The Wolf's Boy

Chapter Nine: One Word

The years flew by for the small town.  Seasons passed just as fast as they had begun. The crops were harvested and new ones were soiled. And before Kismet knew it, he was fifteen. Through the years between twelve and fifteen, Kismet learned how to use whistles and claps to communicate to Prestige. Prestige picked up on the commands quickly and never failed answering to them. The two note whistle with the extension of the last note was Prestige’s name. A sharp whistle meant to stay at attention. Two claps, whether soft of loud, meant to be quiet. Prestige had his own way of speaking, and it was mostly through his eyes.  No one could read them as well as Kismet—and Prestige made sure Kismet was the only one who understood him.   

            Fifteen was a bittersweet year for Kismet. He had his eyes on a tender blonde-haired girl named Shirley. She had features like a toy doll and hands as smooth as the leaves on a lily. Kismet hadn’t noticed the girl until his mind and physique began maturing. She went to the same school he attended to and worshipped in the same church he worshipped in – he just never clasped eyes on her until she herself grew up and smiled at him.

               The only thing Kismet feared was trying to explain how he felt about her. He knew she was aware of his disability, but he wasn’t sure if she would find him worth her time. He could write to her, he was a good writer. But what about when the time comes for them spend moments together?  How would he speak about his affections then? Kismet decided that he would pay a visit to her family and ask if he could have a moment with her and see if she would accept him for who he was.    

               It was evening when Kismet pulled on his straightened button shirt and polished leather shoes.  He slipped on his freshly aired jacket and combed back his untamed hair.  He went over to the bed where a pile of scattered wild flowers laid and gathered them up.  He took out an old shoe lace and bundled them together.  Prestige stood beside him, cocking his head from side to side.  His eyes were watching the muscles in Kismet’s throat. The wolf’s ear swiveled to the side at the sound of the mother’s voice and then swiveled to the boy who said nothing. 

               Feeling Prestige’s eyes studying him, Kismet delivered a sharp whistle, waking Prestige from his trance.  The wolf blinked and then walked out of the room to his chosen corner in the kitchen.  Kismet followed him only to the doorway of his room and then left him alone. He knew that was where Prestige settled down to think about something. After a moment, Kismet whistled twice and headed for the door.

               “Be careful, Kismet, be careful!”  Mrs. Whitmore mouthed as she hugged herself, a gesture that meant she loved him.

               Kismet turned away from the door and ran over to his mother.  He threw his arms around her and gave her a kiss on the cheek.  He smiled and ran out the door with Prestige at his heels. 

               “You think they’ll be alright, Mama?”  Jovie asked, walking up behind his mother. 

               “With Prestige with him, I’m sure they’ll be fine.  Now, go wash up for supper and then help me in the kitchen, will you?”

               “Yessum.”  Jovie bounded to the sink and did what he what he was told.

              Kismet’s heart jittered and his flesh twitched in fear of being rejected, and not just by Shirley, but her family, too. What if they didn’t like him? What if he was no good for their daughter? Kismet stopped halfway through the journey and sat down to catch his breath. He clutched his stomach and his foot tapped the ground violently.

                 “I can’t,” Kismet mouthed.  “I can’t.”

               Prestige’s eyes widened and he stared at Kismet’s throat again.  Slowly, two things came together for the wolf.  Something clicked in his mind, and he knew what his first task was. 

             “I--,” Kismet began before Prestige leaped for his throat. Kismet jumped up in fright, his mouth still forming his last word.  And in that split second, where his adrenaline had reached his throat, instead of mouthing “can’t”, he said it.  It was high-pitched, as all words are when intercepted by fear, but he said it.  And Prestige heard it.

                “What?”  Kismet asked, presuming to mouthing.

               Prestige dropped to the bowing position and his tail wagged.  Kismet furrowed his brows and swiveled his mouth to one side in thought.  He couldn’t hear himself, so he didn’t know Prestige was congratulating him for that amazing moment. 

               Kismet went to ask the same question again before Prestige snapped at his throat, sending the word “what” out in an audible tone. Angered, but not realizing that he was speaking out loud, Kismet yelled at Prestige for the first time.  

               “Stop it!  Stop it, you’re scaring the living daylights outta me!  Stop…” Kismet’s voice faded as he saw the wolf sitting peacefully in front of his with his ears pivoting from side to side.  He had only seen Kismet do that when the other members of his family spoke. 

               Did I say something?  Did I say something?  Did I say something?  Kismet swallowed and touched his throat.  He felt the beating of heart pumping and the spurts of breath passing over his arm.  He dropped to his knees and placed his hands on Prestige’s neck.  With difficulty and stammers, Kismet whispered, “Did I…say…something?”

               Prestige yelped and threw his body against Kismet’s.  Warm licks covered the boy’s face and tears streamed down his face.  Kismet laughed as hard as he could.  He laughed until he felt his vocal chords strain to the point where he feared they would bleed.  He laughed until he could no longer do so, and when he couldn’t he spilled into tears of happiness. He had forgotten the feeling of speaking.  He hadn’t spoken since he was seven. He knew he would remember how, and he knew it would take practice before he could speak fluently and at a pleasing pitch. 

               “You…will,” Kismet squeezed his eyes shut and forced the words out of his mouth, “You will help me Prestige.  You will help me.” 

               Prestige nuzzled Kismet’s neck and kissed the tip of his nose.

             “Thank…thank you.” A wave of exhaustion fell on him, and the boy took a well-deserved break from speaking that night.  He stood up from the ground and chuckled at the dusty and grit all over his clean clothes.  But he didn’t mind.  That was one moment he would never regret getting knocked to the ground.  Kismet whistled two notes and the pair ran down the road to Shirley’s house.