The Boy on the Porch Read Online Free

tapping
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  TAP-tap TAP-tap .
    â€œHe’s talking all day long, John!”
    Gradually, they imitated his taps, so that they greeted him the way he greeted them, and they began and ended meals the way he did. The first few times, the boy reacted with his silent laugh, his shoulders bobbing up and down. But when he tapped more earnestly at other times, they did not know how to respond, and the boy seemed disappointed. They might guess what he was asking or saying, but they couldn’t merely repeat the same taps in reply.
    â€œIf we teach the boy to read and write, Marta, that will solve everything, won’t it? He can write down what he wants to say.”
    Marta wasn’t completely convinced that the boy was unable to talk. She still wondered if he just was not ready to talk to them, or if he needed to recover from some horrible experience. Maybe he simply needed time. Always, too, at the back of her mind was the worry that the closer they came to know the boy and the more they loved him, the harder it would be to let him go.

15

    O n John’s weekly trips into town for supplies, he wondered if he would discover that someone had reported a missing boy or that people were inquiring about how to find John and Marta’s place. John could not understand why Jacob’s family had not returned yet.
    John had mentioned the boy and asked around, but no one had heard of the boy, or seemed the least bit interested, or even remembered from one week to the next that John had asked about him.
    How can that be ? he wondered. How can there be a boy nobody knows about or cares about ?
    One day on his visit to the general store, as John was buying more jelly beans, Shep said, “Your wife got a sudden sweet tooth?”
    â€œWhat? Oh, the candy. Ha-ha.”
    â€œThought maybe you had a kid up there. Vernie says he thought he saw a kid riding a cow up at your place when he drove by t’other day.”
    â€œA kid—oh, sure, the one I mentioned. We’re watching a kid.”
    â€œThat right?” Shep said.
    â€œYep. Yep. Watching that kid for somebody, and that kid likes to ride cows. Imagine that.”
    On the far side of the store were shelves that carried used items. You might find bowls or pots or twine or rulers or bent spoons on those shelves. As John turned to go, he saw an old guitar on the floor, propped up against the shelves.
    â€œAre you playing that or selling it?” John asked.
    â€œThe gitt-ur? That old thing? Naw, somebody left it here in trade for a couple of pots. You interested? I’ll trade it to you for that jacket you’re wearin’.”
    As John drove home, he could hardly contain himself.
    Wait till the boy sees this guitar! I can hardly wait to see that face of his!

16

    W hen John presented the guitar to Jacob, the boy took a step backward, placing his hands against his chest. He looked from John to Marta to the guitar.
    â€œFor you,” John said.
    The boy took another step backward.
    â€œIt’s a present,” Marta said. “For you.”
    â€œIt’s a guitar,” John added. “Have you never seen a guitar?”
    â€œIt makes music,” Marta said. “Listen. Show him, John.”
    â€œHaven’t played one in a while,” John said. He fingered a few chords, strumming a simple tune.
    The boy reached out to touch the instrument.
    â€œYou hold it like this,” John said, placing the guitar in the boy’s arms. “Here, try this chord. Your fingers like this, that’s right, and this hand, that’s right, and then you can switch to this . . .”
    And that was the only instruction he gave the boy, for once it was in his arms, the boy’s fingers moved along the strings, slowly and tentatively at first, and then with more eagerness, and then he sat with it for hours, exploring its possibilities, and by nightfall he was already making