The Door in the Wall

“[…] he could not run. He couldn’t even get out of bed. Because he was unable to see out of the wind hole (window) Robin had learned to guess at what was going on down in the street.”

Robin becomes sick with an illness that takes away his legs’ ability to move. Confined to bed, endangered by immobility during a terrible pandemic, and feeling deeply sad, Robin strives to make use of whatever he has at hand. The sounds of the street become clues he can interpret; this gives his mind something to work on. Without realizing it, Robin is doing what his future mentor, Brother Luke, will encourage in him: employing all resources available to him.

“Robin examined for the hundredth time the carvings on the hammer beams supporting the roof of the hall. Each one was an angel with feathered wings. He studied one by one the grotesque carvings of dwarfs that decorated the roof bosses, and the corbels finishing the doorway. He wearied of thinking about them and wished that Ellen would come.”

A month into his loss of the use of his legs, Robin has examined in detail everything he can see from his little alcove room in the family house. Accustomed to activity and exploration, Robin endures the frustration of so little mental stimulation. At the same time, he displays an ability to look closely at things and ferret out their details. This is the beginning of his transformation.

“‘Dost remember the long wall that is about the garden of thy father’s house?’ ‘Yes,’ said Robin, ‘of course. Why?’ ‘Dost remember, too, the wall about the Tower or any other wall?’ Robin nodded. ‘Have they not all a door somewhere?’ ‘Yes,’ said Robin again. ‘Always remember that,’ said the friar. ‘Thou hast only to follow the wall far enough and there will be a door in it.’ ‘I will remember,’ Robin promised, but he wasn’t sure that he knew what Brother Luke meant to say.”

Robin’s legs don’t move as they used to, and he’s depressed and angry. Brother Luke’s words plant a seed of wisdom in the upset boy’s mind that serves to remind him that, no matter how trapped he may feel or how wide the blockade he faces, there’s always an exit from torment to a better place.

“‘Forget not to be thankful for all thou hast. Remember thy lady mother and Sir John, thy father, who is at the wars, and pray for us all.’ ‘But what have I to be thankful for?’ Robin thought rebelliously. ‘How will my father like a son who is called “Crookshanks”?’ But somehow as he began his prayers he felt better.”

Still bitter about his legs, Robin begins to appreciate the church where he lives, the monks, and his carving projects. As his life resumes a pattern of regular activities, his feelings also regulate, he focuses less on his losses, and his mood brightens. Brother Luke’s guidance is having its intended effect.

“‘Treacherous misguided tool!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll have no more of you!’ Brother Matthew looked up in astonishment. ‘Tis not the tool that is at fault, but thine unskilled hands,’ he said quietly. ‘If thou’rt to learn to use it, patience and care are better teachers than a bad temper.’ ‘Think you I am but a carpenter’s son and apprentice?’ But as Brother Matthew kept his steady gaze on Robin, anger evaporated.”

Robin’s frustration boils over when he breaks a cross piece on a whittling project. He’s used to being a son of privilege, and he feels defensive about his status. Among the monks, though, such concerns seem not to matter, and Robin begins to see beyond his old attitudes and toward a deeper wisdom.

“‘Whether thou’lt walk soon I know not. This I know. We must teach thy hands to be skillful in many ways, and we must teach thy mind to go about whether thy legs will carry thee or no. For reading is another door in the wall, dost understand, my son?’ Robin smiled and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I see now what you mean by the door in the wall.’”

Brother Luke outlines his plan for Robin’s rehabilitation. It includes constructive skills that the boy can acquire, along with a long-term goal of learning to read and getting more education. Robin understands that with Luke’s help, doors will open, and soon he’ll go through them into a brighter future.

“All the troubles of the past months seemed to float away with the running of the brook and strength and power to flow into his arms. It was wonderful.”

Robin gets his first swimming lesson from Brother Luke. The cool buoyancy and the freedom of using his arms to move about on the water contrast sharply with his immobility on land. It’s a moment that both refreshes and inspires him. He wants to move around more easily at the monastery. His mind will work on the problem until he solves it by using his woodcarving skills to make a set of crutches.

