Bo at Ballard Creek Page 12

  “I’m Bo,” she said. “And this is Bear. And that man is Milo, and those are Jimmy the Pirate and Sol and Charlie Sickik.” The little boy flicked his eyes over to the men Bo was pointing at. He didn’t change his expression at all.

  “How come his eyes are that color?” Bo asked Milo.

  “My guess is that he’s Indian from downriver. Don’t look Eskimo to me, and no one here knows him. See lots of green eyes down on the Yukon ’cause there used to be Russians there long ago. Hear lots of Russian names, too.”

  “Milo playing detective,” said Jimmy the Pirate.

  “Well,” said Milo, “stands to reason.”

  Bo put her arms around the little boy’s middle and lifted him down off the stool. She took his hand and walked him to the Victrola. She put on “Barney Google,” cranked up the Victrola, then bent down to look in this face. “Do you like this? It’s my nearly favorite song.” The little boy looked wide-eyed at Bo.

  Bo was disappointed. She thought the music would make him feel happy.

  “You want to go out and play?”

  Milo shook his head. “I want to keep a close eye on him before I let him go out. I’d hate for him to run away. Maybe he’d try to get back to where they found him.”

  Bo thought a minute.

  “Well, could we have the poker chips, Milo?”

  Milo smiled and took the box from behind the bar. All the kids in town liked to play with the poker chips. They came up with more things to do with those chips than Milo thought possible. Bo took the chips to where the little boy was still standing by the Victrola and pulled him down to the floor.

  She spilled the chips out—red, white, blue—and said, “You make a stack with the red ones, and I’ll do the blue ones.”

  He seemed to understand right away, and they played together for a while. Then she changed the game and put the chips in a line on the floor—red, blue, white, red, blue, white. He saw right away what the pattern was and made the same lines on his side.

  Jimmy the Pirate jerked his chin at the little boy. “He ain’t stupid, that’s for sure,” he said under his breath.

  Bo didn’t go to see Yovela or Lilly or anyone else in Ballard Creek. All the time she had for visiting she spent playing with the boy.

  After the chips, she sat him in one of the cane chairs, and she sat in the chair with him, pointing out pictures in the magazines. He didn’t know about turning the pages, so Bo thought maybe he’d never seen a magazine before. Or a book. She knew by now that she wasn’t going to get the little boy to say anything, but she didn’t think she was making him sad or frightened.

  “He does all right with you,” said Milo. “He’s a bit suspicious of me and the boys here. I thought maybe he’d be okay with women, but he was leery of Big Annie and Gracie when I asked them to have a look at him. He let them give him a bath and all, but he’s holding himself tight. You can see he’s not relaxed.”

  It was time for Bo to help Jack with lunch.

  “I have to go now,” she said to the boy. He looked at her face quickly, as if he knew what she said. She said good-bye to Milo and the old-timers, and she and Bear went out the door.

  It was a big heavy door made of split spruce logs, and she was proud that she’d grown enough to open it by herself. Just a little while ago, she’d had to get someone to open it for her or stand outside and holler if she wanted in.

  She stopped outside the door and thought about the little boy. Then she pushed open the door and went back in. He was still sitting where she’d left him. She handed him Bear.

  “You can keep him till I come back,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

  He took Bear with a quick gesture, looking hard at Bo with his green eyes.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she said.

  She ran into the cookshack, her breath coming in gasps. The cookshack smelled like fresh-baked gingersnaps. It was her job to roll the balls for the cookies so that Jack could flatten them with a cup, but she hadn’t been there to do it.

  “Oh,” she said, “you had to do them all by yourself!”

  “Don’t give it a thought,” said Jack.

  “But, Papa, there’s a little boy at the roadhouse. With no papa or mama or anything. He doesn’t talk. His eyes are green. But his eyes are like something that’s dead, like a rabbit that’s been snared, how their eyes go funny. Where did he come from?”

