Joko (26 page)

Swan liked to hunt the area, because the relative openness of the woods provided clearer shots at game. He frequently chose the area for walks with Jocko because the open areas allowed the scientist in him to study how the sasquatch moved through the forest. At least that was his plan. Generally, though, Swan lost sight of Jocko the moment they entered the woods. In those conditions the sasquatch reverted to a creature of stealth and, while always nearby, he remained silent as a ghost.

Swan thought Jocko prided himself too much on his stealth, calling it his ‘sasquatch vocation’, and he complained that Jocko was always ‘sneakin’ around’, or ‘trying to scare me out of my breeches’. Johnny would laugh whenever he heard the man yell: “Stop doing that, you damned skookum!”

And often, when Jocko was foraging, Swan would say he was, ‘off sneaking around somewhere’.

Johnny argued that Jocko shouldn’t be blamed for ‘only acting natural’, and Swan would reply with a hearty laugh.

“See? He’s got you fooled, too.”

Their frequent walks in the forest often left Swan exhausted and Johnny limping, but they both enjoyed the experience of being escorted by a creature as wild and mysterious as Jocko. Swan looked forward to the excursions, saying: “they never fail to exhilarate me.”

After a month in the cabin the three got along famously.

Jocko took an obvious liking to Swan, and as their reading lessons progressed the two became more comfortable together. Swan linked with Jocko more and more frequently, but unlike the vivid images experienced by Johnny, Swan saw cloudy, ill-defined glimpses into Jocko’s mind. Swan said he also felt emotions that he couldn’t explain, but beyond that simple des cription he couldn’t elaborate. The linking process sometimes frightened him, but he also found it exciting.

Johnny watched the burgeoning relationship between

Swan and Jocko with amusement, sometimes taking part in the reading lessons by reciting words with Swan or by arranging the alphabet chips to make words. Jocko seemed to learn faster when Johnny was involved. Johnny guessed it was because the sasquatch could link with him more easily.

Jocko’s life had changed.

No longer did he have to build a nest each night, nor did he yearn for his family as strongly. His mind was now free to learn new things. It was being opened to humanity’s knowledge – the secrets he’d wondered about so long.

And he had three possessions: a book, a pencil, and a bag in which to put them. When Swan gave them to him he wasn’t sure of their purpose, but through his contact with Swan he saw that these things were a first step toward becoming human. With plenty of food, and pinned to one location by the sedentary humans, Jocko was no longer consumed by the nomadic life – being on the move, thinking only for the moment.

Now Jocko had the time and a reason to ponder what future held, for himself and for Johnny.

Snow came in early December, and it stayed. One morning Johnny was surprised to find the cottage and the alpine landscape covered with a deep white blanket of heavy snow.

The winter they had been expecting had arrived silently overnight.

Swan said that they rarely got so much snow east of the great Olympic Mountains. “Usually those mountains to the west take all the wet the Pacific can toss at us,” said Swan as they huddled next to the fire, “but sometimes the winds change. We may have to tough it out a bit.”

The industrious trio had made good use of their time, and through the efforts of Johnny’s digging, Swan’s experienced eye, and Jocko’s tireless foraging, they had managed to build and stock a respectable root cellar. It sat below the cabin’s rear wall and was built to keep out marauding varmints. One midnight marauder, however, was oblivious to the snow and knew how to get to the foodstuffs, and he did it openly.

It wasn’t long before Johnny and Swan asked Jocko to refrain from midnight raids on their stores, but Jocko had trouble understanding why. Swan speculated the sasquatch didn’t know that the larder held stores for the winter. Johnny managed with some difficulty to convince Jocko to try to replace what he’d taken. Jocko cheerfully complied, and foraged, despite a few inches of snow cover, a substantial quantity of vegetables.

Returning from visiting the larder for some breakfast potatoes one wintry morning, Swan noticed that Jocko was still having at their supplies and replacing what he took with other less appealing edibles.

“I can deal with anything,” said Swan, “but I need my breakfast spuds! Our sasquatch is taking the choicest of our roots and replacing them with roots fit only for his mountain bred molars.”

“I’ll tell him again,” said Johnny somewhat defensively.

