Bush Blues

by Sheldon Schmitt

  “Aren’t you going to ask who shot at me?” Snow asked the room.

  “I figured if you knew you would have said something. Any ideas?”

  After Snow explained how he thought Buck Nelson was getting nervous, Trooper Dick put up his hand.

  “In case you’re wondering why we are here, things have changed.”

  “I just thought you loved it so much here, you couldn’t stay away,” Snow said.

  “We got a DNA hit on the shell casing from Bullshit Bob’s . . . suicide. It came back to your buddy Charlie Johnson. I got a search warrant here for his place.”

  Snow got some coffee. “I thought we had no case?”

  Trooper Dick gave him a hard look.

  “I still don’t think we do. Charlie Johnson hung out with Bullshit Bob regularly, so nothin’ suspicious about finding his DNA at the scene. But it does show he was there. It’s something we need to follow up on. Besides, I would give my left nut to hang something on your good friend crazy Charlie,” Trooper Dick said.

  “You can’t do that,” Trooper Debbie said. “Your left nut is the only good one you have left.”

  Snow raised his eyebrows but did not dare to crack a smile.

  “I wish I had known about the warrant. We could have gone upriver together,” Snow said, changing the subject from bad trooper nuts to regular police-business nuts.

  Trooper Debbie had noticed the chief’s bear scars with real concern. “Do those bite and claw marks hurt?”

  “Only when he is crawling away and hiding,” Trooper Dick said.

  “It hurts a little sometimes, Debbie. When I lift heavy things. Like when I had to roll that drum of fuel oil into the back of the truck yesterday to fill my barrel at the Round House. It was kinda tough. It’s getting better, though. Quyana, Debbie.”

  Trooper Debbie wondered why Snow was out here in the village. Why is he alone? Where did he come from? She knew little about Snow. She kind of liked him and wondered if he had ever been married. Togiak was the largest village she and her partner covered and had the most crime. But it seemed like the one village where there was some semblance of order. She thought it had to do with Snow. He was not the biggest, smartest or toughest cop around, that was for sure. But there is something about the way he operates, she thought. He treats people right!

  Trooper Dick still thought Chief Snow was too soft. Going Native.

  “I heard about the alcohol seizure at the airport. People are talking about it,” said Trooper Debbie. “Going to be tough to prosecute a case.” She didn’t sound like she was being critical, just stating a fact.

  “I could have tried to build some probable cause and apply for a warrant. But I was pretty sure Black Billy would not have anything that would help me. I really want to hang a charge on him for bootlegging, but this just wasn’t the case. Keeping the booze out of town was my priority, and, shit, half the town was out there. I had to do something,” Snow explained.

  “I actually agree with you on this one,” Trooper Dick said.

  Despite her admiration for the chief, Trooper Debbie knew cops had to build a wall. If you didn’t, the work got too personal. The problem with not letting anyone in was it was lonely. The only people you let in were other cops. But getting involved with another cop could be murder. She had learned that lesson the hard way.

  Trooper Roop had married her sweetheart, who was also a trooper. Things seemed great at first, but eventually things got competitive between them. He seemed jealous because she got a lot of recognition. Their rivalry eventually led to divorce.

  “Are we going to talk all day? Let’s get going!” Trooper Dick said impatiently.

  “Almost ready. Just let me grab some nuts—I mean, some evidence bags,” Snow said. Debbie hid a smile. Snow asked Trooper Dick what they were looking for before they left the station.

  “A boot to match the print from the top of the water tank,” Trooper Dick said.

  Snow had wondered how Trooper Dick got the warrant. With Charlie’s history, the DNA on the shell casing and the medical examiner’s report had been enough. Trooper Dick was a good cop. Even though he knew there was little chance of ever making a case out of this, he did what he always did—his job.

  Charlie Johnson was not as his home in Togiak, just as Snow expected. The house was unlocked, so they went in and looked around. The house was surprisingly clean and nice inside.

