The Wild Book Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraphs

  The Cuban Countryisde 1912

  Word-Blindness

  School

  Homework

  Frog Fear

  Homework Fear

  Word Towers

  Tiny Triumphs

  Lonely Fear

  Slow Down

  Danger

  The Danger Chain

  Warnings

  Worries

  I Do Try!

  A Dreaded gift

  Imagining

  Wishing

  Questioning

  Bird-pepole

  Insults

  Schoolbooks

  Wildflowers

  Celebrations

  Word Hunger

  Word Freedom

  The ugly poem

  Fragrant Chores

  Gardens of Thought

  Guessing

  Strolling

  Towers of Hope

  Growing Up

  Ugliness

  Trouble

  Uncertainly

  Beastly

  Scribbling

  Patience

  The Hope Bug

  Before the Hunt

  The Poetry Duel

  Fly to the Truth of Dreams

  Rum and Bullets

  Waiting

  Discovering My Voice

  Ready to Heal

  Strange Cures

  Reading Out Loud

  Fear-Chained

  Wondering

  Just One

  More Practice

  More and More Poetry

  The Secret Language of Children

  Never Give Up

  Hideous

  Danger Grows

  Sleepless

  A Laughter Gift

  Daily Music

  Dance-Smart

  Still Struggling

  Stroytelling

  One Strand at a Time

  The Beach in August

  The Beach at Noon

  The Beach at Night

  Storm

  Home

  Awake All Night

  Reading Wildly

  Ghostly

  Doomed

  Thorns

  Flying

  Justice

  Blank

  Surprises

  Inside the Tower of Fear

  Magic

  Courage

  Author's Note

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2012 by Margarita Engle

  All rights reserved. For information about permission to

  reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions,

  Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company,

  215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

  Harcourt is an imprint of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company.

  www.hmhbooks.com

  Text set in 12-point Lomba

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Engle, Margarita.

  The wild book / Margarita Engle.

  p. cm.

  Summary: In early twentieth-century Cuba, bandits terrorize the

  countryside as a young farm girl struggles with dyslexia. Based on the life

  of the author's grandmother.

  ISBN 978-0-547-58131-6

  [1. Novels in verse. 2. Dyslexia Fiction. 3. Cuba History 1909 1933

  Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.5.E54Wi 2012

  [Fic] dc23

  2011027320

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  DOC 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  4500343962

  For young readers

  who dread reading

  and for those

  who love blank books

  Mis ojos miraban en hora de ensueños la página blanca.

  Y vino el desfile de ensueños y sombras.

  In the hour of daydreams my eyes watched the blank page.

  And there came a parade of dreams and shadows.

  —Rubén Darío,

  from "La Página Blanca" ("The Blank Page")

  The Cuban Countryisde 1912

  Word-Blindness

  Word-blindness

  The doctor hisses it

  like a curse.

  Word-blindness,

  he repeats—some children

  can see everything

  except words.

  They are only blind

  on paper.

  Fefa will never be able

  to read, or write,

  or be happy

  in school.

  Word-blindness.

  It sounds like an evil wizard's

  prophecy, dangerous

  and dreadful,

  but Mamá does not listen

  to the serpent voice

  of the hissing doctor.

  She climbs in the wagon,

  clucks to the horse,

  and carries us home

  to our beautiful green farm,

  where she tells me to follow

  the good example of Santa Mónica,

  patron saint of patience.

  Word-blindness,

  Mamá murmurs

  with a suffering sigh—who

  ever heard of such an impossible

  burden?

  She refuses to accept

  the hissing doctor's verdict.

  Seeds of learning grow slowly,

  she assures me.

  Then she lights a tall,

  slender candle,

  and gives me

  a book.

  I grow anxious.

  I pretend that my eyes hurt.

  I pretend that my head hurts,

  and pretty soon

  it is true.

  I know that the words

  want to trick me.

  The letters will jumble

  and spill off the page,

  leaping and hopping,

  jumping far away,

  like slimy

  bullfrogs.

  Think of this little book

  as a garden,

  Mamá suggests.

  She says it so calmly

  that I promise I will try.

  Throw wildflower seeds

  all over each page, she advises.

  Let the words sprout

  like seedlings,

  then relax and watch

  as your wild diary

  grows.

  I open the book.

  Word-blindness.

  The pages are white!

  Is this really a blank diary,

  or just an ordinary

  schoolbook

  filled with frog-slippery

  tricky letters

  that know how to leap

  and escape?

  School

  The others laugh.

  They always laugh.

  When I am forced to read

  OUT LOUD,

  they mock

  my stumbling voice,

  and when I have to practice

  my horrible

  handwriting,

  they make fun

  of the twisted

  tilted

  ormented

  letters.

  My fingers fall away

  from the page.

  I lose the courage

  to try.

  Homework

  I struggle to write

  in my blank book,

  my wild diary,

  just a little bit

  each evening

  by candlelight.

  It is almost impossible

  to practice patiently!
r />   I hate hate hate

  this deep dread

  of slippery

  vanishing words

  that make me feel

  so lonely.

  Frog Fear

  My little brothers love

  to frighten me

  by hiding lizards,

  bugs, and spiders

  in my bloomers.

  Today it's a frog,

  but they tell me it's a snake,

  so I scream and tremble

  until I can clearly see

  that the little creature

  jumps around

  like jittery letters

  on a blinding

  9 page.

  The skin of a frog

  feels just as slippery

  and tricky as a wild

  inky word.

