The Sky Fisherman

by Craig Lesley

  Jake shook his head. "Just for the sake of argument, let's say some of the speculation is true. If that owner's guilty, he'll never bend over to putt without his ass puckering. And who knows? One hunting season, a stray bullet might wedge between his shoulder blades."

  "I think Sniffy was pretty damn close to the truth," I said.

  Jake's eyes narrowed. "Close only counts in horseshoes."

  We remained silent for a few mintues. Then Jake said, "Plenty of times, your father and I didn't see eye to eye. That happens in families. After all, you can't choose your relations." He grinned. "But on ambulance calls, we dropped our quarrels and made a team. What say you and I bury the hatchet, at least for today?"

  "All right." I swallowed. "How bad's the flood out there?"

  "A damn big one. They're up shit creek without a bailing bucket."

  ***

  A flood will do strange things, just like a tornado that drives straws through a telephone pole. When we neared the main highway bridge that crossed the Lost going toward Mission, I was astonished to see that the floodwater had washed away both approaches. Only the center of the bridge, now an island, remained. A large egg truck had tried to make it across and remained stranded on the bridge, tilted against the railing by the water's force.

  As evacuation headquarters, the Totem Pole Texaco and Snack Shop had become a hub of activity. This business was situated on high ground, perhaps a quarter mile toward Gateway from the bridge. In front were rigs from the Gateway Volunteer Fire Department, Sheriff's Department, Search and Rescue, Tribal Police, plus some sports fishermen. Behind the Totem Pole, a small bulldozer was scraping slush and ice from the landing strip dudes used for their planes. On the water, a dozen boats brought flood victims to high ground.

  "Let's grab some coffee and a butter horn," Jake said. "No point in starting a rescue operation hungry."

  "They got thirty thousand eggs on that truck," Gab said. "Driver says the way they're packed, he's convinced not a single one is broken. I figure that after we tame this flood, we'll whip up one hell of an omelette."

  He was broadcasting a remote from the Totem Pole. Power had been out on the reservation for more than twenty-four hours and the phone lines were down, but he was giving people emergency instructions. "They can listen in their homes or in their cars, whatever's convenient. That's the beauty of radio."

  "Nothing's convenient in a flood," Jake said.

  Gab scowled at him. "Ask if television's done anything lately to help these flood victims."

  "You're preaching to the converted," Jake said.

  "Buy more advertising then. Put your money where your mouth is." Gab grinned. "We might even be able to sell the rest of those picnic tables. But right now, I've got to think of some ingredients for the Gateway omelette. What's in a Denver? Bacon, onions, cheese, green peppers. Green peppers? What the hell kind of an ingredient is that?"

  "Maybe it's the Spanish influence or something," I said.

  "This boy's a gold mine of ideas," Gab said. "You know how teenagers eat. What should we put in the omelette, Culver?"

  "I don't know right off," I said. "Let me think about it. How'd that truck get out there, anyway?"

  "The driver was heading to the tribal store," Gab said. "The water rose fast and got deeper than he thought on the bridge. Stalled the truck. Billyum went out and rescued him this morning while you were still snoozing."

  "There's a fool born every minute and only one dies a day," Jake said.

  Gab ignored him. "We're going to have a Gateway egg-stravaganza. I'm telling you it's a hundred thousand dollars' worth of publicity."

  Jake rolled his eyes. "We got people to evacuate, Gab. You better perfect that recipe yourself."

  "My very thought egg-zactly. Now listen, we're going live in thirty seconds, Jake. Put you on air. Tell these people what they can bring, what they can't."

  "Tell them to travel light," Jake said. "No furniture."

  "You tell them, Jake. You're on." Gab switched to broadcast and held the microphone in front of Jake. When my uncle didn't say anything for a moment, Gab announced, "Folks, we've got one of the heroic volunteer rescuers right here with us at the Totem Pole. I'm sure he'll tell you to sit tight and stay warm until help arrives. Jake Martin is just one of the good citizens offering his boat and energy to evacuate the people of Hollywood and bring them across to high ground. Now tell us, Jake, what should they do?"

