They were a silent, frightening crew as they came ashore, and it fell to Tom to lead them to their quarters. Ill-at-ease and not happy with the prospect of dealing through a long summer with these strange creatures, he walked in silence toward the newly finished bunkhouse, but he was stopped by a tugging at his sleeve and turned to face the one man on whom the success of this operation would come to depend.
He was a thin, frail Chinese who wore his hair in a thick pigtail that reached well down his back. Only slightly older than Tom and markedly shorter, he nevertheless had a commanding presence, and in that first moment of meeting, Venn noticed a peculiarity which he supposed would determine the man's behavior: His yellow face smiles, as if he knows that it will please me, but his eyes do not, because he doesn't give a damn what I think.
'My name Ah Ting. Work Ketchikan two time. Me bossman all Chinese. No trouble.'
Although suspicious of the man's motives, Tom was relieved to learn that someone at least spoke English, so he invited Ah Ting to walk with him, and even before they reached the bunkhouse it was clear that Totem Cannery was going to operate as Ah Ting directed, for the other Chinese accepted his leadership. When the line reached the building, the others waited till he allocated the plain board beds and distributed the two skimpy blankets to each man.
'We no eat on ship,' he said, and when Tom led the way to the mess hall reserved for the Chinese, Ah Ting quickly designated two cooks, who started at once to prepare the rice. After they had eaten, Ah Ting, and not Venn, divided the men into three groups. One would build crates; one would fabricate tin cans; and the main group, in addition to cleaning the buildings, would prepare the tables at which they would later behead and gut the salmon.
Tom could not guess how many of the forty-eight had worked in canneries before, but he found that he had to give instructions only once, and even though most of the Orientals could not understand his words, they showed an uncanny skill in catching his intention and jumped to do as he indicated. By two m the afternoon the work force was in place, with specialists identifying themselves and taking over the more important jobs, and by three, finished crates and tin cans were appearing.
For example, the making of tin cans to be shipped around the world was a precise task. The long rolls of tin had to be cut in strips for the body of the can, which then had to be rolled around a template and soldered carefully. Disks to close the bottom had to be punched out and then soldered firmly. Finally, disks of a different character were required for the top, and these would be set aside to be soldered in place when the can was filled with raw fish. A small opening had to be left for the suction machine to draw off remaining air and create a vacuum, and then that minute hole had to be soldered. By nightfall it was obvious that cans for Totem salmon were going to be first-class and in good supply.
As the end of May approached, all parts of this huge effort began to mesh: sixty-five white men from Seattle managed the offices, supervised the laborers, and commanded the steamers; the Chinese produced cans and crates for processing the fish; and the thirty natives continued to lift and carry. Now, also, the thirty small boats that would actually do the fishing and the seining two white men to each boat except for three that were manned by Indians moved into position, and on a bright morning in June a lookout on one of the large vessels shouted: 'Salmon are coming!' and when fishermen rushed to the railing to peer into the dark waters of Taku Inlet, they could see thousands of shadowy forms moving steadfastly up the waterway on their way to distant streams far inside Canada.
But those sailors who looked toward Pleiades Cove could see an impressive group of big sockeye separating from the main flow and heading for that beautiful cold stream down which they had come as smolt three years before.
'They keep comin',' men shouted from boat to boat, and that year's harvest, the first for Totem Cannery, was under way.
When Nancy Bigears heard the cry she alerted her father, and he went out to inspect the quality of this year's returning salmon, and he was so pleased with what he saw that he sent his daughter back to the house to fetch his dip net, and he was about to cast for his first fishing of the season when a cannery warden with a loud voice shouted from the other side of the cove: 'Hey, there! No fishing in this river.'
'This my river,' Bigears called back, but the warden explained: 'This river and the lake too, it's now restricted to Totem Cannery. Orders from Washington.'
'This my river. My grandfather-grandfather fished here.'
