Laurene's Re-Write (The Boy Who Cried Wolf)

My Son Who Cried Wolf


Life here had so far been one of boring stagnation and endless repetition. Our little village was located far into the mountains, away from all the activity and bustle of the city towns and ports. Their regular trade bustle, lively festivals and foreign dignitary visits was a life so different to our where every day was much the same as the next. This life was usually hard for some of the younger ones, who, upon hearing these strange and wondrous tales from the sporadic travellers, craved such a life which we were unable to offer. All remained well however; most us folk up here preferred it, and the few who found it harder, eventually came to accept it for what it was: their reality. The slower life. The life of farming and living off the land.

Winter was soon approaching and everyone knew what that meant. The scavengers normally hiding within the trees along the mountains would have less food. It got cold up here, the winds tunnelling down between the mountains, carrying the heavy snow with them. This made wild prey, such as the mountain deer, a rarity; preferring to migrate further down the slopes to a slightly less biting climate. These scavengers would then begin to turn on our small flocks for provision for their young.

As well as a flock of sheep which we grazed just on the outskirts of town, my husband and I, along with our son, was owners of a small bakery which was namely under my own scrupulous care. During the approach of the cooler months, my husband would, along with several other men from the town, go about various tasks securing and preparing for the heavy snow. These times it gave our Michael time to care for the sheep, keeping him out from underfoot and away from mischief.

Tomorrow was the day of one of the local festivals in which we feasted on the last on the summer crops, and we start to prepare for the harsh mountain winters.

‘I’m going. Got some prep work to do for tomorrow.’ My husband stuffed the last of his gravy soaked bread into his mouth before heavily walking to the sink to drop his bowl in.
‘Alright dear,’ I murmured into the early morning silence. ‘Please tell the people at the hall that I will send someone over with some of the pastis this afternoon.’ He rumbled his assent while I bustled around the kitchen.
The sun had not yet risen, the horizon still an inky black stain through the houses. The town and it’s inhabitants, however, was already wide awake, lights visibly flickering through the gloom of the streets.
‘Where is my son? I need him to take care of the herd today while I am busy.’ He paused to tug at his jerkin.
‘Michael!’ he bellowed, his deep voice carrying through the wooden passage-ways. ‘Get down here boy, now! You have work to do.’
I stood still, listening to the thumps and crashes from upstairs, signalling his wakefulness, followed by a rapid decent downstairs.
‘Yes-… yes father. I am up. I’m here.’ He stumbled into the kitchen, pulling on his boots against the cold seeping through the floor. ‘What’s wrong?’
I turned to see my husband regarding our son with a stony face before slowing shaking his head in resignation.
‘You will take care of the herd today.’ Michael stood, aghast
‘What? Why? It’s going to be freezing out today.’ Michael quietened by the look his father shot him, though this was clearly done reluctantly.
‘You will do as you are told. It is time for you to start acting like a man and helping the family out,’ He said loudly, cutting of any protests the boy was about to voice. ‘All the other children of the village are out, helping their parents. You have had it far too easy. Now boy, follow me out back while I tell you what to do.’

I watched in silence as my husband kissed me goodbye before leading the way out the door to the paddocks, his large frame squeezing through, followed by the sulky frame of our son. I let out a small sigh. We had treated him well while he was younger. Maybe too well, allowing him to live a carefree life of a child. However, now growing into a man, he was lazy, shirking his duties to go lay about. I paused thoughtfully, before sighing again and turning back to work. Nothing to be done about the past and no one to blame but ourselves. ‘What’s done is done’ as they say. Only way is to move forward; to try work the bad habits out of him.

The morning had got slowly on, the sun having crested the surrounding hills in blazing orange glory, bathing the town in a warm sleepy glow. The folk of the town were well out now, bustling and running, doing the last frantic chores before the official start of the festival tonight.

Flowers, flags, and garlands were everywhere, brightening up the town. Children is an array of coloured outfits, carrying brightly coloured play sticks ran and played in between the legs of the adults, laughing and running at each shout of frustration and annoyance. I hummed to myself. The sights and colours and happy sounds of people had always been something I loved. Festival preparations and the excitement it induced, was the strongest gel for a community. I could not help but smile.

