The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold (8 page)

“It is,” Blanche affirmed dryly.

“Tell me something. Why does Rose like this guy?”

Blanche shrugged, a bit irritated. “It beats me.”

“He’s just nothing like the type of guy I’d expect your sister to like, with all her talk about princes and gypsies.”

“Rob—is a nice guy. And he’s very popular,” Blanche hedged. Bear’s remark was odd in one respect. Rob definitely fit the image of Prince Charming, with his good looks and style.
He looks more like a prince than Bear does
, she thought. But of course, she couldn’t say that to Bear.

“Well, we’ll catch you later,” Rob was saying to Rose. The train was stopping. His buddies shouldered him out.

“Call me tomorrow night!” Rose called after him. “If you want!”

To Blanche, she turned and whispered, “Oh, can you believe it? What a coincidence! I’m so glad I saw him—I would have felt so bad if he had called and I wasn’t there!”

“He wasn’t going to call you anyhow. He was going to a party.”

“Oh, he would have called from the party. That’s what he said he was going to do. Oh, gosh, I can’t believe I saw him. He’s just
so
good-looking. Doesn’t he look like the man who played
Ivanhoe?
”

“Hush,” Blanche said sharply. Bear was taking them on an outing. It was rude not to include him in the conversation. Besides, she couldn’t help but feel put out with her younger sister who always seemed to be the center of attention.

Standing in the back of the dark opera house and gazing at the huge stage before them, gay with gold-scrolled scenery and sumptuously costumed singers, the air vivid with bright music, was one of the most enthralling experiences of Blanche’s life. For a time, she forgot her doubts about reality in the sheer delight of illusion. But, as Rose reminded her during the intermission, perhaps it wasn’t illusion. Perhaps it was a glimpse of what reality was really like.

It was a puzzle. Which was more true? Their own dark existence or the grace and brilliance of Susanna, Figaro, and the Countess? Most people would say that daily life is more real, Blanche supposed, and that the opera was merely a frivolous and expensive diversion. Then why was the loveliness of Mozart’s creation filling a hungry gap within her that no “reality” could fill?

Many people left after the second act, so Bear suggested that they should snag some seats. Blanche didn’t want to, in case the people came back, but Rose thought it was a good idea. So they found three good seats much closer to the stage and huddled there to enjoy the rest of the show. Despite Blanche’s nervous glances at the ushers, no one ordered them back to their posts at the rear.

“We should always get standing-room-only seats!” Rose gushed when they came out into the frosty night air. “It was wonderful!”

Bear chuckled. “Well, I’ll only accept those kind of tickets from now on, if you say so,” he said.

They all laughed, and Blanche felt the metaphysical heaviness she had been sensing lift. She felt lighthearted suddenly.

“Come on, there’s another subway down this way a bit.” Bear led them off in a different direction. “It’s a little safer this time of night.”

This time, they were in no hurry. The snow continued to come down in heavy showers, and there were fewer people around. The streets in this part of New York were broad and the sidewalks were wide. Huge glass windows looked into all sorts of upscale shops. Rose and Blanche dawdled, looking in the windows of the shops they passed, and Bear let them take their time.

“Oh, just look at that dress!” Rose breathed, coming to a stop and gazing at one of the mannequins in a fashionable boutique. “Now that’s what I would buy if I had the money!”

“Yes, but it would be almost sinful to buy it—it probably costs so much,” Blanche agreed, looking longingly at the dress in question. It was a long white linen dress with a lace collar and covered buttons. The slim mannequin wore white ballet shoes and a modest straw hat with white ribbons trailing down the back.

“Couldn’t you just die? Imagine wearing that—on a windswept field—surrounded by wild flowers—ah, rapture!” Rose whispered.

“Couldn’t you make a dress like that?” Bear asked, looking critically at the motionless figure in white. “I thought you girls sewed a lot.”

“Oh, probably,” Rose agreed. “But it would be so elegant to buy one—just once, you know.”

“The material is nicer than what you can get in the fabric stores, and those dresses really are well made,” Blanche added.

“Although I suppose we could scour the garment district for fabric like that, if we really wanted to …” Rose trailed off. “But it wouldn’t be the same, somehow.” She sunk into thought as they continued walking, the girls giving a wistful farewell to the white dress.

“It’s more the idea of the dress than the actual dress that attracts me,” Blanche admitted to Bear as they walked on.

“That’s it! I mean, how often do you have a chance to wear a white dress like that?” Rose pointed out. They passed another clothes store where a tall mannequin modeled a fluted silk gown with a long train. “Oh! How exquisite! I intend to have one some day, just to wear around the house for fun.” Rose gave another sigh.

Bear whimpered softly and put his hands to his face in pretended despair. “I had no idea you girls thought so much about clothes.”

“You should be grateful that we think about anything else,” Blanche said with a straight face.

As they reached the opening of the subway tunnel, Bear halted. “Say, would you girls like to see a special place of mine? It won’t take long. It’s on the way home.”