'It's all different now,' the warden said as he climbed into a small boat to deliver' the new instructions at closer range. When he climbed ashore, Bigears said: 'You better pull her higher. She'll drift away,' and when the warden looked back he saw that he would have lost his dory had Sam not spoken.
Consulting a paper, the warden said: 'You're Sam Bigears, I suppose,' and when Sam nodded, the man continued: 'Mr. Bigears, the cove has been deeded to us by the officials in Washington. We are to control fishing on this river and adjacent waters. We had to have that reassurance before we could spend so much money on the cannery over there.'
'But this my river.'
The warden ignored this, and in a tone of conciliation, as if he were granting a generous dispensation to a child, he said: 'We've notified Washington that we volunteer to respect your squatter's rights to your home over here plus six acres of land.'
'Squatter rights? What that mean?'
'Well, you have no title to your piece of land. It's not yours legally, it's ours.
But we're going to let you occupy your cabin during your lifetime.'
'It's my river ... my land.'
'No, things have changed, Mr. Bigears. From here on, the government will say who owns what, and it has already said that our cannery has the right to this river.
And that naturally gives us the right to the salmon that come into our river.' When Bigears looked perplexed, the warden simplified the new instructions: 'You and your friends are not to fish in this river any longer. Only those who fish for the cannery.
It is closed. The government says so.'
He stood at the spot where the river began, wanting to be certain that the Tlingit did not break the new law, and when he saw Bigears put up his pole and trudge back to his house in bewilderment, he said to himself: Now that's a sensible Indian.
When the first big catch was hauled into the gutting shed, with all parts of the cannery functioning as planned, thousands of tall one-pound cans began sliding off the soldering tables and over to the men who pasted on the bright red labels of Totem Cannery. Mr. Ross, hearing that his plant was operating even better than he had hoped, came north, and after a few days' inspection, told Tom: 'This place will pay for itself in three years. After that, enormous profits.' He felt so gratified with how smoothly things were going that he made several gestures to let the workmen know that they were appreciated: 'It's standard R&R procedure. Give everybody who does well an unexpected reward.' An extra ration of chicken and beef was issued to Ah Ting for his Chinese, who held in succession a feast, a gambling frolic and an opium session. Tlingit workers were given a small bonus and white workers a large one. Senior staff received chits entitling them to two weeks' extra vacation with pay at the end of the year's campaign, and Tom Venn was told: 'A raise for you, Tom, and when you've put everything to bed for the winter, Mrs. Ross and I want you to come down to Seattle for a well-earned rest.'
The prospect of visiting the city he admired so much set Tom to dreaming, and he speculated on the possibility that once at headquarters, he might be given a job there, or perhaps the management of one of the big R&R stores in Seattle. But before such a promotion could come to pass, he must perform the distasteful task which Mr.
Ross now threw his way: 'Tom, I've generated a grudging respect for that Indian friend of yours. He seems to be a man of character. I want you to row over to his cabin and assure him that whereas he can no longer fish in our river, we're not going to be niggardly with a man who, as you reminded me, hel
ped build our store in Juneau.'
'What do you mean, sir?'
'When the catch is in and the end of season in sight, we'll tell the warden to be sure that Bigears well, see to it, Tom, that he gets a salmon or two. It's only fair.'
Mr. Ross directed Tom to make the initial gift of salmon right now, while he, RQSS, was still at the cannery, and Tom was given two fat sockeye, brilliant red in their spawning color, to take to the Tlingit. He did not want this job, for he appreciated the irony of offering Sam Bigears two salmon when his family had for generations held the right to all the fish in the Pleiades; but the order had been given, and as he had done with previous orders, he obeyed it.
He felt uneasy crossing the cove, and acutely distressed when he landed and started up the path to Sam's cabin. Rehearsing possible words he could use to disguise the ugliness of what he must do, he was relieved when Nancy and not her father came to the door. In her cheerful way she said: 'Hello, Tom. We've been wondering why we haven't seen you."