  They found nothing, and Toovak carried them upriver in his skiff to Charlie’s fish camp. They found Charlie outside his shack, hanging gear. Charlie was sober and not in the mood to talk with the troopers. Trooper Dick talked to Charlie while Trooper Debbie took a look in the shack. Inside the shack, in a pile of clothes, Trooper Debbie found a pair of bloodstained jeans.

  Trooper Dick bludgeoned Charlie with his words.

  “Whose blood on the jeans, Charlie? Bullshit Bob’s?”

  “How should I know? Maybe fish blood, maybe mine.”

  Charlie peeled off a glove and showed them some scabs on his knuckles. Then put the glove back on and continued to hang gear, jerking the knots with vigor.

  “How about the shell casing, Charlie? How did you manage to touch that?”

  “I don’t have to say nothing to you. You can leave now.”

  “If that blood is Bob’s, you have some explaining to do,” Trooper Dick said. Charlie did not respond, and they were getting nothing else out of him. They brought the pants back to the police station, where the troopers got set to leave.

  “He didn’t do it, Dick,” Snow said.

  “How the fuck do you know that? You don’t! Are you going soft out here?”

  Snow paced around the office but did not answer Trooper Dick. Trooper Debbie went outside for some air.

  Nulakatuk was a feast to give thanks for a successful whale hunt. The spring hunt had been a good one, with three whales “caught” by crews of Togiak. Each year, a quota was given to each of the villages by the whaling commission based on their research. Togiak had gotten three and was able to fill all three.

  Custom determined whaling crews by clan groupings. Each clan had a small flag. When a whale was caught, one of the crew brought the clan flag into the village and ceremoniously posted it at the house of the whaling captain who led the successful hunt. It was an exciting time of the year for villages on the coast.

  Chief Snow had been allowed to observe the hunt from a skiff that accompanied the traditional skin whaling boats. The skiffs were not used in the actual hunt unless there was an emergency of some sort. Otherwise, the skin boats were rowed by a group of six or eight men that did the actual hunting. Oftentimes the boats went miles up or down the coast to find the whales migrating up the coast of Alaska. A lot of luck was involved with the ice floes, which dictated where the whales went.

  This year was unusual in that there was an opening right where the old town of Togiak was. The ice was built up on the north side of the point, but a wonderful break opened south of the finger. The forces of tide, wind, and fate opened a beautiful lake in the ice. It was so close that people gathered on top of “Million Dollar Hill,” the gravel pile near the airport. From that vantage point there was a good view of the activity on the ocean lake.

  Snow had watched with fascination as the skin boats followed the whales, trying to anticipate where they would come up for air. If they were close when a whale breeched, they could quickly close the gap and attempt to harpoon the whale. A harpooner stood at the front of the boat. His job was to simply stand by for a good shot if one presented itself. If so, the harpooner would hurl the six-foot lance as near to the head of the great beast as possible. There was an explosive charge in the tip of the harpoon, one of the few concessions to modern technology allowed by the whalers.

  In the old days, a seal bladder was attached to the harpoon by a rope tightly woven from the tough long grass that grew abundantly in the region. The rope was worked with seal fat to make it waterproof. The seal bladder served as a buoy. The buoys helped the whalers loc
ate the harpooned whale when the beast came up for air. If they were able to get more buoys in the whale, it also tended to tire the whale.

  Nasruk Toovak directed the skin boat for his clan. He was the captain and harpooner for this boat and also the whaling captain for his crew. That was unusual. But Toovak was an exceptional man, tall and large, giving him a commanding presence. The ex-cop was one of the village leaders and highly respected.

  Snow watched the boats paddle in the calm, gray water, ice chunks floating in the mist. A whale breeched near Toovak’s skin boat, and Snow watched as the boat was positioned. His heart jumped as he saw Toovak heave the harpoon at just the right moment, sticking it in the humped back of the whale, which immediately dove. The dance began, with the whale trying to escape the crews and lose the attachment to its body.

