The Young Unicorns Page 23

“Hush,” she said, though they had not spoken. “I can’t remember … . Hush … .”

  Dave strained his ears. They had left the chaos and shouting of the Bats behind them. It seemed that he could hear the darkness that pressed around them, that he could hear the dank stench of fetid air. Rob’s breathing was quick and shallow.

  “Listen!” Emily cried. “Dave! Rob! Listen! This way!”

  “What?” Dave asked. “Wait! I don’t hear anything.”

  “Come on!” she cried. “It’s the organ! I know which way to turn now. I can hear the organ! It’s Mr. Theo!”

  She moved surely now, with Dave and Rob stumbling behind her.

  “Wait,” Dave said, pulling back. He could hear nothing.

  “Come on,” Emily cried impatiently.

  “I hear it,” Rob said. “Oh, Emily, I hear it!”

  They moved through the narrow tunnel of darkness, and at last Dave could hear a deep roaring, like a distant lion. How could Emily have identified this as Mr. Theo at the organ?

  The sound roared like waves through the tunnel. He began to be able to recognize melody, harmony, each sound echoing out and spreading into the next.

  The music grew louder, clearer. Ahead of them he saw a faint light. “I can see now,” he said. “I’ll lead.”

  “No—let me—”

  She pushed steadily ahead.

  He took his restraining hand from her shoulder and she moved along the guideline of music to the light.

  Rob stumbled, but Dave’s strong hand steadied him.

  Then they were out of the tunnel and Emily stumbled into the waiting arms of Dr. Gregory.

  The small stone storeroom and the boiler room were both crowded with people. Dave shoved Rob towards Mrs. Austin, who gathered her child in her arms, weeping with joy and relief. There was a policeman in the storeroom, policemen in the boiler room. Dr. Austin said, “Dave!”

  Dave saw the Dean, his left sleeve covered with dried blood, saw two strange men he realized must be Dr. Shasti and Dr. Shen-shu …

  “Dave, wait here with us,” the Dean said.

  He realized that everybody except the Dean and Canon Tallis and two of the policemen were leaving the storeroom, the boiler room.

  “Theo’s been playing forever,” the Dean said. “It seems as though we’d been drowning in Bach for centuries. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to listen to him again.”

  “I will.” Dave took a deep breath. “If it hadn’t been for Mr. Theo and Bach we mightn’t be here.”

  “Now, Dave,” Canon Tallis said when the others had gone, “while we’re waiting, tell us exactly what has happened.”

  “Waiting?” Dave asked. “What for?”

  “The—uh—Bishop and Hyde. We have a net out for them no matter where they try to go. They’ll be arrested shortly. The police caught Q and he’s told us everything.”

  “Mr. Dean, what happened to your arm?”

  “Somebody winged it.” The Dean brushed the question aside. “A, I think. Now, Dave, what happened?”

  Dave gave a deep, unwitting sigh. The oath, under these circumstances, had already been broken. He held nothing back. Canon Tallis and the Dean listened, occasionally interrupting to ask a question.

  “You’re sure Rob wasn’t hurt? Hyde didn’t use the Micro-Ray on him?”

  “No. Emily yelled about the lights and I’d seen where my father had them plugged in. That Rob: what a kid. I always knew about Emily, that she was special. But that Rob—” He turned to the Dean. “Can you give medals, Father? He deserves one. You should have heard him telling the genie to go away. And then after Hyde’d been after him with the laser, well, for him to pull himself together the way he did, and be able to go through the tunnel with us—he’s a great kid. But you do see, don’t you, why I couldn’t talk before?”

  “Yes, Dave. We see.”

  He had mentioned, during his narration of the night’s events, his father’s presence in the subway station and his pulling out the couch on which Rob had been flung. For some reason which he did not understand, the memory of his father’s role in the Bishop’s mad plans was the most difficult part of the whole thing to accept. He moved away from the pain to ask, “Then it was Dr. Hyde who was in the office that day? Who took the papers and attacked Emily?”

  Canon Tallis said, “I’m certain of it.”

  “To blind a child—” Dave started.

  “I don’t think he intended to blind her,” Canon Tallis said. “Remember, it was an imperfect Micro-Ray, and he’s done what he can to make reparation, though nothing—” He broke off, gave a warning noise and gesture. Dave and the Dean froze into listening. Inside the tunnel they heard scuffling.

  Then there emerged from the mouth of darkness a strange apparition, a man with an apricot wig half off his head, revealing a few wisps of white hair; a man whose clothes had been half torn from him, so that what remained covering his body gave the effect of a disheveled Roman toga.

