The Bear Went Over the Mountain (13 page)

“I know we each have our work,” said Zou Zou, “but at the moment I’m just going through the motions in my
job. Because all that’s on my mind is you. Am I admitting too much? But why should I hide what I feel? We don’t have time for that.”

The bear had no idea what this meant either. He was thinking that potato chips were a big improvement on ants, but ants were still okay.

Zou Zou suddenly felt that perhaps she
had
gone too far. She didn’t want to frighten him off by clinging. And so, she thought to herself, once again I’m completely disoriented in a relationship. “I don’t mean that I expect anything from you, Hal. You’re a catalyst, yes, but it’s actually a matter of how I feel about myself. You’ve given me a new direction. I’m not just talking about sex, though of course that’s been an eye-opener too. But I’ve started to take some of your values as my own and they suit me very well. For example, your scorn of the social contract and the way you live in the moment. Why shouldn’t I live that way too?”

“Pretzel!” said the bear with the sudden enthusiasm she’d hoped would have greeted the honesty of her admission. He was pointing excitedly at a vendor’s wagon up ahead and she was hurt and angry until she caught the gleam in his eye and realized he was, as usual, showing her how to be the way she wanted to be, spontaneous and free. “Yes, of course,” she said with a smile, “let’s have a pretzel.”

He purchased pretzels for them and they walked on, Zou Zou slipping her arm through his. “You have a way of puncturing pomposity, Hal. I need that.”

“A good pretzel.”

“Yes, it is, it truly is,” she said as she slipped it into her purse, “but I think I’ll save it for later.”

“I like salt.”

“Life’s flavor,” said Zou Zou. “I understand, Hal, I truly do.”

As they walked, the bear checked under every tree for briefcases containing manuscripts.

“You look pensive,” said Zou Zou, observing his downward gaze. She felt certain now that her mention of her real feelings must be bothering him. Was he just another man who was unable to commit? “I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“Trapped?” The bear looked at her in alarm, then snapped his head toward the shadows. “Are there traps?”

“Hal, there are always traps.”

“Where are they?” He sniffed the air for the smell of meat and steel.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t set one.”

“But somebody else might have.” His head moved slowly back and forth as his nose swept the air.

“What do you mean?” asked Zou Zou quickly. “Are you seeing someone else?” She knew he had lunch with Eunice Cotton, supposedly just friendly lunches. But could
that angel-flogging bitch be trusted to keep her hands off a catch like Hal? “Hal, I think I have the right to know. Who else are you seeing?”

“Well,” he said, “I see Elliot.”

“You do?” A stab of pain and fear went through her. She knew Hal was raucous in bed but she hadn’t thought he was bisexual. “Do you take—precautions?”

“What are precautions?”

Am I at risk? wondered Zou Zou, hoping that Elliot had the good sense to be careful. But of course he would be, he had to be, although men can be insanely reckless when they get excited. “Do you … enjoy yourself with Elliot?”

“We have a pretty good time.”

“What do you do?”

“Just the usual things.”

“The usual things,” echoed Zou Zou, dumbfounded by the triangle she was now part of. How naive I am, she said to herself. That first night at the Plaza, when he was so reluctant—now I understand. “Hal, we can talk about this. What is your real sexual orientation? Men or women?”

“Pretzels.” The bear looked back over his shoulder. The strong smell of horse sweat was reaching his nose, and then he saw a policeman on horseback, turning the corner toward him.

The policeman’s gloves were immaculate; his riding
boots gleamed; he rode with machismo, and his horse was a machismo horse. It liked shitting in conspicuous intersections, after which it strutted proudly. It was strutting proudly now, having dropped a splendid load in front of a prominent art gallery, farting loudly for good measure. Both horse and rider cast a contemptuous look at the bear. What’s that fucking meatball doing with that good-looking broad? wondered the mounted policeman. C’mere, baby, I’ll give you something to ride.

