Troubling a Star

by Madeleine L'engle

  Then the Zodiac veered, as though whoever was running it saw something, and it headed toward a very large iceberg on the horizon, far away.

  It was going away from me.

  Nobody saw me. Nobody heard me.

  I sank down on the ice in despair. Cold ate into me.

  I pulled myself together, scrambled to my feet, put on my parka. Even if the Zodiac hadn’t seen me, even if it was now disappearing over the horizon, it meant that there were people looking for me. My manifest number was still turned to the red side, so Quim and the others knew I wasn’t on the Argosy. They were looking for me. When they got to the iceberg they were heading toward and didn’t find me, they’d turn around and come back.

  Please come back!

  Please!

  The next day we anchored off New Island, one of the Falklands. We were up early. Breakfast was at six-thirty. While I was waiting for my oatmeal, I said to Cook, “Just a little while and you’ll be leaving.”

  “You’ll be fine here. I can leave comfortably, knowing that you’re on the Argosy, and Benjy will take good care of you.” He held out his coffee cup for a refill.

  “Did you tell Benjy anything about what happened in Vespugia?”

  “There really isn’t that much to tell.” Cook poured milk in his coffee. “I’ve told him what little there is, and it’s behind us, thank goodness.”

  I added a big spoonful of raisins to my oatmeal. “I’m looking forward to meeting Seth when we get to Port Stanley, and I hope he’s going to want to meet me.”

  “I hope so, too,” Cook said. “He was terribly mangled by the seal, and he’s been more than a little eccentric ever since, not wanting to mix much with people. He sings well, and oddly enough he enjoys performing, and he’s made quite a reputation with his songs. He’s worked hard at the little museum in Port Stanley, which we’ll probably have a chance to visit, but he often takes off whenever a ship docks in town.”

  “Even if he knows you’re on it?” I asked.

  “Even then. Seth is really very erratic. Sometimes he dresses like a penguin. He’s my brother and I love him, but I feel I have to prepare you for how odd he is.”

  The Alaskans joined us then, and we started talking about the rockhopper penguins we’d be seeing that morning.

  After breakfast we lined up to get in the Zodiacs, all of us bundled in our red parkas, with rubber pants over our jeans. There were double doors leading out to a metal ladder going down to a small landing platform where a Zodiac was bobbing up and down. When it came my turn, I jumped down into the Zodiac and sat on the black rubber side.

  The Zodiac’s outboard motor started and off we went. I looked around at the other passengers. We were all wearing small life preservers over our parkas, much smaller than the bulky ones we’d worn for the boat drill, thank heavens. These orange oblong donuts would inflate if they were in the water, and I hoped we’d never have to test them. I was going to be in a Zodiac at least once a day, and usually twice. I’d better get used to carrying around all that heavy equipment.

  The captain himself ran our Zodiac, pulling us to shore with a flourish and a scrape of rubber against pebbles. We swung our legs over the inflated rubber sides and sloshed ashore, the water almost to the top of our boots. The sun was beating down, and I saw some of the others taking off their life preservers and placing them on the beach, so I did the same. Almost everybody followed this by taking off their red parkas and dropping them down by the orange donuts.

  We had a tramp of about a mile across pastures of tussock grass, where we saw sheep wandering, with penguins hopping all around them—and I mean really hopping in the most amazing way. A penguin would be on the ground, and suddenly he’d be what seemed at least six feet up on a rock. Rockhoppers are well named. And they smelled. We smelled and heard them before we saw them. They chittered, squeaking and squawking at each other, at the day, at the sheep. Just being noisy in general.

  Benjy had warned us not to go closer to the penguins than fifteen feet, and never under any circumstances to block a baby from its mother, or get between a penguin and its access to the water.

  But the penguins hadn’t heard that announcement. Otto came up to me, saying, “When we arrived in the Zodiacs, all of us still in our red parkas, I could almost hear the penguins thinking, ‘Hm. Big red birds. They don’t seem to be a threat. Let’s investigate.’”

  I laughed with him. “First time I’ve been mistaken for a bird.” Even with our parkas off, it seemed to me that the penguins still thought of us as another species of bird. Benjy ambled over to us and told us that if we sat down on the ground and kept very still they might even come and peck at our backpacks to see if we had any food in them. At least the penguins here had never been threatened or hurt by human beings.

