Just about twenty hours until Bear v. Shark II:
Red in Tooth and Claw.
Natural Enemies Square Off in the Darwin Dome.
Lungs v. Gills in the Neon Desert for All the Marbles.
Realer than Life.
Shark and Bear Collide in Dog-Eat-Dog World.
Witness the Brutal Engine of History in State-of-the-Art Comfort.
Flight Is Not an Option.
Raw Instinct in Incredible Three-Dimensional Projection.
The Struggle for Existence Inevitably Follows from the High Geometrical Ratio of Increase Which Is Common to All Organic Beings!
The Bear Is Back and This Time His Head Won’t Be So Small!
This Ain’t Personal. It’s Genetic.
The Flag May Be at Half-Mast, but the Action Will Be Full Tilt.
Savage, Bone-Crushing Fun for the Entire Family.
72
At the Border
The Normans are stopped at the Las Vegas border. Routine check. The country’s distant skyline looks bright and fun.
Why are you coming to Las Vegas?
To witness History.
How long will you be staying here?
Just until Sunday.
Mind if we have a look in the vehicle?
No.
Hey, is that Curtis Norman in the backseat?
Yes.
Hi, Curtis.
Hi.
How you feeling?
Fine.
The border station is lit up brighter than day. Choppers fly overhead. Minimum-wagers hang from wires and announce hotel specials with bullhorns.
A border official says, “Sorry for the inconvenience, but we need to search everybody coming in this weekend. You wouldn’t believe how many people have it in mind to blow up the Dome.”
Mrs. Norman says, “That’s just awful.”
The border official says, “It just seems like these days, whenever you have people getting together to have a good time, you can bet there’s somebody out there who wants to detonate the fun.”
The Normans step out of the vehicle. A border guard approaches Mr. Norman and asks him to come fill out some paperwork in his car. He (the guard) has a cool uniform, better than normal cops in America.
Mr. Norman says, “Paperwork?”
The border guard says, “Uh, yes, just some routine documents.” His eyes look weird and Mr. Norman thinks perhaps he is not telling the truth. Maybe this is a trap. The guard is wearing a hat with a long feather in it.
Mr. Norman can picture his tiny Las Vegas prison cell. Two meals a day. Cabbage, a lot of cabbage. Tepid water. Bread so hard it hurts to chew. A small bed in the corner with a caved-in mattress, a rust-stained sink, a toilet. The days like a long picket fence scratched into the wall. Stack of paperbacks by the bed, some notebooks. He would write in the notebooks. He would fill them up with something. His thoughts. Surely if he were in prison he’d have some thoughts. About life on the Inside. Life on the Outside. Body shackled but mind free. Sent upriver. The hoosegow.
The sky says, “Indoor pool, kitchenettes, free movie channels.”
Neil Postman says, “Today, we must look to Las Vegas as a metaphor of our national character and aspiration.”
Mr. Norman accompanies the border guard to the patrol car. It’s an El Camino. They get in and the border guard offers Mr. Norman a cigarette. Mr. Norman declines, but then immediately thinks about how important cigarettes will be in the clink. The slammer.
The border guard blows smoke out the window. He says, “Sir, I overheard you saying that you are going to the show tomorrow night.” His accent doesn’t sound that much different from the folks in the Mainland.
Line by line Mr. Norman would fill up those notebooks using pencils sharpened with a contraband pocket knife. And oh the conjurer visits, don’t think he doesn’t know what goes on.
The border guard says, “I speak to you now, sir, not as an officer of the law with the authority to arrest and shoot people, but as a man. As a father. Father to father.”
They provide your uniforms. You don’t have to keep track of keys or remote controls or lost children. You could just sit there in that cell and really think and live. Hundreds of push-ups a day to build up the chest and arms.
The border guard says, “Sir, I have a little crippled boy at home that I raise all by myself. My wife has expired.”
Mr. Norman cannot think of a single crime that he can confess. He’s done nothing wrong. He’s clean, heartbreakingly clean. He pissed in the pool at the Plugged Inn, big deal. There are no bombs in the Sport Utility Vehicle. Not one single bomb.
