She Named Me Wolf Read online

  She Named Me Wolf

  Tenkara Smart

  Copyright © 2020 Tenkara Smart

  All Rights Reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission.

  www.facebook.com/tenkarasmart

  ISBN: 978-0-6488505-0-2

  Cover Design by George Saad

  This book is dedicated to my beloved husband who sparks my imagination, ignites my dreams, and whose energy makes me whole.

  “I’ve reached the foot of the mountain, and now I see in the darkness.”

  Shihan Ookomi

  Chapter One

  Inside the box it was pitch-black, and the air was humid and stale. Beads of sweat pearled on Wolf’s body, and he felt a stinging sensation as a droplet broke loose from his skin and slid over one of the fresh welts on his lower back. He lay on his side, his knees pulled to his chest, swallowing hard as he tried to silence the sound of his crying.

  Polly permeated the wooden wall and wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her body into his until their two halves became like one.

  “Why, Polly?” Wolf asked.

  She tightened her embrace. “Stay on your path, Wolf. You’ll get through this.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” he whispered, sniffling.

  Chapter Two

  Wolf preferred to be in the yard because he hated feeling scared and felt safe with his friends. Polly stayed with him at night, usually resting on his feet at the end of his bed, and although she couldn’t protect him, she gave him a deep sense of comfort.

  Wolf met Polly for the first time when he was eighteen months old. When he awoke from his nap, she was sitting at the opposite end of his cot wearing a simple, wraparound dress made from bone-coloured fabric with faded cherry blossoms, and a black, canvas belt tied around her waist.

  That first day he saw her, she looked like a real girl, so Wolf named her Polly, the same name as his favorite cockatoo who had escaped from the aviary only three days earlier. The girl stared at him with radiant, emerald-green eyes that angled up and away from the bridge of her small, slightly flat nose, and her skinny calves were pressed against the mattress as she sat upright, smiling at him.

  Over the years, Polly never told Wolf exactly how old she was, but since she seemed to grow and develop at the same rate as him, and since it was 1972, he figured that she must be six, like him. They had a game where Wolf would try to guess her exact age, and she’d always answer, “You’re right,” no matter what he said. Sometimes he’d say numbers like negative thirty-three, or one thousand and seventy-five, and she’d tell him he was right followed by a mischievous giggle.

  As the years passed, Wolf found that she appeared differently depending on her emotional state. When her body was transparent or translucent, that meant her energy was normal. When she looked solid, almost like a real girl, Wolf knew that she was feeling strong emotions like sadness or joy. And, on the rare occasions when she felt extreme emotion, like rage, she looked like the figure of a girl consumed in blinding white fire.

  Luckily for Wolf, Polly rarely left his side, and because of her, the punishments by his father were slightly less terrifying.

  Chapter Three

  The abuse began shortly after Wolf’s third birthday and after he had moved into the top bunk in the room that he shared with his older brother, Orville, in their family’s small, two- bedroom house.

  After the first few times it happened, Wolf could predict when his father would hurt him based on where he parked his car. Wolf knew that if his dad parked his car inside the shed, he would usually leave him alone and go straight to bed. But, if he left his car in the driveway, Wolf would panic, his breathing stifled because he knew this meant his dad was drunk.

  Wolf also knew what to expect based on which of the two doors his dad used to enter the house, knowing that the kitchen door was the worst. When Wolf heard his dad fumbling with the lock, he knew his dad was drunk, and he could even smell the alcohol on his breath as soon as he stepped into the kitchen. Once inside the house, his dad usually ate or poured himself a glass of brandy, then walked down the hall to the boy’s room, often telling Wolf to get down from his bunk before hitting him and ordering him into the box.

  The first few times it happened, Wolf tried to resist going into the cedar chest by clawing at the rug, begging not to be forced inside, but his dad just pulled on his skinny arm and lifted his lean body, dropping him into the box before closing the lid above him. Eventually, Wolf took his toys out and moved them into his closet so that he could get inside the box quickly, and each time he had to get into the wooden cell, his brown eyes glowed with fiery flecks while his heart beat so hard it hurt.

  One morning, when Wolf was four-years-old, he was sitting at the breakfast bar watching his mum washing dishes at the sink, and he mustered up enough courage to ask her to remove the box from his bedroom. “I don’t wike the box in my room. Take it out,” he said, his bottom lip curved downward.

  “Wolf, it’s not pronounced wike. You need to say like, with an L, like the L in the word lollies, or little,” she said facing him, her tongue visible below her front teeth. “Keep working on saying your L’s correctly. And, with the box, I keep putting your toys in there, but you just pull them out. Use the box for your toys.”

  He didn’t respond, staring at her with wide, round eyes as he pressed his teeth into his lower lip.

  Then, his mother put her palms on the countertop and said, “That was my hope chest. My mum filled it with things for me to use after I got married. She tried to fill it up all the way, but my parents didn’t have much money so there wasn’t much inside it. Anyway, that’s not the point. I don’t have anywhere else to put it in the house. I’m sorry, Wolf, but it’ll have to stay in your room.”

