Joko (47 page)

The Yale Sentinel arrived, bearing an account of the earthquake and flood on the Olympic peninsula, and as luck would have it the details of the story contained a brief account, authored by Swan, of the plight of the Skokomis village.

Gert also closed her shop and went directly to

Hannington’s house, laughing when she found everyone in the kitchen with the smell of cigar smoke and coffee hanging thickly in the air. Doc Hannington seemed to light up when she entered the room. Johnny smiled. Soon after he had found her in her new shop, Gert had told him about their wedding plans. He’d said he was happy for her, but he wasn’t sure she believed him. Even when he’d remarked that he liked the doctor, her eyes still searched him for signs of disapproval. Now, seeing Johnny smiling seemed to put her instantly at ease.

“Hatching a plot, are we?” she said. “Something about a sasquatch I’ll bet. No need to whisper, you know. That Costerson left months ago.”

“Gone but not forgotten, I fear,” said the doctor, kissing Gert’s cheek and ushering her to a chair at the table.

Jack was sitting on a countertop with his hat on one knee.

She smiled at him and turned to Johnny. “My, my, it is so good to see you. I couldn’t believe you’d been lost in those straits.” She drew her nephew near and touched his sandy hair. Johnny hadn’t shaved since Port Townsend and his hair hadn’t been cut since Swan’s cabin.

“You look older, Johnny,” Gert said, pushing a lock of hair away to find his ear. “Are you all right?” She looked at his leg.

“Which leg was it?” She began to lift his pant leg but he pulled away.

“It doesn’t show,” grumbled Johnny. “If you want a show, I got a scar on my head.” He pointed to his forehead.

“Johnny fall,” said Jack.

At Gert’s farm, happy to be home, Johnny and the sasquatch were finally able to relax, perhaps for the first time since either of them could remember. While Johnny told Gert more details of his wilderness experience, eating biscuits and drinking hot chocolate with plenty of milk, Jack fell asleep in Uncle Jimmy’s favorite leather chair.

Waking in his own bed the next morning, Johnny found it hard to believe he was really seeing the same oak rafters he’d known through his boyhood. He sat up and surveyed the room, even pinching himself to be sure he wasn’t still dreaming. Rocky was draped across his legs and Jack was still curled up on a cot next to him. Johnny smiled when he remembered Gert saying she’d stuffed the cot’s mattress with ferns to help the saquatch feel at home. Jack’s sprawling posture and deep snoring proved Gert’s efforts were appreciated. Johnny wondered how Swan was faring at the doctor’s house.

He thought it was probably a surprise to Swan that he’d be staying in town with the doctor, but Swan had assured them that it didn’t matter at all where he slept, and he had seemed to get on well with Doc Hannington.

Johnny’s mind drifted to the previous day. The announcement of marriage was only a mild surprise. He’d seen the romance brewing for a while. But the store was a surprise. He’d expected Gert to use Barnum’s money for additions to the farm. But Gert did love to sew, and Johnny did remember his aunt saying more than once that she’d like to open a little shop of her own in town one day, but he never took her seriously.

The grandfather clock chimed six o’clock.

Gert’s bedroom door opened, startling Jack awake.

“Sorry, Jack,” said Johnny’s aunt. “There’s fresh asparagus in the garden, you know.”

It was Sunday afternoon. Johnny had not gone with his aunt to church. Instead, he’d decided he should take the wagon to Lytton to see about his apartment. Gert had settled the account with the landlord but some of Johnny’s effects were there, and he wanted to see if his job with the railroad was still available. He thought it best to leave Jack home. When he left, Jack was ‘grazing in the garden’, as his aunt put it.

When he arrived at his apartment, Garrison Wakely, whose leather goods shop occupied the ground floor, was sweeping the walkway.

“John Tilbury!” yelled the little old man in a shrill tenor voice. “I never expected to see you again.” The man’s expression grew serious. “Ned said that you’d been lost at sea transporting some monkey to Barnum’s circus,” he said, leaning forward on his broom. “Sounds preposterous, Johnny.

Is it true?”

“Yes it is, I’m afraid,” said Johnny. “I was knocked off a ship near Dungeness.” Johnny tried to act as if he’d told his story a hundred times. “I came to my senses miles from there in the deep woods, rescued by a foreigner, a man named Jack.”