  The picture of Coriolanus in the Bishop’s reception room.

  “Henry Grandcourt,” Canon Tallis said, “you have played your last role.”

  Twenty-Three

  “It was,” the Bishop—no, thank God not the Bishop but Henry Grandcourt—said with pride, “my grandest role.” His eyes flickered with fanatic brilliance. “And well played. You cannot deny that. The wig, the slight distorting of the mouth, what you thought was the natural aging of a man who mourned the death of his beloved brother: it took you a long time even to become suspicious, didn’t it, Henares? I had you thinking it was Austin you were after, didn’t I? And when you wanted to send for Tallis I played right along with you.” He sneered at the Dean. “I took over your Cathedral right under your nose because I had a vision. You—you are the one who plays at being a priest. What have you done? While I—if I had been left alone I would have had the city, the entire city in the palm of my hand. I tried to persuade my brother, but he was too narrow to see it. Change frightened him. But Henry Grandcourt is not afraid of change. So a year ago I turned to Hyde. I offered him power. I offered him my plan. And he followed me. He did as he was told. We knew that my brother didn’t have long to live, so we waited, and made ready.” The full actor’s laugh, tinged now with madness, rolled through the Cathedral. “So when the first Norbert Fall died of his heart attack, Hyde was with me and signed the death certificate and my master plan went into action: the redemption of my failure. But don’t think I didn’t grieve over Norbert’s death. Oh, I did weep for him. We were very close. I had studied him for years, his every gesture, his every word, until I could out-bishop any bishop. It was his wasted life I was redeeming as well as my own dreams. I did for Norbert what he could not do for himself. I became the bishop who will never be forgotten. Who else has ever begun to do what I have done? Who else has come this close to taking the city? My role, my great role …”

  In the abandoned subway station, emptied now of the stamping Alphabats, of Dr. Hyde, who had been arrested as he emerged from the tunnel into the junk shop, of the madman who thought he had out-bishoped a bishop, Dave stood between the Dean and Canon Tallis. Two plain-clothesmen waited respectfully in the background. The floodlights were on again, revealing signs of smoke on the tiled walls. There was a smell of singeing in the air. On the partially burned couch lay a body covered with a blanket. The wildly aimed Micro-Ray had found one victim.

  Dave moved from between the two priests and lifted the blanket. His father lay on the couch, his face distorted and angry in death as it had been in life. Dave leaned over him, trying to smooth out the features. Then he moved his fingers gently over his father’s forehead and hair. He did not know that tears were streaming down his cheeks.

  He replaced the blanket.

  When the Dean’s wound had been cleaned and dressed he refused to stay in the hospital but went back to the Deanery, where Dave was waiting in the library with Canon Tallis.

  Juan de Henares went straight to the boy, holding out his good hand. “You’
ll stay with me now, Dave?”

  Dave took the outstretched hand. “Yes, Father.”

  After Amon Davidson’s funeral, Dave, dry-eyed, went home with the Dean, and accepted, without question, the room that was given him to be his own. Canon Tallis helped him bring his few things up the hill from the room he had shared with his father.

  Dave listened, gravely, a half-empty duffel bag of clothes and assorted oddments slung over his shoulder, as the Canon, carrying a pile of books, told him, “Now, Dave, you can learn to have neither the sense of inferiority that undersells the human being—”

  “Like the Alphabats?”

  “Precisely. Nor the sense of superiority that pretends to have what isn’t there.”

  “Like Henry Grandcourt?”

  “Right. He made his life bearable by a pretense, because to face himself was a threat to him, rather than a challenge and a hope.”

  “A challenge and a hope?”

  “Yes, Dave.”

  “Okay, Canon Tallis. I get the message. I accept.”

  They climbed the hill to the Cathedral.

  Dave sat once more in the choir stalls of the Cathedral, this time not as a chorister but as a baritone with the lay clerks, singing a Requiem Mass for the repose of the soul of Norbert Fall. Joy was stronger than grief in his heart, for now the Bishop had been returned to him. Henry Grandcourt, the mad actor, had not, after all, played his great role as well as he thought, for he had acted as the Bishop would never have acted: acted: yes, that was it. Henry Grandcourt had acted, and the Bishop had behaved, and in a few months the actor’s grand plan had crashed about his ears.

  The music rose up to the lancet windows of the Octagon; it was cleansing, redeeming. The Cathedral accepted it, embraced it.

  Now Norbert Fall could rest in peace.

