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Two-Part Invention, published in 1988, is L'Engle's portrait of her 40-year marriage, and the death of her husband, Hugh. It is beautiful, heartbreaking and joyful–unflinching in its look at Hugh's death from cancer, and yet filled with love and gratitude. Here are two excerpts: When I went to the first rehearsal [of The Cherry Orchard] . . . I saw a very tall, thin young man with black hair and enormous, very blue eyes. I had never seen such eyes. . . . The young man was introduced to me as Hugh Franklin, and I was told of some of his other featured roles on Broadway. . . . And there was no doubt that Hugh Franklin was a fine actor who brought a radiant and youthful idealism as well as talent to the role of Petya Trofimov. . . . The rehearsal had started early, at ten in the morning, and broke at three. To my amazement, Petya Trofimov crossed the rehearsal hall to me and suggested that we get a bite to eat – we had not taken time out for lunch. The rules of theatre etiquette were very different from the rules of debutante parties in Jacksonville, Florida, but they were rules, nevertheless. Women paid their own way. If a man picked up the tab it meant that something really serious was going on. Hugh and I sat over our hamburgers and milk shakes till nearly two in the morning. Then I paid my share of the tab and he walked me to the subway. But we had talked for ten hours without noticing the time passing. I let myself into my apartment thinking elatedly, "I have met the man I want to marry." . . . Gone were doubts about the existence of real love. I wasn't anywhere near understanding it yet, but I was full of joy. 
Laurie goes to the nurses' station for Hugh's chart. Checks the results of tests. Michael has written, "Situation deteriorating." I did not need to see it written down to know, yet it is still shocking. . . . Hugh whispers, "I never was so glad to see anybody as you this afternoon." "It's still morning, darling. I'm going to be with you all day." We hold hands until he falls asleep. Is he dying? Today? I don't know. Modern medicine has made it less and less easy for us to predict the imminence of death. . . . Daily, Hugh and I express what we feel, simply by saying and saying again, "I love you." Hugh and I have been saying it off and on for forty years. It comes off the lips of our children, our godchildren. It is all that needs to be said. I told Gretchen yesterday that Hugh and I have no unfinished business. There are no dangling strings left to be tied. I don't want him to leave me, but even more I don't want any more useless suffering for him. He is so gallant, so gallant, even today managing to smile for the nurses. For me. I look at him, beautiful as an El Greco saint, for that is still the analogy that keeps coming to my mind. When I get home I look at a snapshot of the two of us together, Hugh's face alert and alive. I observe and contemplate this child of love, made of the same stuff as galaxies and stars. And I know that the only meaning is love. |
