Chapter 12

12  The Foolish and the Weak.

Meg could see nothing, but she felt her heart pounding with
hope. With one accord all the beasts rose to their feet,
turned toward one of the arched openings, and bowed
their heads and tentacles in greeting. Mrs. Whatsit ap-
peared, standing between two columns. Beside her came
Mrs. Who, behind them a quivering of light. The three of
them were somehow not quite the same as they had been
when Meg had first seen them. Their outlines seemed
blurred; colors ran together as in a wet water color paint-
ing. But they were there; they were recognizable; they
were themselves.
  Meg pulled herself away from Aunt Beast, jumped to the
floor, and rushed at Mrs. Whatsit. But Mrs. whatsit held
up a warning band and Meg realized that she was not com-
pletely materialized, that she was light and not substance,
and embracing her now would have been like trying to hug
a sunbeam.
  "We had to hurry so there wasn't quite time. You
wanted us? Mrs. whatsit asked.
  The tallest of the beasts bowed again and took a step
away from the table and towards Mrs. Whatsit. "It is a
question of the little boy."
  "Father left him!" Meg cried. "He left him on Camazotz!"
Appallingly, Mrs. Whatsit voice was cold. "And what
do you expect us to do?"
  Meg pressed her knuckles against her teeth so that her
braces cut her skin. Then she flung out her arms pleadingly.
"But it's Charles Wallace! IT has him, Mrs. Whatsit! Save
him, please save him!"
  "You know that we can do nothing on Camazotz," Mrs.
Whatsit said, her voice stilI cold.
  "You mean you'll let Charles be caught by IT forever?-
Meg's voice rose shrilly.
  "Did I say that?"
  "But we can't do anything! You know we can't! We tried!
Mrs. Whatsit, you have to save him!"
  "Meg, this is not our way," Mrs. Whatsit said sadly. "I
thought you would know that this is not our way.
  Mr. Murry took a step forward and bowed, and to Meg's
amazement the three ladies bowed back to him. "I don't bo-
lieve we've been introduced," Mrs. whatsit said.
  "It's Father, you know it's Father," Meg's angry impa-
tience grew. "Father Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs.
Which."
  "I'm very glad to." Mr. Murry mumbled, then went on,
"I'm sorry, my glasses are broken, and I can't see you very
well."
  "It's not necessary to see us," Mrs. Whatsit said.
  "If you could teach me enough more about the tesseract
so that I could get back to Camazotz."
  "Wwhatt tthenn?" came Mrs. Which's surprising voice.
  "I will try to take my child away from IT."
  "Amid yyou kknoww tthatt yyou wwill nnott ssuc-
ceeedd?"
  "There's nothing left except to try."
  Mrs. Whatsit spoke gently. "I'm sorry. We cannot allow
you to go."
  "Then let me," Calvin suggested. "I almost got him away
before."
  Mrs. Whatsit shook her head. "No, Calvin. Charles has
gone even deeper into IT. You will not be permitted to
throw yourself in with him, for that, you must realize, is
what would happen."
  There was a long silence. All the soft rays filtering into
the great hall seemed to concentrate on Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs.
Who, and the faint light that must be Mrs. Which. No
one spoke. One of the beasts moved a tendril slowly back
and forth across the stone table top. At last Meg could
stand it no longer and she cried out despairingly, "Then
what are you going to do? Are you just going to throw
Charles away?"
  Mrs. Which's voice rolled formidably across the hall.
"Ssilencce, cchilldd!"
  But Meg could not be silent. She pressed closely against
Aunt Beast, but Aunt Beast did not put the protecting ten-
tacles around her. "I can't go!" Meg cried. "I can't! You
know I can't!"
  "Ddidd annybbodyy asskk yyou too?  The grim voice
made Meg's skin prickle into gooseflesh.
  She burst into tears. She started beating at Aunt Beast
like a small child having a tantrum. Her tears rained down
her face and spattered Aunt Beast's fur. Aunt Beast stood
quietly against the assault.
  "All right, I'll go!" Meg sobbed. "I know you want me
togo!"
  "We want nothing from you that you do without grace,
Mrs. Whatsit said, "or that you do without understanding."
