Joko (15 page)

While he and the first mate engaged in small talk, Johnny studied the charts hanging on the wall. On the largest of them, Vancouver Island loomed at the top left of the page. A red line traced a southerly course, past Vancouver, then down to the San Juan Islands. There the ship would take either of two routes, one to the east and the other to the west of the islands.

Johnny asked about their course, and the mate told him they’d be stopping briefly to drop off some machinery at a small port called Dungeness near the mouth of Puget Sound.

He pointed to the map Johnny was studying. “It’s not a regular stop,” he added. “Usually our first is Frisco.”

Johnny knew then that Dungeness would be their last opportunity to escape. Near there, the Olympic River flowed into Puget Sound. To the south were Washington State’s Mount Olympus and the Olympic rainforest. As he studied the m ap, he could see if they jumped ship there it would still put them a long distance from home. But San Francisco would be too far away to return to Yale without help.

The mate told Johnny that Dungeness was near Indian territory, mostly fishing and whaling villages all the way down to Fort Henry at Port Townsend. He remarked that he preferred the fish here to those back in New England where he had lived. “I’ve come to like the northwest,” he said.

“Maybe I’ll move here one day.”

Johnny smiled. “Yeah, everybody likes the Chinook salmon, but me and my aunt like steelheads when we can get

’em.” Johnny glanced at the map again. “So you say we’re going to make a stop in Dungeness? I’ve never heard of the place.”

Boswell nodded as he checked the compass and adjusted the wheel. Somewhere off in the night a foghorn sounded.

“We have to be careful through the next hundred miles. The captain should be back soon. He likes to pilot the San Juans himself. Foggy sometimes.”

“Dungeness,” he said, recalling Johnny’s query. “Yes. A quick stop. Droppin’ some cargo. A dinghy will probably meet us.”

A few minutes later, when Costerson and the captain returned to the bridge, the captain appeared shaken. Despite the cool air he was wiping his brow with a handkerchief.

Johnny immediately suspected that Costerson had shown Jocko to the captain.

“Well, Johnny,” said Costerson. “I wondered where you were.”

“Here the whole time you were gone, keepin’ us company,” said the mate.

Without comment, the captain took the wheel and looked out the window into the darkness. Finally the mate told the captain they would be in the San Juans before too long. The captain nodded. “Thank you, Charles.”

Little was said after that, and Johnny and Costerson soon left the bridge. “It’s been a long day,” said the agent. “Your cabin is right next to mine just down these stairs. They put our bags in the rooms.”

“That’s where you went?” asked Johnny.

“He showed me our cabins and then got to asking me about the bear. What kind it was and all.” Costerson paused to reflect. For the first time since Johnny had known him, Costerson seemed to have difficulty with his words.

“And –” Johnny urged Costerson to continue.

“Hell, Johnny, I knew the captain would see Jocko sooner or later, secret or no, so I just decided to show him.”

“And what did he think?”

“Didn’t say much,” answered the agent. “Just stared at him for a while, then closed the door himself. I don’t know what he thought. I expected questions, but …”

“What did Jocko do?” asked Johnny.

“Just stood there in his cage staring at us,” said

Costerson. “Sounded like he said something that sounded like your name.” Costerson laughed. “Damned if it didn’t. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was tryin’ to talk.”

They arrived at their cabins, and Costerson took two keys from his pocket and handed one to Johnny. “Here’s yours.”

“I better check on him,” said Johnny. “Jocko’s better off when he has company. Now that we’re on the ship I hope you’ll let me see him more. I don’t know why you didn’t let me see him before, on the train.”

“Two reasons,” answered Costerson. “Security and secrecy. For all I knew, you might spring him and run off.

Also, I didn’t want to call attention to the box car.” He looked at Johnny seriously. “Collins and I agreed that train travel is risky; lots of possibilities for exposure. Barnum wants to introduce Jocko himself, and he doesn’t want any nosy reporters spilling the beans. That’s why we’re on this ship.”

Johnny nodded. “Okay. Now that we’re on the ship, can I go and see Jocko or not?”

Costerson shrugged and reached in his vest pocket, pulling out two keys. He gave one to Johnny. “I don’t see a problem. Suit yourself. But if you’re getting ideas, this ship doesn’t make port until we get to San Francisco.” Costerson unlocked his stateroom door and went inside.

