Joko (28 page)

Part VIII

SWAN MAKE JOKO TO MAN

TEECH TO WRIT AND SPEEK

CALL JOKO Jak

Through the winter, with little else to do, Johnny and Jocko worked on the sasquatch’s human skills. They taught him to sit in chairs, to eat at the table and to keep himself and the cabin clean. These were all consuming tasks that kept everyone busy.

Swan was trying to spend some of his time with his diaries and the creation of a book called, “
Potlatch Justice –

Common Law of the Northwestern Tribes
,” but his literary efforts floundered because of the constant activity in the cabin and the distractions of Jocko’s tutoring.

Swan didn’t complain. Instead, he admonished himself for his own lack of discipline. He seemed to welcome any break from the tedium of his writing. He said he was much more at home with his diaries. But by February Swan had managed to complete three chapters of his book. Most of this had been written in the mornings when Jocko and Johnny were asleep, or in the afternoons when ‘the boys ’ would go foraging together.

While Jocko was changing slowly, his constitution remained entirely sasquatch. He was up at night and down during most of the day. Consequently Johnny’s own sleep cycle began to change to match Jocko’s. Swan said this helped to keep the trio from disharmony, but his choice of words was far more direct.

“I’m damned glad you fellows sleep when you do.

Otherwise I’d never get a blessed thing done,” were his exact words.

Otherwise, the days flowed smoothly and Jocko made steady progress.

Neither Swan nor Johnny really expected Jocko to learn to read and write in just a few months, but he surprised them by making unusual strides because of his link with Johnny.

Were it not for their special ability, abstract concepts would have been lost on Jocko entirely.

By February Jocko knew the nature of his mission. He was committed to the idea that he had to enter the world of the humans if he was ever to rejoin his family, and he began to understand something more important; that he felt at home with the humans.

Jocko often wondered what drew him to man. It had him out of step with his kin all of his life. Truly he was the lone wolf, drawn to the sounds and sights that had the other sasquatch running for cover. Many times he had risked his life to catch a glimpse of hunters or to sneak up to mountain cabins and peer into windows. Once he invoked the rage of his mother, and she beat him for having run toward and not away from the sound of a distant gunshot.

But sometimes, when he was very small, she would look wistfully at the curls of smoke in the distance that spoke of the nearness of man. He often sensed that she was drawn to Indians, but he never saw her actually go near them.

Then there was the matter of his father. Jocko’s mother had told him that his father had been killed and she had been taken prisoner by a tribe of humans. She had escaped after a brief but horrible time in their custody. But that was before Jocko was born, and he knew no other details of the incident.

Jocko never knew his father, and that was the reason he thought he was considered an outcast. All the other sasquatch children had fathers.

Yet despite the fact that humans had killed his father, he was still drawn to them. Why? It was a mystery that had followed him all his life and was no doubt the cause of his present circumstances. It had been difficult for him to adjust his patterns and live in a manner dictated by men, but those men were now his only family.

By the time winter was drawing to a close Jocko had settled into a routine that matched that of the humans. This was remarkable, because it is the nature of all sasquatch to eschew routines. That was the way they got killed, because men could predict their behavior. The only way to avoid man was to never do anything the same way twice. Never walk the same path, or forage the same berry patch, or drink from the same place in the stream.

This was Jocko’s greatest challenge in learning to live with Johnny and Swan, because they had no idea how difficult a routine was for the poor sasquatch. Everything ab out man is full of routine or patterns, so Swan and Johnny were constantly putting unprecedented demands on the sasquatch.

Occasionally Johnny got a notion of this when he linked with Jocko, but it was so very alien to Johnny’s human nature that he couldn’t interpret it as anything more than confusion.

No doubt Johnny would never fully fathom how far afield Jocko had gone for the sake of being part of this new family.

Jocko seemed happy, and Swan described him as an excellent student. He was attentive to Swan’s lessons and would often link with Johnny several times a day to gain greater understanding of new information, sometimes on inappropriate occasions. Swan laughed heartily one day when he heard Johnny screaming protests from the latrine.