I am not sure what time it was when the first call took place. At first it was hardly heard over the noise and excitement of the festival. Yet slowly, shouts and cries rushed down the street like a tidal wave, crashing fear from one person to the next. The exact cry I was not sure of, yet one thing I knew for certain, was that ‘wolf’ was certainly the subject. My heart turned to ice and I clumsily ran to the door. I wanted to help – needed to. My boy was out there and for all I knew, it was his desperate plea for help being spread like wildfire. And our stock! All of us would not get through this winter if the raids were starting so early already and with no proper protection to keep the wolves at bay. It was possible that it was stock from one of the other farmers, their children more adept at herding and protection than ours. I clung to that bit of hope.

However, when I saw the look on my husband’s face as him and the men from town raced from it, I knew it was my worst fear. Our stock. My boy. I wanted to run. Scream. Anything to help. Yet what could I, a woman, do against these beasts? I had seen the damage they had done to one of the older men of the village a few winters back. A pack of the animals had unexpectedly come down from the slopes late one winter, desperate for food. If it wasn’t for the other men from the village, he would have been torn to shreds in mere minutes.

The women of the village ran here in there, and stood in clusters, whispering and frightened to one another. We had to wait for the men to return to get any news.
We did not have to wait long however. Only a handful of minutes had passed since the call when the first shout of relief came. It must have been an easy victory, a stray runt, if their return was this swift. I swelled with relief and pride. I searched for my husband for reassurance.

That, however, was not what I got when I found him. He was further down in the group of men returning, but from the looks being shot towards our house, and the drawn together brows, my heart sank a little again. My desperation increased. Where was my husband? When I finally saw him, no words were spoken. None were needed. The drawn-out look he gave said it all. Disappointment. Frustration. Anger. Our son had tricked us. Frightened the village for nothing, out of pure spite.

I rocked back on my heels and sat down heavily. How could he? Did he not know the impact of his words? Especially now, so close to winter? Embarrassment filled me to the rim, yet the luxury of hiding away in the house was not offered. A lot of work still needed to be done for tomorrow, and regular customers too were wanting their daily provisions. I stood and continued working. In silence.

It was past mid-day before I managed to find time to prepare lunch for Michael and send it up to him with one of the village children. I gave her a sweet roll as payment as she happily danced off up the road. My package would not have been so easily delivered if the bearer was older. The odd person who approached my store had treated me cordially, yet without any of the usual friendliness. I bowed my head in shame again. When he came home, words would need to be exchanged.

I wondered what could have gone wrong to make him so. When he was younger, he had been carefree and jovial, yet was always attentive and helpful when asked. I had taught him how to bake, and oft times had him help me when a large order was placed. At times he would go with his father, watching and helping when they re-built a shed, or re-thatch a roof. He had been at the black-smiths for days one year, watching as they re-shoed a horse, made heads for arrows and other weapons, and once even help design a new catch for a gift-horse’s new bridle.

I saw the little girl run back down to the village, and parade her spoils in front of the other children before running off to eat it in safety. I allowed myself a small smile. How things change.

I turned into the house before a shout hailed me back. I was not sure how word had spread again, but the atmosphere was back. I knew without having to listen what that meant. Wolves. My blood ran cold, as much for the safety of my flock and son, as for the genuine hope that this call was not just another prank. The first call had already affected the mood of the festival, overlaying the joy with an edge that was not normally present.

The men ran past the store, up the road once more. This time I managed to lock eyes with my husband before he passed. Let it not be the same as before. We both knew the implications. Our families had been long-time residents of this town. He had become respected, and were oft times sought out for advice or help. By no means were we in charge of the town, my husband being too earthy for such a highly regarded role, but none the less, we held weight. And with that came responsibility. Something which our son was definitely abusing. I was not entirely ignorant of the fact that all he had wanted was to be free. Out from under the control of his parents. All I had seen him get passionate about in the last few years had been his supposed future down by the docks of the sea-side towns. We refrained from entertaining his flight-of-fancy thoughts as we considered what he clearly overlooked. Where would he stay? Where would he work? What would he do? So we had kept our hold on him, determined to keep him safe. That, however, was not how he saw it.

