An Acceptable Time

by Madeleine L'engle

  She sighed, relaxing into the world of particle physics, which, strange as it was, was a welcome relief. "Well, if you're measuring the speed of a particle, you can't measure its position. Or if you measure its position, you can't measure its speed. You can measure one or the other, but not both at the same time."

  "Right. How many quarks does a proton have?"

  "Three. One of each color."

  "Position?"

  "Two up quarks and one down quark."

  "And quarks are--"

  "Infinitely small particles. The word quark is out of Finnegans Wake."

  "So Murray Gell-Mann, who named them, obviously read Joyce. I find that rather comforting."

  So did Polly. Working with her grandfather was ordinary and normal, but it was not ordinary and normal to be sitting in Dr. Louise's kitchen.

  Her grandparents felt the dislocation, too. The lesson petered out. Her grandmother took the wilting bunch of roses from the table and emptied the water from the vase. "I'll just go throw these on the compost and see if there are a few more to bring in."

  Mr. Murry looked at his granddaughter. "You all right?"

  "Sure. Fine."

  "If I go out to the garden with your grandmother, you'll stay right here?"

  "I won't go anywhere."

  "Nor I," the bishop promised.

  "We'll be only a few minutes."

  As the door slammed behind Mr. Murry, the bishop said, "What happened last night--"

  "It was very frightening."

  "It was frightening?" he asked. "Are you frightened?"

  "A little."

  "A little is not enough. We can't have you going through the time gate again."

  Polly looked down at the dog. Ogam. His black nose was shiny. His eyes were closed, and he had long, dark lashes. "I went through the time gate last night because I went down to the pool and put on the silver circlet."

  "Don't do it again."

  "Of course not, Bishop. But the first time I went through I was just walking along on my way to the star-watching rock."

  "I wish you could go home."

  "Bishop, I'm in a tesseract. Granddad believes it could really hurt me if I were taken out."

  "He's probably right. Does he believe that Tav would put you on the altar for a sacrifice?"

  "I don't know. I'm not sure I believe it."

  "Believe it, child. The idea of blood sacrifice is gone from our frame of reference, but it's not that much different or worse than things that go on today. What else is the electric chair or lethal injection than human sacrifice?"

  "We're told that it's to protect society," Polly said.

  "Isn't Tav trying to protect his society in the only way he knows how? He believes that if the Mother isn't appeased, his land and his people are going to be taken over by stronger tribes."

  "Tav likes me," Polly said softly.

  "Who could help it?" the bishop asked. "His liking for you will just make it harder for him to do what he believes he is called to do. Do you understand? He has to obey the Mother whether he wants to or not."

  "She doesn't sound very motherly," Polly said.

  The bishop continued, "I don't want to speak this way in front of your grandparents. They're already distressed enough, and if it would be seriously harmful to you to send you away, there's no point in upsetting them further."

  "I agree," Polly said, "and I promise not to do anything stupid."

  "Now. About Zachary."

  "I don't understand what he has to do with all this."

  "Karralys may be right. If he's near death--"

  "I don't think death is imminent, or anything. But he's scared."

  "Of?"

  "Death. He's frightened of death."

  "Yes." The bishop nodded.

  "He thinks death is the end. Poof. Annihilation."

  "And you, Polly?"

  "I can't imagine Max entirely gone from the universe. I don't need to know how she is being, somehow, Max--learning whatever it is she needs to learn, doing whatever she's supposed to do. But I can't just imagine her totally wiped out."

  "What you believe is what I, too, believe," the bishop said. "It is enough."

  The Murrys returned then, Mrs. Murry carrying a few yellow roses which were still blooming in a sheltered corner. She cut their stems, put them in the vase, and set it on the table. They were all on edge, out of place, trying to make normal that which was not normal.

  "At least you take it seriously," Polly said. "You don't think the bishop and I are out of our tree."

  "We would if we could," her grandmother said.

  "I just wish"--Mr. Murry spread out his gnarled hands--"that we could be in this with you."