“Get your hands
off me!
We’ll talk about it
later!
” Johnny’s words echoed through the woods. “Now will you please go away? I’m
busy!
”

By late February Swan decided to try and get Jocko into clothes. He had a pair of loose fitting denim work pants and some old shirts that he said he kept “tucked away for a rainy day.”

One evening after a dinner of squirrel and sweet potato, Swan suggested they try to dress the sasquatch. Johnny linked with Jocko to explain their plan.

Jocko had watched them dress many times but had never considered doing it himself. After all, he had his fur to keep him warm, while the humans needed clothes to warm their pink bodies. The idea of his trying on pants was ridiculous.

Yet for their sake, Jocko finally complied.

It took them a long time to get the pants on Jocko. Finally he stood fidgeting before the two men and fiddling with a pocket that hung inside out. He kept wiping at the fabric as though he was covered with mud.

“Stand still,” ordered Johnny.

But Jocko couldn’t. He wiggled and squirmed inside the overalls.

“Give the boy a chance, John,” said Swan. “You’ve worn breeches all your life. This is brand new to him, probably the weirdest thing he’s ever felt.”

Swan was right. Jocko was doing a dance that made

Johnny want to laugh, but he bit his lip for fear of embarrassing the sasquatch. They still had to get a shirt and shoes on Jocko. It was the shoes that had Johnny worried.

Having seen how the sasquatch used his feet to move through the woods, Johnny wondered if shoes would cripple him.

Despite several minutes of Jocko’s squirming, Swan decided that since they had managed to get pants on Jocko they should try and complete the outfit. He sorted through the pile of shirts until he found one large enough and handed it to Jocko. Johnny touched the sasquatch and explained what they wanted him to do.

A few minutes later the garment was on right side up and with the buttons in the front. Again they stood back from Jocko and studied him. “I don’t know,” said Swan. “We’ve got a ways to go, don’t you think?”

Johnny nodded. “All I can think of is the time I dressed up Gert’s dog Rocky. Jocko looks more uncomfortable in clothes than the dog.”

Jocko quivered all over. He itched and sweated and paced around the cabin like a caged leopard.

“My god, Jocko, stand still,” commanded Johnny.

But Swan raised his hand. “Let him be for a while. At least Jocko isn’t ripping the clothes off.”

The feeling was profound. Jocko walked about as a human would. He WAS a human. He even smelled like one.

Jocko raised his arms every so often and sniffed the shirt.

The odor filled him with dread and wonder. It was mixed with his own scent and commanded his instincts in a profound way. The sasquatch was compelled and repulsed at the same time.

Johnny put a hand on Jocko’s shoulder, but the clothing prevented a link. “Calm down, Jocko,” said Johnny. “It’s just a shirt. You’ll get used to it.”

Suddenly Jocko stopped moving and looked toward the door of the cabin. He then looked at Swan, then at Johnny.

Alarm was plainly written on his face.

“Man. Come,” said Jocko.

Johnny walked to the door, opened it, and looked down the trail. Jocko was right. There was a group of figures moving toward the cabin.

Suddenly Jocko raced past him out the door and ducked around the cabin, still wearing his shirt and pants. Johnny watched him go and looked back at the people, but they were still too far away to identify. Nor could he tell if they had seen Jocko flee. He heard voices but couldn’t pick out any words.

Swan came out of the cabin and stood beside him holding his rifle. He gazed at the men and smiled. “That would be my friend, Charles, I think. He said he might come.” Swan looked at Johnny. “Did they see Jocko?”

“I guess,” answered Johnny dubiously. “But he was wearing clothes. If they saw him, they sure won’t know he is a sasquatch.”

“Unless they smell him,” said Swan, thrusting an arm into the air to beckon to the group. “Haalloooo, Charles!” he bellowed. “Good to see you!”

As the men walked up the trail Swan told Johnny that Charles was the brother of his good friend Swell. He identified the other three as family members: Charles’ brother, Big Hat; a squaw named Ta-nas -sis, a Nootka; and an Indian Swan suspected was her new husband.

As they neared the cabin Swan walked down the path to greet them.

“This isn’t the way the Indians greet folks, you know,” said Swan. “When relatives visit, everyone waits in the big lodge.

The visitors enter and nobody utters a word. They sit like that for a while until somebody says something. Then, maybe an hour later, they are whoopin’ it up, swappin’ news and yarns and having a grand old time.”