Rose and Blanche exchanged glances. Bear quickly said, “You don’t have to come. Not if you’d rather just go straight home. It’s just—well, I can’t really go there during the day, and—I sort of wanted to show you this place. It means a lot to me.”

An adventure unlooked for was staring them in the face. Rose tugged on her sister’s hand. This was a chance to find out more about Bear and his mysterious life. Blanche’s brow was creased, and she stood stiffly, unsure what to do.

“You’re sure it won’t take long?” Rose asked Bear.

“It won’t, I promise. I just thought—it might be interesting for you.”

Blanche started to shake her head, and Bear looked so crestfallen that Rose’s heart ached.
Oh, come on, Blanche,
she thought.
Don’t play the grown-up now.

“All right,” Blanche said at last. “But please, let’s get home soon.”

“All right, then!” Bear gave them a grateful smile and turned eagerly into the subway tunnel.

“I’m still not so sure about this,” Blanche whispered to her sister as they followed him.

“Cut it out, will you? We’ll be fine,” Rose whispered back. “Besides, if we can’t trust someone like Bear, who can we trust?”

“Dad,” Blanche said under her breath, “but he’s dead.”

“He’s still protecting us,” Rose had to point out.

Blanche didn’t respond, but Rose could hear her praying a “Hail Mary” under her breath.

The subways were much less crowded at this stop. The three of them stood waiting in the train’s subterranean cavern, hearing the far off screams of other rail cars in the distance. Blanche stared into the round black tunnel in front of her with troubling thoughts.

Who could you trust, really? Anyone you knew might suddenly turn on you and become someone else. People had free will. Even the holiest saint, however unlikely, could decide to become a devil. The people who seemed most stable might suddenly fall away, swallowed into the earth when you looked away, and not be there when you turned back. Anyone could die. The world was spinning with dire possibilities, and nothing, no one could be relied on.

She heard the roar of the dragon behind her and looked to see the flashing malevolent lights and hissing nostrils of the train. It hurtled past them even as she looked, and halted, snorting, waiting for them to enter its belly.

Rose stepped excitedly inside, her eyes dancing. Blanche could tell that she was exhilarated by the mystery of adventure. Rose sat down in the closest empty seat and Bear and Blanche sat on either side of her.

Blanche sat stiffly, gazing woodenly at their reflections in the window opposite them. Bear was hunched over, his arms folded on his knees, studying the floor. His mood had clearly changed from enthusiasm to reticence. What did that portend, Blanche wondered. Was he regretting having asked them to come with him? Where was he taking them anyway?

Stations flashed by them, red lights flared in the windows suddenly and vanished, noises tumbled over each other and passed by from dark to dark. The lights in their compartment went out for a minute. Her own image in the reflecting window disappeared. Light slashed across Bear’s face like a dagger, and he vanished.

The lights came on again. The world was weaker, yellow. The car rushed on as before, but the squalid interior seemed strange. Blanche could not feel or hear her own body. She, Rose, and Bear had diminished. Only their reflections in the window remained. In the dim light of the grimy car, their images seemed stilted, absurd. They were automatons, substitutes for real people, puppets dangling over a convulsion of dissonance and confusion. She felt dizzy for a moment.

The lights flickered off again. Were they gone for good? Would the train ever stop, or would it hurtle on forever, now that it had reduced its passengers to ghosts and shadows? Were they to be prisoners forever in its tumultuous innards? She could not breathe.

The noise changed. The dragon gave in to friction and slowed sullenly, tearing and snapping at the ground. Ordinary light—ordinary city noise poured into the car as the doors opened with a hiss and a bang. The crowd propelled them out of the car onto the pavement. A guitarist was plucking away on the far side of the track, emitting a melancholy air.

They had escaped—for now. Blanche shivered in the wispy breath of the dragon and wished she were safely at home in her bed. The heady joy of the opera had vanished, and she felt even more unprepared than usual for an adventure.

Chapter 5

LEAVING THE UPROAR of the subway tunnel, Rose felt a little overwhelmed by the silence outside. The snow was still falling thick and fast, smothering the City in a layer of downy white. It was almost as though the weather had drawn a muffling hood over the City’s head. An occasional taxi flashed past, making furrows in the white roads, but otherwise, this section of the city was deserted.

“Where are we?” Rose asked Bear, looking around.

“You’ll recognize it in a moment, I think,” he said. He had started to walk faster now, so the girls had to hurry to keep up. There was a change in him. He now seemed much taller, casting off his habitual slouch in his eagerness. He was in his own element, following some purpose, something familiar to him but foreign to the girls. It was as though he was transformed into a denizen of fairyland, about to enter his own haunted realm.

Blanche reached out and clung to her sister’s hand. Rose felt her thin mittened fingers clutching her own. She knew her sister was beginning to be frightened. But Rose was too caught up in the mystery to be afraid. She strained to hear the enchanted song Bear was listening to. Her heart was pounding, but to the rhythm of a marching drum, not fear. There was a sense of purpose here, and although she did not understand it, she rejoiced to be a part of it.