Bear v. Shark (13 page)

The interviewer, in a comfortable chair facing an empty comfortable chair in a warmly lit room, says earnestly to nobody, “Nina, why did you write
How to Talk to Your Children about Bear v. Shark
?

Nina Bowen, in a comfortable chair in a warmly lit room that is months and miles away from the warmly lit room in which the interviewer posed his question, says to a stand-in, some technical assistant, “I just saw a need for it, Todd. There’s been a knee-jerk reaction among some parents concerning the violence, and I understand this impulse but I think it is misguided.”

Todd, the interviewer, says, “Explain.” He probably does twenty takes of “Explain.” Some of his “explains” are sympathetic, guiding, others are borderline hostile, others are curious with raised eyebrows. The editors take their pick.

Nina, the author, says, “Well, Todd, if we complain about the violence of Bear v. Shark — if we make a fuss about it or even forbid our children to watch it or talk about it or research it on the Internet or read on-line comic books about it or play with their video games or electronic action figures — then I think we’re sending a subtle but strong message that there is something wrong or unnatural or shameful in this violence. And I think that’s a damaging message to send.”

Todd says, “Explain.”

Nina, also the author of
Rethinking Smut,
says to the technical assistant with bad skin, Todd, the natural world is violent. Why should we censor this? Violence is very natural, just look around you. Bears and sharks fight for their lives every day. They dont generally fight each other, but they fight violent battles to stay alive. This violence is part of the natural order, and I think our children need to understand this and not be ashamed of it or afraid of it. We cant shield them.

Todd, the interviewer, says, “I see.”

It’s not a very strong “I see,” he’s certainly capable of better, but it’s the best of his six takes.

Tell about the American landscape.

Pavement, Cancer, Food Marts, Wires & Cables, Bumper Stickers, Billboards, Weather. Some of its real pretty, still.

Tell about the border towns.

Once you get within about twenty-five miles of Vegas, the border towns start popping up. Last chance for cheap beer, last chance for cheap gas, that kind of thing.

Tell about TeleTown.

TeleTown is down in a very big canyon, you wouldn’t say nestled. The interstate runs over the top of it. This town is large, sprawling.

Tell about how you get there.

There are Exits located conveniently at either end of the canyon.

Tell about the people who live there.

Looks to me like pretty poor and desperate folks.

Tell about what they do.

They watch Television.

Tell about how they make their living.

They make these special cookies and sell them to tourists. They’re good, real gingery.

Tell about what else they do.

Don’t know what else they do. Watch Television, by the looks of it.

Tell about how at night or even on an overcast day.

At night or even on an overcast day if you drive the long bridge over TeleTown you can see the flickering glow of a million Televisions. This glow, it hangs low over the town like a huge bank of blue-gray fog. It’s entertainment exhaust and it’s beautiful.

Tell about how it’s not much of a town.

Just huts and hovels, tepees and lean-tos. A couple miles across. One big Gypsy camp lit up by the glow of a million Televisions. But not, you know, filthy. No shit in the streets, that kind of thing.

Tell about irony.

It’s
tyrannical
.

Tell what else D. F. Wallace says about it.

It’s bigger than ever after 30 long years as the dominant mode of hip expression. It’s not a rhetorical mode that wears well.

Tell about the new rebels.

They won’t be scared of sentimentality or melodrama.

Tell about the Normans.

They’re passing over TeleTown. It’s an overcast day. They can see the glow. They’re going to exit because they’ve heard about the cookies.

Tell about how they treat Mr. Norman.

They know his name when he gets there. They ask him to stay awhile, have a look around. See how things work.

Tell about their eyes.

Strange look to them. Alert, clear. What’s the opposite of glassy?

Tell about how nobody is fat in TeleTown.

Well, I doubt they have much food to eat.

But still.

Nobody is fat in TeleTown. Almost nobody.

Tell about how nobody seems to be watching all those Televisions.

It’s true.

