A Ring of Endless Light: The Austin Family Chronicles, Book 4

by L'Engle, Madeleine;

  It wasn’t Binnie I was burning, but death, death which had come and taken her out of my arms.

  “Vicky!” I heard Suzy yelling at me. “Speak to me! What happened?”

  In darkness I moved away from Suzy, and to the shower.

  It wasn’t Binnie I was washing away, but death, death stifling the darkness, blinding dazzle.

  I heard Adam’s voice. “She’s had a terrible shock. She’ll be better when she’s had a good sleep.”

  Through the darkness I climbed the ladder and fell onto my cot. Fleetingly I saw Rob sleeping in the cot next to mine.

  Rob.

  Robin.

  Rob.

  I woke to hear sounds below, and then both Mother and Daddy were standing by me. It was still night.

  “Grandfather’s home,” Daddy said. “He’s much improved.”

  “Sleep, my darling,” Mother said. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

  “I—burned—the—dress—and—your—shawl—” The words echoed in a hollow chamber.

  “That’s all right. I understand.”

  You don’t. No one understands. It’s too dark and heavy. It’s piled too high and I can’t bear the weight. I’m crushed under it.

  But I didn’t say anything aloud.

  Daddy gave me something to drink and it tasted bitter and it did not bring back the light.

  I woke up because sunlight was streaming across my face, but there was no light in it, only heat and discomfort. And there was a large, dark blankness in my mind, a deep fog of unknowing.

  Something terrible had happened, but I could not think what. I was in the familiar loft in Grandfather’s stable. Rob’s and John’s and Suzy’s cots were empty.

  Rob.

  Something had happened to Rob.

  I sat up and the loft tilted and swirled and everything started to go dark. I lay down quickly as a wave of nausea broke over me. I closed my eyes and the dizziness and sickness went away. Exhausted, I slid back into sleep.

  I woke up to a timid tapping against my arm.

  Go away.

  Go away. Something terrible has happened but I don’t know what.

  Rob.

  I opened my eyes.

  Rob was standing by my cot, smiling down at me.

  And it came flooding back.

  Binnie in my arms. Dead.

  The remembering stopped there and the blank cloud moved back in.

  I sat up, cautiously, but the dizziness did not return. “Rob, you’re all right—”

  “Vicky, I’ve got something to tell you.”

  I interrupted him. “How did I get home?”

  He looked at me in surprise. “Adam brought you.”

  “He couldn’t have. He wasn’t there. Only Zachary and Leo.”

  A shadow moved across the room, and John and Suzy emerged, up the ladder. “Zachary came back,” John said. “And Adam did bring you home.”

  “How—”

  “He said you called him.”

  “Vicky!” Rob bounced impatiently on his toes. “I have something to tell you! The baby swallows—”

  Dead. Of course they were dead. All dead.

  “They flew! They all flew! They’re all right! They made it!”

  It was the biggest present he could give me. Somewhere deep in me I knew that he was giving me life, and that was Rob’s gift, just as it was Grandfather’s. And had been Binnie’s. And Binnie was dead and I couldn’t accept the gift. It was outside the ring of endless light. Or perhaps I was caught within it, caught in a black hole in the center, a singularity where no light would ever come, a place of annihilation.

  Nothingness. Despair.

  “Vicky,” John said. “Grandfather wants to see you.”

  I shook my head and lay back down.

  “Vicky, talk to us,” Suzy urged.

  I closed my eyes.

  John’s voice was rough. “Who are you to think you can wallow this way?”

  You don’t choose it. It happens, like flu.

  John went on, “You’re not being asked to bear more than the ordinary burdens of life, the things that come to everybody, sooner or later.”

  Suzy sounded cross. “You’re not hungry. You have a roof over your head and lots of people who love you. And you’ve got three men after you! That’s more than I’ve ever had. Snap out of it!”

  “Grandfather wants to see you,” John said again.

  “And you’re the one who always can—when I can’t—” Suzy added.

  Still I didn’t move.

  “Grandfather has asked to see you.” John’s voice held almost as much authority as Daddy’s and it did not touch me.

  Rob bent over me anxiously. “He wants you.” The joy which had radiated from Rob because of the swallows was gone.

  I could not resist him. Slowly I swung my legs over the bed, my feet onto the floor. “I’ll get dressed and come down.”

  I went to the big communal dresser and got clean underclothes, shorts, shirt. Now I remembered that I had burned my dress and Mother’s shawl. What did I think I was doing? You can’t burn death.

  I dressed slowly, and then went to Grandfather, not stopping at the kitchen or the porch.

  He was lying on the hospital bed, propped up slightly on a couple of pillows. He looked at me questioningly. “What’s wrong?”

  How could I tell him? “Don’t you know?”

  “I know what happened last night, yes.”

  “To Binnie?”

  “Yes. That’s a hard one, Vicky, and you’re young to learn it, but it’s part of life.”