  Dr. Louise came in with two brown paper bags, which she set down on the table; then shucked off her outer clothes, hanging them on the antlers. "Bread--not as good as yours, Alex, but reasonable. And an assortment of cold cuts."

  The bishop unpacked the bags, setting out plates of bread and meat, while Dr. Louise took condiments from the refrigerator, and a pitcher of milk. "I'll make tea," the bishop offered.

  They sat around the table, making sandwiches.--And we don't know what to say, Polly thought.

  Dr. Louise sighed.

  "All Souls' Day," the bishop said. "Always a poignant day for Louise and me."

  There was a silence, and Polly looked questioningly at her grandparents. Mrs. Murry spoke in an even voice. "It was on this date that Louise's husband and baby boy, and Nason's wife, were killed in a train accident. Louise survived. Nason was away."

  "It was a long time ago." Dr. Louise's expression was calm. "I was pregnant again and I miscarried. I thought I had lost all that made life worth living, but Nason kept prodding me, and I went to medical school, and I have had a good life. I have a good life."

  "And I," the bishop said, "with friends who keep the stars in their courses for me, and a faith in God's loving purpose and eventual working out of the pattern."

  "And all this?" Dr. Louise asked. "This three thousand-year-old time capsule you've opened up, what does this do to your faith?"

  The bishop smiled. "Why, widens it, I hope."

  Dr. Louise laughed softly. "Nason, if you'd been a druid, you'd probably have been excommunicated for heresy, just like Karralys."

  "Yesterday's heresy becomes tomorrow's dogma," the bishop replied mildly, and Polly thought once again of Giordano Bruno.

  After lunch they went for a walk in the woods behind Dr. Louise's house, Ogam close at their heels, occasionally tearing off in great loops, but always circling back. "Behaving just like an ordinary dog," the bishop said. "Bless Og."

  "He may give you a sense of security, Nase," Dr. Louise said, "but he reminds me of the reason we're keeping Polly here all day, and that's something I'd rather forget."

  They found some beautiful pale pink mushrooms, saw the bright red clustered berries of jack-in-the-pulpit, and tried to pretend they were focused on a nature walk. The rising wind and their own restlessness drove them in. The bishop made tea from a selection of herbs in the garden. They played Botticelli and other word games, but they could not concentrate. When the sun slipped behind the mountains, Mr. Murry stood up. "It's time we went home. We'll keep a close eye on Polly. And, as you say, Nase, Samhain is over. Keep the dog here."

  But not long after they were home there was a sharp, demanding bark outside.

  "He stays in the garage," Mrs. Murry said.

  They had a quiet dinner, with music in the background. Afterwards Polly helped her grandfather with the dishes. When they were through, he suggested, "Let's go for a brief stroll around the house."

  They put on anoraks and as soon as they were out of the house Og pranced up beside them. "We always used to walk our dogs three times around the vegetable garden," her grandfather said. "We might as well continue the tradition. It helps keep the woodchucks away. I've plowed and composted half the garden, but we still have some good broccoli and sprouts and carrots and beets. Th
e twins' garden was magnificent. After they left home for college they grew Christmas trees for a while, but when they were all sold I found I wanted a vegetable garden again. What time is your young man coming tomorrow?"

  "Around two, I think."

  Og chased off into the field and Mr. Murry whistled and he turned and ran back to them. "Good boy," Mr. Murry praised, "though whistling was a reflex. I should have let you go." He stood, raising his face to the sky. It was a clear night, with the Milky Way a river of stars. Polly tipped her head to look for the North Star.

  "I can understand how people could see a big dipper or a little dipper," she said, "but not bears. And maybe if you draw lines between those stars you could make a crooked chair for Cassiopeia."--Ley lines between stars?

  "There's Orion's belt," her grandfather pointed. "See those three bright stars?"

  "Belt, okay," she said, "but I don't see Orion the hunter. Some night, could we have a plain old-fashioned astronomy lesson?" As she spoke, a falling star streaked across the sky and went out in a flash of green light.

  "Of course. Let me do a little brushing up. It would be nice to have a dog again. It ensures a night walk, and that means a chance to look up at the sky."

