Joko (30 page)

Part IX

My Name is Jocko.

I am from sumatra

i cum on ship name

Farragut

“Big Hat smelled him. I’m not surprised,” said Johnny, breaking the silence. He and Swan had stood for quite a while, wordlessly watching Charles and the other Indians amble away.

They turned and went into the cabin. Last to enter, Johnny paused to adjust a dowel that had worked its way loose from the door hinge. As he turned his eye caught a movement amid the shadows in the forest. Johnny gazed at the spot but didn’t see anything. Still, he watched for at least a minute.

Disappointed, he went back to fixing the door.

Swan came back outside and headed toward the latrine.

“I’m drinking too much coffee,” he said. “Better ration what I have left. Charles isn’t coming back, I think.” Swan looked at what Johnny was doing. “That hinge going again? Thanks for tendin’ to it, John.”

Johnny caught Swan’s eye. “I think I saw Jocko out there,” he said, pointing his chin toward the woods.

Swan gave a cursory look around and said: “I hope so.”

Then he trotted off down the trail.

Johnny finished his work with a few taps of the mallet.

With that done he didn’t really have anything to do, so he decided to take a stroll into the woods. The thought of calling out to Jocko had crossed his mind, but he knew the Indians were still within hearing range.

In a few minutes Johnny was strolling amid the trunks of the ancient cedars. He walked slowly with eyes front, in a manner Swan had told him was common style for Indian warriors when they scouted for game.

“Try to focus on your peripheral, your side vision,” he’d said. “But look straight ahead. Animals know when you look at them. If you don’t face them, they think you don’t see them.”

Johnny stubbed his toe on a rock. “Creation!” he hissed, hopping on one foot in pain.

“Creeee-aaaa-shunnn,” said a voice close by. To

Johnny’s amazement, Jocko was standing in front of him holding his torn shirt and pants.

“Jocko run,” he said sadly. “Jocko run way … leave

Johnny.”

Johnny was speechless. He reached out and put a hand on Jocko’s shoulder and smiled. “I’m glad to see you,” In a burst of emotion, Johnny hugged Jocko. “Come back to the cabin. The Indians are gone, now.” Johnny looked back down the path.

Jocko stood for a moment, looking at the ground with his lips moving silently, then he lifted his eyes and said: “Jocko be man.” He began walking toward the cabin.

Johnny was astonished. Mere moments ago he had been wondering if he’d ever see the sasquatch again. Now, here he was, having a discussion with Jocko. Best of all, the sadness seemed to vanish after Jocko spoke. It was as though a painful moment of decision had been overcome.

Jocko’s speech had moved them both into a new relationship.

There was no longer any doubt in Johnny’s mind. If they were going to successfully prepare the sasquatch for the real world, they would have to think of Jocko as a human.

Swan sat in a chair outside the cabin making an entry in his notebook when Johnny and Jocko came out of the forest. He looked up at them, smiled, and waved. If he was surprised to see the sasquatch, Johnny couldn’t tell.

Swan pointed to the shirt and pants Jocko carried. “Didn’t they fit you?” Jocko held the clothes out like an offering.

“Well,” said Swan, “seems you understand me, yes?”

“Jo-cko be man,” said Jocko. His voice was husky and he seemed to have difficulty saying his name, stumbling over the

‘o’ and the ‘k’ sounds. “Jo-cko be like … like Joh-nny. Be man.” He spoke in slow, carefully pronounced syllables. “Be man.”

Swan’s eyes grew wide and he stood up. He put his hands on Jocko’s shoulders and looked into his eyes, but the

‘linking’ didn’t occur. Johnny got the impression Jocko was prohibiting it for some reason. With some difficulty, Jocko pulled free of Swan’s grasp and met the man’s gaze. It was clear he wanted to use speech to communicate with Swan.

“Jo-cko … learn … more,” said the sasquatch. “Learn … read. Learn … be man.”

Swan was quiet for a moment, staring at Jocko in amazement. Finally he said: “Yes, Jocko, I now believe you will, as you say, “learn be m an”.”

By March the signs of spring could be seen amid the forest.

Here and there, brightly colored flowers appeared in profusion. The weather was still cool in the foothills of the great Olympic Mountains, but the snow flurries had been replaced with rain. Plenty of rain.

