Joko (7 page)

Stanford Talmadge, the blacksmith, stood in the road directly behind them. “What’s that you carryin’, Johnny, smellin’ up the neighborhood! Haw haw haw!” Johnny thought he’d bring out the whole town.

“Hello, Mr Talmadge,” said Johnny, looking over his shoulder. He decided it would be worse to pull away without a word than to stop for some neighborly interaction. But he couldn’t imagine Jocko not being found, since the man was curious about the smell. Thinking he had no choice, he pulled on the reins.

“I can’t stay long, Mr Talmadge.” Tilly stopped and looked quizzically back at him.

Talmadge walked right up to the wagon and peered at the lump under the blanket. “What’ve you got there, Johnny?

Smells like a dead dog!”

“That’s what I got,” Johnny found himself saying. “A dead dog – takin’ her home for buryin’.”

Johnny thought his explanation would put Mr Talmadge off, but the man reached into the wagon and lifted the blanket.

Johnny held his breath as he tried to think of an explanation. Talmadge didn’t say anything, just stood there for a few seconds holding the blanket before dropping it in disgust.

“Whoooiiii, John! Sorry about yer hound. Ya best get ’er buried quick before you drive us all out o’ Yale!” He laughed and wiped his nose with a handkerchief. “Mind the road for ol’ griz, John. Bob Cavaccich and Miss Caryl Reynolds seen three – a family of ’em crossin’ the pike – out your way not too long ago. Griz likes rotted meat!”

“Thanks, Mr Talmadge. I’ll be mindful.”

Johnny whistled softly to Tilly and they took off, leaving the blacksmith standing in the road waving his hat to fan away the smell.

“That’s twice you’ve done that, Jocko,” whispered Johnny.

“How the heck?”

He looked back as Jocko pulled off the blanket and sat up. Bits of straw and dust covered his thick hair. The debris on his head didn’t seem to bother Jocko. A man would have brushed it off his head, but Jocko just watched Johnny, Tilly, and the passing countryside.

Johnny realized that this was probably Jocko’s first time in a wagon, but if it bothered him there was no sign of it. Jocko seemed totally calm.

Under the blanket: sheep’s wool, human sweat, clop-clops, rain on painted wood, smells of humanity assaulted Jocko. He was not there. He could not be.

What was happening was not possible. No movement without the walk. No speed without the run. Was he dreaming?

His body was not there. Then the blanket fluttered.

A face of an old human stared back at him. It was about to scream. It would alert others. Jocko used his dreaming as he had done so many times when human eyes found him.

During the ride to Gert’s farm Johnny thought about his new friend. He’d been hearing mountain-man stories all his life, but everyone knew they were just stories. Most settlers never saw anything in the forest, but the Indians and trappers told a different story.

The Indians had myths and legends so interwoven into their lives that white men didn’t listen to them. The mountaineers were even less credible. They loved a tall tale and often enjoyed the gullibility of greenhorns. On dark winter’s night the railroad men, mountaineers, and trappers would come to Yale’s saloon to entertain the townsfolk with stories for free whiskey and beer, and often the word sasquatch would be used.

The Indians and the mountaineers agreed that the sasquatch were real. But the townsfolk were skeptical because they knew no mountain man would admit to a lie.

Besides, no specimens of a sasquatch were ever found, and tracks convince only Indians. Officially, sasquatch were regarded as nothing more than local mythology.

If creatures with Jocko’s abilities existed, Johnny realized, the mountains could easily be full of them and no one would know. A creature that changes at will into something else, or simply vanishes? No wonder the Indians saw them as mystical.

Johnny had seen two intelligent people look at Jocko and not see him. Jocko, it seemed, knew how to become invisible.

He wondered if all sasquatch have the same talent. Is that why they are hard to spot in the forest?

But we captured him
, thought Johnny.
That means Jocko could vanish and get away at any time, and that could only mean that he is staying because he wants to
.

In the distance Johnny heard Gert’s dog barking.

Johnny could see the lights of his aunt’s farmhouse as the wagon rumbled up the road. Rocky’s barking got louder as Tilly clopped up the dirt road to the farm.

“Brace yourself, Aunt Gert,” said Johnny. “Tonight Jocko and you will meet.”

He pulled Tilly to a halt in front of the log house. Gertrude was standing, silhouetted at the open door to the cottage.

