Joko (49 page)

Jack saw what he was doing and leapt to his feet. Before anyone could comment the sasquatch was out the door, running toward the moose. At first the animal took no notice of Jack and kept ambling toward the garden, but when Jack hooted and stamped his feet the moose stopped and looked over its shoulder at him.

Seeing he had the animal’s attention, Jack stopped his advance. He glared at the moose and stamped his foot hard on the ground. The moose watched him with interest but did nothing.

Jack looked back at Swan who stood on the porch idly holding the gun. Johnny noticed that the dog was strangely quiet. He neither barked nor lunged at the moose. Instead, Rocky stood at the ready, watching Jack and wagging his tail as if waiting for instructions.

“What are you doing?” Swan called out. “If you’ll kindly step aside, Jack, I’ll …”

The moose seemed to decide Jack was not a threat and began walking again toward the garden. Jack stamped both his feet hard on the ground, producing a loud ‘thump’. The moose stopped again and looked again at Jack. This time it turned to face the sasquatch, lowered its huge antlers at Jack, and pawed the ground menacingly.

Swan cocked the gun and brought it to his shoulder.

The moose pawed the ground but Jack stood stiff as a post. Its challenge unanswered, the bull seemed confused. It lifted its head to examine Jack more closely, then it looked at the three humans watching from the porch. Swan remained poised with the shotgun at the ready. The moose pawed the ground and snorted menacingly at Jack, but he didn’t move.

Then, to Johnny’s surprise, Jack made a sound Johnny had never heard him make before, though he recognized it immediately. It was the growl of an angry bear; a sound Johnny would never forget. The hair bristled on the back of his neck.

The moose cocked its head and its eyes widened. Then it turned and bolted into the forest.

“I guess we won’t be having moose nose tonight,” said Johnny as Swan lowered his weapon.

“And it’s a damn shame, too,” replied Swan. “If you’d ever tasted it, you’d agree.”

When they returned to breakfast Gert thanked Jack for chasing the moose from her garden, and Swan promised to put a fence around it before he left for Port Townsend.

“We get very few moose around here, Mr Swan,” said

Gert. “Seeing one this close makes me wonder if a fence would keep them out, even if we had one.”

“Well, that’s why we have Jack.” said Johnny, happily.

“And the dog,” said Gert. She looked down her nose at Rocky, who sat by Johnny’s chair oblivious to her scornful tone.

Johnny glared at Rocky. “Don’t wag at me. She’s right.

Chasing moose is your job.”

“He took a subordinate role to Jack,” said Swan.

“What?”

“Well, it was obvious wasn’t it? The dog let the sasquatch take charge.”

“I guess,” said Johnny. “But isn’t that what you call cooperation?”

“Perhaps,” said Swan. “But it didn’t look that way to me.”

That evening Doc Hannington visited again for dinner. When he was told about Jack and the moose he listened with interest, but seemed unimpressed. “No question,” said the doctor. “Jack is exceptional. Not to change the subject but … just what do you plan to do with him?”

“Do
?
What do you mean?” asked Johnny, surprised by the doctor’s question.

Hannington shifted uneasily in his chair. “You expect him to just move in and live here?”

Everyone fell silent. Neither Swan nor Johnny seemed to have a ready answer.

Hannington picked up his cup and drained the last of his tea, then he wiped his chin with a napkin and pushed his chair back, getting comfortable. “Well, the question, I would think, should be foremost on everyone’s mind. Now that he’s here, and he isn’t running away, as many of us … well, as I thought he would. The question then becomes; what
will
you do with him? He’s not a person, you know.”

Johnny looked at Hannington darkly. “What is he, then?”

“I don’t really know what he is,” said Hannington. “I don’t want to break any china here, Johnny. We all like Jack but you people seem to think Jack can just move in and that’s it.”

“I thought we went over this,” said Gert. “Jack’s working out fine at the store.”

“We did,” said the doctor.

“And?”

Doctor Hannington looked very uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going, but he continued. “The problem as I see it, Gertrude, is that Jack has no real identity.

He can’t just slip into our society without proper documentation. It’s as simple as that. How do you document a … a …”

“People do it all the time,” said Swan. “You should spend more time near the sea, my friend.”