  "Granddad, where do you think Og came from?"

  "I really don't think he came from three thousand years ago. We often have stray dogs in the village, dumped out of cars by people going back to the city."

  "People don't do that!"

  "People do. They have a puppy or a kitten for the summer and then, on the way back to the city, they let their summer pet loose. Maybe the city's got into their bloodstream and they're under the illusion that country dogs and cats can fend for themselves. I phoned around to see if anybody's lost a dog, but thus far, nobody has. He's a sweet dog. But he's going to sleep in the garage tonight. Not in the house."

  Mrs. Murry came into Polly's room, wearing her nightclothes. "Polly, love. I'm glad this is a double bed. I'm going to sleep with you."

  "Grand, it's all right. I won't leave. I won't go downstairs. I promise."

  "Your grandfather and I will feel better if I'm in here with you."

  "But you won't be as comfortable--I'll keep you awake--"

  "Please. For our sakes."

  "Okay, Grand, but I really don't think it's necessary. I mean, it's fine with me, but--"

  Mrs. Murry laughed. "Indulge your grandfather and me. We just want to make sure one of us is with you." She got into bed beside Polly. "Let's read for a while."

  Polly picked up a book, but she could not concentrate. After half an hour her grandmother kissed her good night and turned over on her side to sleep. Polly switched off the light, but she was not sleepy. Hadron was stretched out between them, purring sleepily.

  Again the pool was pulling her. Pulling. This time she would resist. She pressed up against her grandmother's back. Was it Tav's influence, pulling her toward the pool and the past as the moon pulls the tide?

  Polly stiffened. No. No. She would not go to the pool. If she got out of bed, her grandmother would waken, would stop her.

  What Tav cared about was protecting the land, the flocks, the people, and Polly could not help feeling sympathy for that. When the O'Keefes had had to leave the island of Gaea, with its golden beaches and azure waters, it had been because of developers, because of greed and corruption, and people lusting for money and power and ignoring the loveliness of the island, the birds and the animals and the natives, who lived much as they must have many centuries earlier. And Benne Seed Island was already being developed, and soon it, too, would be irrevocably changed, with no thought for the birds whose habitat had been the jungly forest, or for the great trees two and three hundred years old.

  Is it all greed and corruption? she asked herself. We've become an overpopulated planet. People need places to live.

  But the condos and resort hotels were for the rich, not the poor. Nobody was building condos in the Sahara or the Kalahari deserts. Not yet.

  But three thousand years ago the planet was not overpopulated. There was land enough for everybody. Was drought really bad enough to send tribes away from their home places and into land that belonged to others? Wasn't the history of the planet one of people taking over other people's lands? Didn't Jacob and his people take over the land of Canaan? The Romans and then the Saxons and then the Normans took over the British Isles, and then the British took over India, and if some of the American colonists wanted to live in peace with the Indians, others didn't. Others took over.

  She sighed. There were no easy answers.

  The pull of the pool had lessened. Polly nestled against her grandmother and went to sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Polly slept late, and when she got up, both her grandmother and Hadron were gone. She hurried downstairs.

  She had a stubborn determination to see this adventure through. All her senses were unusually alert. The smell of danger was in the air, and she had a strong feeling that, even if she wanted to, there was no way she could run away from whatever awaited her.

  Could Tav really sacrifice her without Karralys's or Anaral's consent? They would never give it. They were the leaders of the tribe, and surely they would be listened to.

  She sipped her coffee thoughtfully. Her grandparents came in from the pool. Her grandfather dressed and then came to the table with the morning paper. When her grandmother went out to the lab, bearing her cup of coffee, the dog came leaping in, jumped up, and greeted Polly and her grandfather. Then went to Hadron and licked the cat, who flicked his tail indifferently. Polly idly watched the big dog and the half-grown cat. Hadron had jumped to his feet and was thoroughly and diligently washing Og's face while the big dog sat patiently.

  "Granddad, look."

  He smiled at the two creatures. "Our animals have always been friends, but this is remarkable. I have a feeling we aren't going to be able to get rid of Og, and oddly enough, I don't want to. I wish I could hold on to the thought that he's only an ordinary stray." He picked up a ballpoint pen and began doing his crossword puzzle.