  Siri spread her parka on the rough beach and sat on it, then took her harp, which had been slung over her shoulder with a wide canvas strap, out of its canvas carrier. She began to sweep her fingers over the strings. Then she hummed a little, softly, and finally began to sing. I’d half slept through the words when she sang in our hotel room in San Sebastián, but now I was paying attention.

  All things by immortal power,

  Near or far,

  Hiddenly

  To each other linked are,

  That thou canst not stir a flower

  Without troubling of a star.

  Her fingers on the strings reprised the melody. Then she sang the last two lines again.

  Thou canst not stir a flower

  Without troubling of a star.

  As I was drawn closer to Siri and her harp, so were the penguins, and three of them waddled right up to her.

  “Hush,” Benjy warned as a couple of people began gushing over how cute the penguins were. It wasn’t cute. It was wonderful. It was so wonderful that I felt a lift in my heart, a brightening as I responded to the beauty of the song, the penguins, the sky, the gentle air. I wanted the moment to go on forever, and even though I knew it couldn’t, while I was in it, it was forever.

  Benjy kept people back, and finally we all followed him, away from Siri and her music and the penguins. Greta said wistfully, “I wish I had a better ear for music. I think the penguins got more out of Siri’s song than I did.” She walked on to catch up with Jorge and Jack.

  I stayed mostly with Cook and Benjy. Each moment I was coming to like Benjy more and more. I had seen his face while Siri played for the penguins, and it reflected the same joy I felt.

  Otto walked along with us until we arrived at a vast colony of rockhoppers with their young. Benjy said they were about five weeks old, grey balls of fluff huddled together in their crèche, so many and so close to each other that I couldn’t begin to count them. For the chicks, company was safety; an isolated chick could easily be picked off by a skua.

  The weather, Benjy announced, was extraordinary for the Falklands. It was hazily sunny, and the thermometer must have been in the low sixties. Of course, January in the Falklands is summer, but Cook agreed that this was unusual, and all of us were sweating in our winter clothes. Some of the baby penguins had their “hands” stretched out to catch the breeze and cool off. Penguin flippers, like those of dolphins and whales, have the bone structure of an arm and a hand, not a fish’s fin. A few of the fluffy little babies were flopped over on their sides as though they were dead, but Benjy assured us they were only resting against the heat. Their metabolism is geared for cold weather.

  “Cookie”—Leilia, the Alaskan teacher, looked at him questioningly—“I’ve been meaning to ask you—when I was in Port Stanley before, there was a man who looks very much like you.”

  Cook nodded. “He’s my brother. I’m here on my biannual visit.”

  “Fascinating man,” Leilia said. “I hope we’ll see him when we go to the museum in Port Stanley. He’s really put a lot of effort into that place.”

  On the beach and up on the cliffs there were yellow flowers, which Leilia said were sea cabbages, and the tussock grass gre
w in coarse clumps and looked as though it had survived heavy winds and salt water. It was indeed an alien landscape, unlike anything I’d ever seen, but it had its own stark beauty.

  Otto loped along beside me, chattering, informing. “A lot of this sod can be cut up for peat. It’s used a lot for fuel here.”

  “How do you know so much?” I asked.

  “In my country we’re seeking alternate forms of energy. But I don’t think peat would work for us. Oh, look, Vicky, look!” In the midst of the rockhopper colony was a nesting black-browed albatross. “They have the longest wingspan of any bird in the world. Now, look over here!” And he pointed to two enormous vultures waiting on a promontory, looking sinister.

  I shuddered. “I don’t like vultures.”

  “Most carrion eaters aren’t pleasant. But here, where it’s so dry that nothing biodegrades, they’re useful for disposing of garbage.”

  In the notebook I was keeping for Suzy, I’d jotted down, “Rockhopper penguins,” and now I added “albatrosses” and “vultures.”

  Cook had reminded me to put on sunscreen, and I had on the safari hat he had given me, because the sun was glaring. Otto remarked that a few of the men who had baldish heads and who weren’t wearing hats were going to be sorry.

