PART II

His boat “Gale Force” was docked on the Astoria waterfront. I was comfortable in my warm clothes and wind cheater. But he gave me an additional blanket just in case the winds grew stronger. I could see he had even brought a picnic basket with him.

            As we sailed along, he filled me in a bit of local history. I heard how long before the white men came this way, the area was home to more than forty American Indian tribes. They lived off salmon from the river, and had bison to work their fields. They believed that Nature’s bounty of land, water and sky was theirs to enjoy. It was a symbiotic existence.

            Then came the Lewis and Clarke expedition commissioned by President Jefferson. He had purchased the vast lands of Lousiana from the French, and wanted to find a north-west passage to the Pacific. It was a 28-month long journey covering 7000 miles, and they called themselves the Corps of Discovery.

“But the Americans not only encroached on their land and appropriated their resources, they implemented unfriendly policies to wipe out the cultural practices and languages of the Indians, in an attempt to ‘civilize’ the natives.”

            I looked at his face as we headed into the wind. The line of his jaw showed he was angry.

“Why does this man speak so disparagingly about his own people,” I wondered, “Is he of native origin?”

I was about to ask, when he turned to look at me. The wind had blown out my long hair. I must have looked a mess. I knew that my cheeks were suffused by the wind.

“My dear, you look like one of those water Goddesses, with your hair flying in the breeze. Are you cold? I’ve been talking my head off and hadn’t noticed.”

He drew me close to his side, and it felt warm and cosy, as his arm encircled my shoulders.

“Keep talking,”I said, “History always interests me. Do you have Indian blood, by the way? You talk with such passion, as if you’ve suffered a personal injury from the expedition.”

“I talk like that because I’m not blind to the injustices they suffered at the hands of the American people, the very people whom they helped establish themselves in these parts.”

“But Emma tells me they have been given many concessions. All the good this has done is to make them more lazy, more alcoholic and more immoral. She says, women coming to her hospital from these reserves, many times don’t even know who the father of their child is, and don’t care……”

“Yes, she would say that. It would justify her behaviour towards any unfortunate squaw who dared entered her hospital.”

“Look,” I said, tugging at his sleeve, “You don’t know her well enough to judge her, and you can’t make such disparaging statements like that. Emma is kind, loving and charitable.”

“Then her charity, love and kindness are selective. Her best is reserved only for the higher echelons of society.”

It was too beautiful a day to waste on such angry tirades.

“You promised to give me an unforgettable day – A day I’ll remember when I’m far away from Oregon.”

            He didn’t speak for sometime. Gale Force sped over the waters, shocking the sea lions into immobility. A flurry of grey white gulls soared skyward, as though chased by an angry predator. We had gone up the river for about thirty miles. Now he turned back.

“Let’s stop for lunch,” he said, ignoring the picnic basket. He pulled up at Pier 11. “Baked Alaska is my favourite restaurant.”

It was a sunny day, so we sat on the deck overlooking the river.

“I’ll give you a fisherman’s lunch, so please don’t tell me you’re a vegetarian.”

He ordered a platter of Dungeness crab cakes and baby shrimps, with salad of green onions, lettuce, sweet corn and spicy sauces. It was different from what I was used to. The crab cakes just melted in my mouth, a squirt of lemon juice giving it a tangy taste. He kept watching me as I devouvered the crab and pushed the salad leaves and onions away.

“How will you get your vitamins and minerals?” he asked, “Don’t you eat salads in your country?”

“We don’t make a meal of it. Salads are just a side dish. I don’t know how you people can devour mounds of it and yet not get indigestion.”

“None of us have come to grief through salads. No wonder you’re so puny. You don’t eat the right things. It’s the same with……” Then he stopped abruptly.

“Same with whom?” I asked eager to know if it was some other girl friend. But he was as tight-lipped as a clam, and changed the subject.

“Yes, I did promise you an enjoyable day today. Has it been good so far?”

“Of course. I’ve never been on such a boat before and that too alone with a man.”

He laughed heartily.

 “Don’t laugh,” I said,”Life back home isn’t how it is here. Mingling of the sexes isn’t as liberal as in this country. My mother must be throwing a fit now that Emma has told her that I’m out for the day with a perfect stranger.”

“You’re giving me ideas,” he teased, “And here I don’t even know your name.”

“Sheila. Easy to remember. What’s yours?”