“Why can’t he understand that we need the potatoes to get us through the winter? I thought he understood.”

“Sasquatch life must be so full of immediate concerns that they can ill afford time for abstracts. In fact, he may not ever learn what we expect him to. It’s been observed that nomads aren’t culturally rich, because of necessity they travel light, carrying as few possessions as possible, and are always on the move. Thinking takes time, time to meditate, to conjure ideas. Considering that, how can our nomadic friend ever learn to care about tomorrow’s needs? It’s not in his blood.”

Johnny tried to remember what exactly a nomad was. He seemed to remember learning in school that the Gypsies in Europe, some Arab tribes, and the Indian tribes of the American plains were called that, but he didn’t see that they were different from anyone else. Swan said that the nomads weren’t really different, except that they had less art and literature and things like that.

Johnny scratched his cheek. “Jocko doesn’t even have clothes, but he’s smart enough.”

“Well,” said Swan, “sure he’s smart enough. He’s clever enough. But could he grasp mathematics or abstract concepts like that?”

“Hell, I stink at math! But I’m not stupid.”

“No, John,” said Swan. “I’m not saying that Jocko is stupid. This concerns
how
he thinks. Abstract thought is … using symbols. The future, Johnny, is a concept, not a reality.

To animals, tomorrow never comes and yesterday doesn’t matter.”

“But words are symbols and Jocko uses them,” argued Johnny. “He’s said things, you know, sentences.”

Swan nodded. “That seems to be true, but it’s too soon to tell if Jocko can learn. That is, learn to be a person and get along in our world.”

Johnny frowned. He considered their plan to humanize the sasquatch and realized that Swan was right. They could dress Jocko up like a person, but eventually he had to live it.

“Sure, that’s right,” he said to Swan. “Jocko’s got a lot to learn before he gets a job and all.”

Swan laughed and rolled his eyes. “A job? That’s a bit of a leap, my friend. We’ve a ways to go before that.”

At that moment Jocko came into the cabin and stopped cold when he found the two men staring at him. Jocko straightened up to his full five foot five inch height and looked at them with his eyebrows raised.

Johnny took Jocko by the arm and led him outside to the vegetable larder. Swan shook his head and went back to his breakfast preparations.

“Yes, and tomorrow I’ll be down three potatoes and up four wood roots,” Swan sputtered. “Gotta boil ’em until the cows come home to get a tooth in.”

Jocko loved potatoes, raw or cooked. They were something he’d tasted only once before when he was small. He remembered his family pulling rows of plants from bare earth and finding these delicious lumps that looked like stones.

Jocko didn’t know they were raiding a garden. He didn’t know what a garden was, only that potatoes were perfect food, the best he’d ever tasted.

Jocko was confused. He tried to figure out how he had managed to find himself standing in the brisk air behind the cabin, listening to Johnny scold him about the food that he’d brought. It made no sense at all.

He wondered why these humans seemed to want one thing one minute and something else the next. He’d brought them tons of food, and they seemed to begrudge him what he took back. As Johnny had instructed him, he replaced what he ate during the night, root for root.

Jocko thought about the humans he’d seen during his life.

They built houses and roads, but they also destroyed things wherever they went. They killed the forest animals, sometimes randomly, and they didn’t always eat what they killed. Sometimes they just took the skins of animals and left the rest to rot. No other creature in nature did that. And the idea of being skinned was frightening beyond measure to a fur covered sasquatch.

Jocko watched the humans in the forest. He saw how difficult it was for them to cross through thickets. They wore cloth coverings and carried things. Sometimes the objects would be large and cumbersome and slung over their backs.

Humans covered their feet so they couldn’t feel the ground or use their toes to climb the land. Jocko wondered what his fate would be in their hands. He had no choice. He had to stay with Johnny and see it through … that is, if he ever wanted to see his family again.

Johnny put both hands on Jocko’s shoulders. “You
have

to understand. This food is all we have until spring comes! It’s
that
simple.”

Jocko got the idea, but he didn’t know how.

Even after Johnny’s effort Jocko still took too many potatoes to suit Swan. Finally, in desperation, the man figured out a lock mechanism that Jocko couldn’t penetrate.