“Uh huh,” said the man. Johnny assumed his former landlord accepted the story, since he asked no more questions. He looked up at the windows of his old apartment.

“I suppose you gave all my leftover belongings to the Sisters of Mary?”

Wakely laughed. “Oh my, no indeed, Mr Tilbury. I put your things in the shed behind the house. There’s a footlocker. I couldn’t keep your room, though, you understand,” he added, scrutinizing Johnny’s face again. “I needed the money.”

After Johnny checked the shed, he was satisfied that everything of value had been secured. He gave Mr Wakely money for this trouble and loaded the wagon with the few boxes, mostly old clothing and cooking utensils, that had been stored there. The only sizeable items were two area rugs.

Only a few hours later Johnny started his return trip with little to show for his trip to Lytton. He was unable to locate Ned at all. He decided that if his job still existed with the railroad he’d find out at the railroad station, Monday morning.

When he arrived in Yale he stopped the wagon in front of the Hannington house. Swan was sitting on the front porch smoking his pipe. He seemed relaxed and at home as he waved to Johnny.

“You want a ride out to the house?”

Without hesitation Swan climbed into the buckboard. “I assume dinner is in the bargain?”

Johnny assured him that it was, and minutes later they were moving along the road toward the farm. Swan said he’d slept well but felt pretty useless. “I think I’d have been of more use in Port Townsend.”

“We just got here!” Johnny argued.

Swan nodded. “Something about Hannington makes me want to leave,” he said. “Damnedest thing, I know.” He removed his hat and wiped his brow. “I like the man, don’t mean to suggest otherwise, but I just can’t figure out why I feel this way.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re a threat to him or to his plans to marry my aunt,” offered Johnny.

“Ridiculous!” bellowed Swan. “I’m an old argonaut and … and … I’m a married man!”

“Not that old, I think, and not that married, from what I’ve seen,” said Johnny with a laugh.

Swan sat bolt upright as they rode along. His arms we crossed firmly across his chest and he seemed to be pouting.

“I hope you don’t have the wrong idea about me, Mr Tilbury. I can tell you, though, Hannington had me doctoring a bit.

Bandages and the like. I got the feeling if I stayed there longer he’d have me sawing off legs, or deliverin’ babies. Now it seems I have to endure references to my personal life. I’ll have you know that my dear wife fully understands the nature of her argonaut husband’s sacrifices. The price of exploration for many men like me has been their homes, wives, and the company of their children. Mariners, soldiers, traveling salesmen, men in search of land, hoping they can one day send for their families. The west is full of them.”

“I’m sorry Mr Swan,” said Johnny shyly. “I meant no harm.”

Swan looked at him seriously for a moment. Johnny saw a long stretch of straight road and gave the reins a snap. “I shouldn’t have said that about …”

“No harm done, lad,” said Swan. “As you said, we just got here. Takes time for a body to adjust. And I’ve seen more than once that familiarity does indeed breed contempt.”

“Contempt. You mean hate? Guess s o,” said Johnny.

He thought immediately of Jack, waiting with his aunt at the farm. Would that happen between himself and the sasquatch? He dismissed the idea easily. He and Jack had a relationship built on trust.

The wagon creaked loudly as they rolled over some broad grooved slabs of glacial stone. Swan grabbed the seat to keep from being pitched onto the road. “All that aside, John Tilbury,” said Swan. “I do hope the good doctor won’t mind my stayin’ the night out at the farm of his intended.”

Johnny laughed. “I’m thinkin’ about strawberry pie. Hope Jack hasn’t et’ all of it.”

That evening another meeting took place at the Tilbury farm.

Again Jack was the center of attention but, at least, this time among friends. ‘Jocko’ was, after all, a dim memory and in his place was a person who seemed for all the world to have joined humanity.

The doctor, who had been invited for dinner, Swan, Gert, and Johnny sat at the table while Jack chose to eat his

‘shrubs’, as Gert called them, on the front porch.

Johnny suspected there was something more than peace and quiet that had the sasquatch watching the shadows between the trees. Jack was still the lone wolf.

“If I may,” began Swan. “So much has happened that I think it will be many months before any of you, those who did not witness the events, can really grasp the changes Jack has endured.”

Swan looked out the window at Jack and raised his voice a bit, as if he hoped the sasquatch could hear. “Jack has amazed me so often that, well, suffice to say I have acquired a deep and lasting respect for him.”