There is beautiful wooden furniture there, isn’t there? And these incredible wicker baskets and quilts. What’s that about?

Your guess is as good as mine.

The cats all look peaceful and sleepy.

I hadn’t noticed.

Tell about how the world isn’t as bad as you’ve made it seem.

Oh but it is.

But you’ve made it mean and ridiculous. And the people, too.

I apologized in Chapter 51.

Tell about the Normans.

They buy some cookies. They’re getting back on the road. TeleTown . . . I don’t know, something about it just doesn’t feel right.

Tell about what that one man says to Mr. Norman.

Well, he shakes Mr. Norman’s hand and says, We’ll be here. He looks him right in the eye and says it. His grip is strong, his skin is tough. There is an openness and a generosity of spirit here that is frankly disturbing. Suspicious.

Tell about Bear v. Shark II.

It should be big. It should be real big.

At a border town Food Mart just outside of TeleTown, Curtis gets shot by an armed robber. It’s not that big a deal — he’s been shot before — but still, it’s always a little scary.

Curtis is in line to buy some Fruit Roll-Ups when this guy pulls out a gun and tells everyone to drop. Everyone drops, but Curtis is looking at this gun, thinking no way it’s real. The thing is
turquoise
.

So his legs are trembling, but he’s got this nonchalant look on his face. Sure, he’s seen the PSAs — Kids, be smart: if you are unarmed, always obey the commands of armed robbers — but the thing is, Curt has been around the block. He’s seen holdups before, hundreds of them. He’s made it to the ninth level on
Stick Up!
And it’s so embarrassing to get duped, to fall for the old fake gun trick.

And as Matthew and everyone else hits the deck, Curtis is thinking, Look at these rubes. Naive. A bunch of sheep. If this guy told you all to buy Sexy Pants, would you do that, too?

But then the guy turns and shoots Curtis in the arm — the bullet just grazes him, really — before running out of the Food Mart with just a 44 oz. MegaDrink and his turquoise gun.

Curtis says, “I’m fine, really.”

An eyewitness says, “That little kid has a certain something that I’ve seen numerous times in feature films and also on the expanded tier of my Cable Television Package.”

The Food Mart manager says, “In my day, we obeyed gunmen.”

A green sign says, “Las Vegas 17.”

A scared guy in the locked and filthy Food Mart bathroom says, “I’d kill the family pet for a ticket.”

The TeleTown pamphlet in Mr. Norman’s shirt pocket says, “We always welcome new members to our unique, self-sustaining community.”

Someone on Aisle 6 buys Curtis a box of Band-Aids for being so brave. Matthew puts one on his brother’s gunshot wound. The Band-Aid has a robot bounty hunter on it.

Mr. Norman, who has been pacing the parking lot, says, “The problems here are manifold.”

After grazing Curtis, the bullet from the turquoise gun detonated a shelf of Road Buddy Canned Hash, and now Curtis can’t stop staring at the meaty gore sprayed all over the Food Mart’s refrigerated section. He’s suddenly gone white, with strands of damp hair stuck to his forehead. While ponytailed camera guys zoom in on the ugly mess in the dairy case, perky news correspondents, materializing from vans and choppers, take turns eliciting one-word answers from the child, who is shaken, Quinn, but unharmed. It could have been kid brains there behind me, Marla, but tonight, thankfully, it is only road hash. Back to you, Brock.

Curtis says, “Dad?”

Mr. Norman says, “You really didn’t do the right thing, Curtis.”

Curtis says, “Dad?”

Mr. Norman says, “It’s like I’m baffled.”

Curtis is pale and quivering.

Mr. Norman says, “Come here.”

They sit on a sticky bench together outside the Food Mart. It would make a nice shot, but the news crews have already pulled out. Curtis’s legs don’t touch the ground. Mr. Norman looks at the boy’s knees, maybe for the first time ever. They are white, even in August, white and knobby like Insta-Bake Frozen Dinner Rolls. Little knees under shorts.

Curtis says, “Dad?”

