In Any CaseThe Zoo Chronicle does not accept articles from the animals, not even Letters to the Editor. Bear flicks the broken red crayon along his playpen sized cage. Immediately his claw glows with ache. The second claw in his left foot is cracked. Deeply cracked like an earthquake fissure. White fungi grows out of it. It reminds him of his mother's white chin tufts. The white of her chest. Now that he is older and close to death Bear remembers his mother often. He remembers the last time he saw her. Lying on her back. Like a helpless cockroach waving short, humped legs. He sees the rusted iron trap still clamped around her hind leg. Bear remembers trying to eat through the iron. Chomp, chomp and away with the blood scented, fish bone tasting shackles. "Run away," his mother had grunted. "Just run away." Later Bear decided that he should have run away. Because he hadn't been able to run away since, so strong were the bars he was still sitting behind twenty years later. He had been a very young bear then, had Bear, hardly a year old when his mother died. Trodden into that trap and just died. Even now Bear wishes that she had died sooner. Died before seeing the men, brandishing fire torches and rifles, rush towards him, see the giant net flail over him, see him struggle until a dart, shot into his flank, put him to sleep. He later heard, true it was rumor fodder, that his mother's skin was a fire place rug, her head a mantel place piece. Bear had howled. But his cage bars had not come howling down. Bear grunts as the wind rolls the crayon back towards him. It stops at a pile of moldy hay. It stinks, does the hay. Of drying excrement and brown pee puddle. Bits of hay and leaves totter in the puddle, half drunk. Bear has no idea when they will come next to clean his cage. They came today. Scoured it. Quietly scraped it free of all evil, even the evil they could not see. Bear wants to tell them that loosing control of his bowels is not his fault, and certainly not habitual. It took him by surprise too. He remembers. It was warm, at least warmer then right now. Right now the temperature must be below freezing. Or may be it is the cold of imminent death that freezes him. Now Bears thinks of the warm, afternoon sun strutting through his cage bars. He begins to think caged sun is better than no sun at all. Bear had been lying in the sun. Adjusting himself every so often. Trying to find a position where all his body would be simultaneously sun drenched. But cage bars and the shadow of the signboard `Do Not Feed. Do Not Touch. Himalayan Black Bear~makes that quite impossible. Shrugging, Bear lazily watches two boys, drinking colas, stand in front of him. The knit cap one draws his straw out of the cola bottle, aims at Bear, and squirts the drink straight at him. His arms block the sun even more. Bear growls. Adjusts himself. The boy squirts again, this time straight onto Bear's nose. He seems disappointed when Bear does not re-growl, but Bear is busy lapping up the sweet, sticky droplets. Bear hopes a few children will visit him today. He likes watching them lick and suck sweets. He loves that they always drop some into his cage. Always they laugh so merrily when he licks and sucks as they do. He and the children, they have in common sugar love. Bear blinks as a straw-pellet of cold cola hits, then dribbles down his eyelid. He snarls. The boys shout, loudly "Did you hear the brute? Did you bloody hear him?" Bear wonders if he should turn his back on them. He decides against it. People have no sense of privacy. It's as if his back reads 'Please prod me with sticks, bats, branches; anything.' Another squirt lands in Bear's ear. He shakes his head. The boys imitate him. Shake their heads like a convulsing hose full of water. Then they jump at Bear, clap their hands, jump back. The knit cap boy shakes his soft drink bottle and sprays the last drops all over Bear. "You shouldn't do that," a woman says. She taps her large, steel spoked umbrella on the pebble path. "Don't you know that people are starving? Wasting food like that. Honestly!" The boys mumble, giggle, the bottle is empty, so they run away. The sun is beginning to set. The woman sits on a splintered bench a little way off, one hand on the upright umbrella like a Queen on her throne. She takes a handful of sweet anise out of a drawstring pouch. Bear can smell the candy coating over the breeze. Overhead poplar trees rustle and roll. He waits, but she doesn't throw him any. He decides to ignore her too, and proceeds to slurp up a cola droplet from his paw. So sweet. So sweet. His palate now teased, he eagerly hopes that a child will pass by. Perhaps today will be his lucky day. Bear longs for an ice-cream cone. A double-flavored