  “Not life. Death.”

  He looked at me steadily. “It is time, Vicky, for me to give you my last instructions.”

  “Grandfather—”

  “This morning I’m strong and clear enough. Later on, I may not be. Vicky. You will not need to tell me when to let go. Asking you that was part of my weakness and confusion and it was an intolerable burden to put on you and I apologize.”

  “Oh, Grandfather …”

  He smiled. “Other men’s crosses are not my crosses … remember? Perhaps holding Binnie while she died was a cross prepared for you at the foundation of the world. But telling me when to let go is not. I cannot ask that even of your father, because even a doctor does not necessarily know.”

  “But—”

  He held up his hand for me to stop, and again the loveliness of his smile washed over me. “Caro.” But he was not confusing Caro with me. “I am at that place where the wall between here and hereafter is so tenuous that it is no longer a barrier. Caro will tell me when it is the right time. She will let me know. Vicky, are you hearing me?”

  “No,” I said flatly.

  He reached out with one frail hand and pressed the button that raised the head of the bed. When he was in a half-sitting position he said sternly, “You may not think you are hearing me, but you will not forget. When I am on the other side you will remember, and you will be able to let me go.”

  “No—” My whisper was so faint it was almost inaudible.

  Grandfather’s voice was quiet but strong. “Empty yourself, Vicky. You’re all replete with very thee.”

  No, no. Not with me. With darkness.

  Grandfather reprimanded. “You have to give the darkness permission. It cannot take over otherwise.”

  But I hadn’t given it permission. It had come, as suddenly and unexpectedly as death had come and taken the child in my arms.

  “Vicky, do not add to the darkness.”

  I stood at the hospital bed, still alien in Grandfather’s study, and looked at him, thin and translucent as an El Greco—

  Where had I thought that before?

  At Commander Rodney’s funeral.

  I heard him and I did not hear him.

  “Vicky, this is my charge to you. You are to be a light-bearer. You are to choose the light.”

  “I can’t …” I whispered.

  “You already have. I know that from your poems. But it
is a choice which you must renew now.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  He reached out and drew me to him, kissing me gently on the forehead. “I will say it for you. You will bear the light.” He kissed me again. “Now go.” He lowered the bed and closed his eyes.

  Rob was waiting for me, hovering anxiously. “Mother’s made you some café au lait.”

  Blindly I followed him. Everybody was on the porch. So it must still be early. The sun struck violently against the ocean. How can anyone bear the light? It burns, burns.

  I couldn’t drink the coffee. I took a sip and another wave of nausea swept over me and I put my hand over my mouth, gagging.

  Daddy took my temperature.

  What for? I didn’t have any fever.

  Only darkness, and darkness is cold. And maybe it’s better than the burning of the light.

  The phone rang. Suzy went for it.

  “That was Leo, to see how you are. Zachary called, too.”

  I made no response.

  “It’s time to go to work. John, aren’t you going to be late?”

  “I’m not expected for a while.”

  “I thought Dr. Zand had such a thing about promptness.”

  “She doesn’t expect me till later this morning.”

  “Well, Jacky expects me to be on time, and I’m going.”

  Mother brought me a cup of tea, sweetened with honey, and I managed to sip at that.

  The screen door opened and Adam came in. “Hey, those little birds are all sitting on the roof and squawking for breakfast.”

  John asked, “Jeb?”

  “Nora says he opened his eyes. There’s hope. Vicky, come along to the station with me.”

  I wanted to emerge from the darkness into consciousness, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t even answer him. I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

  Vaguely I heard John saying, “I really don’t think she can ride her bike.”

  I heard them talking, John and Adam, Mother and Daddy, but I heard only snatches. I heard Daddy saying that he wasn’t going to take Grandfather to the hospital again, or give him more blood transfusions, and I knew what that meant, though I couldn’t formulate it in words. Then they were talking about me.

  Adam’s voice: “ … sounds crazy, because I swore her to secrecy about my project … real thing with dolphins, especially …”

  Daddy: “ … worth a try …”

  Mother: “ … but she might … careful …”

  John: “ … never get her in her bathing suit …”

  A kaleidoscope of sound, shifting patterns, but the patterns made no sense.

  I tried to listen, to let the pieces of the kaleidoscope fall into shape.

  John was saying something about my bathing suit again.

  Adam—or was it Grandfather? no, it couldn’t be—replied, “Never mind. Just get her in the car.”

  “Why not right here?”

  “She can’t call them in this condition, and they may come more easily in the usual place.”

  “It’s worth a try. D’you think she’ll swim?”

  “I’ll swim with her.”

  “Think you can manage?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  John’s anxious voice: “I’d better come.”

  A blur of John, Daddy, Mother.

  And at the end, Adam’s voice: “No. Just Vicky and me.”

