Wild Things

by Clay Carmichael

  I wondered if he’d be a picker for the rest of his life. Move from backwater to backwater. Never learn to read or write. Never know who or what he was. Not that there was anything wrong with picking soybeans or strawberries. But I couldn’t help but wonder what, if given the knowledge and the chance, he might do with his life. Never knowing—to me, that was the worst loss of all.

  I must have been tired, because that was the last thing I thought before I fell asleep. One minute I was sitting with everybody in front of the fire, and the next thing I was waking up to find my head in Henry’s lap and Henry drawing on my cast, sketching a picture of Mr. C.

  “Is everybody gone?” I said.

  Henry nodded. “The snow’s getting deep. It’s just the three of us now,” he said, nodding at the far edge of the hearth rug where Mr. C’mere lay fast asleep.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said, and his tail swished.

  Then suddenly it hit me. It must’ve been Henry’s drawing of Mr. C that did it. I sat bolt upright, wide awake. I got up like I’d been shot out of a cannon, sending poor Mr. C bolting out his little door. I raced up the stairs to my room.

  “Are you all right?” Henry called from the foot of the stairs.

  “I got to see something,” I hollered back, and started searching. I was a human tornado. I jerked open drawers, pulled the sheets and covers off my bed, the pillows off the window seat, the books off the bookshelves, trying to remember the last time I’d seen it. If it was still here, it was somewhere in this room. If it was gone, there was only one reason.

  I searched every inch of the closet and shimmied under the bed with the dust bunnies, Henry all the while calling from the bottom of the stairs, “Zoë! What’s wrong? What in God’s name!”

  “I’m looking for something!” I shouted.

  “Do you want me to help you find it?”

  “I don’t want to find it!”

  “What on earth?”

  “Never mind!”

  I looked everywhere in that room, not finding it anywhere. I knew it was the one thing Wil had taken with him, though he’d left everything else—his whole life—behind him.

  I took the banister, sliding straight into Henry’s arms. “He took the book! He took the book!”

  “Who are you talking about?” Henry said. “What book?”

  “Wil,” I said, as though it was as obvious as red paint on a barn. “The book about the Japanese boy. The one who drew cats. It’s the one thing he took. A book he can’t even read.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Don’t you see, Uncle Henry?” I blurted, smiling. “He knows.”

  “Knows?”

  “He knows he’s one of us.”

  Henry stopped looking at me like I was touched in the head. He saw at once what I was saying. He smiled and nodded and carried me back into the front room, where we restoked the fire, and where Mr. C—persuaded by the deepening snow and a plate of Maud’s tuna casserole—soon rejoined us. And I told them the story of the boy who listened at closet doors. The boy who’d lived by his own uncommon lights. The boy who loved wild things. Stories I suspected they already knew.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This story first strayed into my life on four white pink-padded paws.

  A big, wild, mustachioed black-and-white cat lumbered into my yard and heart more than two decades ago and became my shadow and soul mate for ten extraordinary years. He and I were pals like Lassie and Timmy or Rascal and Sterling North. Our years together included a genuine miracle, and maybe I’ll get to write that story one day. Until then, I hope this book begins to thank Mr. C’mere for all he gave me.

  My sculptor-husband, Mike Roig, was my muse, reader, goad, fierce defender, and boon companion during this book’s journey. I thank him for making me persevere and stand up for my story with Zoë’s ferocity and toughness, and for filling the house with love and flowers on discouraging days.

  I thank other first readers Luli Gray, Peter Guzzardi, Jane Harwell, Vicki Smith, and Frances Wood, and copy editor Katarina Rice.

  My final thanks go to my editor, Joy Neaves, who shepherded, nurtured, and encouraged this book for nearly five years. Joy, Helen Robinson, and Nancy Hogan, thank you for the work and heart you put into making Wild Things beautiful and possible.

  —Clay Carmichael

  QUESTIONS FOR MORE THOUGHT ABOUT THE STORY

  Some readers tell me they wish to think, talk, and/or journal more deeply about the characters and subjects in Wild Things. I offer the questions below as a starting point. Some are from readers, teachers, or librarians; others are questions I’ve wondered on or continue to wonder about myself. Feel free to add and wonder on questions of your own. —Clay Carmichael

  Why do you think the book is called Wild Things?

