But thats going to be hard for Meg, Mrs Whatsit said. Its going to be hard for her to realize that we are serious.
What about me? Calvin asked.
The life of your father isnt at stake, Mrs Whatsit told him.
What about Charles Wallace, then?
Mrs Whatsits unoiled-door-hinge voice was warm with affection and pride. Charles Wallace knows. Charles Wallace knows that its far more than just the life of his father. Charles Wallace knows whats at stake.
But remember, Mrs Who said,
Euripides. Nothing is hopeless; we must hope for everything.
Where are we now, and how did we get here? Calvin asked.
Uriel, the third planet of the star Malak in the spiral nebula Messier 101.
This Im supposed to believe? Calvin asked indignantly.
Aas yyou llike, Mrs Which said coldly.
For some reason Meg felt that Mrs Which, despite her looks and ephemeral broomstick, was someone in whom one could put complete trust. It doesnt seem any more peculiar than anything else thats happened.
Well, then, someone just tell me how we got here! Calvins voice was still angry and his freckles seemed to stand out on his face. Even travelling at the speed of light it would take us years and years to get here.
Oh, we dont travel at the speed of anything. Mrs Whatsit explained earnestly. We tesser. Or you might say, we wrinkle.
Clear as mud, Calvin said.
Tesser, Meg thought. Could that have anything to do with mothers tesseract?
She was about to ask when Mrs Which started to speak, and one did not interrupt when Mrs Which was speaking. Mrs Whatsit iss yyoungg andd nnaive.
She keeps thinking she can explain things in words, Mrs Who said. Qui plus sait, plus se tail. French, you know. The more a man knows, the less he talks.
But she has to use words for Meg and Calvin, Charles reminded Mrs Who. If you brought them along, they have a right to know whats going on.
Meg went up to Mrs Which. In the intensity of her question she had forgotten all about the tesseract. Is my father here?
Mrs Which shook her head. Nnott heeere, Megg. Llett Mrs Whatsitt expllainn. Shee isss yyoungg annd thee llanguage of worrds iss eeasierr fforr hherr thann itt iss fforr Mrs Whoo andd mee.
We stopped here, Mrs Whatsit explained, more or less to catch our breaths. And to give you a chance to know what youre up against.
But what about father? Meg asked. Is he all right?
For the moment, love, yes. Hes one of the reasons were here. But you see, hes only one.
Well, where is he? Please take me to him!
We cant, not yet, Charles said. You have to be patient, Meg.
But Im not patient! Meg cried passionately. Ive never been patient!
Mrs Whos glasses shone at her gently. If you want to help your father then you must learn patience. Vitam impendere vero. To stake ones life for the truth.That is what we must do.
That is what your father is doing. Mrs Whatsit nodded, her voice, like Mrs Whos, very serious, very solemn. Then she smiled her radiant smile. Now! Why dont you three children wander around and Charles can explain things a little. Youre perfectly safe on Uriel. Thats why we stopped here to rest.
But arent you coming with us? Meg asked fearfully.
There was silence for a moment. Then Mrs Which raised her authoritative hand, Sshoww themm, she said to Mrs Whatsit, and at something in her voice Meg felt prickles of apprehension.
Now? Mrs Whatsit asked, her creaky voice rising to a squeak. Whatever it was Mrs Which wanted them to see, it was something that made Mrs Whatsit uncomfortable, too.
Nnoww, Mrs Which said. Tthey mmay aas welll knoww.
Should should I change? Mrs Whatsit asked.
Bbetter.
I hope it wont upset the children too much, Mrs Whatsit murmured, as though to herself.
Should I change, too? Mrs Who asked. Oh, but Ive had fun in these clothes. But Ill have to admit Mrs Whatsit is the best at it. Das Werk lobt den Meister. German. The work proves the craftsman.
Now, dont be frightened, loves, Mrs Whatsit said. Her plump little body began to shimmer, to quiver, to shift. The wild colours of her clothes became muted, whitened. The pudding-bag shape stretched, lengthened, merged. And suddenly before the children was a creature more beautiful than any Meg had ever imagined. Outwardly Mrs Whatsit was surely no longer a Mrs Whatsit. She was a marble white body with powerful flanks, something like a horse but at the same time completely unlike a horse, for from the modelled back sprang a nobly formed torso, arms, and a head resembling a mans, but a man with a perfection of dignity and virtue, an exaltation of joy such as Meg had never before seen. No, she thought, its not like a Greek centaur. Not in the least.
From the shoulders slowly a pair of wings unfolded, wings made of rainbows, of light upon water, of poetry.
Calvin fell to his knees.
No, Mrs Whatsit said, though her voice was not Mrs Whatsits voice. Not to me, Calvin. Never to me. Stand up.
Ccarrry themm, Mrs Which commanded.
Mrs Whatsit knelt in front of the children, stretching her wings wide and holding them steady, but quivering. On to my back, now, the new voice said.
The children took hesitant steps towards the beautiful creature.
But what do we call you now? Calvin asked.
Oh, my dears, came the new voice, a rich voice with the warmth of a woodwind, the clarity of a trumpet, the mystery of an English horn. You cant go on changing my name each time I metamorphose. And Ive had such pleasure being Mrs Whatsit I think youd better keep to that. She? He? It? smiled at them, and the radiance of the smile was as warming as the rays of the sun.
Come. Charles Wallace clambered up.
Meg and Calvin followed him, Meg sitting between the two boys. A tremor went through the great wings and then Mrs Whatsit lifted and they were moving through the air.
Meg soon found that there was no need to cling to Charles Wallace or Calvin. The great creatures flight was serenely smooth. The boys were eagerly looking around the landscape.
Look. Charles Wallace pointed. The mountains are so tall that you cant see where they end.
Meg looked upwards and indeed the mountains seemed to be reaching into infinity.
They left the fertile fields and flew across a plateau of granite-like rock shaped into enormous monoliths. These had a definite, rhythmic form, but they were not statues; they were like nothing Meg had ever seen before, and she wondered if they had been made by wind and weather, by the formation of this earth, or if they were a creation of beings like the one on which she rode.
They left the great granite plain and flew over a garden. In it were gathered many of the creatures like the one Mrs Whatsit had become, some lying among the flowers, some swimming in a broad, crystal river, some flying in what Meg was sure must be a kind of dance, moving in and out above the trees. They were making music, music that came not only from their throats but from the movement of their great wings as well.
What are they singing? Meg asked excitedly.
Mrs Whatsit shook her beautiful head. It wont go into your words. I cant possibly transfer it to your words. Are you getting any of it, Charles?
Charles Wallace sat very still on the broad back, on his face an intently listening look, the look he had when he delved into Meg or his mother. A little. Just a very little. But I think I could get more in time.