There wasn’t a great deal to do around the cabin beyond the necessities of day to day life. Swan made headway with his book and still managed to find time to teach the sasquatch. Johnny and Jocko, meanwhile, worked on Jocko’s reading, writing and speaking skills. After seeing Jocko’s first attempts at writing with pencil and paper, Swan was grateful that he had brought more than enough writing materials from Port Townsend – something, he told Johnny, that had caused debate among the Indians while they were packing the mules to leave for the cabin.

“Why I needed so many notebooks was beyond their understanding,” said Swan. “I can’t fault them for that. At times I would have gladly replaced the weight of those books with ‘other’ cargo; som ething with the kick of a mule to sustain me through the winter nights alone with my candle and pens.”

Swan sighed. “But the point of this self imposed exile is to put work before pleasure. Right, John? To make something worthwhile out of the last ten years of my life. I cursed those boxes many times on my way here, but now I find myself with all the right materials to humanize a sasquatch – or at least to teach one to write. Isn’t that providence, John? I certainly think it is.”

One morning, during breakfast Johnny struggled to show the sasquatch how to use a knife to slice bread.

“No, Jocko. No! You’ll never get it, Jocko, if you don’t watch me do it!” said Johnny in frustration.

Wanderlust gnawed at Jocko. The mountains called to him.

Every day he would explore the forest. Now he knew it better than the cabin. He had never seen a land so lush, so fragrant, or so wet.

Now that he was bathing, his fur had lost much of the natural oil that repelled moisture and insulated him from the cold. Increasingly he was forced to seek the warmth of the cabin. But he didn’t mind being with Johnny and Swan, except that with them he could never answer the mountains when they called to him.

He stared at the distant white-capped peaks that jutted above the distant ridges. Now he knew that he would never know what lay beyond.

Jocko wondered if he could ever listen to the mountains call again.

Swan decided that continuing to call the sasquatch Jocko offended his sensibilities and defeated their ultimate purpose.

Johnny objected at first: “I thought we talked about that. If it makes no difference to him, why change it?”

“I know we did,” began Swan, “but I still can’t disassociate it from the ‘monkey-boy’ connotation, and I don’t think anyone else would either. It’s a demeaning name. We should give him the dignity he deserves. Look what he has done for himself. The bravery of his actions! The name simply doesn’t suit him.”

“Then what will be call him?” asked Johnny.

There was a long moment of silence, then Swan smiled.

“Before, we’d thought of calling him Jack.” Johnny looked at Jocko. “Did you get that?”

Jocko stared at him blankly.

Swan looked at Jocko and repeated himself. “Your name should be Jack.”

Jocko looked at Johnny doubtfully.

“Say Jack,” said Johnny.

The sasquatch was confused. “Me Jo-cko,” he said, patting his hairy chest.

Swan took his time and spoke calmly. He looked the sasquatch in the eye and asked: “What’s your name?”

“I am Joc-ko,” he said.

“Now you are … JACK,” said Swan. Jocko looked at

Swan with an expression full of dismay. He remained silent until Swan repeated his statement. Johnny felt he should say something to reinforce Swan’s wishes, but he could think of nothing to add.

Finally Jocko spoke. “I am Jack.”

“Yes!” said Swan, obviously delighted. “Yes! Now you Jack. That’s a better name, no?”

Johnny sliced off a piece of Swan’s pan bread and handed it to Jocko. “Have some bread, Jack.”

The sasquatch took the bread and bit into it. As he stuffed it all into his mouth and chewed happily, it was clear that he appreciated his own accomplishment. “Me … Jack,” he said spitting wet crumbs onto the floor.

“Well, now that that is settled, Jack, I guess we can get back to teaching you how to eat like a human.” Johnny looked at Swan and smiled.

I am Jack.

I am from Sumatra.

I am livin now frum yale.

By April Swan had finished a substantial portion of his manuscript and was beginning to think about returning to Port Townsend. Also, the trapper who owned the cabin was due to return by late spring. Meanwhile, committed as he was to becoming human, ‘Jack’ was making great strides with his studies.

One evening after Swan had returned from a brief hunting trip, he told Johnny he had concocted a passable story to account for Jack’s unusual appearance. “I was thinking about Jack,” he began. “With a shave and some clothes he could look Asian or from the south seas. There are a lot of places he could be from.” Swan studied Jack’s face. “This is a shipping area. People from all over the world visit here. There are all types of folks in Port Townsend; Chinamen, whites, Negroes, not to mention Indians.”

