Joko (24 page)

Johnny smiled. “That might work. Jocko never made it past my aunt’s garden, back in Yale, I reckon. He sure liked that corn.”

“I do hope your friend returns. I’m brimming with curiosity.”

“Any luck with your hunting?” asked Johnny.

Swan shrugged his shoulders. “Your friend must have chased all the game away. I guess we eat ham again. Maybe I’ll do us a splendid curry. What say, John?”

“A curry?” said Johnny. “Isn’t that Chinese?”

“Can be, I guess. It’s a blend of several spices. Actually I think of it as Indian, East Indian, that is.” Swan walked over to a chair near Johnny and sat down. “I have some dried currants, some canned whale meat, and I brought all manner of spices. Wild game requires a bit of culinary help, in my opinion.”

“I’ve never had curry,” said Johnny.

Swan smiled broadly. “Well, then, I think you’re in for a treat.” Swan looked at Johnny’s leg. “How’s the leg?”

“Itches,” answered the boy. “But it doesn’t hurt much.”

Johnny could tell from the window light it was mid-day, perhaps around noon. He told Swan he was getting cabin fever after having spent so much time in the open.

“Of course you are,” Swan remarked sympathetically.

“Me, too. That’s why I was so glad to see you and even more so to see Jocko. I do welcome the company. I’m sure you don’t fancy the idea of spending the winter with an old coot like me. But, if it helps, I give you my word that I will try to make you as comfortable as possible.”

“I appreciate that, Mr Swan,” said Johnny, “but right now I was just hopin’ to step outside and get some air.”

The man was right, of course. Johnny had no desire to winter at the cabin. In fact he had given no thought to winter at all. His only desire was to get back to Yale.

Swan busied himself at the fireplace. “You know, John, while hunting I thought over the situation. I’m very enthusiastic about Jocko. What an amazing opportunity,” he said enthusiastically. “Charles Darwin should be here. My god, John, this is the chance of a lifetime – pure scientific discovery. As a journalist it makes my mouth water to think of the fame and fortune Jocko’s story might bring back east.”

He looked at Johnny and his face fell. “I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. I considered your story and thought about the circus and about that railroad agent, Costerson.

Fame and fortune notwithstanding, John, I’ve concluded Jocko could probably expect no better treatment from the hallowed halls of science than from Barnum. It wouldn’t be long before they would want to dissect him. Another two years and he’d be no more than a forgotten specimen, pickled in a jar.”

Swan told Johnny that he had been many things to the local Makahs: friend, artist, curio. But most importantly, he was their representative. While he wanted to see Port Townsend prosper for the whites, he also wanted to see the local Indians treated with the respect that was due them. He’d seen the whites make promises to them, take their land.

Then, long after agreements had been made and agreement papers signed and notarized, Congress would change its mind and the agreements were invalid. “After years of that kind of treatment,” said Swan, “it is no wonder the Indians prefer dealing with the Company … the Hudson’s Bay

Company, I mean. They exploit the Indians, but when they give their word, they keep it.”

Swan was more than just a casual observer. By the

1860’s he had earned a reputation as an expert on the Northwest tribes. He’d worked as a government official so he could spend as much time as possible with the Indians. As Indian agent for Territorial Governor Stevens he had “argued in the Indian’s behalf to disinterested government officials on many occasions. But my efforts through oration to visiting dignitaries and passionate writings to Washington never seemed to help the Indians a lick, or change the popular view that the Indians were no more than savages. I’ve given up on that long ago.”

He looked sympathetically at Johnny. “I’ve seen the sasquatch with my own eyes; seen the intelligence and humanity in his face. It may be that Jocko is not a true sasquatch, but only science can determine that. I was considering writing your story, but perhaps it would be better for everyone if I kept your story secret.”

“I appreciate that, Mr Swan,” said Johnny politely. “But if you don’t mind I’d still like to get out of this damp cabin for a while.”

Swan apologized for his rambling, but before helping Johnny outside he decided to remove the bandage that covered his eye. He also took time to check the cast on Johnny’s leg and then gave Johnny an enthusiastic vote of confidence about his recovery. “Your leg needs more time, but that cut over your eye is healing smartly. It may leave a scar but it’ll give you many opportunities to tell me how you killed a bear.”