“Not legally,” answered the doctor, “and you know that if you are, as you claim, a former Indian Agent.”

Swan crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. “At the moment, Doctor, I am merely a guest. And a guest stays out of domestic affairs.” With that, he attended to his meerschaum.

“We can’t make Jack legal,” Johnny said angrily. “We know that.”

“Yes, I do, Johnny,” answered the doctor, calmly. “It is you three who seem to be merrily unaware of that necessity. Don’t forget, Johnny. I was there at the beginning of all this.”

Gert sat down at the table and folded her hands in front of her.

“The fact is that Jack is an unknown species,” continued the doctor. “There is no record of his kind anywhere, other than in Indian myth, perhaps. I have done some study on the subject and have found very little official information.”

“Perhaps you haven’t looked in the right place,” said Swan.

“And where would that be?” contested the doctor.

“You are a doctor and a respected one, “ began Swan,

“but you have spent very little time with the Indians.

Sasquatch is the Salish word for ‘Mountain Tribe’ or

‘Mountain Men’. It is not myth, as you say, but rather a group of creatures who are regarded as men, but different from the Indians.”

Swan mentioned the Makah Indian who smelled the sasquatch at the cabin. “The man wouldn’t spend a minute with us,” he said. “He had smelled a sasquatch once as a child and never forgot it.”

“There,” said the doctor. “That’s my point. You don’t know what the sasquatch is capable of. Nothing is known of him or his kind, and yet our legends are filled with monsters like Jack. If the Indians fear him, maybe it’s with good reason.”

“Now he’s a monster,” said Johnny in disgust.

“Hold on,” said Swan. “It’s not right that we sit here in judgment of Jack. He didn’t choose this situation, and for that matter neither did Johnny.”

“Of course. None of us did,” said the doctor.

Johnny smiled. “And I guess that brings us back to where we started.”

Jack got up and walked over to a large chair in the living room. He picked up the notebook and pencil that Swan had given him and sat down. He opened the book and began flipping through it until he got to a blank page, then began to write.

“Monsters don’t write notes in journals,” Swan said.

Johnny laughed and said: “What do you think we should do with Jack, Doc?”

“I don’t really know,” said Hannington, staring at Jack in disbelief. “What’s he doing? Is he writing?”

“Yes,” said Swan.

“What is he writing?”

“I don’t really know,” said Swan with a smile. “Ask him.”

The humans were talking about Jack. He knew that from the mention of his name. The man Johnny called Doc seemed to have started the discussion.

Long ago, when Jack was very small and his family met with others of his kind, he talk sometimes turned to ‘Aooo’.

He’d seen some of those discussions turn violent. Once, an large male tore a massive limb from a tree and threw it at Jack. The limb didn’t hit him, and his family rallied and drove off the male, but Jack remembered finding little solace in it.

From that time on his kin grew colder. And nothing Jack did could regain their affection.

Now, as the humans talked about Jack, those same feelings of isolation and rejection were being renewed. And it seemed the same question was being debated. It was about Jack – Aooo – and the humans. There was a problem with Jack, but he didn’t understand it.

But one thing had changed. He was now able to express his feelings through the words the humans had taught him.

He could write them down. Jack thought that perhaps if he wrote his thoughts others would see that he was not a problem; that he was worthy of their trust.

“What are you writing, Jack?” Hannington asked to humor Swan.

“Words,” said the sasquatch.

Jack’s immediate response took the doctor by surprise.

Hannington stared at Jack for a moment waiting for more, but Jack didn’t elaborate. In fact he never took his eyes off his notes.

“So,” said Swan, “still the question remains. What are we going to do with Jack?”

Hannington smiled. “All right,” he said. “Your point is taken. Perhaps Jack is no monster, but I don’t believe the authorities would conclude that he is a man.”

Jack said something, but because they were talking, they didn’t hear him.

Gert held up her hand. “Jack has something to say, I think.”

“What did you say, Jack?” asked Johnny.

“Jack is Jack,” said the sasquatch, looking at Hannington.

There was a moment’s silence. Then Hannington laughed. “It’s like living with Socrates,” observed the doctor.

“Every statement is a puzzle.”

