dark Shadow. It will make it even harder for your own planet.”

  Meg stamped, cried loudly and angrily, “This is too much responsibility! I’m still only a child! I didn’t ask to come here!”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I thought you called for the Mrs W.”

  “Because of Charles.”

  “When you call for creatures like the Mrs W you can’t specify. If you call them, and they come, then you do whatever is next.”

  Over the crest of the hill strolled Mr. Jenkins. Only one Mr. Jenkins. Which one? There was no telling them apart—

  “Progo,” Meg cried, “if I fail, all that happens to me is getting tessered home?”

  “If you can call it all,” Proginoskes said. “There would be rejoicing in hell. But perhaps you don’t believe in hell?”

  Meg pushed this aside. “And you—”

  “I told you. I’d have to choose to not myself, or—”

  “Mr. Jenkins!” Meg said. “Please come here.”

  “Are you naming me?” Mr. Jenkins Number One asked.

  “No. Wait. I have to ask you some questions.”

  “It is not allowed.”

  “I don’t care whether it’s allowed or not. If I don’t ask you some questions how can I know whether or not it’s you? What is the name of the school where you’re principal? What state is it in, and what township?”

  Proginoskes nudged her with one of its wings. “Don’t waste time on questions like that. They all know the answers.”

  Meg went up to Mr. Jenkins. Checked his shoulders. There was the dandruff. She went closer: smelled. Yes, he had the Mr. Jenkins smell of old hair cream and what she always thought of as rancid deodorant. But all three could do that much; it was not going to be that easy.

  He looked at her coldly in the usual way, down one side of his nose. “It has been most inconvenient for me to be brought here like this, just at the beginning of school, when I am already overworked. It seems to me I have had to spend more time with you than with any other student in school. It is certainly my misfortune. I have suggested to your parents that they send you elsewhere for my peace of mind, if not yours, but they seem to think that I have something to teach you.”

  This was Mr. Jenkins. He had played upon this speech with infinite variations almost every time she was sent to his office.

  Now he said, “It is certainly in my interests to have you pass this test. If you fail, I’ll just have you back in school again.”

  “You can say that again.” Mr. Jenkins Number Two strolled over the hill. “My life will be a great deal easier this semester if we can just manage to pass you. Now, Meg, if you will just for once in your life do it our way, not yours … I understand that you’re basically quite bright in mathematics. If you would simply stop approaching each homework assignment as though you were Einstein and had to solve the problems of the universe, and would follow one or two basic rules, you—and I—would have a great deal less trouble.”

  This, too, was Mr. Jenkins.

  The cherubim shifted uneasily.

  “Meg, I urge you,” Mr. Jenkins Number Two said, “name me and let us have done with all this nonsense. I am Mr. Jenkins, as you well know. Stop trying to do things your own way.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “Meg,” she felt Proginoskes probing wildly. “When have you been most you, the very most you?”

  She closed her eyes. She remembered the first afternoon Calvin had come to the Murrys’ for dinner. Calvin was generally a good student, but he was better with words than with numbers, and Meg had helped him with his math homework. She had concentrated wholly on Calvin and what he was doing, and she had felt completely herself.

  “How is that going to help?” she asked the cherubim.

  “Think again.”

  She remembered, unwillingly, the horrible moment on Camazotz when she had almost been pulled into the great, naked brain which ruled the planet. Charles Wallace had been drawn under its domination, and she had freed him purely through the force of the love which Mrs Whatsit had given her, and while she had been standing there, literally throwing her love at the imprisoned little boy, she had been wholly herself.

  “But I can’t love Mr. Jenkins!” she cried.

  “You love me.”

  “But, Progo, you’re so awful you’re lovable.”

  “So is he. And you have to name him.”

  “Meg,” Mr. Jenkins said, “stop panicking and listen to me.” It was the third Mr. Jenkins and he had just appeared. The three men stood side by side, identical, grey, dour, unperceptive, overworked: unlovable.

