Bear v. Shark (16 page)

Chris, you obviously have never tried to not watch a Television that’s on.

Maybe Mr. Norman is cutting the old Guardian knot.

It’s Gordian.

Maybe the people have come together there in TeleTown for a reason. Maybe they’ve come together to live a different kind of life. In TeleTown they share the work. In TeleTown there is no money. In TeleTown they farm and the work keeps them strong and healthy. In TeleTown they read books and get together to talk about them.

A utopian community.

Call it what you want.

A bunch of robot zombies. Death of the individual.

In TeleTown, nobody cares about fashion, nobody cares about accumulating stuff. Nobody lives better than anyone else. They cook and bake, play instruments, write, paint, put on plays. It’s a thriving artistic community.

No motivation to succeed. Malaise, then bloodshed. The old Dutch decline. If you just joined us, the Normans are fleeing Fun.

In TeleTown the Normans can perhaps remake their lives and reestablish their familial relationships. They can cultivate real friendships. You know, there was one Christmas a long time ago when Mr. and Mrs. Norman made each other gifts. It was a little rule they had. And the gifts were pretty good, too, and they meant a lot. Why did they stop doing that?

Any republication, rebroadcast, or retransmission of the events, images, or descriptions of this telecast without express written consent of
American Vacation
is strictly prohibited.

I’m not saying it’s perfect in TeleTown. These are humans we’re talking about. There are arguments about how things are, how things should be. But there is a basic, shared commitment to justice and fairness.

I think that guy over there needs your bottle opener.

TeleTown, Walt. TeleTown.

Chris, what do you think the rest of the Norman family is doing in that vehicle? Surely someone would have woken up and noticed the change in direction.

There is confusion and anger. You have to expect this. The boys, especially Curtis, are upset. Mrs. Norman doesn’t want to take sides, but she wishes Mr. Norman hadn’t turned around. She says, Honey? She says, Maybe we should talk about this. Curtis says, I hate your guts, Dad. He says, You’re ruining my life. And Matthew, maybe Matthew says, Shit, it’s not like the cookies are even that good.

There are certain words. From a family-style perspective.

Curtis says, Let me out of this car, I hate you, you’re a bastard fucker.

It’s those kinds of words.

This stings, of course, but Mr. Norman keeps driving. You’ll see, he says. I promise it will be better where we’re going. I promise. Mrs. Norman maybe cries quietly. She is torn. She wants to believe him, but it’s true he’s been acting strangely.

Interesting, but all speculative, of course.

No, it’s true, Walt.

Whoa, what’s that up ahead, in the median? Can we get a closer shot of that?

It will be difficult for the Normans. It’s never an easy transition.

Is that a . . . ? It looks like it may be a person.

It’s happened before. A family comes to TeleTown and they can’t all adjust. It’s hard work.

Up ahead in the median, there, it’s a person. A very small person. Looks like a child.

Imagine trying to wean people of Television in a community full of Televisions. It doesn’t always work. People come and then leave. Sometimes families even split up.

It
is
a child, a boy, walking down the median in the direction of the Normans vehicle. The Sport Utility Vehicle is about a half mile from the child and it is slowing down. Now what do you make of this, Chris?

In TeleTown Mr. Norman will be reborn. He will start to feel again. He’s been numb for years. He will cry and laugh. He will discover that he has talents he never knew about.

Is that Curtis Norman?

He will have very few possessions. He will feel light.

My word, that
is
Curtis Norman in the median. How about that? The Sport Utility Vehicle is slowing, slowing on the interstate, and now it is pulling over into the median. It has come to a stop. How did they manage to leave that kid behind?

I just don’t know if Mr. Norman’s wife and his two children will be ready for the change. You have to be ready. Maybe they will leave immediately to make it back to Vegas for Bear v. Shark. Maybe they will stay a week, a month, a year. Maybe they will adjust, but it is more likely that they will not. They will miss their Internet and their violent movies. Mr. Norman will have to make a choice — will he remain in TeleTown or will he leave with his family?

