Joko (42 page)

Jack rolled onto his back and stared at the dark ceiling.

He wondered how humans could sleep without the stars above; the lights that lie forever beyond our reach. That watch us silently and lull us to sleep.

Jack’s mind was exhausted. There was so much to learn about the humans he doubted if he would ever feel at home with them.

He thought of roaming the night. But how would he find his way out of the house? Where was he? There was nothing Jack could do but join Johnny in sleep.

Outside the house, no more than a hundred yards from the place Jack slept, a family of five sasquatch, disoriented by the storm, wandered the fringes of Port Townsend. The forest here was scant and decimated by man. Moving in silence, they passed close to the Bash house and were gone.

At that moment the parlor of the Bash hous e was filled with smoke, stale jokes and laughter. Celebrating their reunion, two old argonauts drank a fifth of an ‘Old Rye’ that Henry had been saving. Swan had missed Henry’s friendly camaraderie too much to resist the drink that was offered, and the private party roared on long after Mrs Watson had scolded them both for being so self indulgent and had gone off to bed in a huff. As she trudged up the stairs a hot water bottle wrapped in a towel sloshed rudely under her arm. The sound of it threw the two inebriated men into a fit laughter.

As she prepared breakfast the next morning Mrs Watson’s anger was a perfect complement to the headache that both Swan and Henry shared as they stumbled into the kitchen.

Her silence was deafening. Bash watched her for a moment through puffy eyes. Finally he whispered to Swan that they’d be lucky if the pancake batter wasn’t poisoned.

Maybelle wheeled around, her spoon spraying batter over the floor. Seeing she was about to give her employer a piece of her mind, Swan excused himself saying he was going to

‘check on the boys’. From the stairs he heard Henry fumble for an apology.

“Big mistake, Henry,” Swan mumbled under his breath.

“The damage is done.”

Jack and Johnny were dressed and on the balcony outside their bedroom . The glass paned door was wide open and bright sunlight filled the room. Swan plopped into a heavily upholstered chair in the corner of the room.

Seeing Swan, Jack pulled at Johnny’s sleeve and pointed.

Johnny nodded. “I think this is going to be a long day for Mr Swan.”

The small apartment that Henry had secured for them was at the northern edge of the dock section, a half-mile from the Bash house. Henry joined them as they led the pack mule over the smooth gravel and oyster shell streets and down the hill to the docks. A steamship was loading off the end of Hudson Street.

The party walked in silence. It was early and the two main conversationalists were consumed by hangovers. Finally they came to a two-story house with a long stairway to a door on the second floor. Henry had told them that getting the room had been sheer luck, since there were so many visitors in town to hear Lillie Langtry sing at the dedication of a new music hall on Jefferson Street.

The owner of the lodgings owed Henry a favor. She waited at the window when they reached the top of the stairs.

Dressed in black, she seemed a sinister figure to Johnny as she stood in the doorway squinting at Jack. When Henry and Swan greeted her with good cheer her expression never changed. Finally she looked at Henry and shook her head.

“Is there some problem, Mrs Scott?” asked Henry, forcing a broad smile. “Surely you remember the honorable James Swan?”

Swan smiled and doffed his hat and gave a slight bow

“You said nothing about him,” said the woman, pointing at Jack. "I don’t rent to his kind.”

“His kind?” said Henry. “Why, Whimsey Scott, you recall I mentioned a foreign boy, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Bash,” she said. “He’s a – I’m sorry.”

Johnny realized from the look on the woman’s face that it was hopeless. The woman looked down at the street, arms folded tightly, while Henry did his best to change her mind.

But it was no use. She kept shaking her head.

As they led the mule back to the Bash house Johnny thought that Henry backed down too easily, but he said nothing. He knew that Henry held an elective office.

Their long march back to the house was just as quiet as their trip to the docks. This time the men were trying to think of something positive to say to each other. Henry tried an apology but Swan cut him off. “I guess she was referring to the mule, Henry,” joked Swan. “People around here just can’t seem to abide livestock living in rooms.”

“I didn’t expect that reaction, Swan,” Henry said.

Swan patted him on the back. “Don’t trouble yourself about this, Henry,” he said warmly. “Jack’s feelings aren’t hurt. Why, I doubt if he has any idea what happened. So there’s no harm done.”