Mr. Norman says, “Whisper it in my ear.”

Curtis leans up, says, “I don’t want to die.”

Mr. Norman says, “I know.”

Curtis says, “I don’t want to die before we get there. To the Darwin Dome.”

Mr. Norman says, “I don’t want you to die, either.”

Curtis says, “I know.”

Mr. Norman wonders about farming, he and his boy with hoes, turning the soil, their knees brown and leathery. Crop rotation, fallow fields, seeds.

Mr. Norman says, “We’re almost there, pal.”

Curtis says, “I have to pee again.”

Curtis climbs down from the sticky bench. It’s getting dark out.

Mr. Norman says, “Hey, Curt.”

Curtis turns around, says, “I know, Dad.”

Mr. Norman says, “Let’s just say a bear and a shark got in a fight.”

Peanuts grow underground. Tiny bugs eat tomato plants.

Curtis giggles, says, “No contest,” runs off toward the rest room growling. The sign on the interstate says, “Clean rest rooms,” but the thing is, the rest rooms are not clean. They’re dirty. The sign is lying.

Mr. Norman, alone on the bench, says, “Who would win?”

Mr. Norman walks to the SUV, where Mrs. Norman and the other son, the older one, are both asleep with headphones on. It’s been a long layover at the Food Mart.

Who would win?

Just for argument’s sake: A bear and a shark.

Tired and relieved and something else also, Mr. Norman starts the SUV and merges back onto that big road to Vegas.

A Brief History of Twentieth-Century American Culture (Long Story Short ed.)

October 30, 1938:
Orson Welles and his Mercury Theater of the Air present a version of Howard Koch’s adaptation of H. G. Wells’s
The War of the Worlds
in a one-hour radio program. Under Welles’s direction, Koch’s play is performed as a news broadcast of extraterrestrial invasion. In Kochs adaptation, the high-tech Martian marauders land not in English pastures but in rural New Jersey, and their alien eyes are set on New York City. With heat rays and poison gas, they take thousands of human lives and they advance, Sherman style, upon the most populous city on the planet. The young Orson Welles plays a Princeton astronomer who gives scientific credibility to the whole affair.

Six million people listen to this performance, which is, to modern ears, quite obviously — unmistakably — a performance. An estimated one million people believe that New Jersey has been invaded by Martians, and some of these people take to the streets, firing guns at streetlights and water towers. A few people, faced with a horrible death at the hands of diabolical Martians, attempt to take their own lives.

May 23, 1999:
Attached to wires 90 feet above the mat and near the top of the sold-out Kemper Arena in Kansas City, Mo., professional wrestler Owen Hart, thirty-four, is set to make a dramatic entrance into the ring, where he will square off against a WWF foe in yet another grudge match full of myth and mask. The plan, as WWF president Vince McMahon later says, is for Hart to descend in superhero-type fashion.

But Hart, his harness incorrectly hitched, plummets 90 feet into the ring. His head hits a turnbuckle and snaps back. He struggles to lift his head and his arms, but then he collapses. Paramedics enter the ring, strip Hart of his trademark Blue Blazer mask, and work unsuccessfully to revive him. He is pronounced dead at the hospital.

Even after Hart’s head slams into the metal turnbuckle — an injury that would be, from the perspective of any early-century viewer, unmistakably and horrifically real — many of the 16,200 fans in attendance think the fatal fall is just another of the scripted stunts that have helped make professional wrestling so popular.

Less than twenty-four hours later, 19,000 fans pack the Kiel Center in St. Louis for the next scheduled stop on the WWF tour. The show goes on.

If you enjoyed this LSS edition, look for others on-line. Our catalog includes: Hitler in a Nutshell; The French Revolution, in Essence; The Middle Ages: A Summary; String Theory for the Working Woman; Notes on the Renaissance; Finite Jest; The Pocket Reformation; The Bathroom Einstein; Two-Minute Bible; The Concise Faulkner; and Bear v. Shark: The Novel.