“I’m Sicauga, which means Burnt Thigh.”

He looked at my shocked face and roared with laughter.

“Well, you wanted to know if I’m a native Indian. Does that satisfy you?”

“You’re a tease, and I don’t like to be made a fool of,” I grumbled.

He reached across the table and took my hand. It felt like a cat’s paw in the clutch of a grissly.

“That’s some temper you’ve got! Little spitfire! I like that. You didn’t bother to ask my name before you sailed with me. So what difference would any name make?”

“Neither did you. You didn’t think it important enough.”

“What is it then?” There was softness in his voice. “My name is Bill.”

“I’m Sheila, and if you feel you’ve done your good job for the day, you better take me home.”

“Oh, the lady of the house won’t be home till dusk, and we can still have a few hours of sight seeing. I’ll take the boat down to the Astoria pier where I usually dock her, and then I’ll show you our town for what it’s worth.”

            He was a good tourist guide, and there was pride in his voice as he said,

“By now, you must have gathered that this was once an important fishing area. Canneries dotted the waterfront. Now all you can see are the pilings of the old piers. Pier 39 is the only cannery still standing.”

He pointed to the river. “Do you see those heads bobbing out of the water? They are sea lions- the enemies of all fishermen. They eat up all the fish and sometimes get entangled in the nets, making trouble for the fishermen. They can’t be shot or poisoned, and that’s a pity. Sometimes their barking gets on one’s nerves.”

“Gosh! Are you a social activist of some kind? First it was the native Indians, and now it is the fishermen. “

“There – I’ve bored you. You’re not interested in the miseries of fishermen.”

“Are you a fisherman?”

“I bet Emma told you that. Does that make any difference to you?”

“Why should it? I’m having a great time. I would have just been sitting indoors or probably getting killed sniffing wild flowers. All the company I have during the day, are the deer. They keep staring at me so boldly. Well, I’ve just got about ten days of my holiday left before I go back to India. Emma has been busy most of the time.”

“Then it hasn’t been much of a holiday for you.”

“Oh no. I’ve seen other parts of your country before I came to Oregon. I’m not grumbling.”

“As it happens, I have a few days free and perhaps I could show you some interesting places. You can’t tell your mother that you’ve not seen our fabulous beaches along the Pacific coast. There’s a lot of history in these parts if you’re interested.”

            By now we had driven up to the Astoria Column, a very tall tower set on what was called Cox Comb Hill.

“From here, you can look down on the Columbia River and the Pacific Ocean.”

“This is beautiful. A really unforgettable panorama!”

“The view is better from the top. Are you willing to climb 164 steps?”

“I’m game. I don’t have fear of heights.”

“Come then.”

            It was a thin spiral staircase and pretty claustrophobic. I walked bravely up half the way. Then I began to feel queasy. I couldn’t let him see I was uncomfortable. But somehow he guessed. His strong arm supported my elbow.

“Take it easy,” he said, “No need to hurry. You’ll be fine when you reach the top. Think of all the things you can tell your friends back home.”

            And so he coaxed and cajoled as he would a child, until we came out on the balcony at the top.

“Take a few deep breaths. Breathe in slowly……. Now breathe out.”

His arm was around my shoulder as he pointed out various landmarks.

“Let’s go,” he said after some time, “It’s pretty windy out here and I can feel you shivering in your coat.”

            At the foot of the pillar was a souvenir shop.

“I’m sure you’re collecting souvenirs to take home. You’ve got to tell family and friends about your trip to Oregon.”

I couldn’t tell him that I had a limited budget. I had a list of requests from family and friends, and souvenirs were too expensive to buy. He seemed to sense my predicament.

“I’ll get you something from every place you visit with me.”

To hide my embarrassment I asked, “Is this a bribe?”

“You could call it an inducement. Who wouldn’t like the company of a pretty girl?”

He handed me a miniature of the Astoria tower.

“Pretty maids all in a row. How many have you chaperoned so far?”

There was a firm set to his jaw. “None,” which meant no more personal questions.

“And now I must take you home before Emma sends the police after me. Tomorrow, we’ll start early and return only after dinner, because I’m taking you along the coast.”

“What will Emma say?” I wondered.

As though reading my thoughts he said, “If she has no time to take you out, she must be glad that someone else is willing to. She can’t adopt a dog-in-the manger policy.”

...to be continued