  Dr. Louise arrived shortly after lunch. Clouds were scudding across the sky, and although it was warm in the sun, the wind was brisk.

  "Where's Nase?" Mrs. Murry asked.

  "I don't know where Nase is." Dr. Louise looked troubled. "He took off in hiking boots right after breakfast and said he'd meet me here."

  "I think we have enough Ogam stones." Mrs. Murry glanced at the two on the dresser, which she still had not removed.

  "I don't think he was looking for Ogam stones. He seemed unusually preoccupied. You know, Kate, it's really rather foolish, my coming here. I can't very well ask that young man to let me listen to his heart, and I'm not one for long-distance diagnoses. I need to know his history, talk to his doctor. But I, too, feel the need to protect Polly. I don't have office hours on Saturday, and I have only one patient in the hospital, and I promised Nason I'd meet him here."

  "I'm glad you've come," Mrs. Murry said, and Polly echoed her.

  "And I'm curious," Dr. Louise acknowledged. "I think all this is folly, but at the same time I'm curious." She laughed at herself, then glanced at Polly, who was finishing the luncheon dishes. Mr. Murry was out, chopping more wood, a never-ending task, and they could hear the rhythmic stroke of his axe. The dog was with him, and occasionally barked in sheer exuberance. "Nothing new, I hope, Polly."

  "No. I just wish the bishop were here."

  "Why?"

  "I want to ask him about blood."

  "What about blood?"

  "Well, I know that blood is important in all cultures. And in lots of Eastern religions women have to be set apart, away from everybody else, during their menstrual periods, because they're thought to be unclean."

  "Maybe not unclean as you're thinking of it," the doctor said. "Remember, sanitary napkins and tampons are inventions of this century." Polly looked at her questioningly. "My grandmothers, and women before them, used old sheets, any old linens. Back in the
Stone Age there weren't any cloths to use. Having women set apart during their periods was a simple sanitary measure, and a ritual that was often looked forward to, when women could be together and rest from the regular backbreaking work. It was a time of rejuvenation, of peace and prayer."

  "I hadn't thought about that," Polly said. "I guess I took a lot for granted. But weren't men convinced that women were--I think I read somewhere--separated from God at that time?"

  Dr. Louise smiled. "You will have to ask Nase about that. All I can tell you is that superstition has been around as long as human beings."

  Polly still had a dish towel over one arm. "Okay. Yes. But what about blood sacrifice?"

  "I suppose I think it's superstition," Dr. Louise said. "The earth doesn't need human blood in order to be fertile."

  "But what about--what about--"

  "What, Polly?" her grandmother urged.

  "Well, Jesus. Aren't we supposed to believe that he had to shed his blood to save us?"

  Dr. Louise shook her head decisively. "No, Polly, he didn't have to."

  "Then--"

  "Suppose one of your siblings was in an accident and lost a great deal of blood and needed a transfusion, and suppose your blood was the right type. Wouldn't you want to offer it?"

  "Well, sure..."

  "But you'd do it for love, not because you had to, wouldn't you?"

  "Well, yes, of course, but..."

  "I'm a doctor, Polly, not a theologian, and lots of Christian dogma seems to me no more than barnacles encrusting a great rock. I don't think that God demanded that Jesus shed blood unwillingly. With anguish, yes, but with love. Whatever we give, we have to give out of love. That, I believe, is the nature of God."

  "Okay," Polly said. "Okay. That's good. I don't quite understand it, but it makes some kind of sense." She looked at Dr. Louise and thought that she must be a good doctor, someone you could truly trust with your life.

  "Polly," her grandmother said, "why these specific questions?"

  "Oh--well--Tav does seem to believe in some kind of blood sacrifice."

  "Tav lived three thousand years ago," her grandmother reminded her. "He didn't know what was going to happen a thousand years later."

  There was the sound of a car outside on the lane, and the toot of a horn. Ogam barked, telling them about it, tail swishing back and forth, ready to greet the guest.