“What should I call you, please?” Meg asked.
“Well, now. First, try not to say any words for just a moment. Think within your own mind. Think of all die things you call people, different kinds of people.”
While Meg thought, the beast murmured to her gently. “No, mother is a special, a one-name; and a father you have here. Not just friend, nor teacher, nor brother, nor sister. What is acquaintance? What a funny, hard word. Aunt. Maybe. Yes, perhaps that will do. And you think of such odd words about me. Thing, and monster! Monster, what a horrid sort of word. I really do not think I am a monster. Beast. That will do. Aunt Beast.”
“Aunt Beast,” Meg murmured sleepily, and laughed.
“Have I said something funny?” Aunt Beast asked in surprise. “Isn’t Aunt Beast all right?”
“Aunt Beast is lovely,” Meg said. “Please sing to me, Aunt Beast.”
If it was impossible to describe sight to Aunt Beast, it would be even more impossible to describe the singing of Aunt Beast to a human being. It was a music even more glorious than the music of the singing creatures on Uriel. It was a music more tangible than form or sight. It had essence and structure. It supported Meg more firmly than the arms of Aunt Beast It seemed to travel with her, to sweep her aloft in the power of song, so that she was moving in glory among the stars, and for a moment she, too, felt that the words Darkness and Light had no meaning. and only this melody was real.
Meg did not know when she fell asleep within the body of the music. When she wakened Aunt Beast was asleep, too, the softness of her furry, faceless head drooping. Night had gone and a dull gray light filled the room. But she realized now that here on this planet there was no need for color, that the grays and browns merging into each other were not what the beasts knew, and that what she, herself, saw was only the smallest fraction of what the planet was really like. It was she who was limited by her senses, not tihe blind beasts, for they must have senses of which she could not even dream.
She stirred slightly, and Aunt Beast bent over her immediately, “What a lovely sleep, my darling. Do you feel all right?”
“I feel wonderful,” Meg said. “Aunt Beast, what is this planet called?”
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Beast sighed. “I find it not easy at aB to put things the way your mind shapes them. You call where you came from Camazotz?”
“Well, it’s where we came from, but it’s not our planet.”
“You can call us Ixchel. I guess,” Aunt Beast told her. “We share the same sun as lost Camazotz, but that, give thanks, is all we share.”
“Are you fighting the Black Thing?” Meg asked.
“Oh, yes,” Aunt Beast replied. “In doing that we can never relax. We are the called according to His purpose, and whom He calls, them He also justifies. Of course we have help, and without help it would be much more difficult.”
“Who helps you?” Meg asked.
“Oh, dear, it is so difficult to explain things to you, small one. And I know now that it is not just because you are a child. The other two are as hard to reach into as you are. What can I tell you that will mean anything to you? Good helps us, the stars helps us, perhaps what you would call light helps us, love helps us. Oh, my child, I cannot explain! This is something you just have to know or not know.”
But-
“We look not at the things which are what you would call seen, but at the things which are not seen. For the things which are seen are temporal. But the things which are not seen are eternal.”
“Aunt Beast, do you know Mrs. Whatsit?” Meg asked with a sudden flooding of hope.
“Mrs. Whatsit?” Aunt Beast was puzzled. “Oh, child, your language is so utterly simple and limited that it has the effect of extreme complication.” Her four arms, tentacles waving, were outflung in a gesture of helplessness. “Would you like me to take you to your father and your Calvin?”
“Oh, yes, please!”
“Let us go, then. They are waiting for you to make plans. And we thought you would enjoy eating-what is it you call it? oh, yes, breakfast-together. You will be too warm in that heavy fur, now. I will dress you in something lighter, and then we will go.”
As though Meg were a baby, Aunt Beast bathed and dressed her, and this new garment, though it was made of a pale fur, was lighter than the lightest summer clothes on earth. Aunt Beast put one tentacled arm about Meg’s waist and led her through long, dim corridors in which she could see only shadows, and shadows of shadows, until they reached a large, columned chamber. Shafts of light came in from an open skylight and converged about a huge, round, stone table. Here were seated several of the great beasts, and Calvin and Mr. Murry, on a stone bench that circled the table. Because the beasts were so tall, even Mr. Murry’s feet did not touch die ground, and lanky Calvin’s long legs dangled as though he were Charles Wallace. The hall was partially enclosed by vaulted arches leading to long, paved walks. There were no empty walls, no covering roofs, so that although the light was dull in comparison to earth’s sunlight, Meg had no feeling of dark or of chill. As Aunt Beast led Meg in, Mr. Murry slid down from the bench and hurried to her, putting his arms about her tenderly.
“They promised us you were all right,” he said.
While she had been in Aunt Beast’s arms Meg had felt safe and secure. Now her worries about Charles Wallace and her disappointment in her father’s human fallibility rose like gorge in her throat.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, looking not at Calvin or her father, but at the beasts, for it was to them she turned now for help. It seemed to her that neither her father nor Calvin were properly concerned about Charles Wallace.
“Meg!” Calvin said gaily. “You’ve never tasted such food in your life! Come and eat!”
Aunt Beast lifted Meg up onto the bench and sat down beside her, then heaped a plate with food, strange fruits and breads that tasted unlike anything Meg had ever eaten. Everything was dull and colorless and unappetizing to look at, and at first, even remembering the meal Aunt Beast had fed her the night before, Meg hesitated to taste, but once she had managed the first bite she ate eagerly; it seemed that she would never have her fill again.
The others waited until she slowed down. Then Mr. Muny said gravely, “We were trying to work out a plan to rescue Charles Wallace. Since I made such a mistake in tessering away from IT, we feel that it would not be wise for me to try to get back to Camazotz, even alone. If I missed the mark again I could easily get lost and wander forever from galaxy to galaxy, and that would be small help to anyone, least of all to Charles Wallace.”
Such a wave of despondency came over Meg that she was no longer able to eat.
“Our friends here.” he continued, “feel that it was only the fact that I still wore the glasses your Mrs. Who gave you that kept me within this solar system. Here are the glasses, Meg. But I am afraid that the virtue has gone from them and now they are only glass. Perhaps they were meant to help only once and only on Camazotz. Perhaps it was going through the Black Thing that did it.” He pushed the glasses across the table at her.
“These people know about tessering,” Calvin gestured at the circle of great beasts, “but they can’t do it onto a dark planet.”
“Have you tried to call Mrs. Whatsit?” Meg asked.
“Not yet,” her father answered.
“But if you haven’t thought of anything else, it’s the only thing to do! Father, don’t you care about Charles at all!”
At that Aunt Beast stood up. saying, “Child,” in a reproving way. Mr. Murry said nothing, and Meg could see that she had wounded him deeply. She reacted as she would have reacted to Mr. Jenkms. She scowled down at the table, saying, “We’ve got to ask them for help now. You’re just stupid if you think we don’t.”
Aunt Beast spoke to the others. “The child is distraught. Don’t judge her harshly. She was almost taken by the Black Thing. Sometimes we can’t know what spiritual damage it leaves even when physical recovery is complete.”
Meg looked angrily around the table. The beasts sat there, silent, motionless. She felt that she was being measured and found wanting.