Curtis has now climbed into the Sport Utility Vehicle. Well, I guess you were right, Clyde, it wasn’t about misplaced keys or video games.

And Mr. Norman wandering the clean dirt paths of TeleTown. He has an awful choice to make. It’s after midnight. The blue-gray fog is thick and it is a reminder of his former life. Entertainment exhaust. Beautiful but of no substance.

Mr. Norman is turning the vehicle around in the median. It looks like . . . yes, he’s turning the Sport Utility Vehicle around once more. The Normans are back on the interstate, heading toward Las Vegas. They’re picking up speed, they’re really moving. Wow, what a strange turn of events, so to speak.

A lone man down in a canyon, wandering the dusty makeshift roads as interstate travelers rush past overhead. Through the blue-gray haze he sees the flashing white lights of nighttime photographers. Everyone wants a shot of the TV ghetto, the scenic bivouac. He never drives a car anymore and he has grown to hate the speed and swoosh up above. If he gets back on that interstate, Walt, he feels that he will be destroyed.

Chris —

He doesn’t want to go where it leads. It’s no place for living, up there. His immune system could no longer handle such sweetness, such loudness, such brightness. The quick images would crush him and break his heart a hundred times a day, the endless chatter would be a mosquito in his ear all day and all night. And yet, who can just send away a family? He loves those boys. He —

Chris. Chris, hate to cut you off there, pal, some of that stuff was pretty good, but the situation is over. The family disaster has been averted.

What?

Normans heading back to Vegas. Cruise control, 76 miles per hour. Folks, the little Norman boy in the median was brought to you by Green Paint.

But the life ahead.

Bear v. Shark. An exciting weekend of broadcasting.

It can’t be.

Take a look for yourself. Monitor three, over there.

Ah
Jesus
.

And when you get a chance, the boys in production would love some more of those little chicken fingers.

and now this . . .

Just about twenty hours until Bear v. Shark II:

Red in Tooth and Claw.

Natural Enemies Square Off in the Darwin Dome.

Lungs v. Gills in the Neon Desert for All the Marbles.

Realer than Life.

Shark and Bear Collide in Dog-Eat-Dog World.

Witness the Brutal Engine of History in State-of-the-Art Comfort.

Flight Is Not an Option.

Raw Instinct in Incredible Three-Dimensional Projection.

The Struggle for Existence Inevitably Follows from the High Geometrical Ratio of Increase Which Is Common to All Organic Beings!

The Bear Is Back and This Time His Head Won’t Be So Small!

This Ain’t Personal. It’s Genetic.

The Flag May Be at Half-Mast, but the Action Will Be Full Tilt.

Savage, Bone-Crushing Fun for the Entire Family.

The Normans are stopped at the Las Vegas border. Routine check. The country’s distant skyline looks bright and fun.

Why are you coming to Las Vegas?

To witness History.

How long will you be staying here?

Just until Sunday.

Mind if we have a look in the vehicle?

No.

Hey, is that Curtis Norman in the backseat?

Yes.

Hi, Curtis.

Hi.

How you feeling?

Fine.

The border station is lit up brighter than day. Choppers fly overhead. Minimum-wagers hang from wires and announce hotel specials with bullhorns.

A border official says, “Sorry for the inconvenience, but we need to search everybody coming in this weekend. You wouldn’t believe how many people have it in mind to blow up the Dome.”

Mrs. Norman says, “That’s just awful.”

The border official says, “It just seems like these days, whenever you have people getting together to have a good time, you can bet there’s somebody out there who wants to detonate the fun.”

The Normans step out of the vehicle. A border guard approaches Mr. Norman and asks him to come fill out some paperwork in his car. He (the guard) has a cool uniform, better than normal cops in America.

Mr. Norman says, “Paperwork?”

The border guard says, “Uh, yes, just some routine documents.” His eyes look weird and Mr. Norman thinks perhaps he is not telling the truth. Maybe this is a trap. The guard is wearing a hat with a long feather in it.