“Then Robin remembered that his father expected him to be a knight. How could he ride horseback in chain mail while his legs were bent and he had to use crutches? How could he face his father? How bear his mother’s pitying look? How would they feel to have a son who could not fulfill his knightly duties?”

Robin’s convalescence has gone well: He can swim, carve, read, and write. That he begins to worry about his future is a sign of improvement, and his plan to carve crutches signals his willingness to meet the challenges he faces. His life begins to turn around, and once again he’s an avid participant in daily life. He now sees his changed relationship with his parents as a problem to be faced, not something to deny or run from.

“Crutches or crosses as thou’lt have it. ‘Tis all the same thing. Remember, even thy crutches can be a door in a wall.”

Brother Luke tells Robin that his crutches offer advantages that can help him get around the monastery and navigate obstacles in his life. They’re but one example of the many ways he can overcome difficulties and advance toward his expanding future.

“On the morning they set out the air was crisp and cool. The sun had not risen above the horizon, but it cast a bright glow into the heavens, promising a fair day. Larks rose from the meadow, straight up, as if from pure joy, and they sang, Robin thought, as if it had been the first day of the world.”

With lovely eloquence, the author describes Robin’s mood through the beauty of the early morning. The day seems to welcome him to his first great adventure—or so he imagines, with his eagerness to embrace the wonders of the world. Robin’s cheerfulness seeks out the goodness of things around him; this attitude reflects his new optimism.

“They went toward the Oxford Road, then turned westward through Holborn, stopping a moment to pray at each wayside cross, just as if they had been on a pilgrimage. ‘It is indeed a sort of pilgrimage,’ said Brother Luke, ‘for always we shall set forth for the honor of God and in the hope that young Robin will be even stronger at the end of our journey than he is now.’”

Robin’s journey to the castle town of Lindsay is a type of pilgrimage. Pilgrims travel to distant places in hopes of deepening their spiritual understanding or perhaps to find a cure for their ailments. For Robin, both desires apply: He yearns to undertake his training to become a knight, and his efforts to walk and swim while on the journey might be curatives. Brother Luke knows that the quest itself enlarges the mind, so that, whatever happens, the pilgrim benefits from the journey.

“Robin stood with his back to the wind, holding his cloak about him. This was a real adventure. Even though he might never be a knight in armor and go to battle to defend England, he would know what it was like to make his bed on God’s earth, feel the prick of rain in his face, and instead of brocaded bed curtains, see dark clouds making a canopy over him.”

Again, Robin faces difficulties with youthful eagerness. Hardships become adventures, and problems turn into daring challenges. He’s beginning to see that life is about more than comfort or social standing.

“When they reached the stream, Brother Luke said, ‘‘Tis best for thee to go into the water as always, so off with thy clothes, Master Robin.’ ‘But it is cold, and flesh creeps at the thought of it,’ said Robin, shivering. ‘Come, my son. Doth thy father stop to say “I cannot go into battle for my King because arrows are sharp””?

Luke reminds Robin that truly worthwhile things are done despite the bother, and the outcome is much better than the pain that results from not doing the task. There is toughness in strong resolve; Robin’s father didn’t get where he is by shying away from pain. Robin, too, must perfect the habit of wading into discomfort to become worthy of the leadership expected of him.

“‘And how go the wars? Be they going well? Hast heard how ‘tis with my lord the King?’ ‘It goes hardly, but it goes our way,’ said Robin importantly. ‘I have had a letter saying that the King hopes for a peace by the Feast of Christmas.’ ‘Peace?’ said the host wonderingly. ‘Peace is what we all hope for. But we find it seldom. For if ‘tis not the Welsh ‘tis the Scots. If ‘tis neither one nor the other, then ‘tis neighbor against neighbor, or ‘tis the lord of the manor against the peasants, begging thy pardon, young master.’”