  Jack walked over to her, wiping his hands on his big apron. He looked surprised. “Forgot to tell you about him. Thought he’d be gone by now. Max found him while you was sick. The last shelter cabin on the trail, that’s where he was. No fire in the cabin, and he’s sitting next to his father on the bunk. His father was dead. Max guessed it was his father, but no one knows for sure.”

  “Oh,” said Bo, horrified.

  “He’d been sitting there some time in that cold shack. Max looked through the sled. He could see the father was going to go beaver trapping, had some marten traps too. It’s been pretty cold, but the little guy had a big caribou skin to wrap up in. Lucky, or he would have froze.”

  “No fire,” said Bo, thinking how that would have been.

  “Max wrapped the boy in his extra parka and brought him to Milo. Then Clarence and Tomas went back to the shelter cabin and buried the man. Hank’ll be able to figure out who the dead man is, seeing as he’s the marshal. And he can find out where the little boy belongs,” Jack said. “Clarence sent him a wire right away.”

  “He’s got on Oscar’s old clothes,” said Bo.

  “Yeah,” said Jack. “They said he didn’t have nothing with him, no clothes for a kid in the sled—just what he had on, and that was purely black with dirt.”

  “He can have some of my clothes,” said Bo.

  “Sure, Bo,” said Jack. “Lots you’re growing out of. When the boys go over to the roadhouse tonight, they’ll take some to him. We’ll look through your clothes now and see what you got that’s too small.”

  * * *

  WHEN SHE WAS ready for bed, Bo suddenly burst into tears.

  “What’s up?” asked Arvid, looking surprised.

  “I miss Bear,” she said. Arvid looked around the room.

  “Where is Bear?” he asked.

  “I gave him to that little boy, just for tonight. I wish I didn’t.”

  “Ah, well,” said Arvid. “Lots of times we do something nice and then we’re sorry for it. Like the time I gave an old panhandler all the money I had, he looked so beat, and then I was sorry because I couldn’t buy cakes at the bakery. I wasn’t much older than you. I wasn’t a lot sorry, I just wished I’d saved a nickel out of that money for my cakes.”

  “What’s a panhandler?” said Bo.

  “Someone down on his luck, don’t got any money, got to ask people on the street for enough to eat.”

  “That was nice of you,” said Bo.

  “That was nice of you, too, Bo. Likely that little boy needed Bear more than you do, all that’s happened to him. Likely it will make him feel real good, having Bear. And you can get him back tomorrow.”

  “I know,” said Bo, “but I don’t think I can sleep without Bear. And maybe Bear is missing me.”

  “No, sir. Bear is not missing you. He’s happy to be helping that little boy. You gave him a job to do, and he’s going to do it. He knows you’ll be back for him in the morning.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  RED BEAR

  GETTING BEAR BACK wasn’t as easy as Bo had thought.

  Gracie, Dinuk’s wife, had made Bo a good new caribou ball when she was sick. It was stuffed tight with caribou hair and sewn together with tiny stitches that would never come out. Bo thought a caribou ball would be a good thing for a little boy to play with. So in the morning after her chores, she took it to the roadhouse.

  The little boy had climbed back up on his bar stool again, but this time he was holding Bear. Bo pulled his hand to get him to climb down off the stool and sit on the floor with her. She showed him how to sit opposite her, the
bottoms of their feet together. Then they rolled the ball between them in the cage their legs made. Bo remembered that’s how Arvid and Jack used to play ball with her when she was very young.

  He liked playing with the ball, Bo could see. But when Bo handed him the ball and took Bear, the little boy’s face looked so hurt that Bo couldn’t do it.

  She left him the ball and Bear.

  She told Jack at lunchtime about her problem with the little boy.

  “You just ask Lilly to make another bear for him,” said Jack. “You know Lilly—she’d be tickled pink to help out.”

  And Lilly was.

  “Don’t worry, Bo,” said Lilly. “I can make one up for him in a few hours. Got some real nice red velvet. That’ll make a good bear. Do you think he’d like red velvet?”

  Bo was sure he would.

  After supper, Bo asked the papas if she could run to Lilly’s to get the new bear. Jack wasn’t so sure she should go.

  “Moon’s out,” said Bo.

