The Devil's Paintbox (32 page)

“I am glad to see you. You look well,” Tupic said.

“You look terrible,” Aiden said without thinking. “What happened? What are you doing here?” The noise of celebration roared up and startled Tupic. “Here, come with me,” Aiden said, taking Tupic's arm. He almost recoiled at the smell of him.

“Hey, you,” Aiden called to the whistlepunk, a boy of twelve who did scut work in the camp. “Bring us food and coffee to the stable. And my blanket,” he instructed. “And whiskey. Go, hurry now.” He steered Tupic toward the stable. Most of the visiting loggers slept there, but it was empty right now, as everyone was still out waiting for the next fight. They went inside and found an empty stall. Tupic sank back into a pile of hay.

“Where did you come from?” Aiden asked. “How did you find me?”

“I came from Seattle, from the jail there.”

“Jail?”

Tupic coughed and shivered.

“Are you ill?”

“No. Just tired. I have had a long journey.”

Aiden took off his jacket and draped it over Tupic's shoulders.

“Tell me what happened. Why were you in jail?”

“Clever Crow is dead,” Tupic said. “Of the Devil's Paint.”

“Smallpox? But you said he was all right!” Aiden protested. “That he didn't get it.”

“Not from the soldiers, not that time, but after.” He pulled the jacket tightly around his shoulders. “Your people have found gold in the land you call British Columbia, and many travel there. They bring the sickness with them everywhere now.”

“But—why were you in jail?”

Tupic rubbed his eyes and settled back in the straw. “After I saw you the last time, at the river, I was angry from our talk. I was also sad, for we parted in argument. My spirit was
uneasy. I went away into the woods to seek answers. I prayed and fasted as we do, but the visions that came were confusing. I wanted to talk to Clever Crow, for he has knowledge of visions. He was in a fishing camp farther north, with the people of his wife, so I rode to meet with him. But on the way I learned that he was dead of the sickness.”

“I'm sorry,” Aiden said. “He was a good man.”

“He was close to the spirits. So we have only the sadness of missing his company. We do not fear for the journey of his soul. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Aiden shivered. He thought of Maddy and wished he could believe in the journey of the soul.

“Clever Crow is—was—to me what you call godfather. He is the one who guided my path and gave my name.”

The whistlepunk arrived just then. He had a tray with two steaming mugs of coffee, half a loaf of bread, a chunk of cheese, a quarter of an apple pie, some boiled onions and a whole roasted chicken leg on a tin plate.

“Cook says special for you,” the boy said as he set the tray down. “He won twenty dollars! For you lasting the round— that was how he bet his one dollar.”

“Tell him thanks.” He gave the boy a few pennies for a tip.

“And this is from the Bull!” The whistlepunk pulled a pint bottle of good whiskey out of his pocket. His eyes shone with admiration as he handed it to Aiden. “That was great, Mr. Aiden! Weren't you afraid?”

“He was never going to kill me,” Aiden said tersely. He had never been called “mister” and it felt very strange. “Go on now,” he told the whistlepunk. “Give my thanks to the Bull.” He pulled the cork from the bottle and took a deep
drink. His whole body was shaking and he didn't want the boy to notice. The whistlepunk ran out. Aiden offered the bottle to Tupic, who shook his head.

“Whiskey is not good for Indians.”

“Glad I'm not Indian, then,” he said. “Eat.” He waved at the food. “I'm not hungry.” Actually, he hadn't eaten since a sandwich during his walk, and his stomach was growling. Tupic picked up the chicken leg and took a ravenous bite. Aiden took another big drink of the whiskey and felt the quivers beginning to fade.

“Tell me all that's happened,” he said.

“In my visions I saw soldiers coming to kill all my people,” Tupic said. “I saw them running away into the mountains. The path was covered with blood, like a river washing over their feet. So this was my question for Clever Crow: Do I see the future of my people? And if so, is there power to change it? But my uncle was dead and I did not know who to ask. Please—” Tupic paused and held out a chunk of bread and cheese to Aiden. “I see that you are hungry.”

Aiden took it and tried not to devour it too obviously.

“I learned that in a camp nearby was my good friend,” Tupic went on. “His name is Hinmaton-yalatkit. He is also called Joseph, after his father, who the missionaries named Joseph. He is maybe thirty years old, and we are of different bands, but I know him since I am a small boy, when all come together at the festivals. To the little boys, he is like a hero. He would shoot with us, and wrestled and played our games. He never chased us away. To be near him, you feel—our word for it means lightness in the heart; also, peaceful feeling at home after a journey. I had not seen him in almost two years, but he remembered my name. He is Thunder Coming Out of
the Water, I am Sunlight Shining Deep into the Water. So he always makes jokes, you see? But now I saw Joseph with the—pose?—of a chief.” Tupic frowned. “I don't know the word.”

“The bearing,” Aiden suggested. “The presence of a chief.”

“Yes. I saw the touch of spirit on him. I talked to him late into the night. I told him my dream and he says he will pray to see the meaning. That night I dreamed again of my people on the blood road. This time, I saw Joseph lead them to safety. But when he turned I saw his face is covered with spots and he is only a ghost. Then all our people disappeared in the forest like smoke.”

Tupic's dark eyes searched Aiden's face.