  What does wildness mean to each of the characters in the book? To you? Is wildness a good thing, and if so, in what ways? Can wildness be dangerous, harmful, or lonely? Is tameness better? Why or why not? Can too much tameness hurt people and animals too?

  What role does anger have in the book? We usually think of anger as a negative emotion. Do Zoë’s anger and fierceness help her in some ways? Is fierceness sometimes necessary? When? Does anger hurt Zoë and Henry in some ways? How? How have anger or fierceness hurt or helped you? Have you ever had to stand up for something you believed in? What happened?

  Zoë and the wild cat have lived hard lives. They find it hard to trust, because no one so far has earned their trust. Is learning to trust important for them? Is trusting important or necessary to you? Has a wild or stray animal ever learned to trust you or someone you know?

  When do you think Zoë starts to trust Henry? Why does she decide to trust him at that moment? Does her new trust affect anything that happens afterwards? Have you ever trusted someone who then betrayed you? Have you ever distrusted someone and later changed your mind?

  At one point, Zoë thinks, “The minute you talked about something, you risked losing it” (p. 113). What does this statement mean to you?

  Helen, Henry’s artist-friend from New York, says her spirit would die if she couldn’t paint (p. 145). What in your life is so important to you that your spirit would die if you couldn’t do it? Is there something you feel you were born to do? What is it that you’re most passionate about?

  Henry stands between the hunter and the white deer to protect Zoë (pp. 155–156). Who in your life would you choose to stand up for in the face of danger? Why did you choose this individual?

  On Thanksgiving, Bessie convinces the group gathered at Henry’s house to take in Harlan. Do you think she was right to do this? Have you ever had to persuade a person or group to do a good deed for someone else? What happened?

  Does Zoë see Harlan the same way at the end of the story as she saw him at the beginning? Have you ever given anyone a second chance? Has anyone ever given you a second chance?

  Henry and Zoë both had mothers with similar problems. How else are Henry and Zoë alike? How are they different? If you had to say where they might be and what they might be doing four or five years after the story ends, where do you think they’d be living and what would they be doing?

  In Chapter 16, Zoë and Henry make a sculpture together using Zoë’s mother’s old things. Zoë calls it “a one-of-a-kind, one-hundred-percent-guaranteed combination universal craziness deflector luck magnet and wild thing,” to which Henry adds, “Otherwise known as a work of art” (p. 197). How does art help the characters in the book, especially Henry and Zoë? Do you think art helped Henry when he was Zoë’s age? Do you think Zoë might become a writer or an artist like Henry?

  What do you think happens to Wil after the story ends? Do you think he’ll ever see Zoë and Henry again? If no, why not? If yes, how do you think this will happen? What might they say to each other?

  What about Hargrove? At the end of the book he shows an obvious interest in Henry’s sculpture. Do you think he might become an artist one day? Why or why not? Why do you think he sta
rts off angry at Zoë?

  What do you think would be Zoë’s definition of a family? What is yours? Do families have to be blood-related to each other? Is there a family you are born into and another family you can make for yourself? Do families have to be composed of people, or can animals be part of families too?

  Zoë says that animals’ love is purer than people’s (p. 22). What does she mean by this? Do you think that’s true? Have you ever experienced this purer love yourself?

  “Miss Avery said that I was to study all the sculptures Henry was making for his show and find one piece that reached deep down inside me, tugged at my heart, or spoke my name” (pp. 187–188). The names of many well-known artists—most sculptors like Henry—are listed at the bottom of page 34. How many of them do you recognize? Pick two or three of these artists, choosing at least one you don’t know, and look up their work in the library or on the Internet. Does any of the artwork tug at your heart or speak your name? Might looking at or living with art change the way you think about or look at things? How?

  For more information about Clay Carmichael and Wild Things, visit claycarmichael.com.

  Author-illustrator CLAY CARMICHAEL’S award-winning books for children have been translated into many languages. She teaches writing and illustrating and lives in Carrboro, North Carolina.

  boydsmillspress.com

  Stay Connected with Highlights!