Children of the Wolf by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online

and the others echoed her.
    Suddenly Indira broke into the circle and pinched the little wolf-girl’s leg, above the bandaged knee.
    The wolf-girl, who had been so silent under Mrs. Welles’ painful ministrations, howled. The larger wolf-child rushed at Indira, running on all fours, and clawed her arm badly. Although she drew no blood, there were four streak marks from elbow to wrist that remained red welts for most of the day.
    Indira screamed and ran from the courtyard, back into the building, the other children at her heels.
    The wolf-girl did not chase after them but crawled slowly over to the door. She raised her head and sniffed the air. Then she swiveled and stared toward me.
    I looked around carefully. I was the only one left outside.
    I could feel my heart thudding under my cotton shirt, and I put my hands out slowly to show her I meant no harm. Fear drove me to begin speaking in the same quiet tones I had used with her the night before.
    “See, see, I will not hurt you. See, see, do not be afraid.”
    She stood uncertainly, moving her head back and forth in a peculiar swaying motion, and, emboldened, I edged toward her.
    “I—will—not—hurt—you,” I said again, stopping some ten paces away. Then I pointed to myself, my hand shaking slightly. “Mohandas. I am Mohandas. “What is your name?”
    She did not answer.
    “What is your name?” I asked again.
    Her silence was complete. It was as though she had no tongue at all.
    “I will call you…Kamala,” I said, my tongue chattering away. “That means lotus. And your sister, Amala, bright yellow flower. Pretty names. Kamala. Amala. Do you like the sound of those names?”
    She looked down and turned from me, going back to the little wolf-girl. She nudged Amala with her head, and the two of them made their slow way back to the place where the walls came together in a corner. They crowded into it and sat, huddled. Kamala circled three times on her hands and knees, then lay down, head on hands. Amala sat and picked forlornly at the bandages, slowly shredding them. Soon there was a pile of white cotton pieces by her side. She faced the corner the whole while.
    “Kamala,” I whispered. “Amala.”
    But if they heard me, if they understood at all, they made no sign.

AMALA AND KAMALA
    W E HAD REACHED A kind of cautious truce with the wolf-girls. Indira and the others stayed as far away as possible, and when circumstances forced them to cross the wolf-children’s paths, they made a sign with two fingers to ward away evil. Rama walked by them as stiffly as a drill sergeant and as far as his pride would admit. A growl, a lifted lip, or a snarl was enough to send any of the younger children screaming back into the house. Krithi took to carrying a large stick whenever he went out.
    A scream or a shout or a gesture with the stick would make the wolf-girls scamper back to their corner. There they would snuggle into a monkey ball, uncurling instantly if one of us violated what they considered their home ground.
    It was one step forward and then retreat for the better part of the week, and by week’s end it was difficult to say which of us was ahead. Even Mrs. Welles could not get close to them without threats. She had to resort to throwing buckets of water at them to clean them off.
    Eventually Amala picked off all her bandages. It surprised us to see that the wounds underneath had healed.
    Only at night, under cover of darkness, could I still manage to maneuver close to them. Not that they were unaware of me then. With their shining night eyes and uncanny hearing, they knew I was on my way as soon as my leg was over the window ledge. Although I could see them only as shadowy figures at night, I was convinced that they could see me as well in the dark as they did in the daylight, and it seemed that nighttime lent permission to our uneasy friendship.
    One night Rama saw me climbing over the sill.
    “Where are you going?” he asked. “Out to Tantigoria? Wait, I