  Meg's tears stopped as abruptly as they had started. "But
I do understand." She felt tired and unexpectedly peace-
ful. Now the coldness that, under Aunt Beast's ministra-
tions, had left her body had also left her mind. She looked
toward her father and her confused anger was gone and
she felt only love and pride. She smiled at him, asking for-
giveness, and then pressed up against Aunt Beast. This
time Aunt Beast's arm went around her.
  Mrs. Which's voice was grave. "Wwhatt ddoo yyou
unndderrsstanndd?"
  "That it has to be me. It can't be anyone else. I don't
understand Charles, but he understands me. I'm the one
who's closest to him. Father's been away for so long, since
Charles Wallace was a baby. They don't know each other.
And Calvin's only known Charles for such a little time. If it
had been longer then he would have been the one, but,
oh, I see, I see, I understand, it has to be me. There isn't
anyone else."
  Mr. Murry, who had been sitting, his elbows on his
knees, his chin on his fists, rose. "I will not allow it!"
  `Wwhyy?" Mrs. Which demanded.
  "Look, I don't know what or who you are, and at this
point I don't care. I will not allow my daughter to go alone
into this danger."
  
  "Wwhy?"
  "You know what the outcome will probably be! And she's
weak, now, weaker than she was before. She was almost
killed by the Black Thing. I fail to understand how you can
even consider such a thing."
  Calvin jumped down. "Maybe IT's right about you! Or
maybe you're in league with IT. I'm the one to go ff any-
body goes! Why did you bring me along at all? To take care
of Meg! You said so yourself!"
  "But you have done that," Mrs. Whatsit assured him.
"I haven't done anything!" Calvin shouted. "You can't
send Meg! I won't allow it! I'll put my foot down! I won't
permit it!"
  "Don't you see that you're making something that is al-
ready hard for Meg even harder?" Mrs. Whatsit asked him.
  Aunt Beast turned tentacles toward Mrs. Whatsit. "Is
she strong enough to tesser again? You know what she has
been through."
  "If Which takes her she can manage," Mrs. Whatsit said.
  "If it will help I could go too, and hold her." Aunt Beast's
arm around Meg tightened.
  "Oh, Aunt Beast " Meg started.
  But Mrs. Whatsit cut her off. "No."
  "I was afraid not," Aunt Beast said. humbly. I lust
wanted you to know that I would."
  "Mrs. uh Whatsit." Mr. Murry frowned and pushed
his hair back from his face. Then he shoved with his middle
finger at his nose as though he were trying to get spectacles
closer to his eyes. "Are you remembering that she is only a
child?"
  "And she's backward," Calvin bellowed.
  "I resent that," Meg said hotly, hoping that indignation
would control her trembling. "I'm better than you at math
and you know it."
  "Do you have the courage to go alone?" Mrs. whatsit
asked her.
  Meg's voice was flat. "No. But it doesn't matter." She
turned to her father and Calvin. "You know it's the only
thing to do. You know they'd never send me alone if."
  "How do we know they're not in league with IT? Mr.
Murry demanded.
  "Father!"
  "No, Meg," Mrs. Whatsit said. "I do not blame your
father for being angry and suspicious and frightened. And
I cannot pretend that we are doing anything but sending
you into the gravest kind of danger. I have to acknowledge
quite openly that it may be a fatal danger. I know this. But
I do not believe it. And the Happy Medium doesn't believe
it, either."
  "Can't she see what's going to happen?" Calvin asked.
  "Oh, not in this kind of thing." Mrs. Whatsit sounded
surprised at his question. "If we knew ahead of time what
was going to happen we'd be, we'd be like the people on
Camazotz, with no lives of our own, with everything all
planned and done for us. How can I explain it to you? Oh,
I know. In your language you have a form of poetry called
the sonnet."
  "Yes, yes," Calvin said impatiently. "What's that got to
do with the Happy Medium?"
  "Kindly pay me the courtesy of listening to me." Mrs.
Whatsit's voice was stern, and for a moment Calvin stopped
pawing the ground like a nervous colt. "It is a very strict
form of poetry, is it not?"
