Bush Blues

by Sheldon Schmitt

  “Why wouldn’t Bullshit shoot himself?” Charlie huffed, now seeming to argue with himself. “He lost Nancy. He let his permits go to that fucker Nelson. He drank like he wanted to die.”

  “Maybe someone helped him along. Maybe a friend who did not want to see him suffer anymore,” Snow said, eyeing Charlie’s reaction.

  “Maybe his fucking gussok partner Buck fucking Nelson who wanted everything Bullshit had!”

  The interview didn’t help much; it just confirmed that Charlie was there. He was still half-cooked, so Snow let it be for now.

  Lilly Wasillie was nervous. She had never been to Togiak, but that was not the source of her angst. She had been to villages in the bush before, just not this one. Exactly the same, but different, she thought.

  She had been thinking about Chief Snow ever since he visited her family. The thought of embracing him—or more—made her skin tingle and her heart flutter. She did not like to fly in the small bush planes and was glad when the Cessna 207 landed, kicking up a cloud of dust. She was met on the plane by the physician’s assistant, a white man from the lower states. He would work six months or a year in the bush and then go down below, forever telling tales about his work in Alaska.

  Alaska was in dire need of health care professionals. There were incentives for doctors or PAs to work in the state, especially the bush clinics. Not only could they pocket big money, they could also get forgiveness on parts of their student loans. Even with the incentives, many left quickly. They simply could not take life in the bush. No malls, movie theatres, golf courses, TV stations, Starbucks, or restaurants. Flush toilets were a luxury. Fresh milk, fruit and vegetables were hard to come by, expensive, and ready to go bad as soon as you got them. Not a lot of anything except wide-open spaces.

  “I love it here!” the tall PA gushed. “I have plans to build a house out by the Cape.”

  “You should wait. Wait until you’ve lived here awhile,” Lilly said.

  “It’s so peaceful. I want to learn to subsistence hunt and fish and build a house to live in. It’s so different; none of the hustle bustle of the lower forty-eight.”

  “It’s expensive,” said Lilly. She knew that people from outside came out here and loved it for a while. After the newness wore off, things changed, perceptions shifted. Those who seemed to “love it” the loudest were often the first ones to bail out.

  There were lots of oppressive health care issues to treat in these faraway places—hepatitis, TB, domestic violence, suicide, and fetal alcohol syndrome, all at rates way higher than most anywhere in the lower forty-eight. People would come in all starry-eyed and six months later they couldn’t catch a plane out of here fast enough. Those that did stay, like Dr. Perez in Dillingham, were rare.

  Nurses were in short supply, too. On occasion, Lilly ventured out to assist a doctor or PA or to look in on a previous patient. That was her excuse for visiting Chief Snow’s village. Togiak did not have a doctor, just the visiting PA.

  Dr. Perez suspected Lilly wanted to see Chief Snow but did not reveal his suspicions to Lilly or anyone else. He liked Lilly. She was a good nurse. She also knew how to keep her mouth shut, which was refreshing. She was Native as well, and he felt paternalistic toward her.

  Lilly would stay at the clinic in Togiak. They had spare rooms with beds just for that purpose. When the PA told her that she could stay downstairs at the Round House, she blushed. She knew the PA was simply recommending it because others sometimes preferred to stay there. He knew nothing about her and Snow, she was sure. He was much too self-consumed.

  The PA blathered on about the Round House, and how the chief of police lived upstairs. It was an old converted water tank, the PA explained, with multiple bedrooms downstairs.

  “It’s the coolest place to stay if you don’t mind a cop living upstairs. You can see the fish jumping right out your window,” he said.

  “I don’t want fish jumping out my window,” joked Lilly.

  Chief Snow came by the clinic to see Lilly within an hour of her arrival. He felt like a smitten teenager, his heart racing and armpits dampening. He spotted her in the hallway talking to a child. She was on her knees with the little girl, who was crying.

  Lilly looked even more beautiful than before, if that were possible. She had her hair pulled back in a very thick braid. Some wisps had escaped to hang on her forehead. She looked like an angel in blue scrubs.

