Wolf Cries; Boy Run

I.

For his thirteenth birthday, Tavzel asked for a book.

"Maps," he said. "A book full of maps."

"What about a map full of books?"

Tavzel shifted, uncomfortable. His skin felt too tight. The knot in his stomach made him feel like he was swallowing strawberries stem-first. Seeds beading the inside of his throat.

A black Mercedes idled at the curb beside him. From inside the car, his father grinned at Tavzel, hidden behind tinted car windows. The engine hummed, coughing smoke, and his reflection darted in and out of focus--a robust shadow in partial uniform. The dark glass made it difficult to see his face, but Tavzel could pick out the gauze wrapped around his left eye and the short row of notches tattooed on his lip.

For a moment, Tavzel pretended his father was whole.

"I want a map," he repeated.

His mother waited. Her scrubs were wrinkled and smudged with blood. Her smock crumpled over her shoulder. Puffs of clay-dust stirred from the fabric as she exhaled. The clay was inescapable; clinging to her dry, cracked fingers; a corona of red heat rising around her.

Tavzel could taste the grittiness on his tongue. He knew that he, too, was covered in fine red dust. It was everywhere.

"Tavzel," she said, impatience showing, "do not get in the car. Do you hear me, boy?"

He heard her. Was his father still smiling? Tavzel searched the car window, found the shadow turning its head. Something like disappointment ran through him. He bored his father. Right now, the radio was probably playing—Sounds of the Summer or Kill the Moon. 

He tightened his grip on his backpack. Mara hadn't let him pack his books, but he had two pairs of socks, a toothbrush, and a clean shirt. The last time he had ridden in a car, he had gone east. Only to land here again.

He took one cautious step toward the car.

"Tavzel!" his mother reached for him. He twisted out of her grasp.

"Please," he said. He wasn't sure if it was still important to plead. It couldn't hurt to keep invoking the words. "Please promise me I'll get a map."

"I have to go." His mother glanced back at the car. His father leaned on the horn. Once for luck, and then again, more prolonged. It wailed on and on, louder than even the sirens. The air vibrated. Tavzel concentrated on the dark shadow of his sneakers against the pavement. A hole widened in the canvas around his big toe, where the sole had already begun to peel back. 

His mother took her hand off the car, and Tavzel stood still while she touched his cheek and the crown of his head. She rubbed the sore on his cheek. Her fingers were hot from the heat of the hood. Her face a little desperate, sharp, and sad.

"Brown to brown," she said. "You see me?"

Tavzel flinched, cheek aching. He wanted....

She crouched and took hold of his arms. Sometimes Tavzel forgot how tall his mother was. His father was small, like his son, both a good six inches too short for vanity. 

"Do you see me?"

"Yes." he looked up. His mother's eyes were the color of umber, bubble-light; his own, dark amber. Sometimes he saw fire there. Today, there was fear. 

"I see you," he admitted.

"Okay." she took a quick, shallow breath. Like she did when she smoked. "If you promise not to get into the car, I promise to get you a map."

"A map in a book?"

"A map is a map, isn't it?"

"No," he said. He knew what he wanted. "A map in a book."

"Only if you give me your backpack."

Tavzel imagined his book of maps: a thousand sailing ships, a four-point compass, a hundred countries to dream of. Thick paper. The names of each sea. He forced himself to take off his backpack and hand it to her. His stomach rocked back-and-forth. Was this what sailing felt like? On the ocean, there would be massive, fierce winds. He could jump straight into one and be carried off. Up, up, away.

His mother took the bag, folded it up between her hands, and held it to her chest. She kissed his cheek. "You promise?"

"I promise," he said.

She got to her feet and handed Tavzel a note for the bus ride home. "No stops," she said. Then she opened the car door, climbed into the seat behind his father, and, once again, disappeared.