Joko (39 page)

Jack noticed the man’s approving smile and nodded. Swan told the group that Jack was from “beyond the great ocean, a place called Sumatra. Currently he’s lost, but I intend to help him find his way home.” Without comment, the chief turned and led them into the lodge.

Shafts of light poured into the lodge. The air smelled of cedar and drying fish. A stone-lined fireplace glowed brightly in the center of the room. As Johnny’s eyes adjusted to the light he noticed that the walls were hung with blankets, tools, and decorated animal masks. The place reminded him of a meeting hall.

Several tables and short benches were arranged on a hard earth floor in a semi-circle around the fireplace. The chief told everyone to be seated, while through another door a group of women entered with trays of bread, dried fish, vegetables, both cooked and raw, and long strips of dried meat. The chief sat nearest the fire with his family on either side of him.

Before he seated himself Swan dropped his pack near the door, then held up his rifle and handed it to the chief. “I will have no use for this while we are here, but I will ask you for it when I leave,” said Swan, looking the chief in the eye.

The Nootkah chief seemed to appreciate the gesture. He took the gun and examined it with admiration, holding it up and sighting it through a window. All the while he made appreciative grunts. Then he handed it to a brave at his right, who gave it a cursory examination and placed it against the wall behind the chief.

Another woman came into the room carrying a pitcher.

She gave it to Cha-ta-quay, then left. He took several long swallows directly from the pitcher and handed it to Swan.

Without hesitation, the old argonaut bravely took a swallow and, following the chief’s lead, passed it to Johnny. Johnny peered into the pitcher. A reek made his head snap back.

“Take a sip. Pass it along, Johnny,” coached Swan.

Johnny took a deep breath. He knew that hesitation just made things harder, so he took a sip and handed the pitcher to Jack. He was wondering what Jack would make of the brew, but the taste hit him and Johnny found himself too preoccupied with his heaving stomach to think about the sasquatch. He could already feel the effect of the alcohol on his empty stomach.

Jack looked questioningly at Johnny, took a sniff of the pitcher, then to Johnny’s horror he took two big swallows and sat for a moment, holding the pitcher in both hands.

“Pass it along, Jack. Give it to
him
,” said Swan, pointing to the Nootkah brave seated to Jack’s left.

Johnny recovered enough to pat Jack’s leg and point to the brave. “Go ahead, Jack. It’s his turn. Give him,” Johnny belched loudly. “Sorry,” he said, looking a bit embarrassed.

Jack looked at Johnny, then at the Indian, then at the pitcher. For a moment Johnny thought the sasquatch would drain the pitcher, but the brave, eager for his turn, snatched the pitcher from Jack. The drink then continued its ceremonial round of the group without incident until it got back to the chief. There it stayed throughout the meal. Other pitchers were brought in with the food by the squaws, but to Johnny’s relief they contained only water.

After washing the taste of the drink from his palate, Johnny grabbed a piece of flat bread and took a large bite.

“Good! What was that drink?” he asked Swan.

“A brew,” said Swan. “Usually they drink water. I suspect this is an attempt at brewing, Johnny. Made from corn.

Popular in South America, I’m told. I don’t think you really want to know more than that.” Swan retrieved a yam from the tray and handed it to Jack. “Here, Jack. It’s cooked but you should find this to your liking.”

Jack accepted the yam happily and, without peeling it, took a large bite. Steam rose into the cool air as he bit into it.

Jack let out a squeal and spat violently. The steaming orange missile missed everyone and landed harmlessly on the floor.

“My goodness, Jack!” roared Swan. He explained to the chief that Jack was used to raw vegetables and rarely ate meat, but as he spoke Jack picked up a piece of dried fish and a strip of venison and took a big bite of both. He chewed noisily as he smiled at Johnny and Swan.

“Gooood,” Jack said.

Swan sighed. “Well, at least up ’til now he hasn’t eaten any meat.”

All the Indians were watching Jack. They clearly found him amusing, but what mattered to Johnny was that they had accepted Jack as a fellow human, albeit a strange one.

Johnny remembered Swan saying that many travelers visit the region, and usually it was the more civilized of these folk, the dandies and dignitaries in uniform, that interested the natives. He said visiting dignitaries often caused a commotion because such people usually meant trade.

