Bear v. Shark (19 page)

LONESOME BvS BLUES NO. 3

(by the Last Folksinger)

I know, drummers come and drummers go
I had just never seen one go that fast
I’m three lines into the first verse
And I think I hear a symbol crash
So I turn around and there’s an empty kit
Where Stevie used to sit
Man, he’s beating his retreat
Got a front row seat
At the Darwin Dome
Yeah my drummer got snared

Ethan on bass starts falling behind
You know the second verse is same as the first
He’s got those cartoon pinwheels in his eyes
He’s thinking of the winner’s purse
Wants to know who would win
When the paw meets the fin
Stevie’s sticks still in the air
When Ethan decides to meet him there in Vegas
Hear that steady beat of four allegro feet
Now I got no rhythm, just the blues

So when I sing that bears and sharks are for the birds
Man, it’s not a chorus
It’s just me
Yeah it’s not a chorus
It’s just me

Martin’s a pro on the piano
And he keeps his fingers on the keys
But by that third verse he’s thinking
Shit, why them and not me?
Brenda is our backup singer
She joined the band last year
And maybe I should have known
That the harmony would end right here
Martin and Brenda, they hit the road
Now she’s singing jingles, he’s typing code
For the Man

So when I sing that BvS is a boar
It’s not a chorus
It’s just me
No it’s not a chorus
It’s just me

Well, we stumbled to the bridge
Just me and brave Claudine
But halfway across she stopped and
Threw down her tambourine
She sprinted stage left and said
She hoped Martin could fix that bears head
Once and for all

The fourth verse has a lonely sound
It howls like wind through a crack
The band has abandoned me and
I’m getting bad feedback
Yeah the band couldnt refrain
And I’m getting bad feedback

So when I sing that BvS is bull
Hey, it’s not a chorus
It’s just me
And when I yell youre all sheep
It’s no chorus
It’s just me
It’s just me

Let me introduce the band
It’s just me
It’s just me
It’s just me

Mr. Norman sneaks into the hotel room on the twenty-first floor. On Television things are either turning out OK or else they are getting messed up so that they can later turn out OK. Let’s face it, an hour of OK would be boring and an hour of messed up would be depressing.

Mr. Norman undresses Curtis and tucks him into bed. It’s been a long time since Mr. Norman has done this and it makes him feel, well, good, and also bad, too.

Matthew turns over in his sleep and says, “What?”

Murray Jay Siskind says, “Look past the violence, Jack. There is a wonderful brimming spirit of innocence and fun.”

Mr. Norman wonders whether he should elevate Curtis’s feet. Or maybe his head. Something should get elevated.

What the hell is a cold compress?

Tourniquet, splint, triage.

Mr. Norman gingerly removes the robot bounty hunter Band-Aid from Curtis’s gunshot wound — wow, what a day it’s been — and, after cleaning the wound with a wet tissue, puts on a new Band-Aid. The wound is healing nicely. This makes him (Mr. Norman) feel better.

Mr. Norman climbs into bed. Mrs. Norman sleeps while in her headphones a lady Ph.D. chants spinal maxims.

Drunk motorists honk their horns in the streets far below.

Curtis is peaceful, the covers pulled up to his chin. You must keep the patient warm.

Bump on the noggin.

Mr. Norman sleeps and in his restless dreams, there it is, TeleTown, each Television a pixel, a million pixels forming a beacon in the neon night.

Without ever leaving my Houston apartment, I was able to get in touch with biological experts throughout the world. I didn’t want just any old Ph.D. out there. First, I wanted animal people, not plant people. Second, I wanted vertebrate people. Lastly, I wanted them to be smiling in their Web site photographs. (I should add that I was also seeking good geographical distribution in terms of forest experts v. sea experts.) When I found experts out there on the Internet who met all of these requirements, I sent them electronic mail messages, asking who would win in a fight between a bear and a shark, given a relatively level playing field, etc. When your sink is broken, don’t you call a plumber?