  They sat around the enormous dining table at the Austin apartment for Thanksgiving dinner: all of them: the Austins, with John home for the holidays; Emily and her father; Dr. Shasti and Dr. Shen-shu; Mr. Theo and Rabbi Levy; Canon Tallis and Dave and the Dean. Mr. Rochester lay with his head just over the doorsill which divided living and dining room. Cyprian, snoring, blocked the doorway to the kitchen.

  “The tragedy,” Dr. Shen-shu was saying, “is that Grandcourt was so nearly right.”

  Emily shook back her silky mane of dark hair. “I don’t want there to have been anything good about him. I want to hate him all the way.”

  “But you can’t, can you?” her father asked. “The city is crying for redemption.”

  “But not that way!”

  “How, then?” Dr. Gregory asked.

  The Dean spread out his big hands, wincing a little because his arm still pained him when he forgot and moved it unthinkingly. “We have to do what we can do in whatever way we can, and that’s all, even if it isn’t enough, even if the city’s growing too quickly for us. If that sounds defeatist, it’s not. It’s the way things get done.”

  “That’s right,” Dave said. “You can’t make people happy, the way Henry Grandcourt was trying to do. Well, none of you could make me respond, could you?”

  “Not and have you free to be Josiah Davidson. No.”

  “So in a way Grandcourt was better than I was.”

  “How better?” Vicky asked.

  Dave looked at Canon Tallis, who said, “Grandcourt was following fallen angels, Vicky. His vision was distorted by pride. But I think what Dave means is that he was at least making a response to life.”

  “Yeah,” Dave said, “and I was trying to get out of it.”

  “But you’re okay now, aren’t you?” Rob asked. “You’re in it now, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Rob. I’m in. All the way.”

  “And you’re really going to stay with the Dean?”

  “As long as he’ll have me.”

  “He has to have you, doesn’t he?” Rob asked earnestly. “Isn’t he in loco parenthesis?” As usual, he did not understand their laughter. With considerable reserve he said, “Well. As long as you’re okay.”

  Dave said, “If I’m okay it’s partly because of you, Rob. Because you were brave. And because of every one of you here.”

  Emily said, lightly, steering clear of emotion, “We all love you, Dave.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” He looked around the table with a quick smile, then ate busily. Through a mouthful of turkey he said, “What we could all do after dinner is go down to the music room and have a concert. Emily can play for us, and Mr. Theo, and Rob’ll sing—”

  “You, too, Dave—”

  “Okay. And I’ll play my horn … hey, what’d I do with my horn? Mr. Dean, have you got it?”

  Emily said, “You left it on the mantlepiece downstairs.”

  Now Dave was able to look around the big table at all of them: Emily, who had allowed herself to need him, and her father, who was not so lost in the past as he seemed; the two doctors, the Indian and the Chinese, who had flown from Liverpool for Emily’s sake; the two old men, so different except in their shared wisdom; the Dean, who could knock the chip off Dave’s shoulder with the warmth of his laugh; the English Canon, who in so short a time had become a friend to them all; and the Austins: the Austins who talked too much, who were naïve, who in their innocence had freely offered him their love:

  His people.

  His family.

  “ … in their early days they were like the unicorn, wild and uncommitted, which creature cannot be caught by the hunter, no matter how skillful. Nay, but he can be tamed only of his own free will.”

  FROM THE APROCRYPHAL WRITINGS OF ST. MACRINA

  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.

  What activities did you participate in at school?

  I was president of the student government in boarding school and editor of a literary magazine, and also belonged to the drama club.

  Are you a morning person or a night owl?

  Night owl.

  What was your first job?

  Working for the actress Eva Le Gallienne, right after college.

  What is your idea of the best meal ever?

  Cream of Wheat. I eat it with a spoon. I love it with butter and brown sugar.

  Which do you like better: cats or dogs?

 
; I like them both. I once had a wonderful dog named Touche. She was a silver medium-sized poodle, and quite beautiful. I wasn’t allowed to take her on the subway, and I couldn’t afford to get a taxi, so I put her around my neck, like a stole. And she pretended she was a stole. She was an actor.

  What do you value most in your friends?

  Love.

  What is your favorite song?

  “Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes.”

  What time of the year do you like best?

  I suppose autumn. I love the changing of the leaves.

  I love the autumn goldenrod, the Queen Anne’s lace.

  Which of your characters is most like you?

  None of them. They’re all wiser than I am.

  THE YOUNG UNICORNS. Copyright © 1968 by Madeleine L’Engle Franklin. All rights reserved. For information, address Square Fish, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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  and are used by Farrar, Straus and Giroux under license from Macmillan.

  Originally published in the United States by Farrar, Straus and Giroux

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  First Square Fish Edition: September 2008

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