Without warning a large yellow cat burst from an alley with a barking dog hot on its tail. Screaming as the dog almost caught it, the cat launched itself into the air and landed on the mule’s packs. It froze there, arched its back and spat while the dog circled them, barking.

Jack put out his hand and the dog stopped, looked at him and cocked its ear. Jack was whistling softly; a pleasant two note modulation. The dog sat down and let out a small whimper. Jack let the dog sniff his hand, and then he patted its head. He looked at the cat, still arching and hissing. Jack kept whistling softly as he approached the frightened animal.

As Jack drew near it the cat calmed down. For a moment it seemed completely engrossed in Jack, staring into his eyes.

Then it looked back at the dog and bolted back into the alley.

The dog seemed to take no notice of this. It casually walked away as though nothing had happened.

“Most extraordinary,” said Henry.

Swan laughed. “I told you, Jack is an extraordinary individual.”

The incident threw Johnny and Swan into a state of alert.

Jack had exhibited his ‘unusual’ abilities. That could only mean unwanted scrutiny.

Henry Bash shook his head and smiled at Jack who was walking beside the mule, engrossed in the details of the buildings. “Good with animals!” he remarked. “That’s a valuable skill you’ve got there, son. A boy your size might make a fine jockey.”

Jack noticed that Henry was eying him. He stiffened a bit and considered what had just happened. To Jack the calming of the animals was simply a duty.

All sasquatch follow an ethic that is unquestioned. It exists not because of agreement or a decision his people had made, nor was it a religion, except that it was as deeply felt and intangible as a religion. The ethic was really a skill the sasquatch had developed over the millennia, one that had helped them survive.

Jack felt bound to Johnny because he knew that Johnny shared this ability. Because of this he found himself expecting other humans to have it too. But he was learning that this was not the case.

He returned Henry’s gaze and showed his teeth. Since he hadn’t any idea what the man was saying he chose the only action he knew to be appropriate; what the humans call a smile. The gesture had been hard to learn because sasquatch use the flashing of teeth as a sign of danger; generally taken to mean that a predator is near. So every time he saw a human smile he had to quell the urge to sniff the air for a mountain lion or Kodiak bear.

Swan let Henry Bash’s comment pass. They had covered nearly half the distance back to Bash house when Swan finally spoke up. “I don’t know what we’ll do for lodgings with Miss Langtry in town.”

“Well, James, Mrs Watson may object but you are welcome to stay at the house, at least until we can find suitable lodgings.”

“Most kind of you, Henry, but I’m not sure I can vouch for Jack’s behavior.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s new to our ways. I’m concerned he might damage something. I’m sure you’ve realized by now that Jack’s capable of anyth– well, unpredictable.”

Henry looked back at Jack. “I’m a traveled man, James.

Been to Borneo twice and spent some years in Australia. I must admit that I’ve never actually seen people that look like Jack.”

Here it comes,
thought Johnny.

“No, Henry,” replied Swan. “Can’t say I have either. What little Jack does say is unlike any language I’ve encountered.

What do you think, Johnny? You know him better’n me.”

Johnny swallowed hard. “I can’t say, Mr Bash. I met him after I went overboard. He took care of me. He might be a stowaway but he saved my life. Killed a bear to protect me. I owe him.”

“A stowaway? Killed a bear?” Henry said, looking at Swan for confirmation. James Swan nodded without comment.

Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know, Mr Bash. I’m guessin’. Mr Swan and I call him Jack ’cause he didn’t have a name. As to the bear, I have the skin in my packs to prove it.”

“That’s a fact, Henry,” said Swan, grinning. “I helped him tan the stinkin’ thing.”

They turned the corner onto Oak Street. Halfway up the block, in the middle the street, a group of men were standing in a circle shouting and jeering. A fight had broken out. As they neared the scene Henry said he recognized the combatants. Pugil Bolk was on his knees bent over a Makah Indian much bigger than himself, but the Indian was obviously no match for Pugil’s crashing blows. Over and over Bolk clubbed the Indian with clenched fists. Each blow raised a cloud of dust around the Makah’s head.

The Indian’s body suddenly went completely limp, but Pugil didn’t stop his assault. The crowd grew quiet. This was not a brawl, but murder.

