“I think the word you meant to use is prosaic, and that’s a good word,” she smiled. “What about Les? You like him, right?”
“Les is okay, I guess, but he’s not much different. I just don’t like being with other people,” he said just as his mother was walking up the driveway.
“Wolf, come inside. I need to talk to you,” she said as she opened the kitchen door and entered the house.
Wolf stopped petting Carla’s head and strolled towards the house with Polly trailing behind him. He entered the kitchen and went to the breakfast bar, passing his mother who was leaning against the range with her arms folded at her chest, and he hoisted himself onto a stool, folding his small hands in front of him on the countertop while he waited for his mum to speak.
“Wolf, your teacher said you are doing well in school. In fact, she said you are extremely bright for your age, and she even joked that you might be a genius,” his mum said, a slight smile bending her lips. “Anyway, she also told me she’s concerned that you aren’t making friends. She said you only talk to one other student; a boy named Les?”
“I don’t know why she would say that! That’s presproterus. I don’t only have one friend. Did she tell you about Polly? Or Cecelia? Or Korey, or Aaron?" he replied, his palms turned up.
Polly leaned down and began whispering something into Wolf’s ear just as his mother walked over to where he was sitting. As his mother set her hand on top of Wolf’s curly hair, she bumped Polly’s airy cheek with her elbow, inadvertently forcing the ghost to scoot away.
"First,” his mum said, “I think the word you were trying to use was preposterous. And, secondly, I’m glad you have friends. I guess she doesn’t see you playing with them, that's all.”
Wolf shook his head up and down, agreeing with his mother. It was true that Les was the only friend his teacher could see.
“All I want for you and your brother is for you both to be happy,” she finished, tousling Wolf’s soft, black hair. “Now go back outside and play.”
Chapter Seven
Wolf experienced another unchallenging day in his first-grade class, spending most of the time sitting quietly in his chair. He kept his eyes glued on Miss as she read stories about Dick, Jane, and their dog, Spot, and when he had to do addition and subtraction, he effortlessly completed the tasks, turning in his papers faster than the other kids. Although Wolf acted like he was paying attention, the only thing he cared about was going home, so when that time finally came, his grin carved dimples deep into his cheeks as he jumped up from his desk and ran from the classroom.
When he arrived at his house, he sat at the breakfast bar where his mum had a Vegemite and cheese sandwich waiting for him.
“How was school today?” she asked.
“Fine, I guess,” he replied, lifting his shoulders.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he answered as he chewed.
“You must’ve done something.”
“Well, Miss read to us, and then we did some math. I guess that’s all,” he shrugged.
“What’s your favorite thing about school?”
“Why would I have a favorite thing about school? It’s just school.”
“There must be something that you like the best?”
“Not being there,” Wolf replied matter-of-factly.
“Well, you’ll be there for a while, so I’d suggest you learn everything you can. I have faith you’ll make something of your life,” she said. Then she got up and went to the sink to clean a pan with a wet, soapy sponge, staring out of the window as she worked.
When Wolf finished his sandwich, he said, “Um, okay. I’m done, so can I go play in the yard?”
“Yes,” his mum responded.
Wolf left through the kitchen door. Polly was in the yard, floating just above the ground, her off-white canvas shoes pointed downward, the tips almost touching the dry dirt. They went to the side of the yard and Carla bolted out of her kennel, running towards them with her tail wagging wildly.
“Let’s play hide and seek with her. I’ll throw the tennis ball, and then we’ll run and hide,” Wolf said.
“Okay, that sounds like fun,” Polly replied, the white clouds in the sky visible through her skin.
Wolf threw the tennis ball, and while the dog chased it, Wolf and Polly ducked behind a pile of wood at the side of the shed, trying to breathe quietly. After a few minutes, they heard the tippy tap of Carla’s claws on the loose rock as she approached, and when the dog found them, she dropped the slimy ball onto the dirt.
“Found you,” Wolf heard the dog say. “Do it again. Do it again,” she begged.
“She’s so sweet,” said Polly. “All she wants is for everyone to be happy.”
