Joko (3 page)

Jocko smiled, faintly.

Johnny saw Jocko’s expression change.

“Come on Jocko,” said Johnny. “You gotta eat some- thing.”

The expression left Jocko’s face, and Johnny wondered if he had really seen a smile at all. “Well, if you don’t like the chicken or the carrots, how about that potato you’re holding?”

Johnny figured his eyes must have been playing tricks.

Apes can’t smile, at least not the way we do
.

Jocko had been silent since Johnny came back with the food. Another half hour had passed and the ape still sat mute and unwilling to eat. Johnny noticed while he was gone the ape had spread the blanket over the straw, so that the floor of the cage was fairly comfortable.

Then he remembered Jocko’s speech. “You did talk, didn’t you?” He looked into Jocko’s eyes. But Jocko just stared back at Johnny with a sad face. “Say some more!” Johnny ordered.

“Come on, talk!” Jocko simply sat there like a prisoner, and what annoyed Johnny the most was the constant feeling of knowing how the ape-boy felt.

The wonder of the wilderness, that nameless something that compelled him to look into the shadows was sitting right in front of him, looking him right in the eye. And in so doing, Jocko had become Johnny’s equal.

Johnny thought morning would never come. Once, he didn’t know for how long, he fell asleep. A mosquito stinging his ear woke him up.

The lantern burned dimmer. Jocko was asleep, or so it seemed. The mountain night had brought with it a deep chill.

Johnny wrapped the blanket tightly around his legs. The cold m ade him have to pee, so he got up and walked out into the dark.

Johnny looked up into the starry night as he relieved himself in some bushes behind the shed. The moon glowed so brightly he could see the blue of the sky. A breeze began to nag at him as he stood thinking of home and hearth.

Tomorrow, no matter what, the problem of what to do with old Jocko would be someone else’s.

Johnny shivered. He looked at his pocket watch, amazed that he could read it by the moonlight. “Three in the mornin’, hooooeeee!” He whistled softly. “I gotta get some sack.”

When Johnny returned Jocko lifted his head and opened one eye. When their eyes met, even for that brief instant, Johnny found himself plagued by guilt.

“You’re worse’n a spook!” Johnny wrapped the blanket around himself and settled among the sacks of potatoes.

Jocko kept an eye on Johnny. There was really no expression on his face. Johnny stared into Jocko’s eyes, and soon, tired as he was, he drifted off to sleep.

Some time, minutes or seconds later, he thought he heard a voice. Almost imperceptibly it said: “ Spooooook.”

Johnny woke to the sound of Bill Costerson’s voice. Ned was there and so was J. C. Craig, still clutching his rifle. Behind him was Dr Hannington.

Cold and lame from his night in the drafty shed, Johnny felt about as nimble as a stepladder. He struggled to his feet with a helping hand from Ned.

“Tough night, Johnny?” asked Ned.

Johnny nodded, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“We’ve made some arrangements,” said Costerson.

“John, we’d like you to look after Jocko kind of full-time. Just for a few days or so.”

Ned still had a hand on Johnny’s arm. “C’me on, gents.

Lets get the boy some breakfast. Can’t you see he ain’t had a good night of it?”

Johnny’s left foot was just coming back to life. Fiery needles shot through the soles of his feet. “Damn!” He stomped his foot on the dirt floor.

Johnny looked at the doctor who stood outside the open door lighting a cigar. His back was turned toward them.

“Hi, Doc,” said Johnny. “Ain’t you comin’ in?”

The doctor turned in a cloud of smoke. “Hi, Johnny. You seem a little worse for wear, I’d say.” He stepped into the cabin and approached Jocko’s cage. As he passed Johnny he paused a moment to look the boy over. Then, apparently satisfied that Johnny was suffering only from a long sleepless night, he turned to face the other men who were clustered around the cage. “If you gentlemen would please step aside, I’d like to take see to the creature’s wounds. If we alarm it, it might make a commotion and … well, we don’t want to bring the town down here, do we?”

With Costerson at the lead, the men filed out of the shed.

“We’ll be at the restaurant,” said Costerson.

The doctor started circling the cage, examining Jocko, but the ape kept turning, keeping an eye in the man.

After a couple of turns Johnny laughed. “I think he likes dancin’, Doc.”