  Otto veered off to talk with Jorge. I wandered along, clumping in my heavy boots, thinking of the words Siri had sung.

  Benjy had warned us not to bring anything ashore with us, not to leave anything behind, not a tissue, not an empty film box, not a plastic bag, and not to take anything away with us, not even a pebble. He explained the precariousness of the ecology, and that anything we did could upset it. “I’m not sure we should be here at all,” he said, “but it is so beautiful that I know none of you will ever be the same again.”

  If I picked one of the yellow sea cabbages, that casual action might result in trouble to a star millions of light-years away. It isn’t just that if you fall off a roof the consequence will likely be a broken leg because we live in a universe where gravity plays an important role, but that all actions have consequences far beyond anything we can imagine.

  “Vicky!” I heard my name. “Earth calling Vicky!” And there was Sam, standing next to Cook and laughing.

  “Oh. Sorry. I guess I was off in another world.”

  Sam asked, “What was going on in the other world?”

  “Consequences,” I answered. “Little things like leaving debris here. And maybe big things, bad things, but also good things, like Siri’s music.”

  Sam chomped on his cigar. “The penguins loved her.”

  “Did they ever!” Benjy came up to us. “I’ve never thought of experimenting with music with the penguins before. Tomorrow I’m going to take Siri to a crèche and see how the fledglings react to her music.”

  “She plays well,” Otto said.

  “And what a gorgeous voice,” Benjy added.

  Siri had a nice voice, I thought, but not really a gorgeous one. What Benjy was reacting to was the whole experience of Siri and the music and the penguins, and yes, that was gorgeous. And maybe he was reacting to Siri, herself. I walked along between Benjy and Sam. Cook and Leilia were behind us, chatting away. When we got back to the beach and the Zodiacs, Siri had her harp slung on her back again, and was walking with Greta. They seemed to get along very well, despite Greta’s musical lacks.

  In my head I began to write a poem, sort of inspired by what Siri had sung and remembering what Aunt Serena had said about penguins and intimacy. While we were waiting to get in the Zodiacs, I sat on the beach and scribbled, and waited for the last Zodiac, so I had something more or less finished.

  High lifts my heart in warmth and cold,

  Moonlight and starlight, cloud and sun,

  Sea spray and salt and the land’s fold,

  Lamb and fledgling, and love begun

  In the heart that dares not warm

  But cannot chill. Stars! Stay my heart

  And keep my borning love from harm,

  For love will start, oh, love will start.

  When we got back to the Argosy, there was a big tub of water and a brush with a long handle at the top of the metal steps, and we were to step in the water with our boots on to wash the guano off. We certainly didn’t want to bring that smell onto the ship. I cleaned my boots, went to my cabin, and took off all my heavy outdoor garments, and then the bell rang for lunch and I was starved.

  The lunch line on the Argosy reminded me of the lunch line in the cafeteria at school. Jorge and Otto stood near Cook and me, and Jack Nessinger joined us, and Otto left the smokers’ side to sit with us at lunch. Jorge and Jack questioned him about Zlatovica, and remarked on how it’s not much bigger than Rhode Island.

  After lunch, there was a German-language lecture. German seemed to be the common language of the European contingent, though I heard some French, and there were some other languages I couldn’t identify. During the lecture the rest of us were given a tour of the ship; the others would be given the tour later. We went to the engine rooms, to the kitchen, where a very young chef in a high white hat was baking vast quantities of wonderful-smelling bread; we went up to the bridge with all its instruments, and I looked through the depth sounder and the captain pointed out his new sonar and some other instruments I knew John and Adam would understand but which were too technical for me. We were shown the captain’s quarters. The cabin with his bunk was even smaller than our cabins, but he had a large cabin for a living room, where sometimes he entertained dignitaries. There were two wide and long bunks which were piled with pillows to make them couches. There was a round table in the center of the room with a beautiful, hammered-copper top, and a couple of heavy, comfortable chairs.

  After the tour I went down to my cabin and described what I had seen, and then copied out the poem in my journal and caught up on the letter I was writing to Aunt Serena. Maybe I’d copy the poem for her, too, when I’d worked on it a little more.

  “You didn’t prepare me for the guano smell,” I told her. “It’s a smell, not a stink, because it isn’t decaying or putrid, but you certainly don’t want to bottle it and bring it home.

