The boy jerked about and then made a sound I will never forget. It was like the sound a whale makes when harpooned and knows it is about to die. I fired all four of my arrows at the two bullies as they ran away laughing.
I helped the boy home. His sister told me he was deaf but not dumb, and very smart, though he could neither speak nor hear. I insisted he had made a sound when kicked. She said that was impossible, as his vocal cords had been removed in a failed experimental surgery.
As I was about to leave, the boy made a hand sign. I asked his sister why he did such things with his hands if he was so smart. She told me he was saying he loved me with his hands. I said nothing, not believing her. People can't talk with their hands.
For the next year or two, almost every summer Sunday, I would see him through the chain-link fence as we ate watermelon. He always made that same hand sign, and I would just wave back.
On my last day at the orphanage, I was being chased by police to be sent to reform school. As I tried to climb the fence to escape, they pulled me down and handcuffed me. I saw the deaf boy, now about twelve, watching from his porch. He jumped up, ran across the road, placed his fingers through the fence, and stood there looking at us.