  "Yes.
  "There are fourteen lines, I believe, all in iambic penta-
meter. That's a very strict rhythm or meter, yes?"
  "Yes." Calvin nodded.
  "And each line has to end with a rigid rhyme pattern.
And if the poet does not do it exactly this way, it is not a
sonnet, is it?"
  "No."
  "But within this strict form the poet has complete free-
dom to say whatever he wants, doesn't he?"
  "Yes." Calvin nodded again.
  "So," Mrs. whatsit said.
  "So what?"
  "Oh, do not be stupid, boy!" Mrs. Whatsit scolded. "You
know perfectly well what I am driving at!"
  "You mean you're comparing our lives to a sonnet? A
strict form, but freedom within it?"
  "Yes." Mrs. Whatsit said. "You're given the form, but
you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is
completely up to you.
  "Please," Meg said. "Please. If I've got to go I want to
go and get it over with. Each minute you put it off makes it
harder."
  "Sshee iss rrightt," boomed Mrs. Which's voice. Itt iss
ttime."
  "You may say good-by." Mrs. Whatsit was giving her not
permission, but a command.
  Meg curtsied clumsily to the beasts. "Thank you all. Very
much. I know you saved my life." She did not add what
she could not help thinking: Saved it for what? So that IT
could get me?
  She put her arms about Aunt Beast, pressed up against
the soft, fragrant fur. "Thank you," she whispered. I love
you.
  "And I, you, little one." Aunt Beast pressed gentle ten-
drils against Meg's face.
  "Cal." Meg said, holding out her hand.
  Calvin came to her and took her hand, then drew her
roughly to him and kissed her. He didn't say anything, and
he turned away before he had a chance to see the surprised
happiness that brightened Meg's eyes.
  At last she turned to her father. I'm, I'm sorry, Father."
  He took both her hands in his, bent down to her with his
short-sighted eyes. "Sorry for what, Megatron?"
  Tears almost came to her eyes at the gentle use of the
old nickname. "I wanted you to do it all for me. I wanted
everything to be all easy and simple.  So I tried to pre-
tend that it was all your fault because I was scared, and
I didn't want to have to do anything myself."
  "But I wanted to do it for you," Mr. Murry said. "That's
what every parent wants." He looked into her dark,
frightened eyes. "I won't let you go, Meg. I am going."
  "No." Mrs. Whatsit's voice was sterner than Meg had
ever heard it. "You are going to allow Meg the privilege of
accepting this danger. You are a wise man, Mr. Murry. You
are going to let her go."
  Mr. Murry sighed. He drew Meg close to him. "Little
Megaparsec. Don't be afraid to be afraid. We will try to
have courage for you. That is all we can do. Your mother."
  "Mother was always shoving me out in the world," Meg
said. "She'd want me to do this. You know she would. Tell
her." she started, choked, then held up her head and said,
"No. Never mind. I'll tell her myself."
  "Good girl. Of course you will."
  Now Meg walked slowly around the great table to where
Mrs. Whatsit was still poised between the columns. "Are
you going with me?"
  "No. Only Mrs. Which."
  "The Black Thing." Fear made her voice tremble.
"When Father tessered me through it, it almost got me."
  "Your father is singularly inexperienced," Mrs. Whatsit
said, "though a fine man, and worth teaching. At the
moment he still treats tessering as though he were working
with a machine. We will not let the Black Thing get you. I
don't think."
  This was not exactly comforting.
  The momentary vision and faith that had come to Meg
dwindled. "But suppose I can't get Charles Wallace away
from IT."
  "Stop." Mrs. Whatsit held up her hand. "We gave you
gifts the last time we took you to Camazotz. We will not let
you go empty handed this time. But what we can give you
now is nothing you can touch with your hands. I give you
my love, Meg. Never forget that. My love always."
  Mrs. Who, eyes shining behind spectacles, beamed at
Meg. Meg felt in her blazer pocket and handed back the
spectacles she had used on Camazotz.
