Jewelweed by David Rhodes Page B

you’re breaking it.”
    â€œI’m not in a mood,” replied August distantly.
    â€œYes you are.”
    â€œI saw him again, Ivan—the Wild Boy.”
    â€œThe ghost boy?”
    â€œI told you, he is not a ghost. Don’t call him that.”
    â€œBut you are the only one who ever sees him.”
    August’s face turned white. “I know it, and I’ve seen him before too.”
    â€œYou told me, three times. You saw him twice sitting in the trees behind your house after dark, and once you saw him following you, jumping in and out of the bushes while you walked along Winding Ridge. But I’ve never seen him.”
    â€œHe was standing right over there,” August said, and pointed to the bank on the other side of the stream. “He was crouched down looking into the water, studying it, but when he saw me he leaped up and ran off.”
    â€œWhat did he look like?”
    â€œI couldn’t see him very well, but I think he smiled before he took off.”
    â€œWhat was he doing?”
    â€œI told you, he was looking into the water, here where it’s deeper. Maybe he likes looking into deep water. So I thought if we made the water even deeper he might come back. And then you could see him too, and maybe we could even talk to him.”
    â€œWhen did you see him?”
    â€œLast night after dark.”
    â€œYou came out here?”
    â€œI woke up and had this feeling.”
    â€œWhat feeling?”
    â€œA feeling I get sometimes before I see him. It’s a real sad feeling, like everything is far away.”
    â€œSo you came out here?”
    â€œYep, and I saw him looking into the water.”
    â€œDid you tell your parents?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThe Wild Boy has to be kept a secret. I’ve researched feral children on the Internet, and read a few books about them. Every time adults get involved it turns out bad.”
    â€œWhat’s ‘feral’?”
    â€œIt means wild. Feral children return to a more natural way of living. Some are raised by wolves, some by coyotes, others are just instinctively more primitive. When adults find them they always try to change them. But in most cases they never adjust to being away from nature, and they die young. So we have to keep him a secret.”
    â€œWhere do you think he sleeps?”
    â€œMost likely in caves where he can still see the sky.”
    â€œDo you think he sleeps during the day and then comes out at night?”
    â€œMaybe,” said August. “He’s probably like other wild animals and sleeps no more than an hour or two at a stretch—never very soundly, always partly awake.”
    â€œSo let me get this straight, August: you caught a look at this wild boy again. He was staring into the water, right here. And we’re building a dam to make the water deeper, so that when he comes back we can see him and talk to him. Is that right?”
    â€œPretty much.”
    â€œThen why are we just standing around? Let’s get to work. We can have this finished before dark, and I guarantee you it’s going to be really, really deep when we’re done.”
    â€œPerhaps we should have one of your candy bars first,” August suggested.
    â€œGood idea.”
    They split one, but before they were finished chewing, August’s mom hollered. They couldn’t understand her, but August said the way she hollered meant she wanted them to come back.
    After they’d gone a little ways, August made a low whistle and Milton crawled out of the tree bark, flew over, and dove into his shirt pocket. He stayed in there a lot, Ivan knew, especially when grown-ups were around.
    When they got back to the park Mrs. Helm and Ivan’s mother were carrying a wooden chair through Shrubbery Jungle. Ivan’s mother held the heavy end, and Mrs. Helm held on to the other.
    Ivan was surprised and glad his mother hadn’t left