  Each time Wolf was forced into the box, Polly came inside and stayed with him in the darkness until he was told by his father that he could get out, or until he could hear his dad’s snores drifting down the hall. Then he’d clamber out, hurry across the carpet, and crawl up the ladder to his bed where he’d hide underneath the blankets, hoping of getting some rest.

  As the years passed, Wolf’s fear of the box lessened, and when he and Polly were inside the cedar chest, she reminded him how to control his breathing so his spirit could leave his body. Throughout their long friendship, Polly was a reminder to Wolf that his body, mind, and spirit were separate, and that even though his journey in this life was going to be difficult, he would someday gain complete control.

  Chapter Four

  Even though Wolf had a big brother who shared his room, he did not feel close to Orville and felt resentful because he was treated differently by their dad.

  All of his life, Wolf had heard stories about Orville, including how happy his parents had been that there firstborn was a boy just like his father had wanted, and how grateful they were that he was still alive today. Wolf’s mum often retold the story of when Orville was five years old and diagnosed with bacterial meningitis and how they took his early symptoms seriously and got him to the hospital straight away. Whenever she told the story, her dark brown eyes became rounder and her words breathier, and she always ended with the same words, saying, “We are so blessed that Orville is still with us today. It’s a miracle our boy survived.”

  Seven years older than Wolf, Orville was tall and slim
and played a variety of sports, including rugby and cricket, and Dad loved to brag about Orville’s athleticism. Wolf didn’t like his brother very much because when they were together, Orville teased him, mimicked his stuttering or ignored him. Luckily for Wolf, Orville wasn’t home very often and was usually gone playing sports or spending the night at a friend’s.

  It didn’t bother Wolf that he and his brother weren’t close because he had Polly, and she was like a sister to him. She cared for him, protected him, and taught him how to do things like reading and math, and she showed him lots of interesting facts from the encyclopedias kept on the loungeroom bookshelf.

  Polly didn’t like Orville, either, and she and Wolf enjoyed playing tricks on him, especially when he was asleep. One of their favorites was when Polly would float down to the bottom bunk and brush her wispy, index finger on the tip of his nose. Her near-weightless touch would tickle Orville’s skin, causing his nose to crinkle, and when he’d swat at his face, Wolf and Polly had to press their hands over their mouths to muffle their laughter.

  Chapter Five

  Today the sun was bright in the Australian Capital Territory, and it was Saturday, which meant Wolf could play all day in the yard. He was glad not to be in school because he didn’t like it at all, and he felt different from the other kids.

  Wolf started kindergarten when he was five, one year earlier, and his kindergarten teacher’s name was Miss Brannon which Wolf shortened to Miss.

  On his first day of kindergarten, Miss asked each student to share a bit about themselves. “Wolf, please tell us something about you so we can get to know you better,” she said, a brilliant white smile painted on her twenty-something face.

  "Um, I-I-I-I-I'm a b-b-boy," he replied, the words sticking in his throat.

  His stuttering began when he was three years old and usually only happened when he spoke to his dad, and sometimes Orville. Polly pointed out to Wolf that she only noticed his stuttering when he was nervous or scared, and that when he talked to her or his other friends, he didn't stutter. Wolf recalled a time when he was four-years old when he listened to himself talking to his mum, and then to Carla and Cecelia, and he realised that Polly was right and that his stuttering only happened when he was uncomfortable, nervous, or scared.

  "Okay, Wolf,” his teacher continued, “how about you tell us where you live?” she said, her voice encouraging.

  With his left elbow glued to his tiny desk and his chin resting on his fist, he replied, “In a-a-a h-h-house.”

  He could hear the choked giggles of his classmates in the background.

  “Excellent. Now, how old are you?”

  “I-I-I-a-a-am-a-around the same age as-as-all these o-o-o-other kids,” he said, darting his eyes around the room as he waved his hand in the air, trivializing everyone around him.

  “Alright, so you must be five. And, what do you like to do for fun?”

  “No-no-none of your be-be-beeswax.”

  "Well, we want to get to know you better. What else can you share?" the teacher asked, her voice soft and cajoling.

  Wolf stared at her and said nothing. He had seen his mum do this to his dad at home, which his father called the silent treatment, and it seemed to work. Dad always gave up and eventually left the room, mumbling words that if repeated by Wolf would result in him having to lick a bar of soap. Wolf thought if he kept it up with Miss, he would be lucky and she would leave the room, too. He didn't want to share or listen to what the other kids had to say because he knew his life was different and he didn’t want to have to make up stories to fit in.

  After some awkward minutes had passed, his teacher finally broke eye contact with him and turned to the girl in the chair next to him.

  "Jodi, why don't you tell us about yourself,” the teacher said.