  "Dress warm," Jake said when Gab thrust the microphone under his chin. "Try to stay dry until we can pick you up. Be sure to bring any medicine your family needs. Lots of times people forget that. Try to cage your pets. No furniture. Just bring your prized possessions. Photos, scrapbooks, trophies—"

  "No televisions," Gab said, taking back the mike. "Definitely no televisions. But be sure to bring along your radios. And remember to keep in touch with KRCW, twelve-sixty on your dial, for more emergency news and information."

  ***

  I had never seen a river high and out of its banks before. The angry brown water carried logs, debris, big chunks of ice. From time to time an unusual item floated by—sofa, pillow, rusted car body, the bloated carcass of a cow. Even one piano. Upstream, a lot of farmers and ranchers dumped their trash near the riverbank, and now the water had risen to claim it. Unlike the beautiful blue-green Lost of summer, this resembled a muddy, floating dump.

  Sports fishermen, Jackson County Search and Rescue, the Sheriff's Department, all launched their boats from the Totem Pole side and were crossing to Hollywood, then bringing out the people. Kooskia Creek had flooded, too, taking out the bridge from the main road to Hollywood, so the residents were cut off and trapped against the high basalt bluffs behind the settlement. A few of the Indians who owned boats were evacuating people from the Mission side, but this was a limited operation compared with the efforts from the Totem Pole.

  We used the highway itself for a boat launch, and it seemed odd how the pavement disappeared into the swift brown water.

  "You're kind of late, Jake," a couple of the fishermen teased as they unloaded a Hollywood family and their dogs from their boats.

  "Nephew needed his beauty sleep," Jake said. "But it didn't work." After waiting for their laugh, he added, "Actually, I was waiting until you fellas needed serious help. Kind of wondered when amateur hour was over."

  "Glad you're here," one said after a moment. "My motor's been acting up."

  "Where'd you get that lousy thing anyway?" Jake asked. It was a Mercury and we sold Evinrudes. "You fellas must have driven all the way to Central to get rooked. Next time, stop by my place. I'll treat you right. Meet or beat most deals."

  They looked kind of sheepish. "Lots of debris, Jake. It really fouls the prop."

  "You bet it does," he said. "I use two. If one goes kaput, I've got a spare."

  Billyum ¿nd Squeaky were using the tribal boat to bring people from Hollywood to the Totem Pole side. "Not much point in heading for high ground on the rez," Billyum explained. "We got no uncontaminated water and the store's running out of milk and Coca-Cola. Some helicopters are supposed to bring in supplies, but so far they're busy with other rescues."

  "That's a tragedy," Jake said. "When the helicopters come down, like gray doves from heaven, their cargo nets will be loaded with cases of Coke. Reservation manna."

  Billyum agreed. "Miracles come in all shapes and flavors."

  Several of the Hollywood houses closest to the riverbank had been swept away, and the row beyond that was flooded. People huddled back from the river, reluctant to abandon their homes. Some had dragged their prized possessions to higher ground, although Hollywood was dangerously situated on floodplain and high ground was scarce.

  When we left the Totem Pole side, the first thing Jake did was hand me a pair of wire cutters. I didn't realize how much wire was around until we tried to get past the flooded houses and yards. Chicken wire, clothesline, barbed, phone, electric fence. Everyone had a couple cows or a horse, and I spent as much time cutt
ing wire as I did loading people. Jake insisted I take the time to wrap the free wire around trees, stumps, or wherever, because trailing underwater it was bound to foul the props of the other rescuers.

  Yazzie had dragged his guitar, rodeo trophies, and scrapbooks out of his robin's egg blue house and covered them with a gray tarp. As we loaded, I saw his possessions included posters from his music days. He also had a heavy suitcase and two garbage sacks filled with men's clothes.

  "I hope you packed something for the wife," Jake said.

  "To hell with it," Yazzie said. "She took off with my daughter, went to that big city mall with the ice rink. They always buy new outfits. Now I'm broke and got no home."

  We tried to cover his loaded stuff with the tarp, but it was raining pretty hard and some posters were already soaked.

  "How come you didn't hole up in one of the other houses? Keep this stuff dry?" Jake asked.