“Looks like he’s healin’ up, Johnny. Looks like … well now, look here. Look at the shoulder muscles on the lad!” Doc marveled at Jocko’s neck, or lack thereof. “I thought he was feelin’ sore, but that’s how he’s built, I guess.”

Indeed, when Jocko looked around Johnny could see that he had to lift his chin to clear his shoulders. In spite of this ape-like characteristic, the animal was clearly more boy than beast.

As Hannington looked him over, it was clear that Jocko was becoming nervous, so the doctor ended his examination.

“Johnny, I think you need some breakfast.”

Mitzie’s Saloon and Eatery was generally empty of its breakfast crowd by eight, but today the place was nearly full.

The doctor paused to take the scene in for a moment and then led Johnny to a conspicuously vacant table in the center of the dining room. Johnny saw no sign of the other railroad men.

The owner of the establishment, Mitzie, was standing by not far from their table talking to Alice Frye, who owned the General Store.

“Hello again, Doc,” she said. “Back for seconds? I had no idea our bacon was that good. Oh, your friends are in the saloon.”

“Just coffee for me,” said the doctor.

“Me, too,” added Johnny.

Johnny was starved but had little cash on him. “Uh, doc,” he stammered, “I hate to say this, but I’m kinda low on …”

“Bring him what he wants, Mitzie. I’m buyin’ this mornin’,” said Hannington.

Johnny thanked the doctor and ordered the ten-cent breakfast special.

Mitzie paused for a moment after writing up the order and looked curiously at Johnny. “You railroaders have the day off?

Its only Friday.”

Out of the corner of his eye Johnny could see that most of the people were watching them.

“Well, Mitzie,” said Hannington, “Johnny, here, and me got some things to do later.”

Johnny was satisfied that the doctor had fielded her question with ease, but Mitzie persisted. “What’s the railroad doin’ to you men? Everybody’s talkin’ business, but most of

’em are drinkin’ in the saloon.”

“Special baggage order,” blurted Johnny.

The doctor looked at him in surprise but kept his composure. “That’s right. We got us a situation. I guess those boys told you the train hit an animal yesterday. A bear. A small one. And, well, it wouldn’t have been noticed, ’cept Johnny, here, knows animals and, well, he knew it was unusual.”

Mitzie listened intently.

Over at the window Guy Costeau, a logger, was watching Johnny and the doctor. Blowing copious billows of smoke from his Meerschaum, he had long ago finished breakfast.

Hearing what Hannington said, he called out in a thick Quebec accent. “I seen lots a’ bear, boss. What kin’ you got dere? I’ll take a look ’t her.”

“Donno’, Guy,” said the doctor. “It’s hurt, but it’ll live.

We’re gonna ship it out soon. I examined it. Looks like an old black bear to me. The train damaged it some and we don’t want crowds in there upsetting her. Could be a rare specimen. Sent a wire this mornin’ and the Seattle Zoo wants to see it soon as possible. John, here is the caretaker. Right, Johnny?” The doc leaned toward Mitzie whispering, “Sure would like some coffee, Mitzie. This poor boy’s been up all night watchin’ the bear. He even gave his dinner to the bear.

Have a heart and get the boy some grub.”

Across the room the logger turned back to his coffee and faced the doctor. “All the same, Doc, I’d like to take a gander at that bear.”

“No problem, Guy,” said the doctor. “But the Seattle boys say to keep people away.”

The doctor’s lie seemed to placate the crowd for the moment. The logger, being a relative newcomer to the area, didn’t press his point. He stared darkly at the doctor for a moment, and then went back to his coffee.

Hannington looked at Johnny and shook his head.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if Mayor Hayes walked in next,” he said in a low voice.

Several minutes passed and the room filled with an ominous silence. Johnny’s head was buzzing. He expected questions to start coming from everyone in the room. But, mercifully, Johnny’s breakfast came and seemed to break the tension.

The smell of the food sparked Johnny’s hunger and he tore into his bacon and biscuits.

“I should check on the boys in the bar,” said the doctor.

“It’s odd, them saloonin’ so early in the day.”

His mouth full of bacon, Johnny nodded as the doctor got up. He watched as the doctor disappeared through the swinging doors that led past the kitchen to the saloon.

Like the doctor, it struck Johnny as odd that Ned and the rest were keeping their distance. Johnny had known Ned for many years, ever since he broke his leg in a fall from a caboose. Ned had carried Johnny piggyback two miles to the doctor’s office; a debt Johnny felt he could never repay.

