10

I was familiar by now with the way her voice dropped in volume whenever she spoke of loss or death. I was also familiar with the location of Oregos out beyond Windy Point.

Al Larson was Elsie Gussin’s son. She owned the Inn. He, the two tourist jet boats docked on the upper estuary shore, and the trailer camp, boat rentals and restaurant downriver. His step-father Pat Gussin was the Inn’s friendly loquacious bartender.

“Is Larson going on around Windy Point with his blasting?” I inquired.

She didn’t know about that.

“Florence, I’ll go check with the Highway Engineer and get right back,” I offered.

I drove a few miles inland, parked outside a dusty construction shed. An engineer in tan khakis listened to my account of Mrs. Shaughnessy’s concerns, then laughingly reassured, “Lord lady, if I let anything happen to that rock, they’d have my head.”

Relieved, I reported back to her.

“If anything did happen to Oregos, it would be the end of the earth,” she affirmed, her voice fainter than ever.

Then I departed for Crescent City, still stirred by her answer. On the sixteen mile drive up the coast and through the high redwoods I pondered it. She hadn’t said, “the end of Requa, the end of the Yurok people.” Two days later Yurok traditionalist Calvin Rube at Martin’s Ferry inland would reiterate, the end of the world." Likewise in The Yurok Narratives, Robert Spott had explained to Alfred Kroeber, “My father who talked Tolowa said that the formulas spoken are like our own. They are spoken not only for their own tribe, but for the good of the whole world, to prevent sickness, famine, and other disaster.” And Harry, profoundly respectful of this ecumenical aspect of Yurok belief, had already asked me, “Did you ever know of another people who said their prayers for the well-being of the whole world?”

I contemplated Pat Gussin’s Halloween party too. This was an annual affair to celebrate the Inn closing down for the season. Last night, on arriving from Redding and before going upstairs to bed, I had stopped off for a drink, and the friendly bartender had invited me to attend. I had promised him I would stop by early, before starting inland.

I exited from the high redwoods, dropped down onto the low flat grid that was Crescent City, and came to a stop outside Ruth’s small quarters in

10