  “Meg,” Mr. Jenkins Number Three said, “do you remember when you first tessered?”

  “Who could forget?”

  “If you will notice, I am the only Mr. Jenkins to remark upon this phenomenon.”

  Mr. Jenkins Number One waved this aside.

  Mr. Jenkins Number Two said, “It is imperative that we stick to essentials. Tessering is, at this point, peripheral.” Mr. Jenkins on earth was very fond of sticking to essentials.

  Mr. Jenkins Number Three said, “Meg, did tessering make a difference in you? Has anything ever been the same since you first left earth?”

  “No.”

  “It will never be the same for me, either. It was a frightening experience. And an ennobling one. You will not be the same girl I have had trouble with before. And I will not be the same, either. It has made me see many things differently. I understand your point of view much better than I did before. I think we were wrong to try to make you take all the regular courses at school. You are special, and we have made a great mistake not to realize this and treat you specially. I believe you and I had a—shall we call it a run-in?—over the imports of Nicaragua, which you were supposed to learn for one of your Social Studies classes. You were quite right when you insisted that it was useless for you to learn the imports and exports of Nicaragua. We will let you concentrate on numbers from now on, and not only that, if your methods of solving an equation differ from ours, we will realize, at last, that this is because you have been taught by an eminent physicist father. I am really sorry for all the needless pain you have been caused, Meg. And I can assure you that if you name me, you will find school a pleasanter place.”

  Meg looked at the three men: Mr. Jenkins, Numbers One, Two, and Three. “It’s like a game on television,” she said.

  Mr. Jenkins Number Two looked down his nose. “It is not a game. The stakes are much too high. Do not be deluded by vain promises. You must be aware that he doesn’t mean a word of it. He is not Mr. Jenkins. I am. Name me.”

  “If I name you,” Meg said, “how will you treat me in school?”

  “With concern. I will make every effort to understand you, as I always have. But I will be realistic about it. We will give you all due consideration, which perhaps we have not done before, but we cannot turn the school upside down for one student. But I think you will find things less difficult than you have until now, even if only because you have tessered, as the impostor pointed out. If you will name me, as of course you must, since I am M
r. Jenkins, you will find that in the long run truth pays off.”

  Meg looked questioningly at Mr. Jenkins Number One. He gave a small, annoyed, Mr. Jenkins shrug. “I really do not foresee much change in our relationship in the future. Why interplanetary travel should be thought of as a solution to all earth problems I do not understand. We have sent men to the moon and we are none the better for it. Why sending you a few billion miles across space should improve you any, I fail to see.”

  Mr. Jenkins Number Three said, “It is quite obvious that he has never tessered. As the impostor now called Two remarked, I have, and I know the difference it makes. Don’t be foolish, child. Think. And name me.”

  Meg turned her back on the three men. “They’ve switched. Mr. Jenkins Three, now, was Mr. Jenkins Two, before.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Proginoskes looked at her with a series of its eyes, one by one. “That is immaterial. It’s now that counts.”

  “Progo, if I don’t name right—”

  Progo flung several wings heavenwards.

  “If I fail, what will you do?”

  “I told you.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “I did, too! I have to choose—”

  “That’s not telling me. I want to know which way you’re going to choose.”

  Proginoskes went through a series of what seemed major upheavals. “Meg, there isn’t much time. You can’t take forever. You have to name one of them.”

  “Give me a hint—”

  “He’s right. It isn’t a game.”

  “But you’re my partner. Do you know which Mr. Jenkins is the real one?”

  “Of course I don’t. I’ve never seen any of them before.”

  “Am I supposed to feel love for the right one?”

  Proginoskes opened its eyes very wide. “What a strange idea. Love isn’t a feeling. If it were, I wouldn’t be able to love. Cherubim don’t have feelings.”

  “But—”

  “Love isn’t how you feel. It’s what you do. I’ve never had a feeling in my life. As a matter of fact, I only matter with earth people.”

  “Progo, you matter to me.”