LITERARY SUPPLEMENT 2002

A Stupid Idea

It was a stupid idea. A goddamned stupid idea. There we were, walking through the woods—the woods we lived in—for no goddamned good reason. I watched her fat hindquarters rolling in front of me and cursed myself for going along. We knew every tree in this forest, every scent. I’d scratched on most of the big ones and climbed my share. But now she was sauntering along with the cub, pointing at things as if they were new discoveries, trying to drive me crazy.

“Before breakfast would be stupid enough,” I had said. “But this is during breakfast! It’s just too stupid.”

We stared at each other until I began to feel petty and ridiculous. How did she do that?
“So let’s just sit here and watch the porridge cool. That’s not stupid, right? It’s always the same thing with you.”

She was baiting me again about how boring and monotonous our lives had become. Always calling me a “creature of habit” and ridiculing our routines. What was so bad about routines? What about the rhythms of the day and the rhythms of the seasons? Why make an effort to disrupt everything? She was becoming a very difficult bear.

The funny thing was, I liked my porridge a little on the cool side and the woods did look very beautiful this morning with the sun’s rays slanting in dramatically, casting shadows and catching dew drops. But I’d never give her the satisfaction.

“Boy, this is fascinating,” I called ahead. “What a novel experience it is to walk through these woods.”
The cub turned briefly but she pretended not to hear and bent over to sniff some wildflowers. I stopped to keep my distance and looked up at the birds with their incessant chattering courtship. All around I could hear the rustling of the smaller animals, forever hoarding food and remodeling their dens. Now that’s a boring routine. And there was something else. I could smell it but it was faint and I couldn’t place it. I just knew that I wanted to get home.

“I’m hungry,” I called out. She looked over her shoulder disapprovingly and once again I was on the defensive. All our fights had the same pattern. I was boring. I was insensitive. I brought nothing new to our relationship. It was taking its toll and I was starting to feel more insecure with each battle. When we were younger it was different. We didn’t bicker over everything and our seasons were peaceful. (Of course, there was the one year when we had that huge fight just before hibernating. By the time spring arrived I couldn’t remember what it was about.)

But this was insufferable. Everyone else ran from me. The forest parted when I came through, for Christ’s sake. And this.....this female goaded me at every opportunity. Well, I wouldn’t stand for it.
“I SAID I’M HUNGRY,” I roared and even the birds shut their little yaps for a few seconds.
She stopped still for a moment and the cub looked up at her. She then turned and looked at me curiously. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“I said I’m hungry.”

She slowly took the cub’s paw and made a wide, sweeping turn while I stood there feeling like an idiot, and she walked right by me without a glance. I felt like strangling her but knew that I couldn’t.
And so we walked back home. Or I should say they walked and I trudged, feeling foolish even in victory. Though we were returning, she continued to stop and “instruct” the cub, and as we approached the house she stopped once more. One time too many.

“You’re just stalling. I’m getting tired of this stupid game.”

She quickly gave me a look of warning but I was up to the challenge as I strode over to her. We stood there staring at each other while the cub rolled around at our feet and then everything stopped. We both sensed it at the same time and looked around cautiously before accepting the grim realization that it was coming from the house. Looking at each other with full understanding, we then glanced at the cub.

“Listen,” I said. “We’re going to play a game. Let’s see who can be the quietest bear to sneak up on the house. Okay?” The cub nodded enthusiastically and we all slowly crept up to the north side of the house and stood behind a large tree.

“I’m scared,” she said and pulled the cub against her side.

“Listen,” I whispered loudly. “There’s nothing to be scared of. We’re bears, for Christ’s sake. Everybody’s afraid of us.” We looked at each other, trying to believe it. “Now get behind me.”
Carefully we approached the front door which was ajar. I slowly opened it and stepped inside, my senses reeling. The smell of the intruder was pungent and I stood there overwhelmed with feelings of fear, anger, and violation. I listened but could hear nothing and signaled for Mama and the cub to enter.

The three of us stood motionless in the center of the room, sniffing the air and listening but only hearing the faint breeze stirring the forest outside. It was a surreal moment with the stillness of the house belying the turmoil inside me. The cub drifted over to the table and we followed. We looked at the porridge and then at each other in amazement, shocked by the audacity, but we were unprepared for the spectacle of the cub’s bowl. The bastard had sat there and calmly eaten our food. My claws curled as the anger rose within me.

I quickly crossed the room to where the scent was stronger. My chair was unkempt, and when I looked over at Mama she was standing by hers and nodding with an expression of alarm. There was no trace of friction between us now. We turned when we heard the whimpering and there was the cub, holding the fragments of his little chair and not comprehending what was happening.

I steadied myself and sat in my chair, half expecting it to be warm. Mama seemed to be on the brink of tears, and the cub was probably coming to realize that something was terribly wrong.
“I’m going upstairs and I want you to stay here. Everything is alright now but I think you should stay here with the cub.”

She looked at me and her little eyes were pleading. “Don’t leave us here,” she said. “I need to be with you.”

There was something in her voice that I hadn’t heard in a long time and I tried to smile. “Then let’s all be careful,” and then to the cub I added, “and remember, we’re still playing the quiet game.” I could see him trying to be brave as we approached the stairs together. Mama’s paw rested on my back as we climbed and my sense of foreboding grew with each step. I could feel my fur standing on end and a low, involuntary growl stirring in my chest. It had been years since I was in a real fight, not the bickering of recent months, but a full-throated battle with winners and losers and the release of physical combat. I was ready.

At the top of the stairs I could see into our bedroom and felt suddenly confused. Why was he being so blatant with this invasion of my life? Was he taunting me? We both stood there dumbly looking at our beds and didn’t notice the cub until we heard his little growl down the hall. Mama quickly ran over and I followed, ready to attack, but her expression stopped me and I entered the room hesitantly.
Lying on my cub’s bed was a young human. Male or female, I wasn’t sure. (I can never tell them apart.) It was in a deep sleep, and the fact that it was so oblivious to our presence was like a final affront. The fight died down in me, but I was indignant, insulted. They screw with our habitat, I thought, they hunt us for sport. But this...this was intolerable. All the pent up feelings and frustrations of so many months rose inside me and I was about to show this thing who I was. I felt the roar building from my guts and rising to my chest, but it never came. Mama’s expression as she looked at the human choked it off, and I stared at her, dumbfounded.

She was looking down, and on her face was an expression I could only describe as motherliness. Then she looked up at me with a certain smile and everything melted away: the anger, the indignity, the bickering, the distance. We were someplace long ago and it was nice to be back. I bearly noticed when the cub sniffed at the human and it awoke with a strange noise and ran from the house. Mama had watched it run out with a forlorn expression, but then looked back and offered me the same knowing smile. The room began to feel brighter and warmer and my muscles felt loose and bouncy.
She told the cub to go downstairs for some porridge and slowly strolled back into our bedroom. I followed her without thinking, closing the door behind me.

And it was just right.