  “Not worried about the dark, just think you should rest. Ever since you been out of bed, seems like you been running your legs off. Doctor said you could do what you used to, but he didn’t know what you used to do. Probably faint if he could see you dashing here and there.”

  “Oh, please, Papa,” she begged. “He can have his new bear, and I can have Bear back.”

  “What if he doesn’t want a new bear? What if he wants to keep yours?”

  Bo made a terrible twisty face. “It’s red velvet,” she said.

  “Oh, red velvet,” said Jack. “That’s different.”

  Arvid and Jack looked at each other in that way they had of talking without words.

  Then Arvid shook his head and said, “Go ahead, but walk, don’t run, and come right back. Going to get you in bed extra early for a while till you’re completely better.”

  Bo immediately forgot the part about not running. She ran to Lilly’s and collected the bear. It was beautiful. Bo didn’t think she’d ever seen a prettier red in her life. She threw Lilly a happy look and dashed out. And then she ran to the roadhouse to take the red bear to the little boy.

  Milo had just put him in bed on a cot in the storage room.

  “This is for you,” said Bo. “Lilly made it.”

  She touched Bear. “This is my bear, and this is your bear. They’ll be friends.”

  She was feeling desperate. But his fingers relaxed, and he let Bear drop as he reached for the red bear. He stroked the velvet with such pleasure and made a little sound, the first one Bo had heard him make.

  Velvet did feel good. For a moment, Bo wished Bear was made with velvet, but then she remembered about feeling jealous and gave Bear a hug. You had to think what you had was good enough.

  Bo made Bear shake hands with the red bear.

  “How do you do, how do you do?” said Bo.

  She pretended that the red bear answered back in a funny voice, “How do you do, how do you do!” The little boy’s eyes were bright and then he smiled a tiny smile.

  “I have to go to bed, too,” said Bo. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  First she ran to Lilly’s. She dashed into the room, almost tripping over Cannibal Ivan, who was visiting. Bo put her arms around Lilly and tilted her face up to look at Lilly.

  “Lilly, Lilly, he loved his bear, and he just about smiled. Not a real smile, but almost. I wish you could have seen his face. He really liked the red velvet.”

  Lilly smiled down at Bo. “That makes me happy,” she said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE LITTLE BOY VISITS

  BO HAD MISSED Oscar terribly when he went to school, but now she was so busy with the little boy that she didn’t feel lonesome at all.

  Sometimes they played in the roadhouse, and sometimes Bo would bring her sled and they’d get Evalina and slide down the riverbank. But Bo was sure the little boy would like going visiting the best, like she did.

  She showed him how to sweep the snow off his feet before he went in someone’s house. There was always a broom outside everyone’s door, and it was rude to go inside without sweeping the snow off.

  First she took him to see Tomas Kovich. Bo went through his records slowly. She couldn’t read the writing on the records, but she knew from the labels what the songs were. She was looking for the Caruso records.

  When anyone bought a Victrola, they got free Caruso records from the Victrola company. Caruso was an opera singer who was very popular. But nobody in Ballard Creek liked him except Tomas, so everyone gave him their free Caruso records. Tomas had a lot of them now.

  “That’s good,” Bo said. “In case you break one, you have a bunch more.”

  Tomas always played some Caruso songs for Bo, and she thought “La Donna É Mobile” was the best one. It sort of jerked along in a happy way, so that you had to wag your head or something to keep time. She didn’t know what the words meant because the song was in a different language, but she swung the little boy’s hand back and forth in time to the music and sang very loudly. She only knew the first line, and for the rest she said da da da dadada.

  The little boy smiled and let Bo swing his hand. At the end of the song, Caruso sang a long, long note, and Bo and Tomas sang it too in a silly way, while the little boy smiled at them.

  “I think he likes this Caruso song best, like me,” Bo told Tomas.

  “Well, it’s a good one,” said Tomas. “I like it best myself.”

  “What do the words mean?” Bo asked.

  Tomas smiled. “Song tells how no good women are,” he said.