  I heard their words hitting at me like tacks being hammered in. But there was no meaning to the words.

  There was no meaning.

  To me.

  To Adam.

  To Adam and me.

  He was right.

  Wrong.

  Right place.

  Wrong time.

  I’m too young and the world is too old

  a degenerate white dwarf

  “Vicky!”

  I felt them propel me out of the house and into the car.

  I heard Adam telling Mother and Daddy not to worry.

  I heard John saying it would be all right.

  I heard Rob reassuring me once more that the little birds were flying.

  I heard the phone ring, shrilling across the darkness.

  Suzy wasn’t there to run for it.

  John and Adam, holding me between them, stood still, waiting.

  Daddy came to us. Jeb had regained consciousness. He was going to be all right.

  What for? Why be conscious in a world like this?

  Why bother

  it doesn’t matter

  because nothing matters

  Somehow or other I was in the front seat of the station wagon beside Adam.

  We drove through darkness

  and a horrible silence

  and then I was standing on the beach because Adam took me and pulled me out of the car and across the road and down the path

  “Take off your clothes,” he said.

  I felt him pulling my shirt off over my head, roughly ripping

  dropping my shorts on the sand

  pushing me into the ocean

  through the small waves

  into the breakers

  a blue-green comber curled and fell and went over me

  mouthful of salt and sand

  Adam’s arm around me in a strong grip

  over my shoulder, across, under my other arm

  he was swimming

  and I with him

  automatically moving my legs in a scissors kick

  swimming

  forever

  into timeless darkness

  Surrounded

  by flashing silvery bodies

  tossed up into the air

  caught

  held between the sleekness of two dolphins

  holding me but not hurting

  holding and swimming

  and then leaping with me up into the air

  Basil and Norberta leaping into joy

  with me between them

  and before us and behind us and beside us

  the others of the pod flashing and leaping

  and I was being passed from pair to pair

  And I knew they were trying to bring me out of the darkness and into the light, but the darkness remained because the light was too heavy to bear

  Then I sensed a withdrawing

  the pod moving away from me

  not out to sea, but away, swimming backward and looking at me, so that I was in the center of a circle

  but I was not alone

  Norberta was with me

  Suddenly she rose so that her flipper was raised, and then she brought it down, wham, on my backside

  Ouch!

  I submerged, down into the strange green darkness of sea, shot through with ribbons of gold

  gulping sea water

  choking

  rising, sputtering, up into the air

  into the blazing blue of sky

  and Njord was there, nudging me, and laughing as I choked and spat out salt water, coughing and heaving

  And the light no longer bore down on me

  but was light

  and Njord nudged and poked and made laugh noises

  and I grabbed his fin and he soared into the air.

  And I played with Njord.

  The pod began to sing, the same alien alleluias I had heard first from Basil, then from Norberta and Njord, and the sound wove into the sunlight and into the sparkles of the tiny wavelets and into the darkest depths of the sea.

  One last alleluia and they were gone, leaving Basil and Norberta to watch Njord and me play.

  And then they were gone, too, flashing out to sea, their great resilient pewter bodies spraying off dazzles of light, pure and endless light.

  I watched them until they disappeared into the horizon.

  Then I turned and swam into shore.

  Adam was at the beach ahead of me, standing on his head.

  I body-surfed in, stood up, shaking water, and splashed in to meet him.

  He flipped over onto his feet and I looked
at him wonderingly. “I called you—”

  “And I came,” he said.

  I moved toward him and we were both caught and lifted in the light, and I felt his arms around me and he held me close.

  GOFISH

  QUESTIONS FOR THE AUTHOR

  MADELEINE L’ENGLE

  What did you want to be when you grew up?

  A writer.

  When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?

  Right away. As soon as I was able to articulate, I knew I wanted to be a writer. And I read. I adored Emily of New Moon and some of the other L. M. Montgomery books and they impelled me because I loved them.

  When did you start to write?

  When I was five, I wrote a story about a little “gurl.”

  What was the first writing you had published?

  When I was a child, a poem in CHILD LIFE. It was all about a lonely house and was very sentimental.

  Where do you write your books?

  Anywhere. I write in longhand first, and then type it. My first typewriter was my father’s pre–World War I machine. It was the one he took with him to the war. It had certainly been around the world.

  What is the best advice you have ever received about writing?

  To just write.

  What’s your first childhood memory?

  One early memory I have is going down to Florida for a couple of weeks in the summertime to visit my grandmother. The house was in the middle of a swamp, surrounded by alligators. I don’t like alligators, but there they were, and I was afraid of them.

  What is your favorite childhood memory?

  Being in my room.

  As a young person, whom did you look up to most?

  My mother. She was a storyteller and I loved her stories. And she loved music and records. We played duets together on the piano.

  What was your worst subject in school?

  Math and Latin. I didn’t like the Latin teacher.

  What was your best subject in school?

  English.