“She’s happy most of the time, but even she gets scared by my dad, like when he yells at her or lifts his hand. But, no matter how bad he treats her, she still wags her tail and tries to lick him. Anyway, let’s hide again,” Wolf said, picking up the slobbery ball and throwing it across the yard.
After an hour of playing with Carla, Wolf remembered that he needed to feed the birds. He grabbed the old, metal coffee can full of birdseed from the kitchen countertop and walked to the aviary. On his way to the birdhouse, he thought about how much he hated seeing caged birds, and even though most of the birds in the aviary had accepted their life, Wolf knew that one bird never had: Gary.
When Wolf arrived at the aviary, he knew he was supposed to use the wood-framed window on the outside of the birdhouse to fill the tray. However, as with most rules, Wolf disregarded his instructions and opened the main entrance, failing to double-check if any birds were waiting to flee.
Just after he stepped inside, he saw Gary the galah’s pinkish-grey feathers dart past him. “You get back here, Gary!” Wolf exclaimed.
This wasn’t the first time the galah had tried to escape. Gary had attempted to flee the aviary several times before, so Wolf’s father finally put Gary into a bag, took him into the shed, and plucked out his primary flight feathers so the bird couldn’t fly away if he tried.
So today when the galah tried to escape, he only flew a short distance before landing near the shed and pecking at the ground. Wolf knew that he would be in serious trouble if anyone found out that the bird had gotten out, so he had to get the bird back inside. He crept towards the galah, trying not to scare him away, but Gary lifted his head and looked at Wolf with his black, fish-egg eyes then flew off again, this time landing inside the vegetable garden.
“Bah!” Gary screeched after landing on the soil, lifting his right wing and peering underneath. “Why did he have to ruin my wings? I’ve got to get out of this place!”
“Gary, just let me get you back inside,” Wolf pleaded.
“No!” the galah answered, using his beak to yank a peapod off a branch.
Wolf was desperate to get the galah back into the aviary, so he decided to use the homemade bird catcher that was leaning against the shed. His dad made this bird net using a long, wooden rod that was at least two times Wolf’s height, and on one end was a cone-shaped net attached to a metal ring, secured to the pole with a clamp. Wolf grabbed the net, tucked it under his armpit and walked towards the bird.
When Wolf arrived at the veggie garden, Gary was dipping his head up and down, pecking at the ground. Wolf lifted the long pole high above his head and tried to drop it on the galah, but he lost his balance and fell on his knees in the lettuce. As Wolf stood up, brushing away bits of loose-leaf from his pants, he watched Gary hop over to the tomato plants.
Again, Wolf lifted the pole, his equilibrium off, and stumbled backwards, landing on a row of carrots, snapping their green tops in half. Gary heard the ruckus and gave Wolf a brief, bitter glance followed by an ear-splitting chirp before bouncing out of the garden, stopping underneath the umbrella-shaped clothesline where laundry billowed in the warm breeze.
Wolf got up slowly and sneaked towards Gary, the bird net still in his hands. He crouched behind a skeleto
n of a shrub and froze, holding his breath, as Gary lifted his beak high in the air and bobbed his head from side to side before relaxing and pecking at the cement below the clothesline.
While Gary searched for food, Wolf lifted the bird catcher straight up and forced it forward. As the net came down, it snagged one of the clotheslines, causing some clothespins to snap, and Wolf observed several, mismatched socks glide past his ear as they fell to the ground. Wolf grabbed the socks off the concrete and stretched his arms to rehang them, but the line was out of his reach, so he tossed the socks back onto the ground and decided to play dumb if asked how they got there.
Wolf refocused on catching the galah. He tossed the bird net onto the grass and grabbed the bottom of Orville’s denim jacket, yanking it off of the clothesline. When Wolf was within range, he spread the jacket between his arms and hurled his body at the bird, trapping him underneath. “Got you!” he whispered loudly.
