A Hard Case Page 5

  Well, it was a cinch I couldn’t keep staring at the door and so I turned back. In doing so the decision was made for me. There was no smile now, because those ruby red lips were wrapped around a coke bottle, but those eyes were still focused on me. I knew I was as helpless as the proverbial puppet on a string.

  The food came, or should I say, the waitress slammed it on the table. I looked up with what I hoped was a raised eyebrow meaning to show I didn’t understand the reason for her action. Her brown eyes were full of what? Wisdom? They stared back at me with an unspoken statement. I sensed I was in the village cauldron of hot water. It was best I tread that water, finish my meal and get out as fast as I could. She turned and left, leaving me to my food, which I undertook to eat with great gusto. The service might be lacking, but at least the food was good.

  From time to time, I let my eyes flicker over to the table across the aisle to see if the look was still there. It always was. I looked around at the other patrons to see if they were watching this little drama. Apparently, if they had noticed something, it wasn’t worthwhile, because the room’s noise level back to normal.

  This thing with Helen? Yeah, that was her name, was a first time for me. Oh, sure, there had been a few times in Nam, but that was with ladies of the evening. It was their business to give out those come-hither looks. This was different. I wasn’t used to being pursued, if that’s what her looking at me was called. It was nice, but scary. What could I do for her? She surely could have her pick of men, so why me? To this, my little voice had no answer. With a sigh I finished my meal, drank my Coke, and let my eyes wander briefly to Helen’s table to see if that old magic was still there. It was. Her blue eyes washed over me, and I had the feeling I was glowing so much I looked like a red stoplight. I gave her a quick smile of appreciation and wandered into the store to pay for my supper. While I was there, I decided to rent a video, something to bring me down from my high. After looking over the selection I chose, The Bridges at Toko-Ri, an old favorite of mine. The waitress was more sociable this time, giving me a “Good night, Mr. Postmaster.”

  “Good night,” I said, giving her a smile and, wonder of wonders, I got one in return. Maybe I would be on her good side after all. I left by a side door, knowing if I left by the front door, I would encounter those blue eyes again. I needed time to think this romance over. Things were happening too fast.

  Rather than walk up Main Street I chose to walk in back of the buildings before crossing Main to get to the rear of the post office. It would be difficult for me to sneak around in this town. Too many barking dogs. Each house’s dog marked my progress, and I gave up trying to be quiet about my walking. With my attention on the barking dogs I felt, rather than heard, the crunch of glass under my feet. Son-of-a-bitch! I had just walked into a pile of broken beer bottles. There must have been twenty of them lying in a pile on the path. I had heard of alcohol being a problem in the villages, of course, but this was the first time I had actually seen the evidence. I carefully moved away from the broken glass and moved on down the path. Only now I kept one eye on the dogs and one eye on the path. Next time I chose to walk, I would stay on the main street.

  Eventually, I made it back to my room in one piece. I sat for a while in silence with a glass of “Old Jack” and pondered the pile of broken bottles. That many out in the open, bespoke of a real problem here in the village. The question uppermost in my mind was, how did they get here and what, if any, was the connection with the postmaster’s death? After a while I gave up, and watched The Bridges at Toko-Ri, losing myself in drink and the story. My eyes misted over when Frederic March said, “Where do they get such men?” And I had to say I didn’t know, but I knew from my experiences in Nam that heroes were where you found them. No one knew why a man would stand up and say, “I’m going, who’s coming with me?” Away you went, following him through a hail of fire in what seemed to be a stupid move. Yet, you lived and another man died.

  I went to sleep listening to the engines in the power shed coupled with the faraway beat of drums and chanting coming from the high school. I dreamed of Nam and blue eyes through a smoky glass of “Old Jack.”

  Chapter 6

  “Leo! Wake up!”

  I opened my eyes for a few seconds and pondered where I was. The lime-green walls could have fit a dozen places I’d been, especially in Nam, but the voice wasn’t right.