  “There are some interesting people on the Argosy. Cook and I usually sit with Sam and Siri, but we’ve also got to know Leilia, a teacher from Alaska, and I’d really like to be in her classroom. Then there’s Dick, the ship’s doctor, and Angelique, his wife. Dick’s an orthopedic surgeon who walks with a cane, and Angelique is a librarian and one of the most glamorous women I’ve ever seen. And I’ve met a prince who lives in a fairy-tale castle on top of a mountain. The staff is terrific. Quimby is the one who tells us all what to do. Benjy is the penguin expert, Gary is the paleontologist, Todd knows all about whales, and Jason is a geologist. They’re all good-looking and couldn’t be nicer. I’m learning a lot.”

  As soon as the German-language lecture was over, we got back in the Zodiacs and set off for Carcass Island. Again we smelled the penguins before we heard them, and heard them before we saw them. When we landed, we had a two-mile walk, each way, over terrain that would have been lots easier in sneakers than in heavy boots. Otto walked with me, and talked about being in boarding school in England and spending holidays with school friends because it wasn’t safe for him to go home. It was nice being with him and enjoying the rockhoppers with the funny tufts on the crests of their heads. The day was like an early April day at home, with a fresh breath of spring, before all the snow has melted. There was no snow here, but Otto said there was often sleet and icy drizzle.

  I had time for a shower before we gathered together for Wrap-Up and instructions for the next day. The Alaska teachers were sitting near us, and Leilia told us how much it had meant to them to hear Siri playing for the penguins, and how excited Benjy had been. “I use a lot of music with my kids at school. I try to expose them to as much variety as possible, and to expand their tastes. How about you, Vicky? What kind of music do you like?”

  I smiled. “I’ve got pretty eclectic tast
es. My mother vacuums to Beethoven and Brahms, and my sister Suzy and I wash dishes to rock or country. I thought Siri’s song was marvelous.”

  Quimby, beaming, said that we’d be going to Volunteer Beach in the morning, where we’d see Magellanic penguins, gentoo penguins, and probably king penguins. We’d come back to the Argosy for lunch, and then in the afternoon we’d dock at Port Stanley, where the governor’s wife had invited us for tea, thanks to an elderly lady in the States who was a friend of the governor’s mother. Yay, Aunt Serena! Cook and I looked at each other and smiled, and he winked.

  And then I would get to meet Cook’s brother.

  “Penguins aren’t all alike!” Otto exclaimed the next morning at Volunteer Beach. The Magellanic penguins there were very different from the rockhoppers. For one thing, they didn’t hop. “See,” Otto said, “they have holes in the dunes for nests, completely different from the little circles of stones the rockhoppers use.”

  Benjy said, “Rockhoppers tend to steal each other’s stones. Sometimes they get so reckless about it they get picked off by a skua.”

  Greta was carrying one of Jorge’s big camera cases for him. I wondered if Sam would notice that she appeared to be smitten with Jorge. Like some of the other women, she wore full makeup. I heard one woman explaining that it protected her skin.

  We climbed up cliff-like dunes. Angelique and Jason helped Dick, who was having a hard time because the dunes were slippery. Cook was with me, and occasionally took my elbow as we walked over green peat and clumps of tussock grass and more yellow sea cabbages to an amazing scene of gentoo penguins among sheep and lambs. Benjy pointed out how to distinguish gentoos from rockhoppers by the flashing of white across their foreheads from eye to eye.

  We walked along in shifting groups. Jack Nessinger took Otto off, pointing out something ahead of us. Jorge and Greta were well behind, and Jorge did not seem to be taking pictures, despite all the equipment he was carrying. The two of them did not keep up with the rest of us, but turned back toward the beach. We plowed on, farther inland, past a lake, and there we saw a colony of king penguins, considerably taller than the rockhoppers or the Magellanics, with a hornlike toot. Benjy called it a bray. He told us that you can tell what penguins have been eating by the color of their guano. “If they’ve been eating fish, it’s white, and if they’ve been eating krill, it’s pink.” What we saw was mostly pink. The wind blew the guano smell in our faces. Pink rhymes with stink.