Johnny had to restrain himself from running. He unlocked his cabin and saw a pitcher of water next to a washbasin.

Without even examining the room, he took the pitcher and a lantern and hurried back to the hold, trying not to spill any water. A few moments later, holding his breath, Johnny slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Finally he was looking into the friendly face of Jocko. He closed the door behind him.

Jocko was seated in the cage with his legs folded beneath him. A bag of lettuce and a bag of carrots lay strewn at his feet. Johnny held out the pitcher of water to Jocko. The sasquatch took it in one hand and touched Johnny’s arm with the other.

Johnny winced. The sasquatch was more frightened than he appeared. Jocko’s sensitivities had detected more about his surroundings than Johnny had imagined: the thrumming of the engines, the water being pushed aside by the steel hull, even the shushing of barnacles in the moving current. Jocko had heard the sound of sea animals for the first time: whales

– beluga, killer, and right; the shrill calls and clicks of dolphin; the yelp of salmon and the chatter of clouds of mackerel finding their way to their feeding grounds at the mouth of the river.

To Jocko the ship was in an alien universe full of strange sounds and stranger odors. He knew streams, ponds, and lakes, even large lakes, but he had no knowledge of the ocean or its creatures. To him and his kin, the world simply stopped at the sea. Its salt water and rocky shores were dangerous places best left to the Indians. Now the sea and its creatures were being introduced to Jocko through sounds he could hear and vibrations he could feel through his bare feet.

In spite of his confusion, Jocko was also elated to see a familiar face; one he now counted as family. He smiled as broadly as he could and said: “Joooonneeeee!”

Now, for the first time since they had known each other, they were like brothers, united in a common purpose. As the images and information flowed between them, Johnny began to realize that they also shared a destiny. He used his key to open the cage. “We’re getting off this barge in a few hours, Jocko. I know a place we can go.” He touched Jocko’s shoulder and explained as best he could what he knew about the ocean. He spoke of fish and fishermen, of Indians and whales, of the great Puget Sound so famous for its whaling ports, of the great nation called the United States that stretched far to the South and East, of the fact that when they got off the ship they would be in another country. There, he told Jocko, they would live in the forest, and Jocko could show him, teach him, all the sasquatch secrets.

When Johnny finished, Jocko was looking at him blankly.

Some of it had gotten through. The images and the feelings, certainly. But most of what Johnny had said him was meaningless, because Jocko had no reference to draw on for his understanding. He’d never seen the ocean, nor been aboard a ship. He didn’t know about Indians, let alone nations and continents. These were concepts known only to Johnny.

But what Jocko needed to understand had been made clear. They were getting off the ship and they would be together in the forest, like family. Like brothers
.

“You’re doing great,” said Johnny. “Don’t be afraid.” He patted the sasquatch on the back as he drank his fill from the tin pitcher Johnny had given him.

Jocko handed the pitcher back to Johnny and emerged hesitantly from the cage. Johnny put his hand on Jocko’s shoulder. “Remember what I told you. I’ll come and get you when it’s time, then we’ll get away. Listen for me,” he implored. “Listen real hard, in here.” Johnny tapped his finger on Jocko’s head. “In here,” he repeated.

Jocko gave Johnny a curious look. After a few more minutes Johnny left the hold, not really sure if Jocko had understood. He walked slowly back to his berth pondering their situation. “Please, God,” he whispered. “Please don’t let me sleep through this one, too.”

When Johnny got to his accommodation he heard the ship’s bell ring ten times. “Ten o’clock,” he said. “I can sleep for six hours. By 4:00 a.m. the ship will be stopping at Dungeness.”

He lay on the cot and stared at the gaslight flickering on the faded green striped wallpaper. He sniffed the musty air and thought of Jocko. “Poor guy,” he said, and closed his eyes.

That night Johnny dreamed. He felt he was part of the ship; his fingers glued to the hull, his eyes everywhere; his skin steel and water, rushing water.

Puget Sound loomed around him in three layers; ocean, surface and sky. To the southwest the white -topped silhouette of Mount Olympus rose up and confronted him. Deep, cloud blue, and sullen, watching him like a great living thing, part mother, part father, part beast, waiting, watching on the horizon.