  “Mr. Bronski!”

  Now that sounded different. I was not in Nam. I was in Alaska. A check of the clock showed 8:00 a.m.

  “Leo . . .” The voice sounded desperate and familiar. I woke up.

  “Jean?”

  “No, it’s Jeanette.”

  “Okay, just a minute.” I swung myself out of bed. At least the pounding on the door had ceased, saving my head for another day. I stood and lurched for my pants, which hung on the back of a chair. My movements seemed especially slow. Must have drunk more than usual. I put the Levi’s on with great care. No need to trip and fall. Finally, pants on and shirt being buttoned, I headed for the door. As I passed by the mirror I could see I looked liked hell. Oh well, I thought, as I wrenched the door opened, we’re just one big happy family, right?

  “Yes?”

  It was indeed Jeanette, wringing her hands.

  “It’s Mary, she’s gone.”

  I had an idea which Mary, but I had to ask.

  “You mean Crazy Mary?”

  Jeanette bit her lip. The look in her eyes revealed nothing but pain and I was sorry I had thrown in the word crazy.

  “Yes. Charlie is asking everyone to help search for her. We are meeting in front of post office at 8:20.”

  I gave her what I hoped was a look of sympathy and told her I would help. She thanked me and took off, probably to pound on more doors. A look at my watch revealed I had time for a shave and a piece of toast.

  While I ran the old electric shaver over my face, I reflected on the villagers and their relationships to one another. Two to one they were all related. Did they regard each other that way or was it something like, if you’re second cousins, it’s okay to get married? I sighed and decided that’s what anthropologists were for, to figure out these village entanglements.

  Finished getting ready, I wandered out the front door to see about thirty people standing in small groups, quietly talking and yawning. It seemed everyone was tired from last night’s potlatch. I sat down on the front steps to wait. It wasn’t long before Charlie came half-walking, half-running up the street from the store. As he neared the group he began shouting instructions. People began leaving in pairs for their respective search areas. Jeanette shuffled her feet, and sighed anxious sighs. At last, unable to bear the delay any longer she tugged on Charlie’s arm.

  “Charlie, where do I go?” She asked.

  Charlie eyed her and me with a speculative look.

  “Why don’t you and Bronski take the path up to the old shed and look around there?”

  Jeanette shook her head.

  “No, Charlie, I want to go by the river.”

  “But I’ve already assigned a team for the river.”

  “Charlie . . .”

  I was surprised at this small woman’s stand. Maybe there is something to the old saying, “still waters run deep.”

  Charlie cocked his head, gave me a look, whether to garner support for his decision or to see if I measured up to his standards was beyond me.

  “Are you sure, Jeanette?”

  She nodded. I was left guessing why she was making a fuss about this. To listen to her, you’d think Crazy Mary was her daughter. I almost laughed out-loud at myself. Of course. Crazy Mary was Jeanette’s daughter, as sure as I was standing there. Charlie interrupted my thoughts.

  “Yeah, okay, Jeanette, if that’s what you want.”

  “Yes, Charlie. It’s what I want.”

  Charlie threw up his hands. “Okay,” he said, giving me a look. “But watch out for bears. You know they are pretty thick around the river this time of the year.”


  By the time he got that out of his mouth, Jeanette had taken off at a fast walk, leaving me to catch up. By now, I wished I’d grabbed a bite to eat or drink. A shot of vodka would have gone well, but coffee would have been better. By half running, I caught up to Jeanette. I realized then she had a knapsack on her back.

  “Jeanette, you have anything to drink in your pack?”

  She turned to look at me, a rueful smile barely lighting her features. I had a feeling she normally would have told anyone else a definite “no” or at the very least they would have to wait. But I was her boss, so I would have to be given some consideration, despite the urgency of the mission.

  “Sure, Leo. I have coffee.”

  Without another word she stopped, opened her pack, took out a thermos, and poured some coffee into an insulated cup with a top. She handed it to me without ceremony.

