Joko (46 page)

Part XII

Yale HOM?

By now Johnny knew the land by heart. The wild and foreboding gorges of the Fraser River were like familiar wrinkles in the face of the land where he grew up. Five months earlier, Johnny had traced those same gorges on a train bound for the unknown. He’d had but one mission, to free Jack from captivity. Now the rails were leading him home again with the captive and a mentor at his side. His odyssey had been more than he could have ever imagined, almost like a dream.

Johnny looked up. Tied to the baggage rack above his head was a rolled bear hide, proof of his adventure in the deep woods.

Swan slumped sound asleep across from him with Jack’s head leaning on his shoulder. It occurred to Johnny that the sasquatch was, at least for the moment, no different than any other passenger, trying to sleep through a rough train ride over uneven rails. Jack never woke up, even when the women in the next compartment exploded into laughter over some illicit remark, but when the locomotive’s whistle shrieked and the conductor ducked his head into the car shouting; “Yale, the station is Yale!” Jack’s eyes opened wide.

Johnny leaned forward and gave Swan’s knee a nudge, urging him awake. Swan scowled and rubbed his eyes.

“Wuzzat?”

“Yale,” said Johnny. “I’m finally home.”

The whistle seemed to shriek louder than before. Panic gripped Johnny as he caught sight of the station and the shed where Jack had been caged. He’d almost forgotten them.

Jack was looking over his shoulder. “Home,” said the sasquatch.

Soon the three of them were standing next to a small pile of bags in the nearly empty Yale station.

“I should stop by Doc Hannington’s place first,” said Johnny, squinting against the bright rays of early summer sun.

“Hannington,” said Jack. “Cable for Johnny.”

“That’s right,” said Swan as he picked up his luggage and followed Johnny into town.

Johnny had imagined several scenarios for their arrival; the worst case, being met by the agents of P. T. Barnum, headed by Costerson himself. What he hoped for most was Gert, Rocky, and a buggy ride home, but he knew he shouldn’t expect a welcome at the station because his arrival time was known too late to send a message ahead to his aunt. All Gert knew was that Johnny was coming home.

As it turned out, no one was there to greet them. Only a drier, dustier Yale than Johnny remembered and a few farmers loading feed.

“Smaller than I imagined,” said Swan, looking around at the empty station.

The sound of buggy traffic in the distance told them that the town was still as Johnny had left it, alive and well. Swan picked up his bags again, noting a sign advertising rooms to let above Mitzie’s restaurant. He paused to tighten a baggage strap.

“I could use a cup of coffee,” said Swan, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “You are aware, John, that I judge a town by its best restaurateur’s ability to brew a decent cup of coffee. And I have been called a stern judge, I warn you.”

But instead of heading toward the restaurant, Johnny led them directly to Dr Hannington’s office. Doctor Hannington was in, though he was occupied with a screaming child with a broken toe. The doctor’s housemaid recognized Johnny immediately and gave him a happy smile. “Johnny Tilbury!

You’re home? And you’re alive!”

“I guess so,” said Johnny. “How are you, Caroline?”

A blood-chilling scream pierced the air, followed by the loud but reassuring voice of Doctor Hannington. “That’s all there is to it, Andrew. It’ll hurt for a while but you’ll be better in a jiffy, you’ll see.”

The wailing in the doctor’s office trailed off and the door finally opened. The doctor emerged still instructing a woman who carried a tow-headed child. Even Jack watched the sad little boy, who wore a ridiculously large bandage on his tiny foot.

“Thank you for seeing him so soon, Doctor Hannington,” the woman said. “I’ll pay you … when …”

The doctor put up a hand. “Don’t worry about that for now, Mrs Cartierre,” said Hannington, noting the new arrivals in his office. “Take good care of that foot, Andrew.” He patted the child on the head.

Jack stood nearest the woman as she moved toward the door. He reached out and lightly stroked the child’s hair as they passed. The boy made a contented sigh but never took his face from his mother’s breast.

“Make sure it stays clean and dry,” the doctor added.

Then he turned to greet his guests. ”Well, well …” he said, looking at Johnny.

The sasquatch knew the doctor’s eyes. Seeing them meant he was near his goal, the place where his odyssey had begun.