She called to Johnny: “That Jocko with you? I’ve been worried sick all day about you. Tilly is my only horse.

Shouldn’t keep her workin’ all day and night. And that’s my only wagon.” Johnny’s aunt squinted into the darkness. “Say, boys, you had anything to eat?”

Rocky barked and jumped up against the side of the wagon. Jocko looked at the dog and then at Johnny, his eyes questioning.

“Don’t worry about him,” said Johnny, patting Jocko on his furry back. “Quiet, Rocky!” Johnny yelled.

Gert stood looking at the ape-boy in amazement. Her jaw hung open as words failed her. Johnny’s description of the ape-boy hadn’t really prepared her for actually having a live sasquatch looking back at her. She and Jocko regarded one another for a moment, then Jocko stood up in the unsteady wagon. He peered at the dark ground as if preparing to jump.

Seeing Jocko preparing to leap from the wagon, Johnny tightened the brake to steady it. But braking caused the wagon to move a bit and Jocko leapt to the ground, landing squarely and silently on his feet.

“Oh my!” Gert sized up the hairy personage standing before her. Johnny had no idea what Gert would say. He never did. His aunt’s comments usually surprised and always amused him. “He could be an Aleut Indian,” said Gert.

“Except for the fur, of course.”

Hair covered Jocko’s entire body, becoming relatively long around his waist so he didn’t appear to be naked, but his upper body hair seemed thinner than the rest. His chest had some bald spots where his coffee colored skin showed through. His face was the same color and, like his chest, was relatively hairless. Jocko’s head, on the other hand, was crowned with a thick shock of straight brown hair that was matted and dusty. A tattered leaf stuck to it like an earring.

“Don’t look so surprised, Aunt Gert,” said Johnny. “I told you I was bringing Jocko home.”

Then the wind changed and the smell hit her.

Gert coughed. “He gets a bath immediately.”

Rocky ran circles around the sasquatch. Tilly nearly broke her neck trying to watch the dog and Jocko.

“Let’s not rush things. One thing at a time.” Johnny looked back at Jocko. “Watch this, Gert!” He grabbed Jocko’s wrist.

Johnny spoke softly, looking into Jocko’s eyes. “This is your home, Jocko. You can stay in the shed behind the house, at least for a while.” Johnny pointed to the side of the house. “There’s plenty of vegetables for you to eat in the garden near the shed. You’ll be okay.”

Johnny let go of Jocko’s arm, and the sasquatch walked to the side of the house and peered into the darkness. Rocky tagged along behind him. Jocko stopped, turned and offered his opened hand to the nervous dog. Rocky stepped cautiously forward and sniffed the hand. Jocko’s other hand gently touched Rocky’s forehead. Immediately Rocky’s tail began to wag, and he seemed to accept Jocko completely, smell and all.

Jocko went to Gert and put his hand out to her. He lowered his eyes. Gert touched Jocko’s hand, noticing that it was nearly identical to her own. When they touched, Gert’s anxiety was gone and a flood of warm feelings flowed into her. Then, to her amazement, an unfamiliar scene filled her mind.

She saw an expanse of deep forest. She was there, walking a trail. Ahead of her, on the trail, a group of figures walked in single file. Over her head, an eagle swooped and lighted on a dead pine branch.

Gert sighed and rocked on unsteady feet. Johnny grabbed her waist, but she quickly recovered her footing.

“Goodness!” she whispered. “Thank you, Johnny. You can let go, now. Thought I was having one of my ‘spells’ but …”

Gert looked Jocko up and down. “Oh my,” she said to the sasquatch. “I certainly wasn’t prepared for you, was I?”

Jocko grabbed Johnny’s hand and led him around the side of the house. He paused a moment and sniffed the air when he saw the vegetable garden, then he continued leading Johnny past the garden. Gertrude and the dog followed behind. “Maybe I should get a lantern, Johnny,” she called out. “It’s a bit dark for a tour of the farm.”

Johnny only looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Jocko’s takin’
m e
to the shed. He knew about it, and the garden, when I touched him. It’s the damnedest thing!”

“Goodness!” said Gert, still feeling a bit light headed.

As expected, Jocko led them directly to the shed. Once there he pointed to the garden and then to his mouth.

“Yes, you can have some of those vegetables,” said Gert with a smile. “But please leave some of the carrots for me and Johnny.”