  “There. Now we go.”

  Off she went, her short legs stretched out as far as she could make them go. Again, I was left in the dust, trying to drink and walk at the same time. Eventually, as we neared what I took to be the river’s path, she slowed. She probably realized she couldn’t keep that fast pace forever, or maybe she knew we might bypass Mary in the thick brush. We tromped on for another fifteen minutes before stopping.

  “Jeanette.”

  She turned and held her forefinger to her lips. I shook my head and mouthed the word, “what?” She only held up her hand and shook her head again. At first, I thought I heard only the wind blowing through the spruce trees. Then, off to our left, I heard a moan in the brush. I shot a questioning look at Jeanette, but she only shook her head and curled her finger once. Off the path we went into the brush with Jeanette leading the way. Within a minute, we came to a small clearing and what I saw there made me wish we had stayed on the main trail. A man lay there, or was he a teenager? An empty whiskey bottle lay at his feet and a still burning Marijuana joint lay in his fingers. Jeanette shook him by his shirt collar.

  “Mark! Mark! Can you hear me?”

  There was a slight nod; eyes still closed.

  “You know where Mary is?”

  His mouth turned from its down-turned sloppy look, to that of a more sober countenance.

  “Mom’s at home.” He slurred.

  Jeanette looked to the heavens for a second holding her temper and then looked back down at him, a mixture of disgust and bitterness flashing across her countenance.

  “I mean Crazy Mary!”

  For a few seconds there was no answer, but then his face got that happy drunk look again and his eyes opened halfway.

  “Crazy Mary? She was here, but she left.”

  Jeanette was beside herself.

  “Where, Mark? Where she go?”

  To this he could only shrug, evidently the power of speech had left him.

  “Damn you, Mark.” She slapped him hard across the face. But all she got in return were blank half-opened eyes, then they closed, the light of day too much to absorb. She angrily released him. If it hadn’t been for me standing there, she would probably have spit in his face and kicked him in the wrong place. With her eyes looking like cold hard granite stone, she turned to me.

  “C’mon, Leo. We have to go.”

  I glanced down at the drunk.

  “What about him?”

  “It’s warm. He won’t freeze. Forget him,” was her only answer.

  Off we went again through the brush back onto the main path and I saw the tears in her eyes. Was it tears of worry for her daughter, or tears of hopelessness for her people? She turned and gave me a hard look, her eyes now flinty-mean, with her fists clenched at her side.

  “You caused this.”

  I shook my head and backed up a step, not knowing how to answer. Then her eyes softened and she took a deep breath.

  “Sorry, Leo. It’s not your fault. But your race did this.”

  I just decided to nod. It was useless to deny we were partly to blame. For me to say things like, “we’re all responsible for our own actions,” wouldn’t wash here. At least not with Jeanette. I wondered if she knew about my drinking, and I felt shame nibbling at a corner of my heart.

  Rubbing at her eyes, she beckoned me, and we continued our search along the path. We walked for an hour. There was nothing heard or seen except for a few side paths. When I tried to draw Jeanette out about where the paths went, she usually would shrug her shoulders and not answer. Most of the time I remained on the main path, and rested, while Jeanette went off to investigate. But once, when a path looked well used, I overrode Jeanette’s advice about staying where I was. She relented, but I had the feeling it was only to prevent more argument. We walked along for a short distance until we came to a clearing in the spruce trees. Any other time the clearing would have seemed like a forest cathedral, so ethereal was it, with the rays of sun streaming down between the trees. But man and his bottles had been here too. I looked at Jeanette.

  “It’s bad here, isn’t it?”

  “What’s bad?”

  I gestured at the bottles.

  “The drugs and alcohol. This is not the first time I’ve run into broken bottles and I’ve only been here a few days.”

  I took her by the arm and made her face me.

  “Jeanette, who’s responsible for this? Who’s bringing this stuff in?”