  Homework Fear

  The teacher at school

  smiles, but she's too busy

  to give me extra help,

  so later, at home,

  Mamá tries to teach me.

  She reminds me

  to go oh-so-slowly

  and take my time.

  There is no hurry.

  The heavy book

  will not rise up

  and fly away.

  When I scramble the sneaky letters

  b and d, or the even trickier ones

  r and l, Mamá helps me learn

  how to picture

  the sep—a—rate

  parts

  of each mys—te—ri—ous

  syl—la—ble.

  Still, it's not easy

  to go so

  ss—ll—oo—ww—ll—yy.

  Slowly.

  SLOWLY!

  I have to keep

  warning myself

  over and over

  that whenever I try

  to read too quickly,

  my clumsy patience

  flips over

  and tumbles,

  then falls...

  Why?

  Wwhhyyyy?

  WHY?

  ¡Ay!

  Word Towers

  Listen listen listen.

  I have to learn how to listen!

  Please, God, help me hear

  all the mysterious sounds

  of each wild word.

  I watch Mamá as she cradles

  a book of poems,

  holding it like a baby,

  with love, instead of fear.

  How can reading look

  so easy, and feel

  so impossible?

  The long poems

  look like towers so tall

  that I could never

  hope

  to climb

  all the wispy

  letters.

  Words seem to float

  and drift, changing

  their strange shapes,

  like storm clouds,

  always ready

  to explode.

  Tiny Triumphs

  I try to slow down

  and really see

  the little parts

  that I can hear,

  all those

  scattered

  bits

  of ti—ny

  words.

  Will my mind

  ever be ti—dy?

  Will my wild book

  ever seem

  tame?

  Lonely Fear

  My big sisters go out riding

  fast horses in adventurous places,

  even though we should all

  be at home, doing our chores.

  They don't let me go with them.

  They say they plan

  to explore an eerie tower

  on an old sugar plantation

  where ghostly legends

  moan and lurk.

  Fefa, they tease,

  you cannot see—

  how can you climb

  the steep steps?

  You would fall!

  Left behind,

  I feel so abandoned,

  so ashamed.

  Slow Down

  I open my blank book

  and begin to create

  my own fairy-tale world

  of dreamlike

  words.

  I can see the tall

  columns of letters

  just as long

  as I only stare

  at one little

  part

  of

  each

  word

  at

  a

  time.

  Danger

  Life changes overnight.

  Word-blindness

  suddenly feels

  like the least

  of my troubles.

  Papá gathers us

  all around him

  and delivers

  a terrible warning.

  No more wandering.

  No exploring.

  Our whole family

  is in danger!

  Why?

  ¡Ay!

  Why?

  The Danger Chain

  Papá explains that when he

  and Mamá were young,

  armies roamed, and farms

  were destroyed by the flames

  of war, and innocent families

  were herded like cattle,

  into camps called leco...

  My mind fumbles.

  I fail to picture

  the frightful word...

  A camp of leconcent...

  I stop, take a breath,

  and think again slowly,

  this time in syllables,

  starting with r,

  not l ...

  Re—con—cen—tra—ción.

  A reconcentration camp.

  The tongue-twisting word

  finally makes sense.

  It was a horrible place

  where my poor parents

  were fenced in and trapped

  during the war years.

  Now, Pap¡ explains,

  rebellions and chaos

  have returned.

  Danger roams again,

  but this time

  the wild men

  are not soldiers,

  just greedy bandits

  who kidnap children

  and demand

  ransom money.

  The wild bandits

  were children

  during the war years.

  They suffered the cruelty

  of soldiers.

  They learned

  how to be cruel.

  Danger is a chain,

  Papa tells us sadly,

  a chain passed from one

  wounded child to the next.

  We must stop the danger

  by breaking the chain.

  We must learn how

  to stay safe

  and be kind.

  Warnings

  Be careful, our parents warn us.

  Stay away from strangers,

  and watch out for kidnappers,

  especially the famous ones

  like Alvarez and Tolis.

  They have already stolen

  many children.

  All these warnings make me cringe

  with dread, but the worst one

  is the last one, a dire warning

  about ransom...

  If someone hands me a note,

  will I see clearly enough

  to read the tricky difference

  between friendly words

  and a deadly

  threat?

  Worries

  Adjusting to the daily

  presence of danger

  is a challenge my older

  brothers meet

  with excitement.

  They speak of guns,

  knives, and fists.

  All I can think of

  is learning how

  to read

  terrifying

  ransom notes.

  I Do Try!

  I obey t
he new warnings,

  along with all our old

  family rules.

  I am careful, and I work hard

  at my chores, tending babies,

  drawing water from the well,

  plucking beetles out of the beans,

  eating carrots for my eyesight,

  and picking the smiling faces

  of pansies—pensamiento flowers,

  which are supposed to bring joy

  to my thoughts.

  I flavor the rice

  with fragrant saffron,

  and plant longevity flowers

  for long life, and pick

  the sweet pods

  of a candy tree.

  I help herd cows,

  brush horses,

  and feed chickens.

  The only chore I never

  finish is reading

  OUT LOUD

  to my big sisters,

  who laugh

  and call me lazy.

  I hate hate hate it

  when they assume

  that I do not

  really try.

  A Dreaded gift

  On my eleventh Saint's Day

  there is candy, coffee, and storytelling,

  with everyone interrupting

  to ask questions.

  There are candles, paper flowers,

  and games where the losers

  have to do silly things.

  I receive a gift that I truly dread,