“But I didn’t –” said Johnny, blinking and testing his eye.

Swan laughed. “I can see you’ve got a lot to learn about bragging.”

When Johnny was settled in front of the cabin, Swan brought a large branch and a knife and set them both next to Johnny. “Care to try your hand at whittling a cane? It might prove useful when you start walking again. This hickory limb is strong as iron, so don’t go cutting yourself tussling with it.

I’m running out of medical supplies.”

“Sure, Mr Swan, I can do that.” Johnny immediately took the knife and started trimming the branch.

After Swan went inside to prepare his curried ham, the sun burst out from behind the clouds and warmed Johnny. He took it as a good omen and smiled with satisfaction. After a while he heard a noise around the side of the cabin. Jocko appeared a moment later carrying two large handfuls of ripe huckleberries.

“Thought you’d left us, Jocko.”

Jocko smiled at Johnny but made no attempt to vocalize.

He simply dumped the berries into Johnny’s lap and then disappeared again around the side of the cabin.

Johnny called to him to come back, but there was no response.

Jocko didn’t reappear for several hours . By this time the sun had passed its zenith, and the cabin was again cloaked in the deep shadows of the great forest. Johnny waited as long as he could; long enough, at least, to have fashioned a sturdy cane from the sapling Swan had provided. He tested it going inside to escape the late afternoon chill.

Just as the door shut and latched Jocko arrived with another double handful of berries. He stood outside the door for a moment, then put his berries down in a neat little pile and returned again to the forest, but not without first giving the cabin door one firm thump with his fist.

When Swan opened the door all that greeted him was the pile of huckleberries.

Swan shook his head and gathered the berries into a small wooden box. Then, he went inside and put the berries in a bowl with the others the sasquatch had provided. “If he keeps this up we’ll have enough for a pie.”

Johnny sat on his cot engrossed in his carving. “Is he outside?”

Swan shook his head. “Just a small gathering of berries.”

Johnny sighed. “I thought he’d gotten over this,” he said in disgust. “He seemed relaxed enough, didn’t he?”

“I couldn’t say,” Swan said diplomatically. “If I had to venture a guess, I’d say he’s trying to butter you up. Maybe induce you to leave.”

“Maybe,” said Johnny. “I better grab him and have a talk with him.”

They didn’t have long to wait. Within the hour they heard another thump at the door and Swan ran to the door and threw it open. He was about to yell Jocko’s name but found himself face to face with the sasquatch.

Swan recoiled with surprise, then took two steps back and said: “Please, Jocko, come in. Come inside.” Swan gestured emphatically toward Johnny.

Johnny echoed Swan. “Jocko, come here. I want to talk to you.”

Jocko was holding another double handful of berries.

Seeing this, Swan picked up the bowl of berries and said:

“You can put those in here with the others.”

Jocko complied as though he had understood. He carefully let the blueberries funnel from his two hands into the bowl Swan held and took a few steps backward toward the door, looking around the cabin and sniffing the air.

Swan smiled broadly and thanked Jocko for the berries, but Jocko didn’t acknowledge him. He turned to leave again.

Swan grabbed Jocko’s arm. “Don’t go, Jocko.”

They stood frozen for a moment, then Jocko turned to face Swan. He touched the man’s arm. Jocko looked into Swan’s eyes. Swan was about to say something but nothing came out. The expression on his face spoke volumes to Johnny, who smiled as he tried to guess what Swan must be feeling.

“Hate gun?” said Swan. “I wouldn’t –”

The man’s knees wobbled slightly. Johnny’s smile faded as he wondered if perhaps this experience was too much for Swan. He remembered that Gert and Dr Hannington were deeply shaken by the experience of linking with Jocko.

Johnny had no idea how that might affect other people. He wondered if it might scare someone to death. If it did so to Swan, they would lose a good man as well as a welcome mentor.

“Jocko! Jocko!” called Johnny urgently.

Jocko had seen the bearded man outside, walking away from the cabin, with a gun slung over his shoulder. Jocko knew guns were things men used to kill, although he never saw that for himself.

What did Swan want to kill? And why? Was it safe to stay with him?

Jocko wanted those answers. He knew the only way was to look inside the man’s mind.