  Toovak knew he had made a good toss with the harpoon. He had dressed in traditional garb for the hunt. He wore sealskin leggings topped by a seal-and-caribou-hide coat. In the gray mist, he looked like his ancestors before him. Toovak knew that many things could still go wrong. The whale could simply go under the ice and disappear or die, making it nearly impossible for the hunters to recover. The lines tethered to the buoys could break. The whale could find an opening and make it out of the lake created by the ice. Toovak was tense as he directed the boat to the spot he guessed the whale would reappear. He held another harpoon, line coiled at his feet.

  The forty-foot humpback whale suddenly breeched under them. Toovak and his boat were out of the water, on top of the whale near the head. The whale blew, spraying Toovak and his crew with warm mist and water. The blowhole was right off the starboard side of the twelve-foot, lightweight vessel. The boat heeled precariously onto the port gunwale.

  Toovak shouted to the crew, “Hang on!”

  A couple of the pointed wooden paddles had been dropped and floated serenely nearby. Toovak rose to his full height, holding the heavy harpoon high in his right hand. He launched the harpoon with all his might and unleashed a primal scream.

  “Holy shit,” said Snow under his breath. A hit! Dead shot bull’s-eye!

  The whale dove and the boat crashed to the water. Toovak fell over the side but managed to grab it with his left hand. He was hauled back into the boat by the excited crew, only slightly wet.

  At the Nulakatuk, Nasruk Toovak and his clan served muktuk from that whale to the other clans as was custom for the successful whaling crew. There were big pots of whale meat cooking, as well as a wide array of traditional foods, cases of soda pop, potato chips and other modern foods. A canvas windbreak had been erected around the site to keep out the wind. A blanket-toss, trampoline-type device had been set up at one side.

  Snow and Lilly walked together in the large gathering of people. Most folks sat in family or clan groups directly inside the circular windbreak. Others milled in the center of the large circle eating foods and talking. A group of dancers performed a new dance in honor of the great hunt by Nasruk Toovak and his crew.

  Everyone laughed when they represented in the dance how the boat had gone in the air. A dancer, with fluid, poetic movements, imitated the great harpoon toss that was the highlight of the hunt and the dance—even his falling halfway out of the boat. People clapped and cheered at the climax of the dance and also when it was completed. Nasruk Toovak beamed proudly.

  Snow was almost as proud as Toovak as he walked with Lilly. She looked lovely, her long hair adorned with traditional beading around her face. People were polite and curious about her. They gossiped about the young, beautiful nurse with Chief Snow. In general, people were approving of the couple, who looked handsome together.

  Snow watched Lilly as an old woman offered her some fresh, raw muktuk. Lilly accepted the black-and-white whale fat graciously. As she took a bite of the food, she gave Snow a look that made him smile. She did not like whale meat too much and ate the food in order to be courteous and respectful. Snow also took a bite and nodded to the old woman before they moved on. You could chew forever and make little progress breaking down a piece of muktuk. Snow thought the trick was to chew a couple times and swallow.

  Snow teased Lilly, “I can see you really love muktuk. You can have mine!”

  She pretended to stumble slightly and gave him a little sharp elbow as she whispered, “Don’t you dare!”

  Snow chuckled.

  Several young children ran around Snow and Lilly, urging them both to try the blanket toss. Snow politely declined, saying he was still sore from his fight with the bear. That drew some oohs and ahhs from the children. They asked to see his scars and he showed them his shoulder, which had mostly healed. Lilly looked as his scar with interest along with the children.

  “They should make a dance about your fight with the bear,” one of the boys said with excitement.

  The others agreed; there should be a dance. Snow did not know what to say to that. He had never heard of a dance about a white person’s exploits.

  The children convinced Lilly to ride the blanket. She surprised Snow again. Snow helped her up onto the large blanket, cupping his hands together and bending at the knees. Lilly stepped into his hands with one foot and held Snow’s shoulder and then rolled onto the blanket with grace. The blanket was held up about four feet off the ground by an elaborate, sophisticated system of ropes and poles. People surrounded the blanket and started the rhythm.