Ned and Johnny had become good friends, but it didn’t feel like that now. Jocko had changed all that.

Johnny wondered about the caged animal in the railroad shed. No matter how many times he mulled the question over in his mind, he always came back to the same conclusion.

There was only one creature that it could be. But that was supposed to be impossible.

Living in British Columbia means being used to ‘mountain stories ’, as the English called them. The local Indians told of a tribe relatively near to Vancouver made up of wooly people called sasquatch. The trainmen often passed nights on the rails trading hair-raising tales. Johnny had heard them all, but he had always dismissed the stories as local lore. Until this moment those stories were just that, the stuff of fantasy or fun. In one day all that changed, and Johnny’s sense of wonder was beginning to fade.

A moment later the door to the saloon opened and the doctor returned to the dining room followed by Ned and Bill Costerson.

“We sent J. C. back to watch the … bear,” said Ned, looking around.

The other patrons watched them with mild curiosity, especially Guy, the logger, standing at the door about to leave the restaurant. It seemed he was going to say something when the men returned to the dining room, but when he saw Costerson, he lowered his eyes and left quickly.

As the doctor paid for the breakfast Mitzie was her usual direct self. “Well, boys, I hope you’ll forgive all our questions.

Such a small town. It makes us all busybodies, I suppose.”

She giggled pleasantly.

The doctor held his hat politely and smiled. “My goodness, no, Mitzie. A strange animal around town is a curio. I know that. And unless they changed the laws around here without telling me, talk is free.”

This brought a chuckle from Mitzie, who leaned forward and said into Doc’s ear. “So it’s really a bear?”

“No,” said Ned. “It’s a wooly mountain ape the size of an ox. Seems he came to town askin’ about your cookin’.”

For a half second she stood stone-still with her mouth agape, then she shrieked another laugh.

Ned smiled. “Gotta go now, Ma’am.”

Johnny smiled cas ually, looking briefly but deeply into Ned’s eyes. The Jocko affair was starting to affect them all in a way he didn’t like. Events were moving rapidly. In a few seconds he was sure that the mayor and the county constable would show up. But in spite of the apparent ripple of talk in town the mayor was nowhere to be seen.

Craig and an unknown man were by the shed door when the group returned. Johnny was beginning to feel more clear-headed. The breakfast had done him good. Now he thought of Jocko; the ape, or whatever it was, would probably be hungry too. But he realized that ordering another breakfast to take out would just add to Mitzie’s suspicions. Johnny figured that they ought to move Jocko to some other locale, and soon.

When they got to the shed J. C. Craig introduced the man he was with as Charles E. Collins, from Seattle, an entrepreneur and show planner who had been called to Yale by his old friend Mayor Hayes to give his advice on the coming Fair.

Johnny hung to the rear and listened as the doctor stepped forward with his usual ease, to shake the man’s hand.

“I came yesterday on the train,” said Collins. He had a surprisingly high voice for a person his size. “We stopped for a while, back a few miles, by some rocks. I was in the last car with my wife at the time and thought the stoppage due to a tree or rock slide that had impeded the right of way.”

“I told him we had hit an animal and now he wants to see it,” said Craig.

“I don’t think so,” said Costerson. “Craig, I thought I told you …”

Johnny spoke up quickly. “You can’t now, Mr Collins. I’m its keeper and I’m under orders to keep folks away. It’s hurt and scared. It might die if it gets upset.”

“That’s right,” said the doctor. “Don’t feel slighted, though, sir. There must be fifty souls in this town we’ve refused a look as well.”

Craig feigned a frown. “Yep, nobody, not even the mayor, was to see Jocko!”

“Jocko?” said Collins raising an eyebrow. “You named it?”

The man looked at the railroad shed for a moment. “I see no harm in sneaking a peek.” Without waiting for a response he stepped over to the shed, raised up the wooden shutter that covered a window, and stuck his head inside.

No one had dreamed Collins would do this, and he moved too fast for anyone to stop him.

Panic set in. The doctor spo ke up first. “Now, Mr Collins, we were given specific orders not to upset the bear!”

Craig just looked at the ground shaking his head while Ned pulled the man’s coattail. “Sir, sir,” he kept saying.

“It’s dark in there, Collins,” said Costerson angrily.

“There’s a lantern,” said Craig. “I was givin’ some greens to …”