Jack saw the man cure pain; felt it as he stroked the child’s soft hair. For a fleeting moment he saw, in a flash of borrowed memory, the doctor setting the toe bone and wrapping the little foot first with plastered cloth and then with bandage. Jack remembered Swan similarly treating Johnny’s leg. Suddenly a new side of man was revealed to him. Once again, Jack found himself compelled by the mysterious ways of humans.

The sasquatch had their own form of medicine, provided by plants and proven by experience. Now he saw that mankind took medicine much further. Jack knew he still had much to learn.

“A lot’s changed since you left,” said the doctor to Johnny as the four of them sat at his kitchen table drinking coffee. He had put a sign on the door saying, OUT TO LUNCH. Johnny introduced Swan as one of the founding members of Port Townsend citizenry, to which the doctor obligingly nodded and pretended to be impressed. Later he admitted that except for the cable from Gert he only knew of Port Townsend as a distant port in the United States.

“This is Jocko?” said Doctor Hannington. “Why, he’s transformed!”

Jack looked at the doctor sternly. “He’s Jack now, Doctor.

Hannington.”

The doctor looked stunned. “He …”

“… speaks!” said Johnny, proudly. “We taught him.”

“Jack speaks when spoken to,” said Swan sagely. “You should start over.”

“Jack,” began Swan, “allow me to introduce, that is, to re-introduce you to Doctor Hannington.”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” said the doctor, scrutinizing the sasquatch.

“This is Jack. He is from Sumatra,” Swan continued, punctuating his introduction with a wink.

“Sumatra?” said the doctor.

“Sumatra,” said Jack.

“I see,” said the doctor, erupting into laughter.

“What’s new?” Johnny asked. “Is my aunt okay? Did she get the money?”

The doctor smiled. “Oh my, yes. In fact she’s working not far from here, across the street at her new store.”

“Across the street?” Johnny repeated. “Gert?”

“A lot has changed since you left,” said the doctor. But Johnny was already out the door.

Jack walked to the front of the house, hat in hand, and peered out the window. Behind him the doctor and Swan remained seated.

“Welcome back to Yale, Jack,” said the doctor. “And let me say I am truly sorry for the way some of our citizens treated you when you last visited our fair community.”

Jack waited at the window for some time watching Gert’s shop until Swan called him back into the kitchen. Reluctantly he turned and rejoined the men at the table. He found his movements studied by the doctor and felt suddenly vulnerable to his gaze.

Then he noticed that on the table before him some carrots had been set on a plate with some greens. A large glass of milk had also been placed there for him. He didn’t understand what the doctor had said, but his tone and the gift of food made him feel welcome. While almost always the listener, he generally understood what was being discussed. Swan’s lessons had helped, but so had his endless stories while they passed the winter in the Olympic forest.

Jack looked at Swan and pointed toward the front of the house. “Johnny with Gert.”

Both men nodded in an exaggerated fashion, almost comical. Jack might have laughed at them, but without Johnny nearby he felt vulnerable with other humans. Though Jack knew both men, he found the looks on their faces a puzzlement. He looked down at his food, picked up a carrot and took a bite. He chewed for a moment and then noticed that their eyes were still on him.

“Johnny with Gert,” he repeated. Both men reacted as before.

Johnny and Aunt Gert entered the doctor’s foyer, laughing.

With them was Rocky, who gave a yelp of recognition and trotted over to Jack, tail wagging wildly.

Johnny was happier than he’d been for a long time. With an arm around his aunt he pointed to Swan. “Aunt Gert, this is Mr James Swan, a teacher and a founder. He mended my broken leg and brought me home.” Johnny pointed to Jack.

“And this used to be Jocko. He is …”

“Jack,” said the sasquatch, smiling. Jack patted the dog at his side. “Gert’s good wolf.”

“My stars,” said Gert. “It
is
you, Jocko – sorry, Jack. My, my, my … You’ve changed.”

“Different Jack,” said Jack.

Gert looked nervously at Swan. “And you are the one responsible for this transformation?”

“Jack is his own man, madam,” said Swan. “I’ve had less luck with Indian children than with Jack. Learning, I suppose, is a matter of will.”

Johnny stood just behind his aunt with a hand on her shoulder. He began to feel things weren’t really so different after all. He watched as Jack petted Rocky. Even though he’d seen the transition from Jocko to Jack, he still found it remarkable to see Jack making conversation.