  Next Bo and the little boy went to visit Clarence in the wireless shack. The boy tipped his head back and looked up to the top of the tall telegraph tower, and he hid behind Bo when she showed him the noisy engine that powered the wireless.

  When they went inside the shack, Clarence swung around on his revolving chair and greeted them cheerily.

  “Making the rounds with your new pal, huh Bo.”

  Clarence knew Bo would want him to show the little boy how he sent a wire. Dit da dit, ditdit dadadit, went his little machine. It made Bo wild with excitement to see Clarence’s fingers flying. It was like magic. He could talk to people hundreds of miles away, and they could talk to him. She tried to explain that to the little boy, but she could see by his face that he didn’t understand.

  Each letter had a different sound. Clarence showed them the chart with the letters and the way you made the letters on the machine. “See,” she told the boy, “a long line is da, and a dot is dit.” She’d learned that from Clarence.

  But it was hard to explain things to someone when you didn’t know what language to explain it in.

  “When I’m grown up, I’m going to be the wireless operator,” Bo told the little boy.

  “That’s what I thought too, when I was your age. Got me a book of Morse, and I practiced and practiced. Wasn’t even full grown when I got a job doing Morse for the railroad. Thought I was a big shot!” Clarence said.

  Dit da dit, the machine began to talk, and Clarence wrote down the letters fast. His writing looked pretty messy.

  “I got to write it over again after I copy it down,” Clarence said. “When I write fast, I get sloppy.”

  He wrote the message again, carefully this time.

  “What are all those numbers at the top?” Bo asked.

  “That’s the code for the Bettles Wireless,” he said. “And these numbers here are for us, the Ballard Creek Wireless. Every message got to have those. It’s the rule.”

  “Who’s it for?” asked Bo.

  “I’m not supposed to tell you that,” said Clarence. “Wireless supposed to be private.” Clarence was quiet for a minute. Then he said, “Wire’s for Milo—usually is—just a little talk from his friend Gus at Bettles. Nothing important.”

  “Oh,” said Bo. She’d have to ask one of the papas what private meant. It sounded kind of mean.

  Then Bo took the little boy to see Unakserak and Nakuchluk, Big Annie’
s parents. Unakserak and Nakuchluk were the oldest people in town, and they liked the old ways best. So they’d made their house out of sod when they first came down the Kobuk to Ballard Creek because that was how the Eskimos lived in Kotzebue where they were born.

  In the winter when their sod iglu was covered with snow, it looked like a hump of snow with smoke puffing out of the top. In the summer, it looked almost like a beaver dam. In fact the word for beaver dam in Eskimo was the same as the word for house—iglu.

  The iglu was very cozy inside. It had a dirt floor, which Bo thought was a good idea. No scrubbing.

  Bo wanted especially to show Unakserak and Nakuchluk to the little boy because they were so interesting. And because there was always something good to eat at their house.

  Unakserak was making gravy. That was everyone’s favorite thing. The Eskimos didn’t use their flour for baking; they used it to make gravy.

  “Flour was so special, my father used to lock it up in a box,” Unakserak said. “Carried the key with him all times, so us kids couldn’t get into it.” Unakserak laughed his wild laugh, thinking about that.

  Little grease, little flour, water, that’s gravy,” he told the boy. “You ever eat this?” The little boy didn’t show that he had, but he ate a big bowlful when Nakuchluk put it in front of him. Bo felt proud of how much the little boy could eat.

  Nakuchluk had three blue stripes on her chin, the tattoos all the old Eskimo women had. And Unakserak had holes cut in the corners of his mouth for labrets. Labrets were plugs made of ivory, which were fitted into the holes when it was time to dress up.

  None of the younger Eskimo men had labrets anymore. Unakserak never wore his labrets, so one of the holes had closed over with skin. The other was still open, and when he ate soup, it leaked, which Bo thought was very interesting.

  “Will you show him your labrets?” Bo asked. Unakserak took a beautifully carved little wooden box from a shelf and opened it to show the little boy. His father had carved the ivory labrets from a walrus tusk when Unakserak first had his holes cut.