Bush Blues

by Sheldon Schmitt

  Trooper Roop was no cheechako greenhorn either. She was a pilot and had done a couple years in the bush, though most of her time was in Anchorage or Fairbanks, the big cities. She had short, strawberry-blond hair, tendrils curling out from her own trooper hat, which looked much too big on her. She had freckles on her pert, upturned nose and at this moment looked much younger that her thirty-something years. Her parka hung almost to her knees. She was a “Mighty Mouse.” Snow had seen her take down drunks twice her weight and cuff them.

  “Could you give me a little light, Trooper Dick?” said Snow, not really a question—more of a polite way of saying “Move your fat ass out of the doorway.” Trooper Dick could really fill up a doorway. He did almost as good a job of covering it as the door did.

  Trooper Dick ignored the comment.

  “How did you find me?” asked Snow.

  “Easy. We found the plane and then followed your trail. It must have stopped snowing not long after you made it here. How did you find this place? I have never seen this before.”

  “That’s hard to believe. I thought you knew every cabin and hunting shack in Bristol Bay,” said Snow, which was true. Trooper Dick had flown or tromped all over the region.

  “It was just dumb luck. I was trying to track Frank and Chubby but lost their trail after the deal with the bear. They must have gotten way ahead of me. We were hiking across the lake. I must have fallen twenty or thirty yards behind them. Snow was blowin’ pretty stiff and I lost sight of them. Then I got in a scuffle with a grizzly. Damn near killed me, but I shot him. I made it to some scrub pines and the next thing I know I wound up here. Not much more to the story than that.”

  It was obvious to Snow that this was the first edition of the story they would be telling and retelling.

  “How’d you know the plane went down?” Snow asked.

  “Coasties got an ELT beacon last night,” Trooper Dick said. “And you know the Coasties—can’t find their asses with both hands. They called us to come check it out.”

  “You find Chubby and Frank N Beans?” Snow asked.

  “Ya. We did a fly over in a Piper at first light. Saw them at a hunting cabin by the lake waving at us like crazy men. When we got to them they said you got lost in the storm.”

  Chief Snow got up slowly and Trooper Roop asked if he was hurt, which was good of her. Unlike her male partner, she was not afraid to show a human heart beating under the blue-and-gold state trooper uniform.

  Snow elaborated about the bear attack and his wounds. What the troopers told him was a bit of a shock.

  “Your buddies weren’t that far off. They saw the bear and took off running. When they thought it was safe, they went back looking for you. They said they heard shots, but by the time they got there you were gone. The snow covered your tracks,” Trooper Dick said. “We expected to find you mauled to death on the lake.”

  “Well, you two picked up my trail. Doesn’t sound like Chubby or Beans tried too hard.”

  “Remember, it was dark and blowy. It would have been hard to pick up your trail. They said they called for you. You hear anything?”

  “Nope, just ringing in my ears from that damn bear smacking me around.”

  The chief wondered about that. Not that those guys would outright lie, but they most definitely would embellish things to ensure their good names, expanding their heroics over time. He could imagine them sweeping out a hundred feet or less and quickly returning to the cabin. “Nope, can’t find him!”

  Maybe it did not go like that, but Snow had a gut feeling they were not hunting for him with a brown bear on the loose, at night, and them with no gun. Who could blame them?

  It was overcast—not snowing, but threatening. The temperature had warmed to just about zero. It felt downright balmy. Snow looked at the tracks as they walked away from the cabin. They had crossed the tracks from the night before. Snow asked the troopers how many sets they saw when they first found him. Trooper Dick stopped and looked at him.

  “Two. Looks like you had company.”

  “Maybe. But I was out. I remember hearing a voice, but I don’t remember a face,” Snow said.

  He quickly changed the subject, and they made their way to the troopers’ plane parked on a small lake near Chubby’s crash landing.

  Chief Snow felt a sudden wave of emotion. He knew the state troopers were very good at what they did. They would have spared no effort or expense to find him or anyone who was lost. He felt unworthy and incompetent next to them, despite their humorous appearance. They were both smart and fearless.