Johnny could see from the way the braves behaved toward Jack that they saw him as nothing more than a common castaway, and an amusing one at that, but Johnny remembered that it would be different in Port Townsend. The thought sobered him somewhat from the effects of the chief’s special brew.

After they had eaten, the chief offered Swan a mule for the tribe’s indefinite use of the canoe. To Swan’s surprise there had been no negotiations at all. The chief approved the transaction with a nod. Then the conversation shifted back to the earthquake.

“We saw big waves,” said Cha-ta-quay. “Lost many canoes.”

After listening to Swan’s details of the ruined village the Nootkah began planning a trip to help their kin rebuild.

Lulled into a torpor by food and drink, Jack left the table to sit near the fire. Johnny recognized the position Jack settled into, one knee under his chin and the other on the floor. He was sleeping on full alert. But Johnny also noticed that the braves seated near Jack had assumed a similar pose. The sight was reassuring.

Cha-ta-quay told Swan they were welcome to stay in the lodge until they were ready to leave the next day, and Swan accepted gracefully. Soon after, the Indians filtered out of the room until only a few braves and the chief remained with the three visitors. A large fire burned outside, and most of the braves assembled themselves around it and began gambling.

Swan told Johnny they loved nothing more and might be at it all night. He thanked the chief for his hospitality and wished him good luck with his kin in the ruined village.

The chief nodded. “I brought you to the lodge to ask Swan
cha-tic,
artist, to paint your totem, the raven, on that ta-m a-na-was mask.” The chief pointed to an unpainted circular shield that leaned against a wall. “But now I must go from here, and you must go also. You will have your mule and I will use your canoe to visit Two-Forks.”

The chief turned to a tall brave who had remained with him during the meeting, and said a few words. The brave, who Swan presumed was the chief’s eldest son, nodded obediently. Swan took the chief’s hand and smiled. “I will give you your totem, I promise. You’ll have a raven for your lodge.

Ko-me-tak
?”

Cha-ta-quay grunted an approval. “
Kloo-shish,
very good.”

Swan pointed to the shield. “It will look good, I think.”

Cha-ta-quay smiled and nodded. Then he stood up and stretched. Without further comment he gave a nod to both Johnny and Jack and left the lodge.

That night, Swan didn’t sleep. By firelight, with Johnny asleep nearby, Swan took pens, brushes, and both black and red ink from his pack. In the next few hours he deftly drew and painted a crow on the shield and hung it on the wall of the lodge. It was the first thing that Johnny saw when he awoke the next morning.

Johnny stood up and stretched. “You painted the totem.”

Swan made no comment. He told Johnny and Jack to get packed up and ready to go, and left the lodge.

When Johnny emerged from the lodge he could see the chief and a small party of braves standing next to the dugout at the shore. Swan was talking to the tall brave next to the chief who held the reins of a small grey and white spotted mule.

Jack stayed in the lodge looking at the
ta-ma-na
-was mask that Swan had painted. It amazed him. He could see that it was a crow but also that it was like writing. He wondered at its purpose.

Swan’s abilities fascinated Jack. Particularly this art. He had only seen writing in Swan’s journals. This was new and different. In his travels Jack and his family had come upon Indian encampments and caught glimpses of their artwork decorating lodges and totems.

He remembered a mysterious pillar that was carved and painted. Swan’s crow reminded him of some of the frightening faces he’d seen in the moonlight, images he associated with the smell of man. Now he had seen one created, watched the whole process from the first faint pencil markings to the mixing of the paint from dry powder and its application with a small brush in Swan’s deft hand. Truly, for Jack, the moment was a revelation. While he watched the crow take form he was so moved that he wept. An unknown demon was revealed by an artist’s hand.

But Swan never noticed.

Now, as the morning light poured in the lodge and struck the red and black mask, Jack saw the art in all its glory and detail, no longer a thing of mystery but still full of wonder.

How different these humans were from him,
he thought.

He was proud and amazed that he had come this far with Johnny and Swan. And he was pleased with himself, his independence and cunning, and with being part of a new family so unlike his own.

Jack wondered as he gazed at the art on the wall. Would he ever be able to do something like this? He stared at the design, trying to make sense of it. Why had it been created?