  Lilly spotted him watching her and gave him a tiny smile of acknowledgement. His heart skipped. She met him in the waiting area, still holding the little girl’s hand. She stood so close to Snow that the usually stoic chief blushed.

  Lilly told the girl that this was a police officer, and the girl, who had stopped crying, looked at Snow quizzically. Snow slipped out his flashlight and flashed it as a way to keep the girl interested. It worked.

  “You want to go riding after work? We could have a picnic?” Snow whispered to Lilly as she kept an eye on the young girl, who had been simply scared and upset.

  “You flirting with me, Chief? she whispered

  “Maybe,” he responded. “Is it working?”

  “Maybe,” she whispered and smiled.

  “That sounds fun. I will get some food from the AC store we can take with us. Pick me up here,” she said.

  “See you later!” Snow said. He smiled at the girl and bent down to let her take a closer look at the light.

  Snow jumped on his red Honda ATV and rode back to the station standing up with the wind in his face, which was his habit. The Honda 400 series was the ride of choice in this part of the world. They could go almost anywhere. The big spongy tires would drive right over rocks and small logs with no problems. They would even float, though not well enough to carry a rider. But you could float them across a stream if you were careful. Some models were big enough to haul a quarter of a caribou. Best of all, they were a blast to ride.

  Lester Grimes was waiting at the office for Snow and followed him inside. Grimes’s nickname was “Grimy,” and for good reason. He rarely bathed, and even when he did he looked dirty. It was like the dirt was ground in and now a part of him. He worked for a local mechanic, which accounted for some of the grime. His old jacket was covered with grease. Grimy smelled like oil and tobacco, though not unpleasantly.

  “What’s up, Lester?”

  Chief Snow always called him Lester, which made Grimy feel good.

  “That little fucker JJ stole my steering wheel! I want him arrested!” Grimy sputtered.

  “Have a cup of coffee? Tell me what happened.”

  Chief Snow handed Grimy a white Styrofoam cup. He always gave Grimy a throwaway. The grease and grime imbedded into the lines of his fingers smeared anything he touched. His coffee cup was greasy brown within minutes.

  The police station had become a place to stop for coffee since Snow became chief. Snow liked the company and, being single, he was there most of the time. Having a steady stream of visitors also helped him learn what was happening around the village and in the bush. People liked to come by and shoot the breeze, especially when the snow was thick and temperatures frigid. It gave shut-ins something to do. Although the station was kind of dumpy, it was comfortable and warm. And there was a flush toilet, to boot.

  But Grimy was there for a purpose today.

  “You know my truck, the Ford F150 with the short bed?”

  “Yup, it’s usually parked right by your place, right?” Snow responded.

  “Yeah, well, I had a custom-installed, chain-link chrome steering wheel, and it’s gone.” The description made it sound like quite the truck, which was not the case.

  “Why do you think JJ took it?” Snow asked.

  “Well, I saw it on his truck.”

  “Oh, well that’s what they call a clue,” Snow remarked dryly.

  After listening to the story, Snow was pretty sure that JJ did in fact take Grimy’s prized chain-link steering wheel. Snow was sure there was more to this story, though. Maybe it was part of a dope deal. G
rimy, along with about half of the people in Togiak, occasionally smoked weed. Smoking pot was legal in Alaska, and Snow much preferred its mellowing effect on the locals over the violence and rage induced by booze. “If everyone smoked weed instead of getting liquored up, I’d be out of a job,” Snow often said.

  Snow thought Grimy’s complaint was kind of silly. The steering wheel was on an ancient pickup that hardly ever ran. It was missing the window on the driver’s side, and none of the lights worked. It was Grimy’s summer truck. But it was important to Grimy.

  “I been plannin’ on fixing her up,” said Grimy.

  Snow decided to check things out and went to JJ’s house. He had Grimy with him but made him stay in the truck. JJ became indignant.