  “I appreciate you finding me. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that it was you two searching. I would not trust anyone else to find me. I am your love slave for life.”

  Laughs all around by a relieved trio of bush blue-shirts. Trooper Roop gave the chief a sly look over her shoulder as she laughed. Snow was wondering if she was checking him out but then let that thought go away in a hurry.

  As they approached the plane, Snow admired its paint job—a beautiful dark blue, with the Alaska state trooper seal on the tail and a yellow stripe leading from the seal halfway up the body of the plane. People in the village talked about the “blue plane” and how it affected them.

  When the trooper plane flew in, it usually meant something big and bad had happened, like a death. There were stories about how guys who were in trouble or thought they might be in trouble headed for the hills to hide out when they saw the blue plane circling to land. The chief was never so happy to see a plane in his life.

  Trooper Dick wanted to fly back to Dillingham, and he got his way of course. Snow just wanted to go home to the converted wood-stave water tank the city provided at no cost as his home. They called it “the Round House” because, well, it was round. The locals were not afraid to state the obvious.

  Trooper Dick insisted that Snow get checked out at the real hospital in Dillingham, probably a good idea. Snow was pretty sure it was unnecessary but did not argue. Trooper Dick did not want to make a trip to Togiak and then back to his home base.

  The little health clinic in Togiak did not have a doctor, only what they generously called nurses and a PA, a physician’s assistant. In the village, you could die of many things that were routinely cured in the big city. That was one of the prices paid for living off the beaten track. People did not mind; they were used to it. Often, villagers planned vacations around trips to the doctor or dentist in Anchorage.

  But the hub city of Dillingham had a real hospital. Chief Snow got a ride from Trooper Dick to Kanakanak Hospital. They chatted on the way. Trooper Dick did not have a very high opinion of Chubby—or Frank N Beans, for that matter. The pilot let his opinion be known in his faded blue Chevy Suburban with the trooper seal on the side. Chubby was disrespectful, and Beans was trouble, a hot head.

  “Chubby was probably drunk and forgot to do his preflight checks. Maybe they had some bad gas or a fuel filter that needed looking at. He is a menace. Sure, he is—or was—a good pilot, but he is sloppier than Mattress Mary on Saturday night. You are lucky he didn’t get y’all killed. Stupid drunk fuckhead.”

  Snow did not take the bait to comment on Chubby, though he was suitably impressed with the profanity-laced invective. Snow had a soft spot for the Irishman. He also still had a very high opinion of Chubby’s ability as a pilot, despite his infatuation with the bottle.

  Snow could never figure out big Dick. How can someone live out here so long and look down his nose at everyone? Snow could not understand it. It seemed to him that you had to develop a little tolerance out here, or you would go off the deep end. The troopers in general seemed to project that attitude, but Snow thought that inside Dick’s uniform beat the heart of a normal man. There were some things you just could not get a grip on, it seemed.

  “Hey you ever heard of a Native elder named Wasillie?” Snow asked Trooper Dick. Dick knew most folks by name, at least in this region.

  Trooper Dick said, “There were Wasillies spread from Bethel to Port
Moller. It was a pretty common name. I suppose there were a few that were recognized as elders.”

  Elder was a term of respect imparted by the community. Some folks were called elders even though they were not very old. In most villages, there was a group of elders to whom the community looked for guidance and who were placed on a pedestal. It was a part of the culture that was beautiful and natural. Chief Snow had met many elders and had always been impressed by how wise and humble each of them was. It was uncanny.

  They pulled up to the Kanakanak hospital and Snow smiled as he thought of the hospital softball team’s name. It had to be one of the all-time greatest names in the history of the world: the Kanakanak Kanakaknockers.

  Before they got out, Snow casually asked Trooper Dick if he had ever heard of the Little People. Trooper Dick raised his eyebrows before he slid out and closed the door with enough force to rock the whole truck.