Humans were constantly changing things. Not so with the sasquatch. In the deep woods change is imposed by nature herself.

Like the humans, Jack felt he was changing. In the brief time he’d been in their company he was talking and wearing clothes as they did.

He wondered if the humans changed things because they couldn’t travel as the sasquatch constantly did. The idea made sense to Jack, but it didn’t make him more comfortable.

Standing amid his human friends, all of them changed in some way, he felt alienation and fear begin to grow inside him
.

When Doc Hannington asked him, Johnny willingly detailed his adventures with Jack in the wilderness. He even unrolled the bearskin from his packs and held it up for all to see. The thing gave off a wretched odor.

“What will you do with that?” asked the doctor. “If you plan to keep it … you might clean it a bit.”

Everyone laughed. Even Johnny. “Yeah,” he sighed.

“Well, I hope I can get it reconditioned somehow.”

Gert waved her had in front of her face. “It should be buried … somehow.”

The laughter got louder.

Without warning, Jack exited the room. Fumbling with the front door latch, he ran into the street. Seconds later Johnny followed, but not soon enough to see where Jack had gone.

Johnny stood helplessly as a wagon loaded with logs rumbled by. Dust drifted around him, further obscuring any evidence of Jack’s path. Soon the others were assembled next to him.

“What on earth was all that about?” asked Gert, shading her eyes from the sun.

“Something threw a panic into Jack,” offered the doctor.

“I think we did,” added Swan, peering into the shaded alley next to the house. “But I’m not sure I could explain it.”

Noticing several women from the neighborhood standing in front of her shop, Johnny’s aunt excused herself and joined the ladies, escorting them inside.

Off in the distance a train whistle blew, signaling its arrival in town.

Swan, Hannington, and Johnny stood in the street wondering what they might do. “We can’t just stand here like fools,” said the doctor.

“Maybe if I call him,” said Johnny. He put his hands to his mouth and called Jack’s name. Rocky stood next to him, barking excitedly. “You’re no help, Rocky. But thanks, anyway.”

On a hunch Johnny decided to search the grassy alley next to the house. When he reached the back yard he saw one of Jack’s boots lying under a tree. Next to it was Jack’s hat. Jack himself sat crouched above them on a thick maple limb high above the ground. The sasquatch looked down at him, sadly. “No home,” he said softly.

“What do you mean?” Johnny smiled. “You’re part of our family. For now at least, until you find your own.”

Jack stared off into the forest. “Gert, Swan, not Jack family.”

“I know that,” said Johnny.

“Johnny not family.”

Johnny shook his head. “I know this is hard for you, but right now we are your family. We just want what’s best for you. You know that. So, come down, Jack.”

Jack barely made a sound when he dropped to the ground next to Johnny.

“What got into you, Jack? You ain’t bolted like that since

… since the cabin.”

Jack’s eyes were fixed on the hazy blue range of white-capped mountains in the east.

“No home,” said the sasquatch.

Johnny put a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “It’s not so bad, Jack. Don’t forget that we’re all your family ’til you can find your real family.”

Swan and the doctor waited at the front of the alley, watching the two boys. Hannington seemed concerned with what was going on in the street. He said something to Swan, and then went back to the house. At the same time Swan began walking toward Johnny. A moment later the doctor reappeared at the back door.

“Come on in, you two.” He looked around to see if anyone was watching. “We don’t want folks talking about Jack. We have to be careful.”

Jack offered no resistance when Johnny nudged him toward the back door.

“Talk,” said Jack. “People talk. Talk, talk.” Jack made the sound of a crow deep in his throat. It sounded like the bird was far in the distance.

“My oath,” said Hannington. “You most certainly would have impressed old P. T. Barnum.”

Jack understood little of what the humans were saying. It was clear that he was what they talked about. They kept looking at him every so often. Jack heard the doctor say ‘Barnum’.

The men who caged him spoke of ‘Barnum’. He still wasn’t sure what the word meant, but when he heard it his fur prickled defensively
.

That afternoon the doctor closed his office, allowing only one interruption to treat the blacksmith’s boy who’d been nipped by a pig. He cleaned and bandaged the wound quickly, explaining to the boy’s father that he was under the weather himself and would close the rest of the day.