Johnny swam past seaweed, rocks and schools of fish.

He lifted and moved above the water like a water bird seeking a place to land. But he did not land, but drifted above the dark water, soaring ahead of the ship as he headed toward Puget Sound.

A sound. It began as a whisper among many voices in his dream. Then it grew to a shrill call; a scream in the night.

Johnny rolled on his bunk. How long had he slept? He squinted at the cabin gaslight. He’d fallen asleep without turning it off. Then the sound of a boat whistle called outside the ship. What time was it?

Johnny got up and stood frozen in indecision for a moment. A flicker of light shone at the porthole. Johnny extinguished his cabin light and peered out. It was still dark, but, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the glow of dawn was beginning to light the hazy horizon. “It must be four a.m.,” he said aloud. “Sun’s not up for an hour.”

He saw the light of a small boat about a hundred yards away and closing. A man was standing at its front waving a lantern from side to side.

Johnny realized that he couldn’t feel the Griffith’s engines.

He went to the door and opened it slightly, trying to make as little noise as possible. Hearing nothing, he peeked out into the hall. There was no one there.

Johnny ducked back in the room and sat down.
This is it, Jocko
, he said in his mind.

Johnny rubbed his temples, then he got up and left his room. When he got a safe distance from Costerson’s room he took a deep breath.

“This is really it,” he said aloud, trying to muster his courage. “It has to be now.”

He knew he had to leave everything but his clothes on the ship. Everything had to be left, so it would look like Jocko and Johnny had just vanished.

But how? The reality of swimming to shore hit him. Could Jocko swim? Would they be eaten by fish? How cold was the water?

He made his way up the stairs toward the deck level.

Then he heard voices. Peeking around the corner, he watched a few of the crewmen struggling with a winch and crane. They were lowering something over the side to a smaller boat. As he watched he sniffed the breeze.

Johnny suddenly thought of the sasquatch and sensed he was close by. Could Jocko have escaped from the hold? His temples pounded and a lump of dryness formed in his throat.

He licked his lips. He stepped into the open, but the men took no notice of him. In the clear he was able to see more of the ship.

Suddenly he knew that Jocko was near. It was nothing extra-sensory; Johnny smelled the sasquatch. For once the acrid smell was perfume to his senses. It meant that Jocko had heard his call and responded exactly as Johnny had hoped he would.

One of the men caught a whiff as well. He made a face and looked around at the man standing next to him, then turned his attention back to holding his end of the line.

Johnny held his breath. Still no one took notice of him. They were too busy steadying the crane against the rolling of the ship. Large swells were sloshing against the sides. Now and again white water lifted into view. Out of view, someone on the smaller boat was shouting.

Johnny moved into the shadows again and bumped into Jocko, who stood directly behind him. Jocko was watching the workmen carefully. He held Johnny’s arm.

“This is it, my friend,” said Johnny. “This is where we get off.”

He looked at Jocko earnestly and held both of the sasquatch’s shoulders. “Listen, we get on that little boat or we swim. Swimming looks most likely, I hate to say.”

Jocko seemed to understand. Johnny checked that the men weren’t watching, then signaled for Jocko to follow him.

He ducked into the shadows and worked his way around to the opposite side of the darkened ship, away from the crewmen. There they had a better view of the men and the boat that they were loading boxes into. Johnny and Jocko got as close as possible and peered over the side. Off in the distance a lighthouse beacon flashed, its light dazzling.

Johnny figured they couldn’t be too far from shore. The breeze was strong and cold, and the sloshing of the seas prevented his hearing waves crashing ashore. The sea was rough and prevented him seeing land. Johnny remembered the chart on the wall. This was Dungeness. Somewhere out there a long spit of sand meant a safe place to swim ashore.

If the tides were with him.

Johnny kept his head as low as possible behind a large crate. In the water, and lit by the lanterns, Johnny saw a large launch bobbing in the swells. Its crew was struggling with a sail, trying to keep it from colliding with the larger ship. The waves sloshing between the two boats nearly drowned out the calls of the Griffith’s first mate as he bellowed instructions through a megaphone to the crew of the other ship.