Black Bear

Reuven Shabbat

            

                                  Boris wracked his brains thinking where he could bury the bear. In the show they had in the town of Negev Crests, when the bear stood on his legs, waving his great paws and opening his muzzle with that lovely smile of his, one of the children threw a large, sharp stone that hit the bear's forehead. The bear immediately collapsed on the ground. Boris jumped to him; the bear grunted a little, looked at his master with sad eyes covered with tears. He opened his mouth, howled a cry of pain and died. Boris pulled his hair and yelled. He cursed in Russian and ran like a lunatic toward the petrified crown watching the scene. The audience crowded opposite Boris and prevented him from searching for the boy who threw the stone and had managed to escape. Everybody then dispersed quietly and Boris remained alone with the bear. He stroked the bear's head and tried to shake him a little, but the bear was completely dead. Boris looked at the reddening evening sun and raised a howl from his lungs like the bear would sometimes make at night.
Boris traveled with the bear for two years. They arrived here with the "Extra Attraction" circus. The bear quickly captivated the hearts of the large audiences that came to watch him dance and hop on his legs, sometimes clapping his paws and making clear laughing sounds, much to their surprise. During one of the shows, when Boris powerfully beat the drum, the bear ran too quickly, stumbled on a wire and injured his knee. He had been limping ever since, and the circus manager refused to take them back to Russia.  Boris decided to stay in Israel with the bear.
With the money he got from the circus he bought a large old van. He placed ads in the newspapers, called culture centers and talked at length to crafty entrepreneurs. They were refused to be taken for performances in the large cities, and some people even threatened to take the bear away from Boris. Boris was scared. They were left with the small towns, the remote moshavim in the lowlands, the Negev and the Galilee.
The audience, mainly made up of children, loved the performances. The bear would dance heavily to the sound of Boris's drums. Sometimes he would strain himself to stand on his legs, looking around him with his kind eyes, waving at the people with his big hairy paws. He was kind, children loved the bear. A few daring parents even let their children pet him. The bear would succumb to the petting. Others would bring him jars of honey, which he licked passionately to the sound of the children's laughter. During the nights, Boris would drive the van until he reached a secluded grove or distant field. He didn’t chain the bear, but for safety's sake he locked the door separating between them. He didn't feed him meat. Not because of the money, but because he was worried it would stir the unexpected, murderous craving bears sometimes have – a craving for killing. Sometimes during the night the bear would let out a cry of yearning and pain, which hurt Boris's heart. All in all Boris had a good time with the bear.
Now there was only grief. A week has passed since the bear's death. Boris didn't want to say goodbye to him. He refused to believe that the bear was dead. Finally, he made a decision. He traveled at night to Jaffa, to a dark place that specialized in the slaughter of old donkeys and horses and the sale of their flesh to fraudulent butchers. He knew the slaughterer, Valerie. When he arrived he asked him to carve carefully and leave the fur and head intact. Valerie did so.
Boris carefully washed the bear's fur, cleaned the great head. He stood in front of the mirror, put on the great head and the shaggy black fur.  He happily surveyed his new look. The following day he sent colored posters with his photograph as a bear and wrote – "To the fans' delight, Boris and the black bear return to perform together!"

 

Reuven Shabbat, born in 1962, literature critic at the "Haim Akherim" and "Makor Rishon" magazines. Published two poetry books, a biography of Rabbi Yaakov Shemesh and a few short stories in periodicals. Published in Maayan 3.

Translated by Anat Rotem.