  A successful blanket rider had to have rhythm, much like the trampoline. Lilly had the knack. She looked beautiful as her Native smock and hair flew in the air when she was launched off the blanket. She was very graceful in her turns and how she held her body. She was no stranger to riding the blanket.

  Snow began to worry about how high Lilly was being tossed. He clapped nervously as she went higher and higher. He did not remember seeing anyone go so high before, but then again he was never this intensely interested before. The highest toss must have been twenty feet. He was grateful when she gracefully plopped to the edge of the blanket, signaling the end of the toss. People cheered and clapped as she was lifted down. Snow had never been so proud in his life. Lilly was a hit in the village.

  After some time milling and talking, Snow and Lilly left the Nulakatuk. Whalebone arches marked the edge of the site. Snow and Lilly held hands as they walked to the Round House. Snow dreamily thought of peeling some of the layers of clothing off Lilly, bumping shoulders with her after as they picked their way. Snow did something he thought he would never do but did without thinking twice. He told her about a case.

  “I am going to go upriver. I think Buck Nelson killed Bullshit Bob. But I don’t think I will ever be able to prove it, unless I get him to talk. I am going to go up there and see if I can get him to talk about it, make some sort of admission.”

  Lilly was quiet for a minute.

  “Don’t go. It’s not worth the risk. You can get him on something else. You will.”

  Snow regretted telling her. This is exactly why you don’t talk about stuff; immediately you begin to second guess.

  He shook his head, but didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t go. But if you have to go, take Nasruk with you,” she said, squeezing his hand.

  The PA careened up to them on the four-wheeler and abruptly stopped, making them jump out of the way. Snow was chagrined at the pesky PA’s sudden appearance and his inept handling of the four-wheeler. A child of six can drive better than that, and most do!

  “Lilly, come quick! We have an emergency at the clinic!” the PA cried in a panic.

  “Let me drive,” she said, having noticed his hopeless operation of the funky-riding four-wheeler.

  She gave Snow a peck on the cheek—which embarrassed him somewhat, though he was not sure why—before she climbed on the four-wheeler and expertly swung it around and headed into the village at high speed. The PA almost fell off and his long arms and legs dangled off the machine at weird angles.

  Snow followed on his own four-wheeler after he recovered it from the Round House. A young woman in lab
or had come into the clinic. It was her first baby and had come early. Often they would medevac a pregnant woman prior to labor so that she could deliver the baby at Kanakanak Hospital in Dillingham. As Snow waited, it became clear that this might become a medevac situation. Snow went back and got his truck in case they needed a transport vehicle.

  When Snow returned, it was obvious that the birth was difficult and they were going to transport. He positioned the police truck at the door of the clinic to make the transfer easier. He was worried about the situation. It was not good to transport a woman during childbirth. He thought it might have something to do with the inexperience of the medic.

  Rose Stone walked purposefully into the clinic. Rose was an older Native woman of sixty years or so. She stood less than five feet tall. In her traditional, multi-colored smock, she appeared almost as wide as she was tall. Her hair was a wild gray-and-black tangle. She carried a small beaded bag of caribou hide. Rose Stone was a shaman.

  Shamans were not well received by Westerners. For that reason, their existence was not well known or talked about among outsiders. Snow had never sought out Rose Stone for treatment but had seen her working on dead people.

  Snow first became aware of Rose Snow last winter when a young man froze to death hunting caribou. He went out to hunt when the herd was about twenty miles away from the village. The wind suddenly picked up and the area was smothered by a ground blizzard, accompanied by bitter cold. When the wind lay down, the hunter did not return. The family became worried and a search was launched. Snow acted as the search team base coordinator. This meant he manned the radio and kept coffee brewing. He was not experienced enough to accompany the searchers, who went out on snow machines. It was dangerous work, but there was no shortage of volunteers when a search-and-rescue was launched. Everyone knew it was a life-and-death situation. Anyone who hunted, which was nearly everyone, would want people looking for them if they were overdue.