Wolf scooped up the galah and carried him to the birdhouse. He checked the area near the inside of the door to make sure no other birds were planning to escape and then opened it, stepped inside, and set Gary down before closing the door behind him. When he uncovered the galah from his brother’s jacket, the grey and pink feathers on the top of the bird’s head spread open like a Japanese fan and Gary’s beak clamped down on the meaty section below Wolf’s thumb, puncturing his skin and creating two, tiny holes that welled with blood.
“Ouch!” Wolf said, pinching his hand where the galah bit him. “Come on, Gary, try to be more like the others and just accept that this is your life.”
“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” the galah chirped. “You’re as trapped as me, and I don’t get the impression you’re accepting it either.
“Shut up,” Wolf said. “I’ll be free as soon as I figure it out.”
“And I’ll never give up either,” the bird snapped, hopping up and down and flapping his wings.
Wolf opened the aviary door and slipped out quickly, securing the door behind him. As he walked back to the house holding his brother’s denim jacket and the birdseed can, Wolf thought that no living thing should have to accept a life less than the one they were born for, which was why he felt so strongly that a bird with wings should be able to fly. He thought about his life and knew that Gary was right; he felt as powerless as the galah to escape. Until his time came, he’d have to try and make the best of it.
Chapter Eight
As often happened, Orville was sleeping at a friend’s house even though it was a school night, so Wolf was alone in his room when his father arrived home and parked his car in the driveway. When his dad entered the kitchen, Wolf could smell the liquor on his breath as he went to the cabinet and poured himself a brandy. Shortly after, Wolf’s dad came into his room and Wolf was expecting to be hit. However, his dad didn’t touch him and told him with slurred words to get out of his bed and into the cedar box.
Wolf unraveled himself from the covers and came down the ladder. He got into the box and lay on his side, bending his knees slightly. Just as his father was going to close the hinged, wooden lid, Wolf watched Polly fly across the room, her figure encased in white flames, and with her energy, she rammed his father, causing him to stumble slightly to the side. His dad put out his arm and touched the wall with his fingertips, balancing himself, then closed the lid on the chest and left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Polly slipped inside the box and cuddled Wolf, laying one arm gently over his shoulder while the other cradled his neck. “Poor Wolf. At least he didn’t hit you, I guess. I really wanted to knock him over. He makes me so mad!” she huffed.
“What did I do? I don’t even know why I got in trouble this time,” he whimpered.
“I don’t know, either. You know what he’s like when he’s drunk,” she sighed. “He’s unpredictable. My father once told me that it’s better to hug a tree than bang your head against it, so let’s not try to figure him out and go see Junsaku instead.”
“Alright,” Wolf whispered, his words barely audible.
Polly had taught Wolf how to travel when he first started going into the box. All they had to do was hold hands, touch their foreheads together, and synchronize their breathing. After everything aligned, Wolf saw a dark, pin-prick dot against a dazzling, silvery background, and then the spot expanded and absorbed the light until everything became pitch black. Finally, like a film bursting to life on a movie screen, a new, physical world emerged.
Tonight, they arrived in a room and were seated on the floor with their backs pressed against a wall. The room was colored in earth tones, with golden, bamboo tatami mat floors and sliding doors made of dark wooden frames with off-white paper walls. At the edges of the ceiling were wood carvings of fire-breathing dragons, their gaping jaws exposing their teeth and tongues, and on one wall was a mural of cranes standing amidst bamboo stalks, painted so delicately that they looked like gossamer.
“This is a dojo,” Wolf whispered to Polly.
“I know,” she said, poking him in the rib.
In the room were two lean, muscular Japanese men, each barefoot. Both men had their jet-black hair pulled back and bound in a knot at the crown of their head, and one man measured several inches taller than the other. Both were dressed in dark, billowing pants, a loose sleeved, white shirt, and a black canvas belt called an obi. The men stood facing each other with their toes curled on the mat and their hands touching the handles of their wooden swords, or bokken, and then they each pulled out their wooden swords and held them vertically in front of their torsos. They stared at each other in silence for several seconds before their swords flew into action. The taller of the two men, Junsaku, had a sly grin on his face as he bent, twisted, and dodged the attacks to his head, neck, and chest from his opponent, Yasafune.