  "The pink one, that's my daughter's." Yazzie pointed with his chin to a partially flooded house. The river had taken away one corner. "Guess my damn son-in-law switched the locks."

  "You're getting soft," Jake said. "Used to be you'd bust out the windows."

  "Yeah. Now I got religion."

  As we were pulling away, one side of the pink house slid into the water so we could see right into the front room. A small table held a decorated Christmas tree and presents. As we watched, the water carried the table away. When the cord connected to the tree lights reached its limit, the tree was dragged into the water. Presents floated everywhere, and the current swept them toward open water.

  "Damn, but my grandkids are going to be disappointed," Yazzie said. "I got a Daisy BB gun at your place, Jake."

  "Then it's guaranteed one hundred percent not to rip, rot, rust, unravel, sag, drag, or bag at the knees." Jake turned the boat around. "Get the net, Culver. Let's save as much of this loot as we can, especially that gun. I don't want to deprive Yazzie's grandson the opportunity of shooting out the old fart's eye when he goes poking his nose somewhere it doesn't belong." He grinned at Yazzie. "I hope you didn't take advantage of my generosity by running up a big charge account."

  "You know I'm good for it," Yazzie said. "Per capita payments come in January."

  We spent five minutes dodging debris and ice chunks while we netted or grabbed presents before they became waterlogged and sank. As one bright red and green package was about to go under, I pulled it dripping into the boat. The package was about the size of a two-pound block of Tillamook cheese.

  "Hope to hell that's not a fruitcake," Jake said. "You wouldn't have us out here risking our necks for a damn fruitcake, would you, Yazzie?" He picked up the package and held it over the side of the boat. "That stuff belongs on the bottom with the trash fish." He cocked his eyebrow. "Fruitcake?"

  "Commodity butter," Yazzie said. "I just wrapped it up for fun."

  Jake dropped the butter into the boat, then picked up Yazzie's guitar with his free hand, acting as if he was going to throw it into the water. "Sorry, but the boat's overloaded with these presents. By ditching this guitar, I'll be doing the world a favor."

  Yazzie pulled open the coat he was wearing, flashing a Ruger .22 Blackhawk tucked into the waistband of his jeans. "If I put one between your eyes, I'd be doing the world a bigger favor. Save it from a flood of bullshit."

  Jake grinned. "You know, I've always admired your singing. Come by the store more often and serenade the back-room boys. They can sing along with your tunes."

  "Just like Mitch Miller. 'Yellow Rose of Texas.'"

  "Oh, you're better than Mitch ever thought of being. Especially with that persuader tucked in your trousers."

  Shortly after noon, Mule Mullins's Evinrude conked out on him, and Mule began drifting toward Deer Island. We were the closest boat to attempt a rescue, so we gave chase and threw him a tow line. I remembered that we had sold Mule his motor, and I wondered how Jake would handle him.

  "Motor's not worth a damn, Jake," Mule teased. "You got to hang out on the river and rescue your customers. Hell of a deal."

  "You must have bought some bad gas," Jake said.

  Mule snorted. "Good thing I got your one hundred percent guarantee. Count on me bringing it in to be replaced. Unless you're going to say it's fully insured but not covered."

  "Come on, Mule. Do I look like a slinking coyote to you? Fully insured means fully covered."

  "That's good. I can relax." Mule leaned back in his boat, closing his eyes.

  "Only problem could be the exclusion rule." Jake made certain Mule heard him over the roar of our Evinrudes.

  Mule opened his eyes. "What the hell is that?"

  "Acts of God are excluded."

  "What act of God? The damn motor quit."

  "I haven't checked lately," Jake said, "but the last time I looked, an act of God included floods. Wreck up a motor in a flood and you're standing outside the warranty. Way outside."

  Mule leaned forward. "I don't believe it."

  "You got no business out in a flood with a regular prop. Too damn much debris. Sooner or later the motor goes blooey. What did you expect?"

  "Jake, you can't be serious."

  "Talk to the Almighty. I didn't make the rules." Jake used his free hand to indicate the swollen river. "This is irregular, like hurricanes and lightning. I'm afraid you're out a motor, Mule. But don't feel too bad. Think of these poor Indian people. Lost about everything they have, then lose even more while I diddle around rescuing peckerheads like you."