Jocko sat curled on the floor holding a stack of lettered tiles.

In front of him, spread out in an even row, were three tiles that Swan had chosen:
’J’, ‘O
’, and
‘K
’.

Swan had told Johnny that they spell a word familiar to Jocko: his own name. Spelling it correctly created a phonetic problem. Swan decided to drop the ‘C’ for the sake of simplicity.

“Well,” said Swan, “if Jocko recognizes his name in print, we can work on our spelling later.”

Swan pointed to the tiles and said: “J-O-K-O”. As he finished mouthing the word, he happened to glance up from the tiles to see Jocko looking at him.

“No, my boy,” said Swan, pointing urgently at the letters, “look here, at these tiles.”

Jocko looked again at the tiles and Swan repeated the name, pronouncing it as his fingers moved from letter to letter. He added the second ‘O’ to the three, finishing the name.

“Jocko,” said Swan.

Jocko just stared at the tiles.

Swan quickly grabbed a notebook, threw it open to a blank page and quickly but carefully wrote the letters J-O-K-O and showed it to the sasquatch. He said the name again several times. Then he repeated the process with both pencil and tiles.

A half hour passed, and all that kept Swan from utter frustration was that he knew he had Jocko’s full attention.

That unto itself was a triumph.

Finally he gathered up the tiles and handed them to Jocko. Then he pointed to the floor and said the name again.

It confused Jocko when the Swan handed him the marked tiles. He knew the man was trying to get him to do something, because he kept saying “Jocko” over and over. But he was sitting right in front of the man. Why call to him?

Soon he realized that the man was not calling him, so Jocko looked over the four cedar chips he was holding. Then he looked at Swan.

“J … O … K … O,” said Swan, pointing to the tiles and then to the floor. “Jocko!”

The sasquatch just stared at the floor.

Swan threw up his hands and got up. “That does it for today, my furry friend. I need some coffee.” He walked over to the fireplace and arranged the kettle over the coals, adding another piece of wood to the fire. “Jocko may get it sooner or later, but he’s not getting it today.”

Johnny laughed. “No, Mr Swan, professor. I’d say he got it. Look.”

On the floor before the sasquatch were the four lettered tiles, arranged perfectly. They spelled “
JOKO
.”

“Tomfoolery,” said Swan. “You did that, Tilbury. Trying to befuddle an old argonaut, aren’t you?”

Rather than argue with Swan, Johnny simply picked up the tiles and handed them back to Jocko.

“Do it again,” said Johnny, pointing to the floor.

Jocko deftly placed the tiles in a row. Then he looked at Swan and said: “Jooo-kooo.”

“
Very good,
Jocko!” roared Swan. “
You did it!
”

The sasquatch felt the warmth and approval flood over him. A deep sadness and frustration that had been growing in him was suddenly washed aside by their happiness. Jocko smiled.

Swan came over to Jocko and gave him a large brown potato. “I’ll give you the whole lot if you keep that up, old boy.”

To his surprise, Jocko handed the potato back to the man.

“No po-ta-to,” said Jocko. “No Jo-ko, no eat.” He paused in thought and added: “Po-ta-to you.”

Johnny and Swan were speechless. They just stared at each other, grinning like idiots.

Swan took the potato back to the dinner table and put it amid the vegetables he’d been preparing for the stew pot.

Johnny wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Swan furtively wiping away a tear. He pretended not to notice and patted Jocko on the back.

As Johnny’s hand patted him, waves of happiness swept over Jocko as rhythmically as a heartbeat. It almost frightened him that the two humans were so happy and excited over his simple accomplishment, but their warmth drove any fear quickly from him and he sat on the floor, looking at the tiles in a new way. The markings spoke to him. They said his name.

He had said his name in a brand new way.

It was a human name, and in the simple act of arranging a few chips of wood, Jocko knew that he had crossed a bridge to a new world.

Long ago, it seemed, he had another name. “Aaaaooooo,”

they called him.

Jocko looked at the tiles and wondered if his kin could ever understand what was happening to him. He tried to remember ever feeling from his own kin the warmth and kindness he now felt exuding from Johnny and Swan.