Lone Wolves by John Smelcer Read Free Book Online

soon,” replied Sampson. “There’s only a few days left to sign up.”
    On the way home, Denny thought about the mouse story, reciting it in her memory so she could write it down in her diary the way she wrote down every story he told her. She also thought about the race as the dogs pulled the sled along a well-marked trail on the wide and frozen river, passing the little cemetery perched on the hill above the village—the full moon rising above it looking like an ivory eye carved in the black face of the sky.
    That evening, while her grandmother was doing beadwork at the small kitchen table and her mother was cooking the rabbit she had brought home earlier in the day, Denny sat cross-legged on her narrow bed, writing down the beautiful story her grandfather had told her. She was careful not to forget a single word. When she was done, she turned the pages to write a new entry in her diary.

    Dear Nellie,

    I had a long talk with grandpa about my dad. I never talk about him, not even to mother, but I think about him all the time. It’s like I have this giant hole inside me. I mean, if anyone in the world is meant to love you, it has to be your parents, right? How can a father not love his child? I’m half of him; he’s half of me. People always say how much I look like him. What does he think when he sees me? Does he feel anything? Does he even see me? I don’t understand at all. Sometimes I get really sad when I think about it. Sometimes I get mad. Grandpa thinks I’m ready to enter a race, but I’m not as certain as he is. I know all the other kids want to move away as soon as they can, but I love it here. I can understand why Grandpa loves it so much. I love it, too.
    Yours,

    Denny

    Riversong

    I never want to leave this land.
    All of my ancestors are buried here,
    listening to riversong
    from picket-fenced graves,
    their wind-borne spirits
    linking past and present.

    When I finally fall to pieces
    this is where my pieces will fall.

    After washing dishes and taking her nightly bath, Denny read the last pages of Anne Frank’s diary. She learned from the epilogue that Anne and her fellow occupants of the “secret annex” were eventually discovered and sent away to Nazi concentration camps. In the last sentence of the last page, Denny read with dismay that Anne died seven months later at Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, where Jewish prisoners were murdered because they were Jewish.
    She closed the book and sat for a long time with the book on her lap, looking at the cover through tear-filled eyes, caressing the spine and pages, trying to imagine Anne’s life . . . and death. She couldn’t fathom life in one of those terrible places. She and Anne were almost the same age and shared many of the same teenage concerns, like boys, and the struggle to figure out who you are supposed to be, and most importantly, how to deal with the uncertain relationships to mother and father. After a while, Denny got up, put the book in her school backpack, pulled out her own diary from its hiding place—its secret annex—and sat on her bed scribbling a postscript with a purple-colored pen.

    P.S.: I HATE the end of this book! Our teacher didn’t tell us anything about how Anne dies at the end! She was almost the same age as I am. How could that happen? How could people do that to each other? Where’s the kindness that Grandfather talks about? What kind of god allows such terrible things to happen? Was all of Anne’s suffering and sacrifice for nothing? She never even got a chance to be a girl. She never got a chance to really live. Grandpa’s right; I should enter that race. If he could do it, then I can do it! Carpe diem!

5
    Hnae ghu’ ‘aen
    Words Have Teeth
    D uring breakfast the next morning, Deneena told her grandfather that she would enter the race.
    â€œGood for you!” said Sampson, slapping his knee. “A chip off the old block.