  “Why would I want his steering wheel?” A nice non-denial denial. “No way I took his steering wheel.” JJ looked upset, but Snow felt like it was an act. JJ was upset, all right, but probably because the police were at his house and Grimy had ratted on him.

  “That gussok Grimy owes me money anyway,” JJ said.

  Bingo, thought Snow.

  “Maybe this is just a misunderstanding. I mean, maybe you thought you were never going to get your money, or maybe Grimy said you could borrow the steering wheel until you got your money. Is that what this was about? A misunderstanding because of the money Grimy owes you?” Snow asked JJ.

  “Yeah, but I don’t have his stupid steering wheel,” JJ complained.

  Oh, come on! thought Snow. “I know where it is. I saw it in your truck, outside. Come and look,” Snow said to JJ, not rubbing it in too much. JJ was a terrible liar.

  They went out to the truck and there it was, mounted on the steering column of JJ’s truck. Snow made it clear he was not leaving until he got the chrome chain circle, which moved JJ along. There was a simple nut attaching it, and it popped right off.

  “Next time, come and see me first, JJ. I don’t want you to get in any trouble.”

  JJ agreed and that was that. Snow delivered the wayward steering wheel to Grimy with JJ in tow.

  “Sorry, Grimy,” JJ said like an embarrassed little boy.

  “Grimy, JJ’s done his part to make things right. Now you do your part. I understand you owe him some money.”

  Grimy nodded, reached into his grubby pocket, removed a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and slapped it into JJ’s outstretched hand.

  “Even.”

  Snow got back to the station only to be greeted by Mayor Moses.

  “Don’t forget tribal court. It starts at one,” Moses reminded him. It was half past one already, so Snow figured he was right on time. Everything started a half hour or so late. Village time, he thought with a smile.

  “I am on the way,” the chief said to the mayor.

  “Do you think this is a good idea? I mean, this school dispute is a pretty hot issue.”

  “Too late now. The elders can handle it. Let’s go!”

  Snow grabbed his file on the case and roared to the Senior Center on the ATV. Not because he was in a hurry—it was simply fun to roar around on an ATV. There were people milling outside as he braked and threw up some dust, the faded red ATV still rocking after he hopped off. It looked like there was going to be a full house.

  This was the biggest crowd ever for the court. It was because it involved the schoolteachers.

  The tribal court was the brainchild of Mayor Moses, and Chief Snow helped start it. One day Moses told Snow that the judicial system was broken. It was time to go back to the old ways. Chief Snow agreed. Letting tribal elders decide punishment or guilt for mischievous youngsters was more expedient and judicious than throwing them into an already beleaguered court system.

  When kids got in minor trouble, nothing ever happened. The kids knew there were no consequences, so they continued to break the rules and the laws until they did something so bad that they were sent out of the village to a group home or youth facility somewhere. They often returned from jail or detention hardened and bitter. Resources were stretched thin, and magistrates tried to manage things remotely.

  If that weren’t bad enough, there were residual cultural issues between the outside Western influences and the locals. There was a sense that the outside ways had been pushed on the locals, which was true, of course. Resentment ran deep, and often the locals did not respect the law because it was viewed as more of the same. The irony was that the underlying values of the law were based on the same cultural tenets subscribed to by the elders.

  Some state officials supported tribal courts, but others in government were opposed. The state was never going to just hand over the reins or cede its judicial authority. Snow, Mayor Moses and the village elders got tired of waiting; they went ahead anyway, without any formal approval or authority.

  “Easier to ask forgiveness than permission,” the mayor had said.

  Since the start of this tribal court, when the kids got in trouble they had to appear before three elder judges. And the kids sure seemed to listen as the wise elders admonished them. They made the offenses personal; the talked about family, culture, tradition and honor. Committing a crime was dishonoring one’s people.

  Some kids still got in trouble occasionally, but they generally did not get in big trouble. Most stayed out of trouble to avoid disappointing the elders.