Once again the wait was not long. And once again I knew what that meant. This time my husband was one of the first to return, and instead of walking past, he strode right to the door, came in and shut it firmly behind him. Open glances of disgust and hostility was being thrown our way, one or two looks being that of pity. I could hardly breathe. I stood looking at my husband as he leaned against the wall, his head cocked back. There was nothing to say. The day was nearing its end, so there was no use in getting a replacement for our son with only a few hours to go. We knew what everyone else in town was thinking: ignore any more cries. The risk associated with such action was high, but after the trouble he had already caused, we could not afford to react to his pranks again.

We could not have stayed hidden forever, despite what we felt, so eventually we emerged from the house to carry on with our tasks with sombre faces. The change in attitude of the town folk were distinctly more noticeable this time around. All pretence of politeness in some, had completely vanished. Open frowns graced their faces and the words they spoke were curt and to the point. No more leisurely chats or friendly greetings for a while. What made things harder was the festival tomorrow. How were the people going to behave on such an occasion? Make them forgive? Put it aside for merely a day? Or continue on with this through the entire thing? It pained me to even consider the last of the three, but it was a possibility. Sighing, I turned back from the counter into the kitchen. I might as well start on a batch of sweet rolls for tomorrow as an apology gift for the people.
The sun was well on its decent when the mutterings started. At first I did not hear, or maybe I was simply not paying attention anymore, but the angry glances being shot my way could not be ignored for long. What shocked me most however, was when one of the folk, a lady who I had known well for years, came up to buy her supply of bread for the day. In place of a farewell, she had turned sharply as she walked away and snapped with a venom laced tone: “Keep that child of yours under control! Here now again he is screaming and shouting like a lunatic.” As she walked away, I stood struck dumb. I was unsure of how long my son had been shouting, but the town’s general lack of activity stung, even though I had known it was to be so.

I ran out the door, not bothering to lock up and raced down the street. I would find my husband and get him, at least, to just go check.
Children and people scattered before, angry shouts followed behind. I paid attention to neither, focussing purely on my destination. I finally found him, working in silence with a group of men at the other end of town, erecting the festivity tents for tomorrow. He looked up amid the sound of my approach and frowned in puzzlement. I did not wait for him to talk before grabbing his hand and pulling him aside.

“The towns folk say he is crying wolf again.” His face darkened as she shot a look toward the field.
“Let him cry.”
“Husband.”
“No. He has brought this upon himself. No one is going to entertain his childish behaviour any longer. He can cry himself hoarse for all I care.” He turned to leave, but my hand gripped his harder.
“Husband. Please. At least just check. Go yourself, or take one more man. You do not need to rally the entire town. But for my peace of mind then, if not for his behaviour, go check.” I begged him, clasping his hand fiercely. He stood to regard me for a few second. I was sure he would pull away and ignore my plea, but I held fast. Eventually he sighed, before giving a brief nod.
“I will go when we are done. I will grab one of the older folk to walk with me.” It was not entirely a satisfactory answer for my liking, but after everything, it was better than I could have expected. I turned to head back to the store. The sweet buns should be around ready to come out.

The sun was nearly hidden behind the mountains before I saw my husband walk past. Michael should have been home ages ago. I was on the verge of frantic when I saw them walk by. I wanted to call out, to say something to him as he went. But what was there to say? So I sat. And waited. The minutes stretched by longer and longer, my fear growing with each second. Why were they taking so long? If it was just another game, they would have all been back by now.

It was well after dark when I finally saw three figures emerging from the dark down the street. I could not contain myself as I ran down the street to meet them. My husband led the way looking stony. I was sure I would hear all about it once we reached the house. Michael followed, with the arm of the old man around his shoulders, weeping into his hands. I shot my husband a shocked stare before starting forward. I thanked the man before pulling my son into my arms and helping him down the street.

The only words spoken, was broken words of ‘real’ and ‘no one came’ between sobs. That was all that was needed for me to understand. I met the eyes of my husband as we walked into the house. Maybe sending him to the coast was not the worst idea.
I sat him down on a bench before shutting the doors and pulling the curtains. I had a feeling that tonight was going to be a long night.