Both fighters were light on their feet, sliding effortlessly in all directions on the bamboo mat floor. Then, Yasafune suddenly took quick, small steps backwards and stopped, steadying his body, and raising his sword high above his head. After a few seconds, he lunged towards Junsaku, and Junsaku angled his sword in front of his forehead and blocked Yasafune’s bokken before it reached his face. The two men pressed their wooden swords together, using their weight and strength against their opponent, and then Junsaku shot out his right leg, whacking Yasafune with a low, spin kick just below the knee, knocking him to the floor. Yasafune’s sword spiraled through the air and landed directly in front of Wolf and Polly’s toes.
Junsaku moved and stood above Yasafune, placing the blunt tip of his sword in the center of his neck as he looked into the man’s deep-set eyes. “Not bad. You are improving,” Junsaku said in Japanese, sliding his bokken back into his belt and holding out his hand to help Yasafune to his feet.
“Give me another chance. I am a better swordsman than you!”
“You keep practising, and maybe someday you will be as good as me. But I doubt it,” he chuckled, his smile radiant.
Then Junsaku turned towards Wolf and Polly and winked at them, and as they stared into the Japanese samurai’s warm brown eyes, the scene dissolved in front of them like a melting reel of film, and they were back inside the box.
“As usual, Junsaku wins,” Wolf whispered excitedly. “Thanks for going there with me, Polly. I like watching him. He’s not a sally like me.”
“He is you, so if he’s not a sally, than neither are you. When will you believe?”
“I do believe, Polly. I do. Anyway, I can hear my dad snoring, so let’s get out and go to bed.”
Chapter Nine
Wolf got in a school fight in the first-grade when he heard someone being teased.
“Ha-ha, what a drongo! Can’t even walk,” he heard Bruce saying.
Wolf looked at the blacktop and saw six-year-old Sarah sitting on the asphalt with her fingers touching her scraped chin while their classmate, Bruce, stared down at her.
At first, Bruce’s words overwhelmed Wolf with anger, but then a powerful sense of calm washed over him. He got
up, approached Bruce from behind and shoved him right between his shoulder blades, forcing him towards a group of girls standing with their arms linked. When the girls saw Bruce’s husky body lumbering towards them, they moved aside, creating a pathway for him to stumble and fall to his knees.
Bruce stayed on the ground for a moment, not saying a word, and then jumped up and ran straight at Wolf. Wolf did what he had seen Junsaku do many times before; he angled his feet, curled his toes, and stood firmly in place. When Bruce’s hand struck Wolf’s right shoulder, Wolf’s body barely budged as he absorbed the stout boy’s impact like a concrete wall. Bruce backed away and Wolf stared directly at him, his eyes lit up like a bush fire.
“Weirdo,” Bruce scowled, shoving Wolf in the chest with both hands, trying to knock him over.
Wolf continued to stand solidly in place. Next, Bruce tried to punch him in the nose, but Wolf bent his forearm and shot it upwards, throwing Bruce’s punch off course, his fist missing Wolf completely. Wolf put his arms back at his side, his fists lightly clenched, and awaited his opponents next move.
“Junsaku would be proud of you,” Wolf heard Polly whisper in his ear. “You’re not a sally.”
“Forget it, you’re not worth it,” Bruce said, unable to see or hear Polly. “But you better watch it ‘cause next time, I won’t go so easy on you,” he finished, glaring as he walked away.
Sarah came over to Wolf, brushing her straight, blond hair with her fingers, and said, “Thanks,” her lips lifted at the corners. “I can’t believe I tripped. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Whatever,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders.
Wolf considered telling her that the only reason he defended her was because he hated bullies, but then he decided it was none of her business and went back to sit under the tree.
Chapter Ten
John Kelly was born in Australia yet had spent much of his life living in Okinawa, an island in Southern Japan. Wolf never knew why he returned to Australia and didn’t ask because Sensei was reserved and only spoke when necessary.
She Named Me Wolf Page 2