Free A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L'Engle Page B

galaxy, no!”
    “Then what am I supposed to do?”
    Proginoskes waved several wings, which, Meg was learning, was more or less his way of expressing “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
    “Well, then, if I’m a Namer, what does that mean? What does a Namer do?”
    The wings drew together, the eyes closed, singly, and in groups, until all were shut. Small puffs of mist-like smoke rose, swirled about him. “When I was memorizing the names of the stars, part of the purpose was to help them each to be more particularly the particular star each one was supposed to be. That’s basically a Namer’s job. Maybe you’re supposed to make earthlings feel more human.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” She sat down on the rock beside him; she was somehow no longer afraid of his wildness, his size, his spurts of fire.
    He asked, “How do I make you feel?”
    She hesitated, not wanting to be rude, forgetting that the cherubim, far more than Charles Wallace, did not need her outward words to know what was being said within. But she answered truthfully, “Confused.”

    Several puffs of smoke went up. “Well, we don’t know each other very well yet. Who makes you least confused?”
    “Calvin.” There was no hesitation here. “When I’m with Calvin, I don’t mind being me.”
    “You mean he makes you more you, don’t you?”
    “I guess you could put it that way.”
    “Who makes you feel the least you?”
    “Mr. Jenkins.”
    Proginoskes probed sharply, “Why are you suddenly upset and frightened?”
    “He’s the principal of the grade school in the village this year. But he was in my school last year, and I was always getting sent to his office. He never understands anything, and everything I do is automatically wrong. Charles Wallace would probably be better off if he weren’t my brother. That’s enough to finish him with Mr. Jenkins.”
    “Is that all?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “When you say Mr. Jenkins , I feel such a cold wave of terror wash over you that I feel chilly myself.”
    “Progo—something happened last night—before we met you and Blajeny—when I was all alone in the garden—” Her voice tailed off.
    “What happened, earthling? Tell me. I have a feeling this may be important.”

    Why should it be difficult to tell Proginoskes? The cherubim himself was just as unbelievable. But the cherubim was himself, was Proginoskes, while Mr. Jenkins had not been Mr. Jenkins.
    As she tried to explain to Proginoskes she could sense him pulling away, and suddenly he flung all his wings about himself in a frantic reflex of self-preservation. Then two eyes looked out at her under one wing. “Echthroi.” It was an ugly word. As Proginoskes uttered it the morning seemed colder.
    “What did you say?” Meg asked.
    “Your Mr. Jenkins—the real one—could he do anything like the one you just told me about? Could he fly into a nothingness in the sky? This is not a thing that human beings can do, is it?”
    “No.”
    “You say he was like a dark bird, but a bird that was nothingness, and that he tore the sky?”
    “Well—that’s how I remember it. It was all quick and unexpected and I was terrified and I couldn’t really believe that it had happened.”
    “It sounds like the Echthroi.” He covered his eyes again.
    “The what?”
    Slowly, as though with a great effort, he uncovered several eyes. “The Echthroi. Oh, earthling, if you do not know Echthroi—”

    “I don’t want to. Not if they’re like what I saw last night.”
    Proginoskes agitated his wings. “I think we must go see this Mr. Jenkins, the one you say is at your little brother’s school.”
    “Why?”
    Proginoskes withdrew into all his wings again. Meg could feel him thinking grumpily,—They told me it was going to be difficult … Why couldn’t they have sent me off some place quiet to recite the stars again? … Or I’m even willing to memorize farandolae … I’ve never been to Earth before, I’m too young, I’m