  "Your father is right," Mrs. Who took the spectacles and
hid them somewhere in the folds of her robes. "The virtue
is gone from them. And what I have to give you this time
you must try to understand not word by word, but in a
flash, as you understand the tesseract. Listen, Meg. Listen
well. The foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the
weakness of God is stronger than men. For ye see your
calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the
flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called, but
God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to con-
found the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of
the world to confound the things which are mighty. And
base things of the world, and things which are despised,
hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring
to nought things that are." She paused, and then she said,
"May the right prevail." Her spectacles seemed to flicker.
Behind her, through her, one of the columns became visible.
There was a final gleam from the glasses, and she was gone.
Meg looked nervously to where Mrs. Whatsit had been
standing before Mrs. Who spoke. But Mrs. Whatsit was no
longer there.
  "No!" Mr. Murry cried, and stepped toward Meg.
  Mrs. Which's voice came through her shimmer. I ccan-
nnott hholldd yyourr hanndd, chilldd."
  Immediately Meg was swept into darkness, into nothing-
ness, and then into the icy devouring cold of the Black
Thing. Mrs. Which won't let it get me, she thought over
and over while the cold of the Black Thing seemed to crunch
at her bones.
  Then they were through it, and she was standing breath-
lessly on her feet on the same hill on which they had first
landed on Camazotz. She was cold and a little numb, but
no worse than she had often been in the winter in the coun-
try when she had spent an afternoon skating on the pond.
She looked around. She was completely alone. Her heart
began to pound.
  Then, seeming to echo from all around her, came Mrs.
Which's unforgettable voice. "I hhave nnott ggivenn yyou
mmyy ggifftt. Yyou hhave ssomethinngg thatt ITT hhass
nnott. Thiss ssometlnnngg iss yyourr onlly wweapponn.
Bbutt yyou mmusstt ffinndd itt ffoff yyourrssellff." Then
the voice ceased, and Meg knew that she was alone.
  She walked slowly down tile hill, her heart thumping
painfully against her ribs. There below her was the same
row of identical houses they had seen before, and beyond
these the linear buildings of the city. She walked along
the quiet street. It was dark and the street was deserted. No
children playing ball or skipping rope. No mother figures
at the doors. No father figures returning from work In the
same window of each house was a light, and as Meg walked
down the street all the lights were extinguished simulta-
neously. Was it because of her presence, or was it simply
that it was time for lights out?
  She felt numb, beyond rage or disappointment or even
fear. She put one foot ahead of the other with precise regu-
larity, not allowing her pace to lag. She was not thinking;
she was not planning; she was simply walking slowly but
steadily toward the city and the domed building where IT
lay.
  Now she approached the outlying buildings of the city.
In each of them was a vertical line of light, but it was a dim,
eerie light, not tile warm light of stairways in cities at home.
And there were no isolated brightly lit windows where
someone was working late, or an office was being cleaned.
Out of each building came one man, perhaps a watchman,
and each man started walking the width of the building.
They appeared not to see her. At any rate they paid no at-
tention to her whatsoever, and she went on past them.
  What have I got that IT hasn't got? she thought suddenly.
What have I possibly got?
  Now she was walking by the tallest of the business build-
ings. More dim vertical lines of light. The walls glowed
slightly to give a faint illumination to the streets. CEN-
TRAL Central Intelligence was ahead of her. Was the man
with red eyes still sitting there? Or was he allowed to go to
bed? But this was not where she must go, though the man
with red eyes seemed the kind old gentleman he claimed to
be when compared with IT. But he was no longer of any
consequence in the search for Charles Wallace. She must go
directly to IT.
  IT isn't used to being resisted. Father said that's how
he managed, and how Calvin and I managed as long as we
did. Father saved me then. There's nobody here to save
me now. I have to do it myself. I have to resist IT by my-
self. Is that what I have that IT hasn't got? No, I'm sure IT
can resist. IT just isn't used to having other people resist.
  CENTRAL Central Intelligence blocked with its huge
rectangle the end of the square. She turned to walk around
it, and almost imperceptibly her steps slowed.
  It was not far to the great dome which housed IT.
  I'm going to Charles Wallace. That's what's important.
That's what I have to think of. I wish I could feel numb
again the way I did at first. Suppose IT has him somewhere
else? Suppose he isn't there?