'In a new cannery, there's a new job every day.'
'I've seen the big ships stopping by to pick up the crates. You send out so many.'
'Thirty-two thousand before we close.'
'What's in your hand? Looks like a fish.'
'It's two fish. Salmon.'
'Why?'
'Mr. Ross wants your father to know that even though the river is closed and Indians can't fish here anymore ...'
'We've heard,' she said gravely, and Tom was afraid that she was going to upbraid him, but she did not. She was fifteen now, a bright, knowledgeable young Indian girl who had enjoyed school and whose intuitions about the changing world of which she was a confused part were surprisingly shrewd. And now, even though she saw immediately the sad impropriety of what Tom was saying, she had to laugh, not scornfully, but with compassion for the fool that Tom was making of himself: 'Oh, Tom! You didn't come here to tell my father that even though you now own all his fish, you're going to let him have one or two each year? That is, if there's any left after you take what you need?'
Tom was shaken by the adroit way she had phrased her question, and he scarcely knew how to respond. 'Well,' he fumbled, 'that's exactly what Mr. Ross proposes.' When she laughed, he added lamely: 'But he did express it a little better,' Then, with force: 'He means well, Nancy, he really does.'
Now the girl's face grew as stern as those of her ancestors who had fought the Russians:
'Throw your damned fish in the river.'
'Nancy!'
'Do you think my father, who owns this river, would allow fish like those in our house? Under such conditions?' When Tom remained at the door with the two salmon in his hands, she reached out, grabbed his package, and smelled it disdainfully.
'You must know that these fish are old, spoiled, caught days ago and now thrown to the Tlingits who watched over them while they were alive in our river.'
When Tom tried to protest, she said bitterly: 'No Bigears would feed those fish to his dogs,' and she ran down to the riverbank, drew back her right arm, and pitched the rancid fish into the stream.
When she returned to the house she washed her hands and offered Tom a cloth to wash his, and then she invited him to sit with her: 'What's going to happen, Tom? Each year your cannery will grow bigger. You'll catch more of our salmon. And pretty soon you'll be placing one of those new traps right across our river. And do you know what'll happen then? There won't be any more salmon, and you will have to burn your handsome cannery.'
Tom rose and moved uneasily about the room: 'What a horrible thing to say! You talk as if we were monsters.'
'You are,' she said, but then she added quickly: 'You're not I to blame, I know that. Let's go up to the waterfall and watch the salmon leaping.'
'I have to get back. Mr. Ross is handing out final orders before he sails for Seattle.'
Then, for some reason he could not explain, he said: 'He's invited me to spend my vacation there, after the season ends up here.'
'And you would be afraid to say no, wouldn't you?' There was such iciness in her voice that Tom said: 'I can do as I please,' and he took her by the hand, led her from the house, and started up the river to the waterfall where the brown bear had chased them and where the last salmon returning to spawn leaped like ballet dancers up the foaming waters, pirouetting on their tails as they gathered strength for the next leap.
'You see them jump,' Tom said. 'You can almost touch them. But you can't believe it,' and in that moment of confession that Alaska contained mysteries he could not fathom, he became precious to Nancy Bigears, who, in these days of confusion, was meeting only those white men who remained blatantly ignorant of her homeland and all it represented. Tom Venn was the kind of white man who could save Alaska, who could pick a sensible path through the tangle that threatened the land, but whenever he uttered the word Seattle, he did so in a way that revealed his longing for that more exciting world.
'If you go to Seattle with Mr. Ross,' she predicted, 'you'll not come back. I know that.'
Tom did not .protest with specious assurances: 'Maybe it's men like Mr. Ross in Seattle who make the right decisions about Alaska. Look at the miracle he created here. In February he cried "Let there be a cannery on Taku Inlet," and in May he had it operating.'