Him and me both, lady
, said his macho horse. But then the horse received a most unsettling scent up his big flat nose.
Am I getting this right?
he wondered, and froze. The policeman urged him forward with a John Wayne kick as the horse took another deep sniff. He had been trained to remain calm in crowds, to ignore gunfire and gushing water mains, but the NYPD equestrian training manual had never covered Bear In The Street. The horse’s brain was firing off hoary images of horses being eaten by bears and—this was a nice touch from the horse’s collective unconscious—then the bears would roll the empty horsehides up into a nice neat ball and deposit them as a territorial marker. The horse whinnied and reared back on his hind legs, with visions of his guts being ripped out. The policeman struggled with the reins as the horse bucked and reared again, hooves beating the air in terror. The mounted policeman bounced up and down in the saddle and his manly boots lost their grip inside the
manly flapping stirrups.
This can’t be happening
, he said to himself as he felt himself sliding backward out of the saddle and then, as the horse bucked again, sliding off the horse’s rear, clutching at its tail. He fell in a heap on Spring Street and scrambled to his feet, trying to pretend he’d deliberately leapt backward from the saddle in a trick dismount, but his helmet was in his eyes and his horse was galloping away.

“That poor man,” said Zou Zou.

“This way,” said the bear, moving her in the opposite direction.

“But he might be hurt.”

“This way,” repeated the bear, for the mounted policeman was giving him an angry look.

“What is it, Hal?” asked Zou Zou softly.

“The zoo,” said the bear.

“It
is
a zoo out here, but you haven’t got anything to hide from the police. Or do you?” Now that she knew he swung both ways sexually, she suspected he might be into other shadowy things.

The bear hurried them along for many blocks until he got an entirely new smell, of sesame oil and incense and large amounts of stored grain. A pagoda-shaped telephone booth appeared. They were in a neighborhood he’d never explored. He was delighted with the appearance of little winding streets, which were forestlike in their turns and shadows. The smells continued to fascinate him, of
fresh fish and pressed duck, and the heavy, smoky odors of restaurants. Zou Zou felt her mood change with his as they strolled through the jumble of sights that was Chinatown. So he swings both ways, she thought to herself, so what? I enjoy life when I’m with him. I have a pretzel in my purse. I’m breaking free of restraint.

They went from window to window, examining the tiny worlds displayed there, of jade monkeys and paper flowers, red silk lanterns and antique coins. And then the bear froze. They were looking in the window of a Chinese pharmacy at bins of gnarled roots and dried berries. Beside the bins was a row of bottles, and every bottle had the portrait of a bear on it. The bear squinted, reading slowly. “Gall bladder … of … 
bear?
” He drew back in horror.

“Hal—” Zou Zou had to hurry after him, through the little winding street.

Gall bladder of bear, thought the bear as he ran, his arms pumping, his legs churning. Not good. Not good at all.

As he ran he looked right and left, at humans in doorways. He could hear their thoughts:
Wait for bear come along, cut out gall bladder, grind into pills. Take two every hour
.

He raced out of the little side street, onto the Bowery, and waved his paw for a taxi. A man walked past,
looking at him.
Know any bear? Bring around. We put gall bladder in bottle
.

Not mine you won’t! Not Hal Jam’s gall bladder!

The bear roared for a taxi, then stopped himself, realizing he was roaring like a bear. Calm down, articulate slowly. “Tax-iii,” he said in the most genteel voice he could manage, just as Zou Zou caught up with him.

“Hal, where are we going?”

“Tax—iiii,” he called again, wanting to get out of this part of town immediately.

“Something in that window upset you. What was it?”

A taxi pulled toward them, and the bear jumped in. Zou Zou climbed in after him. He was looking out the back window apprehensively.

My god, wondered Zou Zou, is he going to crack the way Hemingway did? Or is he on some weird drug? And if he is why doesn’t he give some to me?

Gall bladder of bear, thought the bear. This is the real human world. They act civilized, they wear frilly panties, but when they feel like it, they’ll put you in a bottle.

“You know what I think, Hal?” said Zou Zou. “We should go dancing. You need to forget yourself a little.” She gave the driver the address of a midtown club, and the cab shot into traffic.

The bear’s head moved back and forth slowly as he fought his animal fears. He’d risked a great deal to get his book published and he mustn’t cave in now. But he was having another identity crisis, with nothing to hold on to in the human or the animal world. Nothing but … this woman with the nice legs. He liked legs that weren’t hairy. He liked smooth-shaven legs. Wasn’t this a sign of his growing humanity?

“Hal, how sweet … but not in the back of a taxi …” She pushed his paw down out of her skirt. The bear tried again, running his paw along the soft, comforting flesh of her thigh.