  Mule took a small crescent wrench out of his toolbox and banged on his motor a couple times, denting the casing. From the look on his face, I think Jake had him suckered.

  "Now don't turn violent and start vandalizing that fine product. You've been a preferred customer over the years. We'll fill out the report just right. That's Jake's way. What Evinrude don't know can't hurt." He winked at me. "Old Mule was born without a funny bone."

  After we had towed Mule and his boat safely to shore, we started back again. Billyum was crossing with another load of flood victims. "We're losing time rescuing the rescuers," he said.

  "You're telling me," Jake said. "This whole operation would go a lot smoother if we didn't have so much help. These amateur Search and Rescue fellas are pimples on the head of progress." He grinned. "But that's just an opinion. I'm not thinking any negatory thoughts."

  "Lettie Black-Eye is famous for her woven baskets," Jake said. "Juniper was going to display them at the lodge before she decided to head south."

  I was helping Lettie carry sacks of baskets to the boat. They were plenty wet, but she said that wouldn't hurt them. The craftsmanship was superb; some were woven so tight they held water. Inside her house, Lettie had raised the furniture by placing large cans of commodity foods under the legs. The sturdy cans of lard and peaches had kept the furni ture dry awhile, but now the water was as high as her sofa back and several pillows floated around the room.

  After we had loaded her baskets, suitcases of clothes, and a couple bags of beadwork, she climbed into the boat, then whistled for her dogs, a black lab and a golden. "Get in Cola! Come on Bagel!" When the dogs got in, she gave each of them a small piece of venison jerky she carried in her apron pocket.

  Jake shook his head when she offered one to him. "I'm already thirsty as hell. Seems funny with all the water rushing by."

  The golden seemed nervous in the boat and she grabbed his neck, holding him down. "Take it easy, Bagel."

  "There's a traditional Indian name," Jake said, grinning.

  "Dr. Greenspan at Indian health put that name on him. I was planning to call him Biscuit. Dr. Greenspan's retired now. They gave us a real young man with a lot to learn."

  I shoved the boat off. Lettie sat in the middle seat, a dog on either side. After taking a piece of jerky for herself, she folded her arms and stared straight at the Totem Pole shore. "I been in that house forty-five years," she said. Jake nodded. "I came out and got you a couple times in the ambulance. You were having that he
art trouble."

  "Your brother came, too," she said. "You were nice boys. I heard what happened to him and I'm sorry."

  "His son helped you load," Jake said, nodding in my direction.

  She turned back toward me just long enough to smile, then stared straight ahead again. She probably realized that by morning her house would be gone.

  Loaded, the boat was sluggish, but at least this was a bigger one than the wooden drift boat we usually took on the Lost. That wouldn't have held much, especially with all Jake's gear. I sighed and leaned back, resting on the trip across.

  "You got to eat more steak, nephew. I think you're getting a little puny."

  "Worn out is what I'm getting." I was tired of being wet, tired of loading the boat, even tired of staying cheerful when I saw people losing almost everything they owned.

  We ran steadily to midstream. I was thankful for Jake's skill and the twin Evinrudes. A lot of other boats had experienced difficulties and were out of the water. Only half a dozen still ran. Jake studied the water ahead for debris, ice. A small bloated doe drifted close by and Bagel growled deep in his throat.

  We heard a rifle shot followed by two more in quick succession and my head snapped up. On the shore, Billyum was firing into the air and waving. Having gained our attention, he pointed the rifle upstream.

  "Holy shit," Jake said. Two huge trees swept toward us, so large they seemed to cover the river from shore to shore. I expected them to wipe out the remaining section of bridge, but when they hit the concrete, the water swept one to either side, and they rushed toward us.

  "You got to turn back," I said.

  Jake's eyes cut from the trees to the far shore, measuring the distance. Against the current, our headway seemed pitifully slow and the trees were closing fast. No time to turn the boat.

  Billyum fired three warnings again. A boat close to the Indian side turned back to Hollywood. The sheriff's boat surged toward the far shore. Only ours was caught midstream.