  She jerked her arm away.

  “You know nothing,” she said sullenly.

  “No, I don’t. But you must know something.”

  She shook her head in a weary way and turned from me, back to the main path. I stood there a few seconds and then followed her. I marked in my mind the physical juncture of the two paths, because I had a feeling that someday I would be back. We walked on. After a while I heard snatches of voices coming through the trees from the river side of the path. A check of my watch revealed a half-hour had gone by. It was nearly 11:00 a.m.

  “Jeanette, where are those voices coming from?”

  I saw the back of her head shake, and then the single word, “Wait.”

  In a few minutes, we came to a side path running down to the river. Jeanette pointed. “Down there,” she said quietly in a resigned voice, as if I might as well see the full story.

  I looked in the direction she pointed, but all I could see was brush.

  “Jeanette,” I started to say, but then the sound of someone coming up the side path stopped me. We didn’t have long to wait.

  “Mr. Postmaster!”

  I nodded. It was Jimmy, the one who sold me the artifact at the dock. He came up to me and held out his prize cupped in his palm.

  “Look what I have!”

  I looked down and saw a small, carved ivory female figurine about two inches long by one inch wide. It reminded me of what an Eskimo Astarte must look like. It had sharp, well-defined lines front and back with a hole on top, making me think it could be used as a necklace. A master carver had done this work. I resolved that I had to have it. I nodded my head, trying not to look too interested. Jeanette stood there, face impassive and arms folded. There would be no help from her.

  “What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

  “Sell it,” came the matter-of-fact response.

  I nodded, still trying not to look too interested. I yawned.

  “What are you asking, and Jimmy, what are you going to do with the money?”

  Jimmy looked straight into my eyes. “Twenty dollars. I’m saving money for a four-wheeler,” he said.

  I looked at Jeanette, who shrugged absent-mindedly.

  “If you don’t buy it someone else will,” she said.

  She then turned her head to one side, which I took to mean she was not in the least bit interested. So, I thought, it was between the kid and me. Without any more negotiations I handed over twenty bucks knowing an adult was probably going to come along demanding more. The piece appeared to be worth much more. How much I had no idea. I had the premonition I was going to become an expert on native artifacts. I slipped the figurine into my front p
ant’s pocket and looked at Jimmy.

  “Where did this come from?”

  “Down there.” He pointed down the path toward the river. Before I could ask any more questions, he was off, running down the main path toward the village. Evidently, the twenty bucks was burning a hole in his pocket. I looked at Jeanette who had changed her countenance from one of disinterest to a frown. She answered before I could ask.

  “It’s a dig. Our dig. One the archeologists don’t know about. I guess you’ll tell the government?”

  I rubbed at my face, thinking, and shook my head. I had no idea what the laws were. I was on their turf and this was their land. But again, I was supposed to meld in with the community, right?

  “Only if I’m asked a direct question by the proper authorities. That’s the best I can do. I will not volunteer the information, but I would like to see the dig.”

  The frown disappeared from Jeanette’s face. “Okay, I’ll show you, but don’t tell anyone!”

  I nodded, and wondered if, at some future date, I was going to regret this promise. If anyone on the outside heard about the dig, it wouldn’t take long before the whole area would be crawling with experts. Experts crying about the damage done and who was to blame? There would be a simple answer. It wouldn’t be the natives, so it would be me. I followed Jeanette down the steep path toward the river.

  As I followed her, the old gray matter started kicking in with all kinds of questions.

  “Jeanette, what are the people doing with the relics?”

  She stopped and turned so suddenly I had to grab her arms to keep from running over her. She gave me a wry smile, as if to say, “Oh, Mr. Postmaster, so soon?” Embarrassed, I managed to let my hands drop and do a back step.

  “You know, Leo, I think you are decent kind of guy. But I don’t know you. You see? I know what some of the people are doing, and it’s not good. Some are putting the things they find in a safe place. These are old things that must be saved!”