"L'Engle, Madeleine - Time Quartet 01 - A Wrinkle in Time 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (L'Engle Madeleine)

Mrs. Murry got to her feet. "Are you all right, Mrs. Whatsit?"
"If you have some liniment I'll put it on my dignity," Mrs. Whatsit said, still supine. "I think it's sprained. A little oil of cloves mixed well with garlic is rather good." And she took a large hite of sandwich.
УDo please get up," Charles said. "I don't like to see you lying there that way. You're carrying things too far."
"Have you ever tried to get to your feet with a sprained dignity?" But Mrs. Whatsit scrambled up, righted the chair, and then sat back down on the floor, the booted foot stuck out in front of her, and took another bite. She moved with great agility for such an old woman. At least Meg was reasonably sure that she was an old woman, and a very old woman at that.
Mrs. Whatsit, her mouth full, ordered Mrs. Murry, "Now pull while I'm already down.Ф
Quite calmly, as though this old woman and her boots were nothing out of the ordinary, Mrs. Murry pulled until the second boot relinquished the foot This foot was covered with a blue and gray Argyle sock. and Mrs. Whatsit sat there, wriggling her toes, contentedly finishing her sandwich before scrambling to her feet. "Ah," she said, "that's ever so much better," and took both boots and shook them out over the sink. "My stomach is full and I'm warm inside and out and it's time I went home."
"Don't you think you'd better stay till morning?" Mrs. Murry asked.
"Oh, thank you, dearie, but there's so much to do I just can't waste time sitting around frivoling."
"It's much too wild a night to travel in."
"Wild nights are my glory," Mrs. Whatsit said. "I just got caught in a down draft and blown off course."
"Well, at least till your socks are dryЧ"
"Wet socks don't bother me. I just didn't like the water squishing around in my boots. Now don't worry about me, lamb." (Lamb was not a word one would ordinarily think of calling Mrs. Murry.) "I shall just sit down for a moment and pop on my boots and then IТll be on my way. Speaking of ways, pet, by the way. there is such a thing as a tesseract."
Mrs. Murry went very white and with one hand reached backward and clutched at a chair for support. Her voice trembled. "What did you say?"
Mrs. Whatsit tugged at her second boot. "'I said," she grunted, shoving her foot down in, "that there is"Чshove Ч"such a thing"ЧshoveЧ"as a tesseract." Her foot went down into the boot, and grabbing shawls, scarves, and hat, she hustled out the door. Mrs. Murry stayed very still, making no move to help the old woman. As the door opened, Fortinbras streaked in, panting, wet and shiny as a seal. He looked at Mrs. Murry and whined.
The door slammed.
"Mother, what's the matter!" Meg cried "What did she say? What is it?"
"The tesseractЧ" Mrs. Murry whispered. "What did she mean? How could she have known?"



2 Mrs. Who

WHEN Meg woke to the jangling of her alarm clock the wind was still blowing but the sun was shining; the worst of the storm was over. She sat up in bed, shaking her head to clear it.

It must have been a dream. She'd been frightened by the storm and worried about the tramp so she'd just dreamed about going down to the kitchen and seeing Mrs, Whatsit and having her mother get all frightened and upset by that wordЧwhat was it? TessЧtess something.
She dressed hurriedly, picked up the kitten still curled up on the bed, and dumped it unceremoniously on the floor. The kitten yawned, stretched, gave a piteous miaow, trotted out of the attic and down the stairs. Meg made her bed and hurried after it. In the kitchen her mother was making French toast and the twins were already at the table. The kitten was lapping milk out of a saucer.
"Where's Charles?" Meg asked.
"Still asleep. We had rather an interrupted night, if you remember."
"I hoped it was a dream," Meg said.
Her mother carefully turned over four slices of French toast, then said in a steady voice, "No, Meg. Don't hope it was a dream. I don't understand it any more than you do, but one thing I've learned is that you don't have to understand things for them to be. I'm sorry I showed you I was upset. Your father and I used to have a joke about tesseract.Ф
"What is a tesseract?" Meg asked.
"It's a concept." Mrs. Murry handed the twins the syrup. "IТll try to explain it to you later. There isn't time before school."
"I don't see why you didn't wake us up," Dennys said. "ItТs a gyp we missed out on all the fun."
"YouТll be a lot more awake in school today than I will." Meg took her French toast to the table.
"Who cares," Sandy said. "If you're going to let old tramps come into the house in the middle of the night, Mother, you ought to have Den and me around to protect you."
"After all. Father would expect us to," Dennys added.
"We know you have a great mind and all. Mother,"
Sandy said, "but you don't have much sense. And certainly Meg and Charles don't."
"I know. We're morons." Meg was bitter.
"I wish you wouldn't be such a dope, Meg. Syrup, please." Sandy reached across the table. "You don't have to take everything so personally. Use a happy medium, for heaven's sake. You just goof around in school and look out the window and don't pay any attention."
"You just make things harder for yourself," Dennys said. "And Charles Wallace is going to have an awful time next year when he starts school. We know he's bright, but he's so funny when he's around other people, and they're so used to thinking he's dumb, I don't know what's going to happen to him. Sandy and IТll sock anybody who picks on him, but that's about all we can do."
"Let's not worry about next year till we get through this one," Mrs. Murry said. "More French toast, boys?"
At school Meg was tired and her eyelids sagged and her mind wandered. In social studies she was asked to name the principal imports and exports of Nicaragua, and though Slie had looked them up dutifully the evening before, now she could remember none of them. The teacher was sarcastic, the rest of the class laughed, and she flung herself down in her seat in a fury. "Who cares about the imports and exports of Nicaragua, anyhow?" she muttered.
"If you're going to be rude, Margaret, you may leave the room," the teacher said.
"Okay, I will." Meg flounced out.
During study hall the principal sent for her. "What seems to be the problem now, Meg?" he asked, pleasantly enough.
Meg looked sulkily down at the floor. "Nothing, Mr. Jenkins."
"Miss Porter tells me you were inexcusably rude."
Meg shrugged.
"Don't you realize that you just make everything harder for yourself by your attitude?" the principal asked. "Now, Meg, I'm convinced that you can do the work and keep up with your grade if you will apply yourself, but some of your teachers are not. You're going to have to do something about yourself. Nobody can do it tor you." Meg was silent. "Well? What about it, Meg?"