Robin gets his first dose of the resentments that simmer in the hearts of the common people. If he is to grow up to be a fair ruler and a good leader, he must listen to the needs of those who depend on him for stability and safety.

“‘I shall make a sorry page […] But I can sing and I can read a little to while away the time for your lordship,’ he offered, ‘and I can pen letters for you.’ Sir Peter kept Robin’s hand in his and spoke directly to him. ‘Each of us has his place in the world,’ he said. ‘If we cannot serve in one way, there is always another. If we do what we are able, a door always opens to something else.’ There it was again, Robin thought, a door.”

From Brother Luke to Robin’s father to Sir Lindsay, all the men in his life make it clear that the boy is encouraged to do whatever he can, and his efforts will justify themselves and be appreciated by his family and others. Far from being rejected, Robin is welcomed.

“God alone knows whether thou’lt straighten or no. I know not. But this I tell thee. A fine and beautiful life lies before thee, because thou hast a lively mind and a good wit. Thine arms are very strong and sturdy. Swimming hath helped to make them so, but only because thou hast had the will to do it.”

Brother Luke reminds Robin that his efforts, more than his limitations, determine his outcomes. Swimming is simply a tool that Robin uses to strengthen himself; the strength comes from his willingness to use the tool.

“It is better to have crooked legs than a crooked spirit.”

Straightness of character gets a person farther than straightness of physique. If the goal is true, the means will be as well. Robin’s legs and back may be bent, but his crutches are straight, his carvings are precise, and his arrows find their target.

“We can only do the best we can with what we have. That, after all, is the measure of success: what we do with what we have.”

Brother Luke encourages Robin with the idea that it’s not what a person has that matters, but what that person does with it. This is the central concept of the book.

“‘Think you my mother will know me when she sees me thus?’ ‘Thy mother will know and love thee always, my son,’ the friar assured him. ‘Whether thou’rt bent or straight, well or ill, knight or clerk, lord or minstrel.’”

Robin’s mother’s love is unconditional. Robin fears that his physical condition determines his lovability or will prevent his mother from recognizing him, but Luke reassures him that his mother’s connection to him is permanent.

“[…] Robin was learning patience. He had found out that the harder it was to do something, the more comfortable he felt after he had done it.”

Difficult work rewards consistent effort, and Robin finds he respects the things that require great persistence. His carving work is the more beautiful for it, and his other projects—swimming, archery, Latin—bloom as he nurtures them with care.

“‘Who goes there?’ Robin stopped. ‘‘Tis but I, Robin,’ he answered in a meek voice, and the chill that ran down his spine was not all from the dampness of his clothing. ‘Robin who?’ the voice went on. ‘Robin—Crookshank, some call me,’ answered Robin.”

Robin evades enemy soldiers by using their presumptions about his disability as a disguise. If they regard him as an incapable child, they’ll ignore him, and he will be able to continue his risky mission. elevates him as a person of deep purpose and creative adaptability.

“[John] could see that Robin had come as far as he was able. It had been Robin’s plan to issue orders as his father might have done; to have been lordly and commanding. But it was such a relief to be cared for and to have the weight of his body taken from his aching armpits that he allowed John to carry him, and said not a word until he was laid upon the straw pallet.”

Exhausted by his extraordinary trek on crutches through enemy territory to reach John and inform him of the castle’s emergency, Robin nonetheless wants to mark the occasion in as lordly a way as possible. He’s simply too tired, though, to do so.

“‘Sir,’ he addressed his father, ‘mind you not that I must go thus, bent over, and with these crutches to help me walk?’ For he must know the worst at once. Gravely Sir John answered, ‘The courage you have shown, the craftsmanship proven by the harp, and the spirit in your singing all make so bright a light that I cannot see whether or no your legs are misshapen.’”

One of Robin’s aching doubts is whether his father will remain proud of him. Sir John lays that doubt to rest with high praise and admiration for his son. This child has already proven himself beyond what most men can achieve.