Children of the Wolf by Jane Yolen

Author:Jane Yolen [Yolen, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-2333-6
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-05-21T17:52:00+00:00

KAMALA ALONE

DR. SINGH CAME AND stayed all night, and Mr. and Mrs. Welles kept watch with him.

As the oldest boys, Rama and I were ordered to take turns being the runners for whatever the doctor might need, but Rama, after waiting up the first hours, woke me and spoke urgently.

“I will help those evil creatures no longer,” he said. “She whimpers like a dog, and the other one howls.” His eyes looked haunted.

I stared at the floor as I answered him. “I will do it all.”

He had the good grace not to thank me.

And so it happened that I was the only child who kept the long vigil. Twice I was actually sent to fetch something—once for a fresh basin of water and once for more ice. The rest of the time I crouched, unnoticed, in the corner of the sickroom and watched while Dr. Singh bent over Amala, ministering to her. She lay knees to chin, sweat beading her body. Mrs. Welles bathed her frequently with the ice water, and Mr. Welles read psalms from the Bible and begged God not to let the little miracle die.

Occasionally Amala convulsed, her arms and hands and legs reaching out in shaking spasms. Then it took all three of them to hold her. At each convulsion, Kamala outside the sickroom window set up a tremendous howling, and I, too, shook in response.

Mr. Welles said sharply each time, “Go to her, Mohandas. Keep her quiet. Her howls are frightening this little one,” although it was quite clear by then to all of us that Amala was long past caring or hearing.

I ran outside and sat as close to Kamala as I dared, crooning, “It will be all right, Kamala. It will be all right. Mohandas promises, everything will be all right.”

But it was not all right. Amala died before dawn.

Dr. Singh’s pronouncement was cold and clinical. “Worms,” he said. “And dysentery, which has led to dehydration. Possibly nephritis as well. And goodness knows what else.” He wiped his hands on a towel as he spoke, then rubbed sleep from his eyes. His pointed beard waggled as he talked.

The incense burning fitfully did little to disguise the smell of sickness and death or the sharp odor of disinfectant in the room.

The other children were up and crowding into the doorway. Indira and Veda cried noisily, and Preeti, head cocked to one side, sniffled. Krithi and the other little ones merely stared. Rama had no readable expression on his face. But Cook, who bullied her way into the room, looked slightly pleased, as if to say, “I told you so.”

“And the other one?” Mr. Welles asked, gesturing outside with his head.

Kamala would not let the doctor near her until Rama held her legs and I her arms. Dr. Singh examined her teeth and her throat and listened to her chest.

“Remarkable,” he said. “Remarkable,” though he did not say why. He left sulfa powder for the worms.

“I would bury the child’s body as soon as possible because of the danger of infection.

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