Joko (21 page)

Part VI

swan fix jonny leg

jonny an jOko with SWAn sho book

sho speek

Johnny was full of appreciation. He said several prayers of thanks for having been delivered into Swan’s hands, but he also felt he had to thank Jocko as much. It was Jocko’s back that bore the burden of Johnny, bleeding, unconscious, and suffering from a severely fractured leg, into the care of Swan.

As Johnny sat up, Swan bolstered his back with a block of wood and a bundled red blanket. He handed Johnny a plate of biscuits, bacon gravy, and a generous slice of ham, then refilled Johnny’s cup with coffee.

“I really am sorry there’s no eggs. I knew when I began this writer’s jaunt, my sabbatical, you might call it, that I’d not be seeing an egg for some time. I took it lightly, of course, eggs being hard to keep and harder in the travel. Alas, had I some foresight, some true wisdom, I might have dumped a few of these books and risked their portage. You never realize how essential eggs are until you’re without them.”

Swan gave him a wink. “But the ham and coffee’s as good as in town.”

“That’s saying a lot, sir,” said Johnny. “Considerin’ where we are.”

Swan nodded appreciatively and tucked into his breakfast.

“Go on, Johnny, there’s plenty.”

Johnny was starved and the food was marvelous. It almost sent chills through him to find the biscuits light and flaky as Gert had ever made, and the gravy was hearty and filling and spiced in an odd way.

Without his having to ask, Swan had refilled Johnny’s coffee cup.

“A little curry. Curry spices up the gravy.”

Johnny stopped chewing. “I do very much appreciate this, Mr Swan. This fare is most satisfying. I dare say it’s been too long since I’ve eaten so well.”

Swan smiled and patted Johnny’s arm. “A pleasure,

Johnny Tilbury. As you see, I love to cook, but I love to eat as well. It’ll be the death of me, I’m sure.”

Johnny laughed. “If I could cook like this, I’d be bigger than you. I favor eggs myself, Mr Swan, but this gravy’s so good I don’t miss ‘em at all. Curry, you say?”

“Curry powder.” Swan filled his mouth with a biscuit and nodded appreciatively.

Johnny had two helpings of biscuits and gravy and would have had a third if there had been more. He belched loudly and excused himself.

Swan laughed. “Thanks for the rude, but honest compliment, Johnny.”

“I haven’t eaten like this for a while,” Johnny admitted. “A long while.”

“Truly?” Swan seemed unwilling to press Johnny for details. He just sat and drank his coffee in small appreciative sips. “Curry. Cinnamon. Not ‘Old Rye’, but it’s some consolation.”

Johnny still lacked the confidence to tell his story, but it didn’t seem to matter to the man. Soon, Swan walked to the door and went outside. A moment later he returned carrying Johnny’s bear skin. He stood near the fire, in the middle of the hard dirt floor, and looked at it. “I found this next to you. Is it yours?”

Johnny was surprised. “I guess so.”

“You guess so? Well, I’ll leave it outside, if you don’t mind.

It is a bit ripe to keep inside, if you don’t mind my saying so. I just wanted you to know that I didn’t steal it. If such a thing could be imagined.” He looked Johnny in the eye and shook his head, then he closed the door.

When Swan came back again he seemed more serious.

He took the boy’s empty plate, then he helped Johnny to lie back in the cot. “I can spare a pillow if you want your head up.

But first let me change that bandage over your eye.”

Johnny had been expecting Swan to start pushing for information, but in spite of his obvious curiosity the man seemed unwilling to press Johnny. He took off the boy’s bandage and inspected the wound on his forehead.

“You have a pretty nasty scratch over your eye. Might leave a scar, but it’s clean and looks worse than it is. We best keep it covered.” Swan put some dark green salve on the wound and wrapped it again in a bandage. “Well, I best clean these plates, son. I’ll be outside if you need anything.”

Before Swan could leave Johnny began his story. “I didn’t get here on my own, Mr Swan,” he began.

Swan interrupted him. “Please,” he implored, “just call me Swan, everyone does. Look, Johnny, I want to hear your story, but first let me get the gravy off these plates, all right?”

Johnny nodded and Swan left.

Some time later Swan came back, wiping his hands on a small green towel. “All right, Johnny,” he said, pulling up a chair. “Did you break your leg fighting that bear?”

“No,” he answered quietly. “I never killed that bear. I skinned it, though.”

“Skinned it,” said Swan. “I suppose you know how to cure a skin?”