one. A complete one. All to himself. Bear smells the ice-cream cone before he smells the couple's rancid perspiration frozen solid onto their skin. Father is holding the vanillastrawberry cone out to a child whose small chin rests on the white lace collar of her holly green velvet frock. The white lace bow behind her back has come undone. The ribbons hang on either side of her thin, bare legs, bob over the buckles of her leather sandals. Bear knows that the child has been feeding the deer. He can smell deer saliva plastered on her palms. As she looks at Bear, her kohled eyes scrunch up with excitement. "Bear. Bear. Bear," she says. From under her armpit falls a yellow teddy bear, its stuffing spilling out of one leg. She picks it up. Cradles it. "Come on," Father says. "Let's make friends with the real bear." "Don't take Tina near the beast," Mother says. "You women! Always too scared!" Father clutches Tina's hand and pulls her towards the cage. "No." Tina wraps herself around Father's legs and pokes her head from between them. She stares at Bear. Bear stares at the tall ice-cream now in Mother's hand. "Look," Father says as he steps close to Bear's cage and claps thrice. Very loudly. Bear growls as each clap reverberates up his ears. He will surely get a headache tonight. "Bear fwiend. Bear fwiend." Tina claps too. Little claps, like baby raindrops falling onto palm leaves. "That's my girl." Father beckons Tina closer to the cage. "Please don't." Mother says. Bear is looking at the ice-cream melting over Mother's wrist. He sniffs. His tongue grazes over his teeth. "You want to make her a sissy? Look, Tina, look." Father pokes his hand in and out of Bear's cage. "Tch. Come on. Let's go," Mother says handing Tina the ice-cream. "That bear looks mad. Foaming at the mouth. Let's go see the hamsters. The moles. The flamingoes. Let-" "Okay, but first a photo." Father leans against Bear's cage. He plants Tina in front of him and smiles when she holds the ice-cream over her head like a trophy. "Okay, say cheese," Mother says half hidden by the Polaroid. "Theese. Theese. Uh-oh." Tina laughs as the ice-cream plops into Bear's cage. She takes a step back as Bear falls over his feet to get to the cone. "He'th eating the ice-cream. He'th eating the ice-cream. He liketh it. He liketh it." Tina gambols from one foot to the other. "He loves it." Beaming Father grabs the Polaroid from Mother and takes at least seven to eight pictures of Tina prancing, dancing in the midst of her undone bow. Bear blinks at the flashes. He dislikes the miniature lightening. It makes him dizzy. But right now he is beyond growling. A whole ice-cream cone. From tip to toe. "Tina, see how the bear is eating?" Mother says. "You should gobble up your food like that too if you want to be as strong and big as the bear." Tina stands absolutely still. Impressed. As enchanted by Bear's licking and sucking the vanillastrawberry swirls as is the gathering crowd. "Look at those teeth!" "Stronger than a lion's if you ask me." "I heard they can out run a horse. A horse!" "He'th finished." Tina says. "Can we get him another one?" Bear grunts. Thank you. "Huh, Papa, can we? Can we?" Bear grunts again, twice. Thank you. Thank you. "Yes another," someone in the crowd calls out. "Get him two more," another voice, "here, here's money towards it." Grunt. Grunt. Grunt. Grunt. Grunt. "Quickly. Before the bear goes mad. Look at him. He's frothing." "Here, here." Father holds a fresh ice-cream out to Tina. "You give it to your friend the bear." Tina's small fingers close tightly around the tinsel wrapping. "No," Mother says shrilly. It scares Tina, perhaps, because she begins to whimper. Father frowns. "Tina come on. Be a brave girl. Give it to the bear." "No," Mother says. "Yes." Father hoists Tina onto his hip. "Put her down," Mother says. Father looks at her. Shakes his head. He tucks his hands under Tina's armpits and swings her towards the cage. "Don't do that," Mother says. Father rolls his eyes and does it all the more. "Brave Tina. Fearless Tina," he says. "Throw the ice-cream in. Throw it in." "Put her down. Just put her down. You're scaring her." "You're scaring her." Tina is crying now. She clutches the ice-cream to her chest and flails her legs as Father keeps swinging her. "Please, please put her down," Mother says. Father scowls. The crowd is watching him. He swings Tina higher. Until her ankles slip through the bars. Slip in. Slip out. In & Out. In & Out. Bear sees only the shiny ice-cream dripping all over white lace and green velvet. He growls. Paws the air. "Throw the ice-cream in," Father says. "Throw it. Throw it. Throw it," the crowd chants. Tina's feet are so close to Bear's face that he can smell