  “Sure, I heard of the Little People. You’re not that short, Snow,” he laughed.

  “Did you ever think there was anything to it?”

  “Nah. Just an old wives’ tale, or something made up by a drunken siwash with the DTs.”

  Snow had never heard Trooper Dick say the word siwash before, and it surprised him. Siwash meant drunken Native mix-breed, lazy good-for-nothing.

  Trooper Dick was an enigma. He had done as much for the Natives as anyone, but here he was saying one of the worst words you could utter in reference to them. Some things just don’t make sense. He thought that Dick was entitled an indiscretion now and again, but use of such an overt racial epithet troubled Snow.

  “Why did ya ask about Little People, Chief? Did you see some out there when you were walking around delirious in the snow? Maybe one helped you find the cabin,” Dick teased. If he only knew, thought Snow as he laughed it off.

  Inside the hospital, Snow was quickly ushered into an exam room and given stellar treatment by the nurse. Guess word has spread, he thought. The nurse was a big-bosomed white woman with pale skin and red hair. Freckles sprinkled her nose like cinnamon sugar on toast. She was from somewhere in the lower forty-eight, but Snow could not remember where. The nurse talked a lot.

  “So, rumor has it you got into a tussle with a bear. That true?” the nurse asked. When Snow did not immediately answer, the nurse filled the void. “Did you get mauled or bitten? Any scratches or anything? What’d you go and tangle with a bear for anyway?” The nurse peppered the police chief like she was shooting scattershot at a duck.

  She was nice enough, but Snow was less comfortable with the direct ways of white folks than the more subtle, less intrusive demeanor of the Natives. A Native would not have even brought up the bear attack. Snow made a bit of small talk, preferring to ask her how things were going rather than answering questions about what happened. That was Snow’s manner anyway, not just today.

  When Snow uncovered his injuries, she looked surprised. She apparently did not really expect to see claw and bite marks on his body. Chief Snow looked with interest at the marks as well; he was not used to seeing them.

  The redhead recovered quickly.

  “Why did the bear attack you?” she asked. Again she did not give Snow time to answer, but he was not really inclined to answer her silly questions.

  “Were you carrying food, or in its territory? This is their country, you know. You don’t want to needlessly attract them or do things to irritate the bears. I thought all you cops got trained in that stuff?”

  Snow did not respond to the nurse’s comments. Instead he asked, “Do bites or scratches like these get infected easily?”

  “I am sure they can, just like any other bite, like from a dog or something,” she responded. Her body language suggested that she didn’t really know what she was talking about. She quickly left as though his question was somehow an affront.

  After some time, Dr. Perez stopped by. He was the primary physician for this region and was based in Dillingham. He was a kind, wonderful man of about forty-five. He came from Mexico but had lived in remote Alaska for many years. As he often did, Snow wondered at how people from such far corners of the world ended up in the middle of nowhere in Alaska.

  Dr. Perez was balding with black hair. His eyes had an amused twinkle most of the time. He had a confident manner and trustworthy hands.

  After Dr. Perez looked him over, he told Snow that the wounds looked very clean and good. Whatever Kinka had used as a balm had dried and mostly brushed off. What was left looked like dirt or lint. The doctor said they usually got red and infected quickly if not treated. He asked if Snow had treated them. Snow sometimes hated doctors because they were like cops and had built-in lie detectors. Snow could tell that Dr. Perez had just flicked on his bullshit monitor.

  Snow offered what he thought was a clever response. “The only thing I did was wash them out, Doc.”

  Dr. Perez gave him a wry smile. “Well, then you must have good resistance to infection.”

  Dr. Perez was clever. Snow just agreed and let it go. Dr. Perez directed the nurse to wash and disinfect Snow’s wounds and prescribed some antibiotics and pain medication. After a few final comments on how often to change the dressing, Dr. Perez left.

  A short, attractive brown-skinned woman came in the examination room to assist the bigger, brassier nurse. The smaller nurse got the chief’s attention without trying. The red-headed nurse left the room, which left the little attractive nurse to tend to the chief’s wounds.

