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

overworked. I am told that it has something to do with you as well as your unfortunate little brother. I had hoped that this year you, at least, would not be one of my problems. It seems to me I have had to spend more time with you than with any other student in school. It is certainly my misfortune. And now not only do I have to cope with your little brother, who is equally difficult, but here you are again.”
    This was Mr. Jenkins. He had played upon the theme of this speech with infinite variations almost every time she was sent to his office.
    “For some reason obscure to me, you are supposed to choose between the impostors and me. It is certainly in my interests to have you pass this absurd test. Then perhaps I can keep you out of my school.”
    “And then,” said Mr. Jenkins Two, appearing beside Mr. Jenkins One, “I will have time to concentrate on present problems instead of those which ought to be past. Now, Meg, if you will just for once in your life do
it my way, not yours … I understand you’re basically quite bright in mathematics. If you would simply stop approaching each problem in your life as though you were Einstein and had to solve the problems of the universe, and would deign to follow one or two basic rules, you—and I—would have a great deal less trouble.”
    This, too, was authentic Jenkins.
    The shimmer of the cherubim wavered uneasily.
    “Meg,” Mr. Jenkins Two said, “I urge you to resolve this nonsense and tell the impostors that I am Mr. Jenkins. This whole farce is wasting a great deal of time. I am Mr. Jenkins, as you have cause to know.”
    She felt Proginoskes probing wildly. “Meg, when have you been most you, the very most you? ”
    She closed her eyes. She remembered the first afternoon Calvin had come to the Murrys’ . Calvin was an honor student, but he was far better with words than with numbers, and Meg had helped him with a trigonometry problem. Since trig was not taught in Meg’s grade, her easy competence was one of her first surprises for Calvin. But at the time she had not thought of surprising him. She had concentrated wholly on Calvin, on what he was doing, and she had felt wholly alive and herself.
    “How is that going to help?” she asked the cherubim.
    “Think. You didn’t know Calvin very well then, did you?”

    “No.”
    “But you loved him, didn’t you?”
    “Then? I wasn’t thinking about love. I was just thinking about trig.”
    “Well, then,” Proginoskes said, as though that explained the entire nature of love.
    “But I can’t think about trig with Mr. Jenkins. And I can’t love him.”
    “You love me.”
    “But, Progo, you’re so awful you’re lovable.”
    “So is he. And you have to Name him.”
    The third Mr. Jenkins joined the other two. “Meg. Stop panicking and listen to me.”
    The three men stood side by side, identical, grey, dour, unperceptive, overworked: unlovable.
    “Meg,” Mr. Jenkins Two said, “if you will Name me, and quickly, I will see to it that Charles Wallace gets into competent medical hands immediately.”
    “It’s hardly that easy,” Mr. Jenkins Three said. “After all, her parents—”
    “—do not know how to handle the situation, nor do they understand how serious it is,” Mr. Jenkins Two snapped.
    Mr. Jenkins Three waved this aside. “Meg, does it not seem extraordinary to you that you should be confronted with three of me?”
    There seemed to be no answer to this question.

    Mr. Jenkins One shrugged in annoyance.
    Mr. Jenkins Two said, “It is imperative that we stick to essentials at this point. Our number is peripheral.” The real Mr. Jenkins was very fond of discarding peripherals and sticking to essentials.
    Mr. Jenkins Three said, “That there is only one of me, and that I am he, is the main point.”
    Mr. Jenkins Two snorted. “Except for the small but important fact that I am he. This trial that has been brought on us is an extraordinary one. None of us—that is, you and I,