“No … but that’s plain to see,” answered Johnny with a smirk. “I needed it to keep warm. But maybe you could show me how to fix it. It’s a good skin.”

Swan coughed. “I can cook and track, even write a bit. I know precious little about tannin’ hides. Maybe we could figure it out. Eh? So you didn’t kill this bear? Is that what you said? Then how did you get so banged up?”

Johnny tried to tell his story to Swan without mentioning Jocko. He began his story back in Yale but substituted a bear for Jocko. When he got to the part where he fell overboard off Dungeness, Swan held up his hand and slapped it on the table. “The boy that fell overboard!” he roared. “The one they were talking about the day I left Port Townsend. Took you for dead! Combed beaches for weeks.”

Swan suddenly frowned. “But …” He looked earnestly at Johnny. “Here you are. But, my God, boy, we’re miles, many miles from Dungeness. Tell me. How
did
you manage that, John Tilbury?”

“Just walked, I guess.”

Swan just stared at him then looked at Johnny’s bandaged leg. “Walked? Johnny, look, I know this area fairly well and I know the Indians . This land, the land you say you crossed, well, what you’re telling me isn’t likely. Alone, you say?” Swan shook his head. “Then who brought you here?

What barefoot person helped you cross the brambles, the rivers and swamps?”

“Jocko,” said Johnny with a sigh. “We camped a few miles from here. Saw smoke from your fire.” He looked into Swan’s eyes. “We camped on a bluff. I fell, coming down.”

“And the next thing you know you’re here,” said Swan.

“Well, this friend of yours must be extraordinarily fit to carry you and that waterlogged skin of yours through those woods barefoot.”

Johnny would have left the cabin then and there if it hadn’t have been for his broken leg and the dizziness.

As reluctant as he was to admit it, he had no choice but to trust Swan with the truth.

After a moment’s thought he looked Swan right in the eye and said: “The truth is, Mr Swan, Jocko, my friend, is a sasquatch.”

“A skookum, you say?” Swan exclaimed. “You must be having me on, Mr Tilbury. That’s just Indian folklore.

Skookum, sasquatch, mountain men. There’s no evidence that such beasts exist. No, Johnny, those are boogyman stories for children and old women.”

He laughed and looked sympathetically at the boy. “A blow on the head can bring the deliriums. Tricks of the mind.

Not to worry, boy. It will soon pass.”

Johnny lay back on the cot and closed his eyes. “Got any more of that tea?” he asked politely. “My head is really starting to hurt now.”

“Johnny,” said Swan, “I won’t turn you in or give you away to anyone. I don’t know what you’re hiding, and it’s up to you to tell me, or not to tell me, whatever you wish. But there’s no need to lie to me. I mean you no harm.”

“I know that, Mr Swan. Otherwise I wouldn’t have told you about Jocko. He’s real enough, all right. And he saved my life plenty of times. He carried me here and showed me the way to cross through forest. But I wasn’t as good at learnin’.

Anyway, it’s a secret.”

Swan looked at Johnny in disbelief, his jaw sagging a bit.

“I could really use some more of that willow tea, if you don’t mind. Or I could just chew some bark,” Johnny said, then added, “Jocko showed me that trick – swamp willow bark for pain.”

“That’s exactly right,” said Swan. “Any Indian knows that.

Your friend is an Indian who’s fooled you.” James Swan set about brewing some tea. He took some chips of bark from a small sack and put it in Johnny’s cup, then he poured in hot water from a teakettle. He stared at the cup and stirred the mixture thoughtfully. “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Mr Swan,” said Johnny emphatically. “He saved my life. When they shipped him on the train, they invented a story; that Jocko was a new kind of bear and we, me and a guy named Costerson, were takin’ it to Barnum in Sarasota.

That’s in Florida.”

Swan nodded.

“But it wasn’t a bear,” continued Johnny. “It was Jocko, a sasquatch. He fell from a cliff near the railroad tracks back home near Yale. I worked on the train as a coalman. I spotted him up by the track, layin’ there like he was dead. Ned, the engineer, and me; we thought it was a bear at first. But there it was. He’s young. Maybe my age. I don’t know. But I do know he ain’t no beast. He’s a person, like us. I couldn’t let them cage him up. People gawkin’ at him. Jocko hates people. It would kill him for sure.”

Swan still stood by the fire. He had lit a pipeful of tobacco as Johnny told his story. He pointed its stem at Johnny’s leg.

“He likes you well enough.”

Swan looked at the door. “Do you suppose your friend is still about?”