“Why do they do it like that?” asked Johnny.

“I haven’t a notion, John,” said Swan.

“Then are we doing the right thing walking out to meet

’em?”

Swan laughed. “That’s how the Indians do it. We’re white people. They don’t expect us to act like them.” He looked down briefly at the rifle cradled in his arm. Johnny noticed that he carried it like a hunter, unthreateningly but there if he needed it.

“Besides,” added Swan, “we weren’t really expecting them.”

When they reached the Indians, none of them seemed particularly enthusiastic. Johnny thought about what Swan had said. Indeed, the Indians remained silent except for the leader, Charles, who smiled and embraced Swan briefly.

“I hope you brought some coffee, Charles,” said Swan.

“I’ve two coffee lovers aboard now.”

The Indian looked at Johnny, smiled and nodded.

“Kom-me-tak. Two pounds,” he answered, pointing to a sack the woman was carrying.

“Grand news, John,” said Swan happily. “Charles has saved our palates and our sanity.”

Swan introduced Johnny to the Indians starting with Charles, then his cousin whose name, Ta-nas -sis, meant

‘small one’ in Nootka. Swan apologized that he didn’t know the name of Ta-nas -sis’ husband. Big Hat told Swan that the man was Clat-te-wah, a Chinook, who had joined a southern Haida tribe to be with his new wife.

“I know that name is Chinook for ‘to go off’, or ‘to leave’,” said Swan with a nod to Johnny. “Isn’t that correct, Charles?”

Charles nodded approvingly. The other Indians smiled.

“You are all welcome to my cabin,” said Swan graciously, looking each of the visitors in the eye. Swan moved and spoke casually, but he kept his gun at the ready.

Johnny smiled and nodded to the Indians.

“This is John Tilbury,” said Swan. “He came to me with a broken arm … a big cut on his head. No idea how he got here. Just a stroke of luck, I’d say.”

The Indians looked Johnny over carefully, then wordlessly turned and walked toward the cabin.

“Pennington wants you back,” said Charles.

Swan scowled. “Oh? And what’s his problem? It better not be about oystering.”

Big Hat laughed. “He says nobody plays poker like Swan.”

Charles looked at Johnny and examined the scar on his forehead. It divided Johnny’s eyebrow. “Where you from, John Til–” said the Indian.

“Tilbury,” said Johnny. “People call me Johnny. Except Swan. He calls me John.”

“Worse, I bet,” laughed Charles. “Then he writes it in a book, huh?”

“He does that,” answered Johnny with a broad smile.

The four visitors walked over to the cabin and dropped their packs beside the door, then they went inside talking and laughing among themselves, but when they got inside their laughter ceased abruptly.

Swan had forgotten how strange the interior of the cabin looked. It was way past Christmas but their decorations remained. Dried berries littered the floor and the tree still dominated the room. The Indians just stood in the doorway and stared. Finally, after waiting for Swan to explain Charles could contain himself no longer. “Swan tsum … writes about plants?”

“Exactly,” answered Swan. “Local botany.”

The Indians looked at Swan in disbelief. Finally Big Hat said: “B… botany?” He seemed to have trouble pronouncing the
‘b’.

“Yes,” said Swan cheerfully, “Botany is a word meaning the study of plants.”

Charles smiled at his brother. “See? This schoh is crazy.”

“What’s a schoh?” asked Johnny.

“Old man,” said Swan. “He means me.”

Big Hat still wore a look of concern. “But there are not so many plants here.” He pointed out the proliferation of hemlock branches. “Only poison plants. To kill somebody? I-yer-m a-ha.”

“Left over decorations from Christmas – Hyas Sunday.”

Johnny asked the group how far they had come.

“Port Townsend,” said Clat-te-wah, sitting down in the sasquatch nest. “Sin-na-mox, seven days travel.”

The Indian examined the nest, then sniffed the air. “What is this? More b… botany?”

“Here,” said Swan, “This chair should be more comfortable. That pile of stuff was just an experiment. We were trying to see if you could make a bed from the plants around here.”

“Wha’ah … ko-m e-tak,” said the Indian.

“That means he understands,” said Swan.