Mr. Norman can picture his tiny Las Vegas prison cell. Two meals a day. Cabbage, a lot of cabbage. Tepid water. Bread so hard it hurts to chew. A small bed in the corner with a caved-in mattress, a rust-stained sink, a toilet. The days like a long picket fence scratched into the wall. Stack of paperbacks by the bed, some notebooks. He would write in the notebooks. He would fill them up with something. His thoughts. Surely if he were in prison he’d have some thoughts. About life on the Inside. Life on the Outside. Body shackled but mind free. Sent upriver. The hoosegow.

The sky says, “Indoor pool, kitchenettes, free movie channels.”

Neil Postman says, “Today, we must look to Las Vegas as a metaphor of our national character and aspiration.”

Mr. Norman accompanies the border guard to the patrol car. It’s an El Camino. They get in and the border guard offers Mr. Norman a cigarette. Mr. Norman declines, but then immediately thinks about how important cigarettes will be in the clink. The slammer.

The border guard blows smoke out the window. He says, “Sir, I overheard you saying that you are going to the show tomorrow night.” His accent doesn’t sound that much different from the folks in the Mainland.

Line by line Mr. Norman would fill up those notebooks using pencils sharpened with a contraband pocket knife. And oh the conjurer visits, don’t think he doesn’t know what goes on.

The border guard says, “I speak to you now, sir, not as an officer of the law with the authority to arrest and shoot people, but as a man. As a father. Father to father.”

They provide your uniforms. You don’t have to keep track of keys or remote controls or lost children. You could just sit there in that cell and really think and live. Hundreds of push-ups a day to build up the chest and arms.

The border guard says, “Sir, I have a little crippled boy at home that I raise all by myself. My wife has expired.”

Mr. Norman cannot think of a single crime that he can confess. He’s done nothing wrong. He’s clean, heartbreakingly clean. He pissed in the pool at the Plugged Inn, big deal. There are no bombs in the Sport Utility Vehicle. Not one single bomb.

Overhead the humming sky says, “King-size beds, children under 10 eat free.”

A banner says, “Las Vegas: All the fun of America with none of the news.”

The border guard’s hat feather is pressed flat and pretty against the red ceiling of the El Camino. He says, “Doctors say my crippled boy may have about a year or two left. That’s all. Now, sir, do you know what my son — Reggie’s his name — do you know what Reggie wants more than anything else in this world?”

Mr. Norman says, “To live?”

The border guard blows smoke. He says, “Well, that goes without saying.”

Mr. Norman says, “To walk?”

The border guard says, “More than anything else in this world he wants to go to Bear v. Shark.”

Mr. Norman looks wistfully at the border guard’s handcuffs.

The sky says, “Free shuttle service to the Dome.”

The border guard says, “Now, I am prepared to make you a generous offer for two tickets.”

The border guard pulls a pen from his cape and writes a figure on a scrap of paper. He hands Mr. Norman the scrap. Mr. Norman holds the scrap up to the window. Generous, indeed. We’re talking about an addition to the house or a couple semesters of college for one of the boys.

Mr. Norman looks over at his vehicle, which is now parked on Las Vegas soil. It’s not soil, really. More like Astroturf, brilliant green stubble under the lights. Border officials are searching the Sport Utility Vehicle. They won’t find a damn thing. Mrs. Norman stands to the side, working on an electronic quilt. The boys are running on the turf, throwing rocks at each other. They are shouting, keeping score. It’s some type of bear/shark spin-off game, the rules seem simple enough.

God, or a dangling teen, says, “Slots in your room.”

Mr. Norman turns back to the border guard. He says, “Listen, I’d like to help you, but I can’t.”

The border guard says, “Rodney is crippled.”

Mr. Norman says, “It’s Reggie, and I’m sorry. Really I am. But I’m on a vacation with my family.”

Matthew says, “Three-zip, bear-lover.”

The border guard says, “Reggie doesn’t have long. It’s all he wants.”

Mr. Norman opens his door and puts a leg out of the car. He says, “There’s always PayView.”

Curtis says, “That one hit my neck.”

The border guard says, “It’s a sad fucking day when a little crippled boy with a month to live can’t go see a bear and a shark fight each other.”