“I don’t know. Probably. I’m his only family, at least until he gets back to his own. And he’s been takin’ care of me. He brought me here.” Johnny looked toward the window. “He could be keepin’ an eye on the house. I suspect he’ll stay nearby. He doesn’t have anyone but me. He’s got nowhere to go.”

Swan eyed his rifle.

“No, Mr Swan,” said Johnny. “He’s no danger to you, or anyone.”

“You said he killed a grizzly!” said Swan.

“But that’s because it was trying to eat me!” Johnny waved a hand in protest as Swan checked his gun and, finding it loaded, cocked it and opened a shuttered window.

Cool air blew into the room.

“Just a minute, Mr Swan,” Johnny protested. “I’m telling you that Jocko is a friend of mine. He’s almost kin, now that his family is gone away. He saved my life. He’s even learning to talk. I was afraid you might act this way. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything.”

Swan lowered the rifle and stared out the window. He shook his head doubtfully, then walked to the fire and took the cup of herb tea and sat down next to Johnny.

He handed the tea to Johnny and gave out a sigh. “You got me goin’ there, son, I’ll admit. After ten years in this soggy pudding they call the great northwest, I don’t know what to believe anymore. My, my, my …”

Johnny laughed. “My, my, my! That’s what aunt Gert said when she met Jocko.”

While Johnny told his story, Swan stood at the opened cabin window staring into the woods. It was obvious that he was trying to see if Jocko was watching the cabin.

Johnny felt sure Jocko was there, but he was equally sure Swan wouldn’t see him until Jocko wanted to be seen. Finally he said: “Mr Swan, I mean Swan, there’s no use you looking for Jocko. You can be looking right at him, but he’ll just blend into the woods. I’ve watched him do it lots of times. You’ll see him when he wants you to.”

Swan closed the window, then went back to a chair by the hearth and dumped himself into it. He looked dazed. He reached into his jacket and fetched a pouch with pipe and tobacco. Soon he was puffing thick blue smoke and tending the fire.

“I don’t know why I believe you, John Tilbury,” Swan finally admitted. “This is most extraordinary. I guess it’s because your story is the only one that fits the facts. The truth, Johnny. The truth always wills out. The truth is in the evidence, eh?” Swan gestured in the smoky air.

“Let’s review the facts,” Swan continued. “One. A barefoot person carried you here.” He raised a finger. “That person was about your size. Two.” Swan raised a second finger.

“That barefoot person got you through maybe … fifty miles of forest in two weeks.” Swan looked somewhat agitated as he raised a third finger. “Three. You couldn’t have killed a grizzly that size.” He scratched his head. “Although, your merely having an untreated bearskin doesn’t constitute proof that you killed it.”

“I told you, Mr Swan,” said Johnny. “I didn’t kill the bear.

Jocko did!”

Swan frowned and slumped back in his chair. “I’m tending to believe your tale, John. There’s no need to be riled.” Swan smiled, but it was a smile of resignation. “I’ve got to meet Jocko. Fantastic, your story may be. No matter. If true, your friend’s appearance will settle any doubts I may have.”

After another cup of willow tea sweetened with honey, Johnny asked Swan to help him get outside the cabin so Jocko could see he was okay. “I don’t know how long he’ll wait around.”

Swan seemed pleased with Johnny’s suggestion. “Well, yes. If you feel up to that. There’s some seats in front of the cabin. We can sit there and continue our discourse. Yes?”

Johnny nodded and sat up. His head swam slightly, but Swan’s tea helped ease his pain. His good leg was still strong and he was able to hop to the door without too much difficulty.

Soon they were seated in front of the cabin, which was sheltered from the rains by several massive spruce trees.

Beneath them the cabin seemed almost tiny, but the morning sun managed to find its way to where Johnny and Swan waited and talked about Jocko. The warm sun and Swan’s relaxed manner brought a sense of security to Johnny, a feeling he hadn’t enjoyed for some time. He leaned back in the creaking cedarwood chair, his back pressed against the cabin wall, and drank in the warm sun while Swan smoked his aromatic pipe.

Johnny heard a brook running not too far away, behind the cabin. He sniffed the soft b reeze. He couldn’t smell Jocko, nor could he see the sasquatch in the shadows between the trees. Still, Johnny was certain that Jocko was out there somewhere. He wondered if he should call out to Jocko, but each time he decided to do it, the old man asked another question. Johnny ended the morning telling Swan almost every detail of his story.