When the man touched him he found his opportunity, but Johnny’s hail broke his concentration. He reluctantly released Swan’s arm, but the questions remained.

He went to Johnny’s side and took the boy’s arm.

Johnny reciprocated, closing the link.

“Better me than the old man,” he heard Johnny say.

Swan’s legs nearly gave way under him. He took a few steps toward the nearest chair and slumped into it. After a few seconds Johnny began speaking aloud to Jocko.

“Listen, old friend,” he began. “You have nothing to fear from Swan. I know he wouldn’t hurt you, and as far as you not liking this cabin or that gun, well, we have to stay here for a while, at least until my leg is better.”

Johnny looked at Swan. The man was staring blankly at Jocko. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you. Are you all right, Mr Swan?”

Swan nodded as he patted his brow with a handkerchief.

“I …” was all Swan could manage to say. He shook his head in disbelief.

Johnny couldn’t restrain a hearty laugh.

Soon Swan joined him and the two humans began to laugh, almost hysterically.

Deadpan as always, Jocko looked back and forth at the two humans.

Johnny sensed Jocko’s confusion. “Swan is new to your way of talking,” the boy explained as best he could.

Jocko seemed to understand easily enough. He looked back at Swan and studied him for a moment. Then he too smiled.

“You see, Mr Swan, Jocko is very social. Well, not with everybody. And not the way we are. He’s afraid to lose the only family he has, me.” Johnny put a sympathetic arm on Jocko’s shoulder.

“I can understand that,” said Swan, taking a deep breath and smiling nervously. “That makes sense. Yes. Well of course, you told me, but I guess I had to find out for myself, didn’t I?”

“Sure,” said Johnny. “Everyone does.”

“Most extraordinary!” Swan exclaimed. “I really saw pictures of me! I saw myself through his eyes. But …”

Johnny listened without comment as Swan tried to rationalize his communication with the sasquatch.

“I sensed intelligence, a person,” Swan said. “Pictures in my mind, like dreams!”

While Swan was trying to sort this out, Johnny watched Jocko carefully. He knew Jocko found something about the cabin deeply disturbing. He watched Jocko’s eyes trace the room and all its details and decided the sasquatch was probably just trying to acclimate himself to the place. “Jocko doesn’t like the cabin for some reason. I’m guessing it’s because this is a trapper’s cabin … dead animals or something.” Johnny shook his head. “I can’t say what it is.”

Swan just stared at him, so Johnny continued.

“Mr Swan, I read your diaries about the Indian you called Swell. I can tell how you felt about him. About his murder. I can tell, well, I know you are probably the only person, outside of me, who can help Jocko.”

Swan smiled, seemingly delighted that Johnny had read his journals. He scratched his chin. “Help Jocko? What can I do?”

“I’ve got a plan I think might work, but I can’t do it alone.”

“A plan, you say?” asked Swan.

Swan seemed to regard Johnny’s call to action as a herald. It seemed to relax him almost immediately. He rose and walked over to the fire and tossed more kindling onto it.

Then he put an iron kettle on the rack that bridged the flames.

“Coffee?” he asked Johnny.

“Yes, thank you, Mr Swan,” said Johnny. “It’s just an idea, really, sir, but it might work.”

While Swan ground his coffee beans and the kettle came to boil, Johnny told Swan the idea he’d had at his aunt’s place; to clean Jocko up and make him look human. He knew that Jocko had the intelligence and the desire to learn human ways. Jocko had demonstrated this in two ways, with his attempts to vocalize in English and his tolerance of humans.

Johnny suggested that with regular trimming, a suit of clothes, and some education, Jocko could pass for human; well enough, at least, to get him back to Yale via normal transportation.

Swan looked at Jocko and considered what Johnny had said. The tempest in his mind had died down, and clarity was beginning to reinstate itself.

He could see it was possible to make Jocko into a passable human. Essentially the only thing that prevented that was a lot of body hair and lack of clothing. Facially, Jocko was relatively hairless. Imagining him as human made Swan realize that Jocko did have human features. True, he had no real neck to speak of, but he clearly lacked the simian features one might expect from the ape family.

As he turned the grinder Jocko lifted his head to watch.

The scent of the coffee reached him and he sniffed the air insistently.