  Jodi sat up straight, her golden blond braids dangling from the side of her head, and began shooting words into the air with machine-gun speed. She shared that she had two brothers and one sister, and that her favorite food was spaghetti with meatballs, but she also liked pizza, and fish and chips, and oh, pickles, and that this summer, she went to the lake, and also to the beach to visit her auntie, and that she didn't like spiders, and that she had a big, hairy one in her room last night, hiding in a corner, and oh, she loved watching Lassie and Skippy.

  As Jodi talked incessantly, Wolf glanced over at Les. Les turned and looked at Wolf, a smirk on his face, and then Wolf lifted one eyebrow and twisted his lips, making Les giggle.

  Miss frowned in Wolf’s direction, and before Jodi could say another word, she interrupted the girl. “Well, Jodi, that's excellent. You have shared a lot about yourself. Thank you.”

  Kindergarten that prior year was no different than first-grade this year because Wolf knew he was the smartest kid in class, and he didn’t have to exert any significant effort. His most exciting part of the day came just before noon when the thick, black hand almost covered the little one. At that moment, a broad smile spread across the bottom of his long face, and he loaded his pencil and notebook into his backpack, anticipating the bell to ring, and when it did, he escaped the school and raced home to play with Polly and the others.

  Besides Polly and his friends at home, his only friend at school was red-headed Les. They met for the first time when they were in kindergarten, sitting side by side on the reading rug while Miss read from The Complete Adventures of Blinky Bill.

  As they sat, Les whispered to Wolf and asked him questions like, “Do you like Milo?” “Do you have any brothers and sisters?” and “What’s your favorite kind of meat pie?”

  After a few minutes of disruption, Miss finally slammed the book shut and scolded Les for talking, which Wolf thought was cool.

  Now, Wolf and Les were together again in the first-grade, and Les was still the only classmate Wolf could call a friend, though they rarely spoke.

  Chapter Six

  As was customary after the first month of school, at least one parent needed to meet privately with the teacher to discuss the progress of the student. As usual, Mum was the parent who would meet with Wolf’s first-grade teacher Mrs. Taylor, who Wolf also called Miss.

  “Orville, you stay home and look after Wolf,” his mother said, grabbing her handbag. “Both of you behave until I get back. And, keep the curtains closed so that the house stays cool.”

  Wolf noticed his mum was wearing a long sleeve top, the collar buttoned at the neck, and long pants, an outfit which Wolf thought was an odd choice considering it was almost forty degrees outside.

  His mother left the house to walk to his school which was only a few minutes away, and as soon as she was gone, Orville turned on the telly and sat down on the couch to read a Marvel comic book. While he looked at the comic book, Polly switched off the television, her energy heightened and making her look almost like a real, six-year old Japanese girl.

  “What the? Why’d you do that?” Orville sneered, looking at Wolf who was sitting on the floor.

  “I di-di-didn’t. I’ve been sitting h-here the wh-whole time.”

  “Yeah, right,” Orville scoffed, walking to the telly and flipping the switch.

  Orville returned to the couch, and as soon as he was comfortable and about to open his comic book, Polly went back to the television, this time changing the channel dial one notch, from Ben Hall to the local news.

  Orville's eyebrows pulled together, and he put the comic book in his lap, huffing in the direction of Wolf sitting on the floor. Then Orville raised his brows, looked at the telly, then back at Wolf, then back at the television before getting up and changing the channel back to Ben Hall.

  “Come on,” Wolf said to Polly, standing up, “th-this is boring.”

  “You are boring,” Orville said. “Get lost.”

  Wolf and Polly left the loungeroom and went outside to play in the yard with Carla, the family’s Australian Blue Heeler dog.

  “You’re brother’s so annoying,” Polly stated. “Anyway, I wonder what your teacher is saying abou
t you. She’s probably telling your mum that you don’t like school. I used to love going to my school, especially playing with the other kids. Why don’t you like it?” she asked, stroking the fur on Carla’s head.

  “I just don’t. It’s easy, and I don’t like any of the other kids.”

  Polly smiled. “When I was in school, I was a really fast runner, and I used to bet the boys to try and beat me in a race. Boys always thought they were better and faster than me, but they’d always lose. And guess what they had to give me as my prize?

  “Money?” Wolf replied.

  “Nope. Their shoes!” Polly laughed. “I used to display them like trophies in the front of my house. I’d even hang some from the streetlamps so all the villagers could see. And, after I’d take their shoes, many of the boys in my village went barefoot until their parents could afford to buy them another pair,” she said, her green eyes twinkling like bright stars. “When my dad would come to visit me from Edo, that’s what Tokyo used to be called, he’d tell me he was proud of me, but that I shouldn’t be taking the boys shoes.”

  “That’s funny,” Wolf said, grinning. “I don’t even want to play with the kids in my school, though,” he said. “They all seem babyish to me and I’d rather just do the work and then come home to you and the others. Plus, the kids at my school are so stupid. All they do is talk about dumb things like their favorite toys, or foods they like, or that show Mr. Squiggle. Seriously, at least you and I talk about things like crocodiles and sharks, and even American Indians. The kids at school are so proseki.”