  I have to go there first, anyhow. That's the only way I
can find out.
  Her steps got slower and slower as she passed the great
bronzed doors, the huge slabs of the CENTRAL Central
Intelligence building, as she finally saw ahead of her the
strange, light, pulsing dome of IT.
  Father said it was all right for me to be afraid. He said
to go ahead and be afraid. And Mrs. Who said-I don't
understand what she said but I think it was meant to make
me not hate being only me, and me being the way I am. And
Mrs. Whatsit said to remember that she loves me. That's
what I have to think about. Not about being afraid. Or not
as smart as IT. Mrs. Whatsit loves me. That's quite some-
thing, to be loved by someone like Mrs. Whatsit.
  She was there.
  No matter how slowly her feet had taken her at the end,
they had taken her there.
  Directly ahead of her was the circular building, its walls
glowing with violet flame, its silvery roof pulsing with a
light that seemed to Meg to be insane. Again she could feel
the light, neither warm nor cold, but reaching out to touch
her, pulling her toward IT.
  There was a sudden sucking, and she was within.
  It was as though the wind had been knocked out of her.
She gasped for breath, for breath in her own rhythm, not
the permeating pulsing of IT. She could feel the inexorable
beat within her body, controlling her heart, her lungs.
  But not herself. Not Meg. It did not quite have her.
  She blinked her eyes rapidly and against the rhythm
until the redness before them cleared and she could see.
There was the brain, there was IT, lying pulsing and quiver-
ing on the dais, soft and exposed and nauseating. Charles
Wallace was crouched beside IT, his eyes still slowly twirl-
iug, his jaw still slack, as she had seen him before, with a tic
in his forehead reiterating the revolting rhythm of IT.
  As she saw him it was again as though she had been
punched in the stomach, for she had to realize afresh that
she was seeing Charles, and yet it was not Charles at all.
Where was Charles Wallace, her own beloved Charles Wal-
lace?
  What is it I have got that IT hasn't got?
  "You have nothing that IT hasn't got," Charles Wallace
said coldly. "How nice to have you back, dear sister. We
have been waiting for you. We knew that Mrs. Whatsit
would send you. She is our friend, you know."
  For an appalling moment Meg believed, and in that
moment she felt her brain being gathered up into IT
  "No!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. "No! You
lie!"
  For a moment she was free from ITs clutches again.
  As long as I can stay angry enough IT can't get me.
  Is that what I have that IT doesn't have?
  "Nonsense," Charles Wallace said. "You have nothing
that it doesn't have."
  "You're lying," she replied, and she felt only anger toward
this boy who was not Charles Wallace at all. No, it was not
anger, it was loathing; it was hatred, sheer and unadulter-
ated, and as she became lost in hatred she also began to be
lost in IT. The red miasma swam before her eyes; her
stomach churned in ITs rhythm. Her body trembled with
the strength of her hatred and the strength of IT.
  With the last vestige of consciousness she jerked her mind
and body. Hate was nothing that IT didn't have. IT knew all
about hate.
  "You are lying about that, and you were lying about Mrs.
Whatsit!" she screamed.
  "Mrs. Whatsit hates you," Charles Wallace said.
  And that was where IT made ITs fatal mistake, for as
Meg said, automatically, "Mrs. Whatsit loves me; that's
what she told me, that she loves me," suddenly she knew.
  She knew!
  Love.
  That was what she had that IT did not have.
  She had Mrs. Whatsit's love, and her father's, and her
mother's, and the real Charles Wallace's love, and the twins"
and Aunt Beast's.
  And she had her love for them.
  But how could she use it? What was she meant to do?
  If she could give love to IT perhaps it would shrivel up
and die, for she was sure that IT could not withstand love.
But she, in all her weakness and foolishness and baseness
and nothingness, was incapable of loving IT. Perhaps it
was not too much to ask of her, but she could not do it
  But she could love Charles Wallace.
  She could stand there and she could love Charles Wal-
lace.
  Her own Charles Wallace, the real Charles Wallace, the
child for whom she had come back to Camazotz, to IT, the
baby who was so much more than she was, and who was yet
so utterly vulnerable.
