Free Children of the Wolf by Jane Yolen Page B

for us to stop. “Let us hold a Thank Offering Service right here, right in the courtyard under the eye of God.”
    Indira whispered to Rama, and I overheard, “I thought God could see us wherever we were.”
    Rama nudged her in the ribs, and they both giggled.
    But we knelt down because Mr. Welles requested it, untroubled by Indira’s whispered blasphemy or by the heavy smell of the charcoal and cow dung smoke from the lunchtime fires signaling Cook’s assault on the chicken. We knelt and gave thanks for Kamala’s liberation by words.
    Kamala knelt, too, and hummed tonelessly throughout the entire litany.
    The afternoon passed, and though Kamala learned several dozen new words, the wonder of it was over. It was just as when the monsoon rains pass and it is difficult to remember in the heat of the dry season how much we hated all that rain.
    Now that Kamala had words enough, she needed me less. Anyone could understand her and make her obey, and so I returned to my regular studies and my regular chores, both relieved and saddened. My notebook began to refer to people other than the wolf-girl.
    She became a part of the activities of The Home, exploring inside The Home as well as out, though there were some places off limits to her—the kitchen, the English garden, and beyond the wall. She became fascinated especially with certain of the children’s games—the boys’ spinning tops, the girls’ rag dolls. And while no one would let her play with their toys, she was allowed to sit quietly and watch. Often she would mumble under her breath as they played, “Give. Give.” But no one gave anything to her.
    Finally Mrs. Welles noticed and made her a dolly of her own, from a piece of bright red material, for red had become her favorite color.
    The day Kamala was given her dolly, Indira turned sulky, for until that time she had had the brightest, newest-looking doll. She never played with it, which was why it was so clean. And though she should have been too old to care about Kamala’s doll, she made her displeasure known. Loudly.
    “ She should have been given a dog-brown doll,” Indira said. “A doll with a tail.”
    Preeti giggled, one slim hand held over her mouth.
    “And pups at its teats,” added Indira daringly.
    Both Veda and Preeti laughed. Encouraged, Indira continued, “Krithi, bring that dog’s doll to me.”
    Krithi shook his head miserably.
    Indira stamped her foot and looked around. She saw me in the doorway but did not dare ask me. Still she did not want to stop the game; to do so would have shamed her before her followers.
    No one volunteered.
    “You are all dogs!” Indira shouted, frowning menacingly. “I will get it myself.”
    She went over to the corner where Kamala sat, rocking and petting the doll.
    “Come here, Kamala. Come to Indira. Come,” she sang out in a cozzening voice. Anyone else hearing her use that tone would have been immediately on guard, for it promised danger. But not Kamala. She stood up at once and went over to Indira eagerly.
    Indira’s hand, as quick as a cobra, reached out and snatched the red doll.
    Kamala howled, crying out in her peculiar voice, “Give. Give. Doll. Give.” But Indira paid no attention.
    Then Kamala tried to grab the doll back. Indira flung it quickly to Krithi, who caught it with a look of surprise on his face.
    Kamala scrambled over to Krithi, growling, and he tossed the doll to Veda.
    She caught the doll by a leg and threw it at once to Preeti. But Preeti, with her weak eyes, did not see the doll coming, and it dropped in front of her. Kamala pounced upon the doll, clutching it to her chest and grunting, “Doll. Doll. Doll.” She bared her teeth and looked so fierce that the game stopped at once.
    The others ran across the compound and through the little gate to Mr. Welles’ garden, where Kamala had been forbidden to follow.
    I had not moved or spoken the whole time, and when she passed me, Kamala gave me a look compounded of disgust and