So I interviewed some experts. At least I
think
theyre experts. Remember Curtiss good point in Chapter 30 about credibility and ethos. I mean, how do I really know these people have their Ph.D.s in the biological sciences? Perhaps they just have Ph.D.s in rhetoric. Perhaps they’ve just finished their coursework. Perhaps they’ve never even taken any coursework. Perhaps they’re plumbers who read a lot or, far worse, plumbers who dont read much at all. What is it that makes me believe (for I
do
believe) that these Internet people are legitimate experts? Furthermore: Do
you
believe these people are experts? Do you trust their word
and
mine? Or maybe you believe that I believe them, but you dont believe them, in which case you trust my word
but not my powers of discernment. Or maybe you, like my brother-in-law (a developer of the modern-day koan,
really
), think that I phrased the question poorly (see Chapter 10) and thus elicited slanted responses. Or maybe you believe that there are indeed Internet experts of all kinds out there, but that I did not really find and contact them, in which case you dont trust my word. You believe that I made up the experts and their commentary (below), just as you believe that Ive made up so many of the things in this book, like the Vibra-Dream Plus and the Sovereign Nation of Las Vegas. Thorny issues, indeed, Curtis.

What can I say? I’m not a plumber, have not even taken any courses. I really did send electronic mail messages to people I thought were experts. It’s true. Turns out not that many of them wrote me back. Maybe they didn’t think the question was serious, which of course it was, which of course it wasn’t. It was both real and fake, authentic and ironic.

But much to my delight and gratitude, a few of these smiling biologists did write me back (via electronic mail), and here’s how they responded.

• A zoologist at the University of Florida says, “Hi. Why are you asking me? There is no clear-cut answer to this question. It would depend on the species of shark, the species of bear, and numerous other factors.”
  
• A professor in the Evolution and Ecology Department at the University of CaliforniaDavis says, Id have to go with the shark, because if the water is deep enough for the shark to be able to breathe (let alone swim) the bear would probably be in too deep to be able to defend itself. Note that although some bears do a fair bit of swimming (e.g., polar bears), when swimming their paws and jaws are not in a position that would allow them to be used as offensive or defensive weapons when they are engaged in this activity.
  
• A biologist at Weber State University in Ogden, Utah, says, Chris I feel honored that Ive been solicited, albeit at random! I guess the answer really depends on the species of bear and shark (I will assume you mean the biggest meanest shark). I have to think that even a polar bear wouldnt stand much of a chance
  against a big shark. The shark (such as a great white) would have the advantage of speed and size, not to mention bite radius. Now dont get me wrong, polar bears are no slouches either. But given your level playing field I would have to put my money on a shark. But remember, it depends on the species!
  
• A scientist at the Bell Museum of Natural History on the campus of the University of Minnesota says, This sounds like some novel! In fact most sharks are marine animals whereas most bears are terrestrial animals. Thus, such an encounter is most unlikely, but assuming a large shark species (there are many species that would be small enough for the bear to bat them around with little risk) was involved in this fight, I think the salt of the marine environment would get in the bears eyes, the bear would be out of its element in the water, and thus it would be no real match for the shark.
  
• A Ph.D. at a bear-related Web site says, Chris, fun to think about. If a big bear could get its feet on the bottom and turn and bite, I would think it could do some damage and escape after being bitten. All hypothetical, of course. P.S.: I did hear of a black bear that swam 6 miles out into the Gulf of Mexico from Florida and then swam back. The boat followed the bear halfway back before leaving.
  

So on paper, at least, it looks like no contest. Three out of five (60 percent) experts say a shark would win easily. (Sixty percent is a landslide in presidential elections.) But listen, as the cliché goes, great sporting events are not played on paper, theyre played on real fake grass in domed stadiums.

On
paper
, did North Carolina State have a chance against mighty Houston?