“Please, Hal, don’t be an animal.”

He recoiled from her. “I’m not an animal!”

“Well, no, of course you aren’t.” She saw she’d hurt him and she tried to repair the damage, pressing her leg gently against his. “I appreciate your attentions, but—” She nodded toward the driver on the other side of the protective grill. “—we have to wait until later.”

The bear didn’t understand about the driver. He only knew he was cracking, and tried to calm himself. I’m riding in a taxi in Manhattan. How many bears can say that?

“Hal, darling, please don’t be offended.” Zou Zou was concerned that she’d ruined the momentum of a feeling, one that came from a great writer who also happened to be the most amazing lover she’d ever had. “I acted like a fool. Here …” She put his paw on her thigh, on the
lacy tops of her nylons. “But slip this on, it’s just a precaution.” She straddled the bear, her skirt climbing above her thighs.

The bear was still panicked, but Zou Zou’s caresses slowly quelled his fears that he was no one at all. If he were no one at all, her legs wouldn’t be wrapped around him the way they were. Rutting with a human female definitely made you feel like you were someone. Maybe that’s why human beings did it so much. “I’m someone,” he said.

“Yes, Hal, yes, you are. And I’m an agent. It’s so difficult sometimes. I’m always thinking about deals. I forget the pulse of
life
. Oh … oh … ohmygod I can’t believe this is happening … in a taxi …”

A roar of pleasure escaped the bear’s throat. Zou Zou bounced up and down, driven by passion and the pockmarked pavement which tossed the cab around. “Hal … you’re magnificent …” She loved him. There. She’d admitted it. She moved more rapidly, her jealousies and confusion about him dissolving in the heat that was spreading through her body like the rapture of a successful deal. She gasped, and bumped her head on the ceiling of the cab, then collapsed on his shoulder. Never in my life, she thought to herself. Never anything even close.

The bear closed his eyes, at peace with himself again, his dissociation over. He’d passed a great human milestone. He’d done it more than once a year.

“Hal … I feel totally … what am I trying to say … completely … 
fulfilled
.” Deal memos were cross-firing in her mind, with fantastic sums attached to them. “You took me out of myself,” she explained as she slowly rearranged her underwear and fixed a strand of her long auburn hair into place. She wanted to just lie in his arms, but they were nearing their destination. She saw he was having trouble with his zipper and fixed it for him. “You’re a wonder.”

“I’m someone,” said the bear.

The cab deposited them in front of a small Latin nightclub. Zou Zou stood on the sidewalk with the bear, straightening her skirt. When she was satisfied with her repairs, she led them into the club. She’d been there for the premiere party of a dance film her agency had packaged, and the owner made a show of giving them the best table in the house, which it wasn’t, and then gallantly kissed Zou Zou’s hand.

The bear gazed in fascination at the dancers. Couples glided past him, their bodies separating and entwining with the sensuality of summer in the forest, the males aggressive and the females suggestive as the rhythm of the music drove them on.

Zou Zou led him to the floor, into the big-band Latin sound. She knew the steps, her lead was strong, and the bear was drawn into her movements. His own steps were tentative at first, but then the ancient ability of the dancing
bear surfaced. He heard the slower pulse within the music and took the lead. His steps were dainty and carefully measured. His huge barrel frame had a peculiar majesty and suddenly he was the focal point for the band, for they realized he had
it
. The other dancers soon became aware that an original talent was on the floor, with a style that was commanding, yet easy, almost indifferent.

“Hal, I had no
idea
—” Zou Zou had never had a partner so elegantly understated. He moved with such dignity, his slow grace broadcasting itself to the other dancers, who watched him with appreciation. His nimble turns, executed on such bulk, were enormously sexy. Zou Zou saw the other women eyeing him. He didn’t need to posture or project an attitude; his authority declared itself discreetly and was much greater for it. In summers past, on the forest floor, he’d strutted, his roar shaking the trees. Somehow this made itself felt in the maneuvers he executed now, to the trill of the trumpets and the beat of the drums. One of the other dancers said to his partner that he recognized this guy, that he was an Argentine tango master who loved to eat; one of those giants who knew how to live. And these New York dancers, as fiercely competitive as any in the world, accorded him the greatest honor—they gave him room, so he could shine.