Gert got up and walked into the living room. She sat down next to Jack and looked at the notes he was making. The words were enigmatic.

man Jak walk

same path

Kaboo run from man

Kaboo run from bear

Kaboo run from Jack

?who is jack

“What’s a kaboo?” asked Gert.

“Kaboo run in forest,” answered Jack.

“Oh,” she said. “The moose.”

“Moose,” said Jack. “No. Kaboo.”

“He has a language?” Hannington whispered to Swan.

Swan smiled. “It certainly seems so.”

Gert repeated her question to Jack. “What is a kaboo, Jack?”

Jack pointed to a picture of a group of white-tailed deer that was hanging on the wall. “Kaboo.”

Johnny got up and went to see what Jack had written.

“Kaboo,” he said after looking at Jack’s notes. “K - A - B - O -

O.”

“Did Jack speak during your stay at the cabin?” asked Hannington.

Swan thought for a moment. “I remember him saying his name, sometimes imitating us when we spoke. Of course he repeated words that we were teaching him. But I can’t recall him using his own language, though. I can tell you that I’ve studied the various languages of the area; Chinook, Sawalish and the like, so I was keen to learn if Jack had his own words for things. I concluded long ago that he did not, as he never translated any words we were teaching him. At least until now.”

“Interesting,” said the doctor. He excused himself from the table and went to see Jack’s notes for himself. Looking over Jack’s shoulder, the doctor watched Jack pencil crude letters into the book. He shook his head in disbelief. “Amazing. He is writing.”

The sasquatch looked up at Hannington and displayed his teeth.

“Is that a smile?” Hannington asked.

“Not sure,” said Johnny.

Disturbed by all the attention, Jack stopped writing and closed his journal. He put it on the end table, then walked back to the kitchen and sat down next to Swan.

“May I …?” asked the doctor, pointing to the journal.

Johnny shrugged his shoulders. “I guess,” he said, looking doubtfully at Jack.

Jack watched the doctor pick up his book but didn’t protest. Hannington carefully thumbed through the journal.

One page caught his eye. He took the book to Swan and showed him the page. It was a drawing of a bird. “What do you think this is?”

Swan hadn’t seen the page before but recognized it immediately. He looked up at Hannington and smiled. “Ask Jack.”

Jack looked at the page when the doctor showed it to him.

“Swan crow.”

The doctor sat down and looked through Jack’s notes.

“Swan crow,” he muttered. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

Swan nodded. “It’s a copy of a totem I drew for a Makah chief this spring. Jack didn’t have this book then, so he must have done it from memory.”

“Remarkable,” said the doctor.

“I did the totem for the chief,” said Swan. “It took me all night. Jack watched me do it.”

“It looks the exactly the same,” Johnny said, looking at Jack appreciatively. “Maybe Jack should become an artist.”

The doctor returned to his seat and poured another cup of tea. He stared at it blankly, shaking his head. “I’m beginning to understand your point of view.”

Swan smiled sympathetically. “All of us have gone through what you just did, doctor. Now you see, as we do, that living with Jack has been an adventure in itself. Every day he never fails to astonish me.”

Johnny closed the book and handed it to Jack. The sasquatch took the book and set it on the end table, then he returned to the table and sat down.

Swan watched Jack silently and smiled. “I haven’t looked at the journal before now. In fact, I still wouldn’t have looked at it, I suppose, if it hadn’t been shown to me.”

Hannington raised an eyebrow. “As his teacher, weren’t you at least curious?”

Swan thought for a minute. “As a journalist I have a great reluctance to examine people’s work. Not that I fault you for doing so, you’ll understand. I never taught Jack anything he didn’t want to learn. And I must add that teaching him was more gratifying than teaching the Indian children. I suppose, because Jack is such an eager student. Jack may be a sasquatch, but he’s a damned intelligent one.”

“Swan teacher,” said Jack.

Everyone’s attention returned to Jack, but the sasquatch had said his piece. His eyes moved slowly from person to person until he came to Johnny. There his gaze rested.

Johnny tried to read Jack’s face but couldn’t. The sasquatch sat there impassively. If anything, he looked content, perhaps even happy with the attention he was receiving.