Swan ran forward with Henry by his side. In unison they demanded Pugil stop hitting the Indian. But Pugil was having a good time. He paused, looked at Swan, then smiled and hit the Indian again.

A shot rang out. Pugil froze. Henry had produced a small pistol from his waistcoat and was pointing it in the air. “You’ve won your fight, Pugil,” he declared. “Now you’re assaulting a defenseless man.”

Pugil looked at Henry, then at the gun. He evaluated the weapon for a moment, and then rose. Spitefully he spat on the fallen Makah’s face.

“Scab puke!” he growled. His cold eyes returned to the gun. “You gonna use that bean shooter, Henry Bash?” he said through clenched teeth. “You could hurt somebody wavin’ it around like that, yeah?

“It took some doin’ to get your attention,” said Swan, moving between Pugil and his friend. “You might not like Indians much, Pugil, but you can’t just go around killing them.

Our laws are here for everyone, Pugil. Including those that were here before we were. And including you.”

“He started it,” said Pugil. He looked straight at Jack who stood beside Johnny, eyes focused on the fallen Makah.

Swan was crouched by the Indian, holding a handkerchief to the Makah’s head. Blood flowed from the man’s nose, mouth and even his ears. The Indian’s eyes fluttered behind closed lids. Johnny could barely look at him. In all his life he’d never seen anyone take such a beating.

“You should be satisfied, Pugil,” said Swan without looking up. “This boy won’t look the same for some time to come. Maybe for good.”

“I guess that breaks your tender heart, Swan-ee Indian lover, don’t it?” said Pugil, spitting into the dust beside Swan.

With that, all that remained of the town spectators began walking quickly away.

Johnny saw rage curl Swan’s lip into a garish smile. He rose to face Pugil. Johnny wondered if Swan, too, was carrying a weapon. But before Swan could act a blue suited officer arrived on horseback.

Henry retired the pistol to his waistcoat and waved to the officer. “Thad Turner. How nice to see you. How are Prunella and the new baby?”

“Fine, thanks, Mr Bash. But what’s the matter here?” The policeman dismounted and walked over to the Indian. After a cursory examination of the battered face of the still unconscious Makah, he faced Pugil. “You seem fine, Bolk. A skinned knuckle, I see. That’s the second fight for you this week. Isn’t that right?”

When Pugil made no reply, Henry spoke up. “He says the Indian started it. True or not, neither of us saw the start of it.

And as you can see we are suddenly short of witnesses.”

Johnny looked around. Henry was right. The townsfolk had disappeared.

The constable surveyed the scene and nodded. “Mr

Swan, it’s good to see you back in town. Still helping the local tribes, I see.”

The Makah groaned as he came back to his senses. He opened one eye and tried to sit up.

“I think this man needs to see a doctor,” said Swan, helping the dusty Indian to his feet.

“Can you walk?” Thad asked the Indian.

As his vision cleared the Indian looked around. He squinted briefly at Pugil who was standing mutely by, rubbing his bruised knuckles on his breeches. When his gaze returned to Swan his expression changed. “Cha-tic,” said the Indian.

“He remembers me from Neah Bay, I guess, but I don’t seem to remember him,” said Swan. Swan steadied the Indian and spoke to him in Salish, the language he’d told Johnny was common to the local tribes. After a minute the Indian was able to stand on his own.

Swan handed the Indian his crumpled hat and led him to the policeman’s horse. “He should get into the saddle, if you don’t mind,” Swan said to the officer. “I scarcely think he can walk to the clinic across town.”

The policeman nodded but offered no help getting the Makah onto his horse.

Placed on the opposite shore from the mainland at the northern mouth of Puget Sound, Port Townsend’s main access to the world was via shipping, and this gave the town a unique character. Swan said the townsfolk saw Port Townsend as the last outpost of the ‘American colonial expansion’. Townspeople boasted of its founding by Captain Vancouver, who discovered and charted the area in 1792.

Fort Henry, still active and nestled against Port Townsend, was a symbol of Yankee dominion in the area; a significant statement in a place where the local Indians would as soon deal with the Hudson’s Bay Company, backed by the French Canadians. Despite its relative isolation, Port Townsend was a civilized place and the constabulary was sensitized to the need for decorum.