  She could love Charles Wallace.
  Charles. Charles, I love you. My baby brother who always
takes care of me. Come back to me, Charles Wallace, come
away from IT, come back, come home. I love you, Charles.
Oh, Charles Wallace, I love you.
  Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she was un-
aware of them.
  Now she was even able to look at him, at this animated
thing that was not her own Charles Wallace at all. She was
able to look and love.
  I love you. Charles Wallace, you are my darling and my
dear and the light of my life and the treasure of my heart.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
  Slowly his mouth closed. Slowly his eyes stopped their
twirling. The tic in the forehead ceased its revolting twitch.
Slowly he advanced toward her.
  "I love you!" she cried. "I love you, Charles! I love you!"
  Then suddenly he was running, pelting, he was in her
arms, he was shrieking with sobs. "Meg! Meg! Meg!"
  "I love you, Charles!" she cried again, her sobs almost
as loud as his, her tears mingling with his. I love you! I
love you! I love you!"
  A whirl of darkness. An icy cold blast. An angry, resentful
howl that seemed to tear through her. Darkness again.
Through the darkness to save her came a sense of Mrs.
Whatsit's presence, so that she knew it could not be IT who
now had her in its clutches.
  And then the feel of earth beneath her, of something in
her arms, and she was rolling over on the sweet smelling
autumnal earth, and Charles Wallace was crying out, "Meg!
Oh, Meg!"
  Now she was hugging him close to her, and his little arms
were clasped tightly about her neck. "Meg, you saved me!
You saved me!" he said over and over.
  "Meg!" came a call, and there were her father and Calvin
hurrying through the darkness toward them.
  Still holding Charles she struggled to stand up and look
around. "Father! Cal! Where are we?"
  Charles Wallace, holding her hand tightly, was looking
around, too, and suddenly he laughed, his own, sweet, con-
tagious laugh. "In the twins' vegetable garden! And we
landed in the broccoli!"
  Meg began to laugh, too, at the same time that she
was trying to hug her father, to hug Calvin, and not to let go
of Charles Wallace for one second.
  "Meg, you did it!" Calvin shouted. "You saved Charles!"
  "I'm very proud of you, my daughter." Mr. Murry kissed
her gravely, then turned toward the house. "Now I must go
in to Mother." Meg could tell that he was trying to control
his anxiety and eagerness.
  "Look!" she pointed to the house, and there were the
twins and Mrs. Murry walking toward them through the
long, wet grass.
  "First thing tomorrow I must get some new glasses," Mr.
Murry said, squinting in the moonlight, and then starting
to run toward his wife.
  Dennys' voice came crossly over the lawn. "Hey, Meg,
it's bedtime."
  Sandy suddenly yelled, "Father!"
  Mr. Murry was running across the lawn, Mrs. Murry
running toward him, and they were in each other's arms,
and then there was a tremendous happy jumble of arms
and legs and hugging, the older Murrys and Meg and
Charles Wallace and the twins, and Calvin grinning by
them until Meg reached out and pulled him in and Mrs.
Murry gave him a special hug all of his own. They were
talking and laughing all at once, when they were startled
by a crash, and Fortinbras, who could bear being left out of
the happiness not one second longer, catapulted his sleek
black body right through the screened door to the kitchen.
He dashed across the lawn to join in the joy, and almost
knocked them all over with the exuberance of his greeting.
  Meg knew all at once that Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and
Mrs. Which must be near, because all through her she felt a
flooding of joy and of love that was even greater and deeper
than the joy and love which were already there.
  She stopped laughing and listened, and Charles listened,
too. "Hush."
  Then there was a whirring, and Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who,
and Mrs. Which were standing in front of them, and the joy
and love were so tangible that Meg felt that if she only
knew where to reach she could touch it with her bare hands.
  Mrs. Whatsit said breathlessly, "Oh, my darlings, I'm
sorry we don't have time to say good-by to you properly.
You see, we have too."
  "But they never learned what it was that Mrs. whatsit,
Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which had to do, for there was a gust
of wind, and they were gone.


THE END.