  This case was different. There was a shit-storm brewing between the teachers and some of the villagers who did not like what they were teaching. This was an issue stemming from the old days when Native kids were not allowed to speak the Native language in school and were punished if they did. Many in the village thought the teachers did not respect the Native ways. All of the teachers were non-Native. Most were from the lower forty-eight and new to the field. They lived in teachers’ housing next to the schools, a common condition in the bush.

  Three boys had vandalized the teachers’ houses with the tacit approval of many of the villagers. The kids were accused of vandalism and Chief Snow was asked to arrest them. He deferred the case to the elders court, not immediately sensing that this was a keg of dynamite.

  The chief took his place at the table next to the kids—a poor man’s prosecutor, so to speak. There were at least fifty chairs in the room and they were all full. Many people were standing at the sides of the large room that often served as a dining hall or bingo parlor for the community. Snow saw Toovak and nodded to him. In the front of the room were three chairs.

  “All rise!” Snow said loudly. The crowd hushed as the three judges came in, two men and one woman. All three were dressed in traditional finery. They were impressive in their skins, parkies, and mukluks. They stood for a moment and looked at the faces in the crowd, especially at the young ones in front of them.

  “Please be seated,” Snow said to the crowd after the judges had taken their seats.

  Snow introduced the elders and read the charges against the three boys. He offered the boys a chance to speak, but all three declined. They looked embarrassed or ashamed. Snow asked the parents if they wanted to say anything. Oh boy, did they!

  “These teachers disrespect our Native ways. They teach white ways to our children. We ask to change and they don’t. Aren’t they supposed to listen to us? Don’t we have a say in what is taught?” one mother passionately said.

  In the crowd, people were nodding and muttering, “Yah, yah.” Some said, “Eee!”

  Several others raised their hands and were recognized by Snow to speak. All were circumspect in their demeanor out of respect for the elders. But the feelings and emotions ran strong. There were a handful of schoolteachers there, and they now raised their hands. Snow recognized them one by one.

  “We deeply respect the Native people and their ways. But they don’t respect us! We are here to teach the children because we love to teach. But the parents don’t support us. They don’t make children do their homework. They allow them to miss school. When hunting season comes, half the school children are out. We can’t teach if the kids are not there! And if you don’t like the curric
ulum, you can suggest changes . . .”

  Head Elder Kenny Toovak, Nasruk Toovak’s father, stood. The room gradually grew silent. He began to speak. He spoke Yupik. At first softly, then with more power and conviction. There was emotion in his voice. His old grizzled head was back and his eyes were almost closed as he spoke in the halting lilt of the local tongue. Some of the village people dabbed at their eyes. Elder Toovak did not skip a beat as he shifted to English and spoke with equal strength.

  “Our people have been here a long time. This has always been our land. We hunt the caribou and the whale. This is our life as it has always been. We live with respect and honor for each other and the land. But things change. In my life, I have seen things change. We must change too! To survive! These teachers come here to help us change. They mean no disrespect to us. We must work together. Change is not so easy, especially for an old man like me.

  “When I was young I was a whale captain. Like your father, Johnny,” he said directly to one of the three boys at the table. “Your father was a great man, a man to be proud of. In my day, when I was so young, I thought we did not need to learn the ways of the white people. But now we must learn the Western ways, too. If we want to keep our lands; if we want to survive.”

  Johnny and his mother were crying. Many others, too. This was hard truth that Elder Toovak spoke.

  “Today, we do not discuss what is taught in the school. You go to the school board meeting and do that. Today we discuss our children. What they did was wrong. No matter what issue you have with the school. It was wrong. We want our children to be good, to be strong. We must teach them these things.”

  After Elder Toovak, Elder Annie Blue spoke. She spoke in Yupik and was a dynamic speaker. She was eighty years old, but her hair was still jet black. She was spry and had twinkling eyes. She made broad gestures. There were some laughs as she spoke, and the tension in the room was broken.

  She too spoke first in Yupik, then shifted to English. Snow thought it was wise of the elders to speak to the kids in Yupik, even though they may not fully understand it. Many kids these days did not. It was a way to show them their language and take pride in it. And to subtly reinforce that this was their language, their culture.