On
paper
, did the U.S. Olympic hockey team have a chance against the Russians or whomever they beat for the gold that one time when I was a kid?

On
paper
, did Joe Namaths Jets stand a chance in that Super Bowl?

On
paper
, did Taft have a prayer against Van Buren?

You just never know, head-lugged Cinderella could crash this party, her paws crammed into slippers, her pearly teeth dripping with gore.

Inside America is Las Vegas and inside Las Vegas is the Roman Coliseum Hotel and inside the Roman Coliseum Hotel is room MMCXXII and inside room MMCXXII is a double bed and inside the double bed is a man and a woman.

Wait: Who threw a blanket over the Televisions?

It’s so dark.

Quiet, too, with the Complimentary Gladiator Earplugs. Just the faintest hum of violence and fun, out there. The faintest pulse. And vague shadow puppets loving or killing on the curtains, it’s hard to tell.

So quiet and dark under the covers when the man rolls inside the woman, both of them not quite awake, that part of the night when this can happen.

She says, “Like that.”

She whispers it. He can’t hear her.

He says, “Sometimes I catch a glimpse.”

She says, “I’m still alive.”

Their wet faces are smashed together, eyes open in the total dark. They are speaking, unheard, simultaneously, through clenched teeth.

He says, “Like that?”

She says, “This could have been my story.”

Which is true.

He says, I dont even make the fake stuff. I just design it.

She says, “I saw you. Each time I was pregnant.”

He says, “Do you know what I mean?”

She says, “I saw how you’d wait for me to sleep, then you’d crawl under the covers with that tiny flashlight and look at my belly. For hours.”

He says, “Move this way a little.”

She says, “I only pretended to be asleep. I knew what you were doing. For hours looking at my round belly, barely touching it with your fingers and lips.”

It’s all like a dream but it’s not. The Vibra-Dream Plus and the UnPillow are nowhere to be seen.

She says, “The radio talk show host told me it was creepy and I should ask for a divorce.”

He says, “Divorce?”

She says, “But it was sweet and I loved you for it.”

There are seven cervical vertebrae, twelve thoracic vertebrae, five lumbar vertebrae, five sacral vertebrae, and four caudal or coccygeal vertebrae.

The man and the woman roll like experts.

He says, “Curtis is going to be OK.”

She says, “It’s not too late.”

The man bites the woman’s ear, sucks out the complimentary earplug.

He says, “Like that?”

She says, “Yes. Larry, yes.”

Nine hours until Bear v. Shark II.

Can you feel the tension? Would you say there is an electricity in the air? Would you say it’s crackling?

In the morning the patient opens his eyes, which is a good sign. He goes to the bathroom. He is up and moving around, this is good. He is not talking. He has made some noises, but not really any words. He dribbles juice substitute on himself. His balance is a little off. He has a big knot on the back of his skull.

An egg on the old noggin.

Corneybacteria causes a swollen head.

Mrs. Norman says, “Curtis, are you OK?”

Mr. Norman says, “Curt fell out of bed last night. I got up and put him back.”

This is a lie, but.

Matthew says, “Oh, I remember him coming back to bed.”

It’s strange how a lie can so easily and quickly find verification.

Mr. Norman says, “He’ll be OK.”

Mrs. Norman says, “Maybe we should take him to a doctor.”

Real fake chariots race around the hotel lobby, where the Normans enjoy their Continental Breakfast. Stoic members of the housekeeping staff exit the elevator, their togas swooshing.

Mr. Norman is scared of doctors, isn’t everyone? Those machines.

You turn them on and they say something cancer or a stroke and then you have cancer or a stroke and you start to feel terrible. The machines speak and the doctors just translate and there is no arguing. It’s the final word and you might die. Mr. Norman is adopting a wait-and-see attitude on this one.

Matthew says, “Curt, can I have your cream-filled donut if you’re not going to eat it?”

Curtis says, well, nothing.