He saw the young girl with her watching him and his son, Napen ’tjo, closely. She was a younger version of Emmy and had the same demeanor, although less reserved, but seemed just as determined as her mother.
“Pickett George is a good friend, so I came,” he said to Emmy.
“Thank you,” Emmy said. Then after a pause, continued, “The captain told me I could rely on your help and that of the Bella Coola. You have heard of the tragedy that has befallen my family?”
The sadness in his eyes told her he had heard and that he had empathy for her plight.
“I need to get upriver before it freezes over, up to the Tsimshian trading winter camp, where I am told there will be a big potlatch. I believe there may be a chance to find my son there before he is traded or given as a gift. That is what I am told,” said Emmy.
MaNuitu ’sta nodded and then sighed. He knew about the potlatch because word of it had spread all throughout the Tsimshian and Bella Coola regions. It would be a big event because Ksi Amawaal was very wealthy and had much pride. It might go on for ten days. He expected that several different peoples of the Qualicum, Bella Bella, Bella Coola and possibly even the Kwakiutl had been sent Tsimshian message sticks and would find their way there as a welcome break from the winter’s tedium.
The gossip from the ceremonies and feasts was as important as the gifts that would be given out to guests by the wealthy tyee Ksi Amawaal. He understood that many slaves likely would be present, and many would be exchanged.
Were she to be so foolish as to make this journey, Emmy’s appearance would need to be brief, if at all. He knew that Ksi Amawaal, a shrewd and careful negotiator who had grown fat on trading with the Bostons and Brits, would extend a mantle of protection to her while she was in his winter camp.
But the presence of an unattached white woman, no matter how well protected, would disquiet the festivities and put all the peoples into a state of curiosity and agitation. And if any of the Northerners were to show up in the neutral encampment, he could not predict their actions.
He tried to dissuade Emmy.
She persisted.
“I will find a way to get there,” she said finally.
He knew he had no choice in the matter.
“Napen ’tjo, my son, will guide you.”
He saw Emmy look at the young man with some concern.
“He is a good young man and has travelled with me.”
He had his own concerns, but not because he doubted his son’s abilities.
“In return, I will ask a favor from you” he said to Emmy. ” . . . that you teach him to read from this book.”
It was an English primer.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
◊ ◊ ◊ ◊ ◊
Napen ‘tjo
His sisters and playmates called him Jojo, and he preferred that.
He was born during the confused loud moments immediately after a fierce thunderstorm had torn the roof off their long house. In the discomfited hollering of all the clan members who were trying to secure shelter during the downpour, his cries stood out, and, because they sounded like shrill laughter, his brothers and mother also called him “Blue Jay.”
Although his mischievous and sometimes loud antics seemed to confirm that handle, he was intelligent and sensitive, and as he grew, he learned to adapt to situations with a discerning alacrity, repressing his innate impulse to play and jest. For he had witnessed grief.
Early on he discerned the pain that came to his family and village from the bloody disputes that sometimes erupted between clans and peoples, and, observing his father’s calmer demeanor, he came to appreciate quieter solutions to disagreement rather than carrying out vendettas.
Like his father, Jojo also had a keen ear for languages and could converse in many coastal dialects. But he had never learned to read the written words of any of the white languages, and thus, as competent as he knew he was in the world, he felt incomplete and disadvantaged.
It was his request — that he be taught to read — that MaNuitu ’sta had conveyed to Emmy. As dangerous as he knew the journey with Emmy was likely to be, it was a fair exchange. By the time the journey was over, he intended to be able to read aloud the entire primary school book to his father and family.
By carrying and reading such little books, which he had been told contained the wisdom of many men, Jojo was convinced he could do anything, even sail a mighty Brit ship to the lands beyond his tribal shores.
As a little boy, Jojo had learned to imitate by watching and listening closely. When elders spoke in important gatherings, he always found a way to bring himself within hearing distance of the conversation, and afterwards he delighted his sisters and brothers by repeating phrases by the various leaders with an exacting nuance and inflection.
As he grew older, he learned what the words meant and understood the significance of phrases, he found ways to repeat sentences out of context, frequently with hilarious applications. Thus his playmates always sought him out and begged to hear his running, imaginary dialogues between disparately motivated participants such as naïve British missionaries attempting to convert oversexed Kwakiutl squaws, or between starving hapless French trappers negotiating for dog meat with Tsimshian, who always were fat from the success of their fall hunting.
Because he was always discreet with his humor, this banter was tolerated by the adults. And when he was twelve, in his father’s absence, after he successfully translated a negotiation between Russian fur traders and his tribe, the tribe’s elders truly came to appreciate his gifts.
Over time, he was given more tasks. His confidence grew, as did his curiosity and enthusiasm for newness.
Jojo wanted to see the world because, he knew, it was a wonder of delight.
They were to