Johnny sipped coffee, listening to Swan. He nodded an agreement.

“Some weeks ago,” continued Swan, “I gave Jack a journal and a pencil. You will note that he is using it as I do mine. I want to point this out from the outset, as a journalist, you understand. And a teacher trained in the sciences. I have observed that Jack has a human nature, one with a sense of past, present, and the future.”

Swan paused for a moment to light his pipe before continuing. “I believe Jack’s attention to his journal is not just an imitation of my own habits. Rather, it is a significant gesture that he thinks as we do.”

Johnny had never heard Swan say this before. He looked into the living room and saw Jack’s diary and pencil lying closed on a small table. To be honest he’d not noticed whether the sasqatch was keeping a diary. At the moment he doubted it and suspected Swan was simply exaggerating for effect.

“Interesting,” said Hannington. He thought for a second, and lowered his voice. “But, Mr Swan, you know as well as I do that many would say … well, a monkey in a suit is still a monkey.”

Swan frowned.

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “That didn’t come out the way I meant it. Of course Jack is unique and probably complex in his reasoning. But not human.” He searched the faces around him and sighed. “I guess I’m wondering if it’s fair to Jack to expect him to join our lives, to become human, as you say.

Isn’t that living a lie?”

“I’m not sure Jack knows how to lie,” said Johnny. “No matter. He’ll do what he wants anyway.”

“Not entirely,” said Swan. “That’s my point. We are Jack’s family for now, at least until he finds his other family. What we do affects him. Unlike you dear folks, I have lived with Jack and have come to regard him as a person. Even, dare I say, an equal.”

“An equal?” scoffed the doctor. “That’s an interesting turn of phrase.”

“We are well aware how extraordinary Jocko … Jack is, Mr Swan,” said Gert. “We respect his feelings, if that’s your meaning, but I appreciate your reminding us. But he does have his habits.”

“He learned about the latrine at Swan’s cabin, Gert,” said Johnny as he got up and walked on to the porch.

“I didn’t mean that,” protested Gert.

Johnny found Jack sitting on the porch steps leaning his head against the handrail, hat askew. Johnny snatched the hat and put it on his head. “Come on inside, Jack. You should hear what folks are saying. It’s about you. You can write it in your diary.”

Jack didn’t resist. He said nothing as he followed Johnny into the house, but he seemed less than enthusiastic.

Everyone looked at the boys as they entered the room.

“I think Jack is able to tell us what he wants to do, if we ask him,” said Johnny. “Everyone talks around Jack and nobody talks to him.”

Swan took a few strong puffs on his pipe and then tapped its contents into an ashtray. “Johnny’s dead right.”

“Very well, then, Jack,” said Hannington. “Tell us what you would like to do.”

Jack eyed the man darkly. “Sit chair.”

Hannington laughed nervously.

Johnny pulled a chair next to himself as he sat down, and patted the seat. “Here.” Jack did as Johnny directed and examined the table. Gert moved a bowl of vegetables within Jack’s reach.

“Help yourself, Jack.”

Jack simply sat and looked at those seated around the table.

Swan continued to speak. His manner reminded Johnny of a teacher in front of a class.

“Jack,” began Swan. “Do you miss your own family? And can you tell us about them?”

Jack looked away from the faces and gazed toward the window.

“My family …” he said “… far away.”

“Can you tell us about them?” asked Johnny, trying to assist Swan.

“They are …” said the sasquatch. “Not like me.”

“How so?” asked Dr Hannington.

“Lone wolf.”

Gert and Hannington looked confused.

Johnny touched Jack’s hand. “Say that again, Jack?” he said, deciding to try his link. In Johnny’s mind a strange vision unfolded. He saw shadowy shapes moving at the edge of a small sunlit field full of berry bushes; shapes he could only assume to be Jack’s family or someone like that. It was a faded image … like a dark memory.

Everyone knew what Johnny and Jack were doing.

Knowing smiles were exchanged among the adults, but no one chose to comment.

The image faded before Johnny could grasp what he saw.

“What does it mean?”

“Jack. Lone wolf,” said the sasquatch.

“What is it?” asked Gert.

Johnny described the berry patch full of dark figures.

“That’s all I saw,” he said, looking into Jack’s eyes. “I don’t know what it means, exactly. I get a lonely feeling when I think of it. Like he says. Jack is a lone wolf.”