Was it a crow? Why a crow? Why had Swan done this on a stranger’s dwelling yet not in his own home in the mountains?

He wondered about the incomprehensible ‘something’ that motivated Swan to do his art and writing.

Johnny came into the room. “Jack, what’s keeping you? Still staring at the mask? It’s fine work, Jack, but you can’t stay here all day and admire it. We have to go.”

Jack pointed at the wall. “Swan. Swan make crow.”

Johnny understood what Jack was trying to say. He realized the sasquatch had just witnessed something marvelous and new, but he knew there was no explaining art to the sasquatch. At least not there and then. “It’s beautiful.

The natives suppose it’s magic. But we really have to go.”

But Jack seemed to want to stay, so Johnny stood next to him for a moment trying to think of something to say that might explain the mask to the sasquatch. Finally he just took Jack by the arm. “Let’s get going, Jack,” and led him out the door.

Outside the lodge Swan was a short distance away, busily packing the mule.

“Are you ready?” he called when he saw Johnny and

Jack.

“Jack was amazed with your work,” said Johnny. “He didn’t want to stop looking at it.”

Swan looked at Jack and smiled. “Oh, really? An admirer?

What did you think, Jack?” Jack yawned.

“Oh,” said Swan. “
That
good, eh?”

Johnny laughed. “I swear, he really liked it. I think he stayed up all night watching you paint the mask.”

Swan didn’t comment. He seemed preoccupied with the mule. It shifted uneasily as Swan struggled to lash the packs together and hold on to the reins at the same time.

“What’s the problem?” asked Johnny. But as he spoke he could see that the closer he and Jack came to the mule the more it became agitated. The mule was eyeing Jack as though he were a rattlesnake.

“I think he’s afraid of Jack,” said Johnny.

“Hold still, you …” growled Swan as he restrained the animal. “You may be right, John.”

But before Swan or Johnny could react, Jack had approached the mule, holding out his hand. Jack made a sound, barely audible above the sound of the wind in the trees, a low hum that seemed to soothe the mule. Strangely, Johnny could feel it too. Jack’s hand touched the mule’s flank and it moved its head up and down eyeing the sasquatch.

Immediately the mule grunted and sniffed Jack’s hand. Then its attention seemed to drift away from Jack to some grass it had been eating.

“Well, that’s a valuable skill you have there, boy,” Swan said, patting the sasquatch on the back. “Thank you so very much.” As astonished as he was with Jack’s power over the mule, Swan didn’t miss the chance to finish packing the now docile beast. Jack seemed to make little of the incident. He pitched in, steadying the packs while Swan and Johnny secured the load with straps and rope.

By morning’s end the trio had breakfasted on corn meal and jerky, said their formal good-byes to the Nootkah and begun the overland leg of their trip to Port Townsend. A trail led out of the village and headed due north, following a stream. It was wide enough to accommodate two horses, but before long it narrowed to a path and the forest closed in thickly around them.

As they rounded a bend a young Indian boy came toward them carrying a small caliber rifle and two large grey hares.

Swan recognized him immediately as the one they had met the previous day, Johnny Kitt Elswa. He waved hello and called his name. When he got near Johnny noticed the Indian’s face was smeared with ashes. Without hesitation, the boy handed the two rabbits to Swan and said: “Swan, these
quit-chad-de,
rabbits, are for you.”

Swan seemed perplexed. “No, Johnny. We couldn’t take them.”

“Swan good man, good teacher. Great Spirit put me here, on this trail, to give you thanks. You help my people.”

Swan smiled. “Well, we can’t argue with the Great Spirit, can we?
Hy-as clo-se is-cum
?” he said, accepting the rabbits.

“We will enjoy them at our camp fire.”

Johnny Kitt Elswa smiled, his gaze brimming with approval. Then he quickly turned and trotted back down the trail in the direction from which he had come. He looked over his shoulder. “Watch out for
da-go
, Teacher Swan. Shaking earth make them sting, I think. You’ll see. Use the ashes so they can’t smell you.”

Swan seemed happy as he examined the rabbits. He noted with approval that they had been neatly cleaned and slung then over the packs on the mule. “I remember now. He was a good student.”