  Snow instantly looked for a wedding ring, an unusual thing for him to do. The nurse had not spoken a word, which intrigued him and also warmed his blood, as they both seemed focused on her hands feeling his body. She seemed demure but also quietly confident.

  “I don’t think we have met. I’m Chief Snow of Togiak. What is your name?”

  She did not immediately answer. Chief Snow thought at first that she was Native but thought she could be Asian, too. When she spoke, he was sure she was not local.

  “I am Lilly. Are you married?”

  Snow’s eyebrows shot up. She was certainly not afraid to speak her mind.

  “Well, no. I’m single,” Snow stammered

  “Me too. I’m from Anchorage but lived with family in Dillingham.”

  She was the most beautiful woman Snow had ever seen. His pulse raced and he flushed. Geez, like a frigging teenager, he thought.

  “You sure you are not married?” she asked, showing an apparent lack of trust for all things male. He could only nod. She was direct in a way that did not offend.

  Chief Snow recovered some but was knocked off balance by her manner and gentle touch. Her immaculate straight black hair hung down to her small, shapely behind, which was well defined under her blue scrubs. Her skin was a golden brown, and her dark brown, pecan-shaped eyes sparkled when she looked at him. Her face was an almost perfect heart shape. She had beautiful white teeth and full lips. She was fine boned, with fine black hair on her slender arms. Her wrists were almost impossibly dainty. She looked like she was very young, but he guessed she was older than she looked. He was strangely aroused by the dark hair on her arms.

  She finished her work before Snow was ready for her to leave. Snow had to know her full name, and he asked her.

  “Lilly Wasillie,” she said. Just like that, she was gone, but she gave him a little peek as she turned the corner.

  Snow got his instructions, some pain pills, and antibiotics and left the hospital. He immediately regretted that he had not gotten Lilly’s phone number—or at least asked for it. I am a cop, he thought with encouragement. I deal in information. He was determined to get her number and call her.

  Snow wondered about Lilly Wasillie. Her sheer beauty made an impact on him. Does she have a boyfriend? Could she be related to the ancient Elder Wasillie who met Captain Shoemaker, according to the mysterious Kinka?

  CHAPTER 4

  THE VILLAGE

  Charlie Johnson was a Togiak Native of mixed blood. He was also a direct descendant of a bull cook for the whaling v
essel Saint George, captained by Sir Jonathan Shoemaker. The small English ship was north hunting whales for their oil a little too late in the fall of 1871. Ice trapped it there. Crewmen went ashore to make contact with the Native people and hunt, as their provisions were very low.

  This was the first contact by the Native people of Togiak with outside people besides the other tribes in the region. Captain Shoemaker and his strange-looking crewmen were welcomed into the village. All the people were fascinated by the men from the boat, who were not all Englishmen. A variety of races and countries were represented.

  The huts were constructed of whalebones, dug into the ground, and roofed with chunks of tundra. At least half of each small home was underground. Some of the bigger homes had several rooms in which residents could actually stand. The floors were covered with furs of “parka” squirrels, caribou, and even polar bears. Strings of dried fish hung from the roof joists. A fire pit in the center of the main room was used for cooking and heat. Much of the food was dried or boiled.

  Captain Shoemaker and his men spent considerable time ashore. Some of the crew was left aboard to ensure the safety of the Saint George, but the others spent time with the Natives of Togiak. Bull cook Isaac Johnson from Ireland was one of the men ashore with Captain Shoemaker.

  Johnson was short and stout with red hair and a swarthy complexion burnt by the salt spray and sun. He was spry and easy to like. He smiled often, which revealed a set of rotted and broken teeth—those he had left at thirty-two years. But he had a good smile nonetheless and soon he caught the eye of a Native maiden by the name of Puniq. She was fourteen and just of age. Isaac and Puniq were soon sleeping together under the wolf furs, and they were happy with each other.