“That’s true,” said Johnny. “But they aren’t all covered with hair.”

“Yes. That remains our one major hurdle, Jack’s fur. But hair can be removed.”

“How much of him would we have to shave?” asked

Johnny.

Jack sat in a chair across from where the Johnny and Swan were talking. He listened intently, knowing he was the subject of their talk, but some of what they talked about eluded him.

He had never been to a town.

Through his frequent linking with Johnny, he had gathered an impression of what he would face when he began life as a human. But there was so very much that he saw in Johnny’s mind that was utterly alien that he found himself shutting most of it out. Now he was beginning to realize the time had come to try to look like one. After all the discussion and consideration of how the transformation of Jocko into Jack would take place, ‘Jack ’ was aware that drastic steps would be necessary, and often he had gotten the impression, while watching Johnny shave, that he was destined for the same strange fate
.

Swan scrutinized the sasquatch’s face and neck. “I say we give him a good haircut. That would be a safe first step, yes?”

Johnny nodded.

Swan looked Jack full in the face and asked, “How about you, Jack? Feel like a trim?”

Jack blinked.

“Well then, sit you down over here in the light and I’ll try my hand at barbering,” said Swan, moving a chair into the warm light that streamed in the cabin window.

Jack understood, but he moved into the seat like a prisoner facing torture.

When Jocko was ready Swan picked up a pair of scissors.

He snipped them a few times as a barber would, getting into the role. “How would you like it, sir? A little off the sides? And how’s the family, Mr Sasquatch?” he joked, snipping the scissors ominously.

Johnny couldn’t help snickering in spite of the grave expression on Jack’s face. He patted Jack’s arm and said:

“It’ll be okay, Jocko … I mean, Jack.”

Jack looked at the scissors Swan was holding and shot a look at Johnny, who was standing behind Jack patting his shoulder for moral support. Johnny rocked back and forth where he stood. It had been a while since he and Jack had linked, and he’d almost forgotten what it could be like when the sasquatch was charged with emotion. At such times it became a force, not just a communications link. Johnny’s knees buckled slightly.

Swan reached out to steady the boy. “John, what’s the matter?”

“Jocko’s upset. He did the link,” said Johnny. “He’s afraid.

Really afraid.”

“Oh! I see.” Swan stepped backward and lowered the scissors. “Understandable,” he said quietly, looking into Jack’s eyes. “Well, we’ll take this one step at a time, yes?”

“Jocko’s
very
upset,” repeated Johnny, sitting down on the cot and wiping his forehead.

Swan knelt down, presumably to be at eye level with Jack.

He held out the scissors for the sasquatch to examine. “Jack,” he began. “These are scissors. They are not to hurt you. We are going to give you a haircut. We know that you have never had one before, but it isn’t an unpleasant experience. I assure you it won’t hurt. You may come to enjoy haircuts in time.”

Johnny shook his head. “Swan,” he said, in an irritated tone.

“I know, John,” said Swan. “I’m rambling. I’m just using a barberly technique … bedside manner. You know.”

“He knows what you’re doing. He knows it has to be done, but he’s still afraid. Nothing you can say will change that. Just get on with it.”

“Hummmph!” grumbled Swan as he stood. He moved behind Jack and began picking at his hair, looking for a place to start.

The process began with a cautious nip here and there.

Then, since the sasquatch didn’t bolt from the chair, Swan proceeded with more confidence. Soon he had removed enough hair to reveal the shape of his head and neck.

Swan stared at his work doubtfully. “He’s got no neck to speak of,” Swan exclaimed. “I can tell you this minute that Jack’s going to have trouble with shirts.”

Johnny frowned. “He’s got more than his neck to worry about.”

Swan smiled. “I reckon so,” he said sweeping aside the small pile of hair on the floor with his foot. “After the cutting comes the shaving,” he said, picking up his straight razor.

“This may be the roughest part. But before we begin,” Swan put the scissors and razor down and looked at Johnny. “I think that now may be a good time for you to link with Jack. I think it would help if you explained the process of shaving.”

Johnny nodded and put a hand cautiously on Jack’s furry shoulder and explained the shaving process as best he could.