“I woke that day with understanding,” Tupic went on, his voice fading slightly with fatigue. “I saw that our people face bad times and need great chiefs. What if these chiefs all die from the Devil's Paint? I decided I will go to Seattle and buy the vaccine. I thought this was the call of my dream. I talked with the elders and with Joseph. They all agreed. We had money from the salmon. I thought it would be simple.”

upic took a drink of the coffee and winced at the bitter taste. Aiden felt bad that he hadn't thought to ask for sugar.

“Silent Wolf was now strong, and so he came with me to Seattle,” Tupic went on. “I never saw such a place, so many people and buildings and ships. I thought I knew about your people, from the missionary school, but I was very stupid. We saw a building that looked like the most important building. I thought it should be for the doctor. It was made of brick, not wood, and the sign was first security over the door.” Tupic shrugged.
“First
means the best, right? And
security
is to be safe. So was I really so stupid to think this?”

“No,” Aiden said. His heart sank, for he knew disaster was coming. “I would have thought the same.”

“As soon as I went in, I knew it was not a hospital, but I did not know what it was. It was not a store. A man said to leave, that it is a bank and we have no business there. I know a bank is for money, and that money is dangerous with your people, so we went. The man had buttons on his jacket like the army. Down the street, we saw a church—that is easy with the cross. So we went in there. We asked for a doctor. The preacher showed us where to go. We asked the doctor to sell us the vaccine. He said no. He cannot give the vaccine to Indians. I told him not give; we have money to buy. He said no vaccine for the Indians. Then police came. They put us in the jail.”

Tupic seemed exhausted from telling so much.

“Why did they put you in jail?” Aiden asked.

“They said Indians plan raids. I told that we only want to buy the vaccine. But they keep us prisoner. Every day they asked us questions about Indian plan. We do not know the tribes near Seattle, I told them. They are Salish and Yakima, we are Nez Perce. But they tied us up and beat us. They said all the Indians will join together to raid and kill.

“Days passed, and Silent Wolf was very angry. He said we cannot trust white men, to remember Sand Creek. I thought of Sand Creek, but also of the missionaries at my school. I know the bad soldiers and bad people in your wagon train, the man named Buck, the ones who looked evil at us, but also, I know many are good: you and your sister and Mr. Jackson.” Tupic paused. “Excuse me, for I do not ask of them. They are all well?”

Aiden hesitated. “Yes,” he lied.

“I am glad for that.” Tupic went on, “I told Silent Wolf the jail men will not kill us. I know the Constitution of Thomas Jefferson and the Bible of Jesus. We have done nothing wrong. I asked to send a letter to Mr. Jackson. But weeks passed and we were still in the jail. When they talked to us we were always tied on the chair. Then one day the man put a rope on my neck. He said Indians attacked a farm and killed the family. They said to Silent Wolf they will hang me if he does not tell of the Indian plan. But we don't know any plan. When the guard comes near, Silent Wolf kicked him hard so he fell. Then Silent Wolf smashed him with his head and with the chair still tied on him. The chair crushed the guard's throat. Then more men came in and killed Silent Wolf with sticks.”

Tupic looked up at the barn rafters. Outside, there was a roar of noise from the fights. “I tried to think of something to
tell them—but no plan made sense. Why would we come so far from our homeland—ask to buy vaccine—if we wanted to hurt the white people? What plan do we have?”

Aiden felt his heart beating so hard he wondered if the Bull really had smashed it.

“I am sorry” Aiden said. Tupic only nodded. Aiden saw him trembling and thought he might be about to cry. He gave his friend some time to recover. Tupic took another drink of the coffee and Aiden saw that two teeth had been knocked out from one side of his mouth.

“At the time of your New Year,” Tupic finally continued, “four days ago, many people were in the jail. They were drunk and fighting. I took the belt from one. He was drunk asleep. I rubbed the buckle on the stones to make it sharp and I cut off my hair. Then I changed his clothes with mine. The jail police also drink all night. When they let all the New Year men out, I went out with them.”

Aiden heard the gong sound for a new fight. His mind was spinning in a dozen different directions. “How did you find me?”

“Everyone in the jail knows the camps of Napoleon Giliv-rey He pays the jailers to send him men to work. So I think this is also the place where Mr. Jackson should bring you.”

Aiden rubbed his cold hands over the bruises on his face.

“I'm glad you came to me,” he said. “I can find a place for you to stay for now and then help you get home. I have some money saved, from the fights. …”

“I do not go home,” Tupic said. He sat up straight and looked at Aiden with a steady dark gaze. “I came for the vaccine. This is my … journey. You can buy the vaccine for me. I still have the money. We buried it.”

“What do you mean? I can't buy vaccine around here.”

“In Seattle. You are white. They will sell it to you.”

“I can't.” Aiden recoiled. “I can't leave. I have to work.”

“It is a small journey.”

“They won't let me go.” Aiden looked away. It was true that Powhee would not easily let him go, but it was more true that he did not want to leave. He didn't want to go back out into the world. He didn't want to talk to anyone or figure anything out or have to make anything come out right. Hard as this life was, the hurt was clear and predictable. This pain had rules and ends. Bad was really just fine when you knew the size and shape of it.

“I can't,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

“We are friends.”

“No.”

“Is our friendship only smoke?”

“No, but it was between different people in a different life.”

Tupic stiffened and Aiden suddenly saw the same chiefly dignity of Clever Crow. “It is not our way to make something important the same as trade of fish or blankets; to make it
this for that, “
Tupic said coldly. “But I am tired now, and my cousin and my uncle are dead, and all my people are in danger, so I will make it that way. We saved your life in the river. It is your duty now to repay. I must ask you this for that.”