Jocko looked up and smiled at the moon glowing brightly in a cloudless sky. He was happy he was able to join to Johnny, and happier still that he could communicate to the humans.

He’d feared it would be impossible. Perhaps the humans weren’t so different after all
.

Over the ridge a mile or two next to the water run and past the mill at Fat Goose Falls, a rock fall led into a deep canyon.

Past the canyon and farther on, well to the east of the towns of Yale and Lytton, the forest expanded outward toward the great interior of Canada. Out there, somewhere, a string of dark shapes moved among the trees. Jocko’s family.

With the moon to guide them, they walked with great steps, ever farther from the lost son. They must move, always. It is their way – the source of the greatest power. The power of motion.

And night is a friend. Night, the brother and sustainer. The cool night. The wondrous night with the twinkling lights that always showed the way to go. Points of light. Out there, always moving – away.

Johnny awoke with the sun. The first thing he thought of was the sasquatch.

As Johnny left the back of the house buttoning his britches, he saw Jocko seated happily in the midst of a pile of vegetables beside the garden shed. Jocko displayed a rack of green stained teeth as Johnny approached. Rocky suddenly appeared from the direction of the house and ran to join them.

“Golly, Jocko,” exclaimed Johnny. “It looks like you’ve tried everything in the garden. Lemmesee …” He inspected the rubble. “You been busy, Jocko. Let’s see. That’s turnip, potato greens,” he laughed and continued listing Jocko’s garden sampling. “Corn – you oughta shuck it first. Beets. Oh, you like onions, eh? More corn,” continued Johnny, “and also you got green tomatoes and squash. I see you found out about the rhubarb leaves …”

Jocko ignored Johnny and watched the dog circling around the two of them. He wasn’t necessarily afraid of Rocky. He just watched, keeping tabs on the dog’s position. To him, Rocky was simply a kind of wolf.

As he thought this he heard Johnny say, “Don’t be afraid of Rocky. He never hurt nobody.”

But Jocko wasn’t touching the boy so he didn’t understand. There was a lot he wanted to tell to Johnny. With every passing moment his family got farther away. During the night, Jocko had left the shed to roam the area. Nothing seemed familiar so he returned to the shack at dawn, convinced he would never see them again. He knew better than to wail. Mountain People, as they thought of themselves, are taught be quiet and stand still when they are lost.

Today
, thought Jocko
, Johnny might show him a way back to the cliffs. Perhaps there he could find the scent of his family.

Johnny’s aunt called from the house: “Get some eggs, John.

And leave your friend where he is. He might scare the chickens!”

“We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t eat one!” Johnny called back.

“Well, it’s up to you to see he don’t!” she retorted with a sniff, disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Gotta go,” said Johnny. “Stay here, Jocko,” he added, being sure to touch Jocko as he said it.

Then Johnny and the dog trotted off to the chicken coop at the far end of the garden.

Jocko watched Johnny disappear into the chicken coop in the distance while the ‘good wolf’ Rocky – as Jocko thought of him – waited patiently outside wagging his tail.

He wondered why humans keep some animals as pets yet kill others.

Humans, as Jocko had been told all his life, liked to kill, and they would go to great lengths to do so. He’d been told over and over by his elders that humans could not be predicted like other animals. They didn’t follow nature’s ways.

The mountain people could not fathom mankind’s actions, nor their affinity for material things. The native humans lived close to nature and respected the sasquatch. But the new humans; the ‘whites’, as the Indians called them, were a dangerous breed. They had sticks that made thunder and fire that could kill over long distances. They carried fire that did not burn them. They wore skins, often from bright and strangely colored animals.

They carried things. Things they wore, things they chewed, and things they threw away for no apparent reason.

They ate from strange containers and always put their food in the fire before they could eat it. They burned meat before they ate it, fouling the forest air with the smell of death.

Sasquatch avoided fire. Humans couldn’t seem to get enough of it.

To Jocko’s kin, humans were one of the many dangers that nature placed before them.

But to Jocko, for reasons unknown to him or his family, humans were a curiosity. Stranger still, he liked them.

He got up and walked back toward the corn.

From her kitchen Gert could see the dark figure she knew to be Jocko moving slowly among the cornrows. He seemed to know about corn, pulling only ripe ears from the taller stalks.