she said.
“Around the school?”
“Yes,” she lied.
Adam peered east down the shoreline past the long line of canoes and fires. Maybe a hundred Indians were scattered up and down the beach in groups. There were a few civilized faces among them.
“You haven’t been about the Belvedere with a bucket of clams, have you? Because I’ve heard talk. And I need no more proof than the drunkenness up and down this beach to know that whiskey is in good supply.”
“I have no thirst for it,” she said.
“Has the reverend been about?”
“I don’t know. I have no thirst for that, either.”
“Hmph,” said Adam, looking back down the beach. “Well, this is no good. This is no damn good. Look at you people.”
Hoko said nothing. Out beyond Ediz Hook, she saw the gray black plume of an approaching steamer, even as the wake of the last passing steamer was still lapping at the shoreline.
Without the census on which to hang the information he collected, Adam discovered the realm of general inquiry was an uncomfortable one for him, especially with Hoko.
“Yes. Well. How are you, then?” he said, finally.
“I am the same.”
“And the boy?”
“He is the same.” Hoko did not look into his eyes but kept her gaze locked on the blurry outline of Vancouver Island. The place had once seemed so close.
“What do you do for money?”
“Things for white women.”
“What things?”
“Tend to their children and laundry.”
“Well, try tending to your own.”
The words hardened in Hoko’s ears like wax.
“I have something for the boy,” Adam pursued. “Back at the hotel.”
“He needs nothing.”
“It’s a book of lists, he likes lists. It’s bound in leather.”
“I know the book,” she intoned.
Adam glared down at her, and something in him tightened. “Don’t act superior, woman. Because we both know the truth.”
Hoko gazed impassively out across the strait. “Yes,” she said. “The truth.”
Adam’s hand shot up in a flash, but he caught it there before it could act further, and he lowered it slowly. As he strode past her, he gave her a push on the back of her head. “Just send the boy to me. I’m at the Olympic.”
At the third fire Adam came upon, two Klallam men were scufflingon the ground, and a third was reeling drunkenly around the periphery of the action, shouting lewd encouragement at the combatants. All three wore flannel shirts. The face of the circling man was very dark and badly pitted, and seemed to be made out of stone. He reminded Adam of the Klallam chief Chet-Ze-Moka, whose funeral he had attended, a decent white man’s burial. Chet-Ze-Moka, who had seen the coming of the first white settlers and lived in spite of himself to see the death of the founders. Chet-Ze-Moka, whom civilization had baptized in rum, whom the white man called friend, then dubbed clownishly the Duke of York, whose proud chieftaincy was reduced by Adam’s father shortly before he died, some say stinking of liquor.
“Who sold you the liquor?” Adam asked Stone Face.
The Indian stopped circling, but his eyes did not stop circling in his head. “If I told you,” he said, with a smile, “I couldn’t get more.”
The two on the ground stopped scuffling, and looked up, beaming stupidly. One of them spit out a tooth and laughed.
Stone Face put his hands in the air, affecting his surrender. The two on the ground rolled over each other, laughing, whereupon Stone Face kneeled and pretended to pray. This brought more laughter.
In Salish, Adam said to the men, “You shame your fathers,” and continued on his way. He heard the Indians laughing as he went.
So thick was the Belvedere with tobacco smoke that Adam’s eyes began watering almost instantaneously. Even the Indians, he observed, in their crude structures, had enough sense to leave a hole in the ceiling. There were twenty or more men about the barroom and Adam estimated a dozen more on the mezzanine. He didn’t venture a guess at how
“Around the school?”
“Yes,” she lied.
Adam peered east down the shoreline past the long line of canoes and fires. Maybe a hundred Indians were scattered up and down the beach in groups. There were a few civilized faces among them.
“You haven’t been about the Belvedere with a bucket of clams, have you? Because I’ve heard talk. And I need no more proof than the drunkenness up and down this beach to know that whiskey is in good supply.”
“I have no thirst for it,” she said.
“Has the reverend been about?”
“I don’t know. I have no thirst for that, either.”
“Hmph,” said Adam, looking back down the beach. “Well, this is no good. This is no damn good. Look at you people.”
Hoko said nothing. Out beyond Ediz Hook, she saw the gray black plume of an approaching steamer, even as the wake of the last passing steamer was still lapping at the shoreline.
Without the census on which to hang the information he collected, Adam discovered the realm of general inquiry was an uncomfortable one for him, especially with Hoko.
“Yes. Well. How are you, then?” he said, finally.
“I am the same.”
“And the boy?”
“He is the same.” Hoko did not look into his eyes but kept her gaze locked on the blurry outline of Vancouver Island. The place had once seemed so close.
“What do you do for money?”
“Things for white women.”
“What things?”
“Tend to their children and laundry.”
“Well, try tending to your own.”
The words hardened in Hoko’s ears like wax.
“I have something for the boy,” Adam pursued. “Back at the hotel.”
“He needs nothing.”
“It’s a book of lists, he likes lists. It’s bound in leather.”
“I know the book,” she intoned.
Adam glared down at her, and something in him tightened. “Don’t act superior, woman. Because we both know the truth.”
Hoko gazed impassively out across the strait. “Yes,” she said. “The truth.”
Adam’s hand shot up in a flash, but he caught it there before it could act further, and he lowered it slowly. As he strode past her, he gave her a push on the back of her head. “Just send the boy to me. I’m at the Olympic.”
At the third fire Adam came upon, two Klallam men were scufflingon the ground, and a third was reeling drunkenly around the periphery of the action, shouting lewd encouragement at the combatants. All three wore flannel shirts. The face of the circling man was very dark and badly pitted, and seemed to be made out of stone. He reminded Adam of the Klallam chief Chet-Ze-Moka, whose funeral he had attended, a decent white man’s burial. Chet-Ze-Moka, who had seen the coming of the first white settlers and lived in spite of himself to see the death of the founders. Chet-Ze-Moka, whom civilization had baptized in rum, whom the white man called friend, then dubbed clownishly the Duke of York, whose proud chieftaincy was reduced by Adam’s father shortly before he died, some say stinking of liquor.
“Who sold you the liquor?” Adam asked Stone Face.
The Indian stopped circling, but his eyes did not stop circling in his head. “If I told you,” he said, with a smile, “I couldn’t get more.”
The two on the ground stopped scuffling, and looked up, beaming stupidly. One of them spit out a tooth and laughed.
Stone Face put his hands in the air, affecting his surrender. The two on the ground rolled over each other, laughing, whereupon Stone Face kneeled and pretended to pray. This brought more laughter.
In Salish, Adam said to the men, “You shame your fathers,” and continued on his way. He heard the Indians laughing as he went.
So thick was the Belvedere with tobacco smoke that Adam’s eyes began watering almost instantaneously. Even the Indians, he observed, in their crude structures, had enough sense to leave a hole in the ceiling. There were twenty or more men about the barroom and Adam estimated a dozen more on the mezzanine. He didn’t venture a guess at how
Similar Books