'In all the wrong ways,' she said with such finality that Tom became irritated. 'For a thousand years,' he said, 'the salmon have been swimming up and down this river, doing no one any good. I guess they had baby salmon and then they died, and next year their babies died, and no one on this earth profited. Well, do you know where the salmon we packed last week are going? Philadelphia and Baltimore and Washington.
Salmon that used to swim past your front door are heading for all those places to feed people. This year they're not heading up the Pleiades just to die.'
She had nothing to say to this; if he refused to understand the great swing of nature, in which the going and coming of the salmon was as important as the rising and setting of the moon, she could not instruct him. But she understood, and from the destruction she had watched at the mouth of her river the salmon caught but never canned, the thousands of fish allowed to rot because the gutting shed was swamped she knew instinctively that conditions could only worsen, and it saddened her that men like Ross and the foremen, and yes, even Tom Venn, refused to see the drift of the future.
'We'd better go back,' she said, adding a barb: 'Mr. Ross will be wondering what you've been doing with his two salmon.'
'You're in an ugly mood, Nancy. Maybe we should go back,' but as they started, a pair of sockeye coming home after long travels reached the low waterfall, and with a persistence that had few parallels in nature, they tore into the difficult ascent and almost gleefully leaped and twisted and gained precarious resting places, finally reaching the higher level.
I'm like those salmon, Tom thought. I aspire to higher levels. But it never occurred to him that he could attain those levels in Juneau, or even here along the banks of Taku Inlet.
As they reached the spot where Nancy had spoken to the charging bear, bringing the animal to a halt, they recalled that scene, and both of them began to laugh, and Tom saw her once more as that dauntless fourteen-year-old child who had lectured the bear and perhaps saved both their lives; but now she seemed so much more grown-up and golden and happy in her freedom that he took her in his arms and kissed her.
Now there was no laughter, for she had known that this would happen, and that it was proper for it to happen, but also that it would come to nothing, for they were on different rivers heading in different directions. For a brief spell during the potlatch of the totem raising he had been a Tlingit, appreciative of her people's values, and in the cave at Mendenhall Glacier he had accepted her as a white girl attuned to some new Alaska, but neither moment solidified, and these kisses, which could have been so meaningful, were not a beginning, but a parting.
In near-silence they walked back, feeling none of the elation which should have followed a first kiss,
and when they reached the house Nancy called to her father, who had returned with a friend: 'Pop! Mr. Ross said we would be allowed to have a salmon now and then. The first two he sent us were rotten, so I threw them in the river.'
Sam, ignoring the bitter comment, asked Tom: 'Was the season as good as you hoped?' and Tom said: 'Better.' They left the matter there, but when the two young people walked down to Tom's dory, Nancy said: 'I'm sorry.'
'I don't know,' and she kissed him farewell.
THE KISS WAS VIEWED BY MR. ROSS, WHO HAD Borrowed a pair of binoculars to see why his manager was so long delayed in delivering two fish across the cove, and when Tom anchored his boat and climbed back to the cannery, he was told that Mr. Ross wanted to see him. The Seattle merchant, disturbed by what he had seen, felt that here was a situation that had to be handled immediately.
'Tom, you have a bright future, a very bright future. But young men like you with everything before you, you sometimes stumble and lose it all.'
'I don't know what you mean.'
Mr. Ross hated dissembling and was always willing to speak bluntly when affairs of moment were involved: 'I mean girls. Indian girls. I borrowed these glasses to see what was keeping you, and I suppose you know what I saw.'
'No, I don't.'
'I saw you kissing that Bigears girl. I saw ...'
Tom heard no more of the charge, for he was thinking: I did not kiss her. She kissed me. And what business is it of his, anyway? And then Mr. Ross explained in forceful terms just why a vagrant kiss was his business: 'Do you think I could let you keep running the Juneau store if you were married to an Indian girl? Do you think Ross & Raglan would ever bring you to headquarters in Seattle if you had an Indian wife?