prickly heat powder trapped between her wiggling toes. "Just throw in the damn ice-cream and come away," Mother says. "Throw it. Throw it. Throw it." "Throw it!" Father yells. He kisses the back of Tina's apple shaped head. "See how the Bear is smiling at you. He likes you. He's your friend. Just like the teddy bear." Tina looks at her teddy bear's roly poly face peeking out of Mother's bag. She looks at Bear's face poking out of the cage bars. "Bear. Bear. Bear." She laughs. Father looks at Mother. She has crossed her arms over her chest. She is shaking her head. Father swings Tina higher and higher, towards the cage faster and faster. The ice-cream grows dizzier and dizzier. Bear lunges. Tina's legs are sprawling with smooth hairs. As smooth as wet fish, and wriggling just as hard. Bear clamps a claw over the ice-cream. Drags it towards him. His tongue flicks out. Far out. He pulls harder. Harder. There is a great commotion around him. Screams and Shrieks and Shouts. People are throwing keys, pebbles, someone throws a crayon. It breaks into red halves. He sees the woman on the bench, feels the steel tip of her umbrella whack him on his head. Repeatedly. What silly creatures, Bear thinks, to treat his sweet tooth as one big game. Bear grips the ice-cream. He pulls. Shreds. Droplets, as red as mother bear's blood, weep all over the cage, the hay, the bars. The flamingos next door flap and squawk, "PO-lice. PO-lice coming. PO-lice beating Bear on the head with rifle. PO-lice aiming at Bear. Firing. Bear not wounded. Rifle not go off. Incompetence saves the day. Draw up a petition. Petition: Bear against PO-lice. Not fair. Not fair to be shot at without fair trial." Bear growls. Growls so loudly that, for a second, the crowd is hushed. Bear looks at what they are looking at. Two legs dangling between his paws. Two sandals twitching. A buckle snaps open. An undone bow flutters over his cracked nail. Hips and legs inside the cage. Head and arms outside. Later that evening, right after a swarm of cameras have watched as weary attendants scour and scrape Bear's cage, the Zookeeper drives up in a pristine cart. He is talking to a man in a bowler hat, a size too large for a too small head. "Put to sleep?" says the mustached mouth under the hat, "Or a hanging? How about burning at the stake?" "No," the Zookeeper says. "Something. Something. Public outcry. Nation thirsty for revenge. For retribution. Only natural. Only natural." "It is the parent's fault." The Zookeeper points to a sign on Bear's cage. `Do Not Feed. Do Not Touch. Himalayan Black Bear.~ "Zoo can get another HBB in matter of days. A cub. A cub. Baby animals are too cute to be despised for too long. Even in the aftermath of such a tragedy." The Zookeeper scratches his five o'clock shadow. "Do you know that Himalayan black bears are on the engendered list?" He clears his throat. "People are on the overpopulated one. One less person I say." "A cub. A cub will be best." The bowler hat jiggles. "Of course we'll try to make it quick and painless. One hundred percent humane. In compliance with International Rights Treaty for Animals Great and Small. What ~ style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>is` that dreadful smell?" Bear doesn't grunt or growl. He's mortified. He's never lost bowel control before. The flamingos have news, rumor fodder, but news never-the-less. They say that Bear was prosecuted in absentia, was found guilty of murder, and that now it is Bear's turn to die. They say that Bear is going to be stoned to death. Bear thinks about stoning. He has seen birds build nests out of stones. Seen them drop the stones, seen the hurtling stones ` style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>wound~ the earth. Bear shuts his eyes as if already stones have struck his eyes and shred his fur to bits. Until he is as blind and naked-skinned as when he was born. He remembers his mother nuzzling him, then. Milking his mouth, warming his cold. No mother, now. Now, no one. Bear lies down on his outstretched arm. He turns his face away from the excrement and piss puddle. Giddy mosquitoes buzz over the feast. He slides his paws over his ears to drown them out. Bear feels quite sick, and if truth be told, scared of the rumor fodder. He nibbles on worry. A zealous wind, comes down from the Himalayan plains, zips over his cage, rolls a broken crayon towards Bear. Bear flicks it away again. It falls out of his playpen sized cage. It doesn't matter. It is too late to write anything anyway. Bear believes that writing always comes too late. He also believes that it doesn't make one bit of difference. In any case the Zoo Chronicle does not accept articles from the animals, not even Letters to the Editor. |