Overhead the humming sky says, “King-size beds, children under 10 eat free.”
A banner says, “Las Vegas: All the fun of America with none of the news.”
The border guard’s hat feather is pressed flat and pretty against the red ceiling of the El Camino. He says, “Doctors say my crippled boy may have about a year or two left. That’s all. Now, sir, do you know what my son — Reggie’s his name — do you know what Reggie wants more than anything else in this world?”
Mr. Norman says, “To live?”
The border guard blows smoke. He says, “Well, that goes without saying.”
Mr. Norman says, “To walk?”
The border guard says, “More than anything else in this world he wants to go to Bear v. Shark.”
Mr. Norman looks wistfully at the border guard’s handcuffs.
The sky says, “Free shuttle service to the Dome.”
The border guard says, “Now, I am prepared to make you a generous offer for two tickets.”
The border guard pulls a pen from his cape and writes a figure on a scrap of paper. He hands Mr. Norman the scrap. Mr. Norman holds the scrap up to the window. Generous, indeed. We’re talking about an addition to the house or a couple semesters of college for one of the boys.
Mr. Norman looks over at his vehicle, which is now parked on Las Vegas soil. It’s not soil, really. More like Astroturf, brilliant green stubble under the lights. Border officials are searching the Sport Utility Vehicle. They won’t find a damn thing. Mrs. Norman stands to the side, working on an electronic quilt. The boys are running on the turf, throwing rocks at each other. They are shouting, keeping score. It’s some type of bear/shark spin-off game, the rules seem simple enough.
God, or a dangling teen, says, “Slots in your room.”
Mr. Norman turns back to the border guard. He says, “Listen, I’d like to help you, but I can’t.”
The border guard says, “Rodney is crippled.”
Mr. Norman says, “It’s Reggie, and I’m sorry. Really I am. But I’m on a vacation with my family.”
Matthew says, “Three-zip, bear-lover.”
The border guard says, “Reggie doesn’t have long. It’s all he wants.”
Mr. Norman opens his door and puts a leg out of the car. He says, “There’s always PayView.”
Curtis says, “That one hit my neck.”
The border guard says, “It’s a sad fucking day when a little crippled boy with a month to live can’t go see a bear and a shark fight each other.”
73
The Worst Kind of People
Most people will answer “bear” or “shark” very quickly and then proceed to provide reasons. You’ve heard most of these reasons by now. The fins, the teeth, the mammalian brain, the hibernation factor, energy fields, color blindness, eyeball rays, the shark tongue.
Etc.
There are very few fence-sitters, and there is very little apathy. And it’s rare that someone takes time to consider the question and weigh the evidence. Seldom do people change their minds, though it’s been known to happen. It seems to be a gut thing. The answer just feels right and then you come up with reasons.
But there are some people, and you know the type, who refuse to answer until they have, say it with me now, more information. They say things like, Well what kind of shark are we talking about and what kind of bear? Th
ey say, Hammerhead v. Grizzly is a whole different ball game from Great White v. Polar or Sand v. Brown or Tiger v. Koala. And they say, And how deep is the water, exactly, and is it fresh water or salt water? And worst of all: Why would they ever fight? They have different ecological niches and they dont share the same food supply. A bears digestive system blah blah blah.
God I hate these people.
Matthew hates these people, too.
If you run into someone like this, just make your way quickly to a different part of the parlor. These are the people you have to look out for. These are the people who — well, it’s like they’re terrified that someone somewhere might be having fun.
74
Festive, Jubilant Atmosphere
XIX hours until Bear v. Shark II.
The lobby of the Normans’ hotel looks even better in person than on the Internet. Except there are no exotically hued fish in the huge aquarium behind the front desk.
Mrs. Norman says to the front desk person, “Where are the colorful fish?”
The front desk person says, “They died.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Oh.”
The front desk person, who is wearing a sexy toga, says, “It happens.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Part of the life cycle.”
The front desk person says, “It happens every few months. These fish can’t seem to survive in our tank for very long. So they die off and so we just order new ones. People want to see the colorful ones.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Sure.”
The front desk person gives Mrs. Norman the keys and gives Curtis a T-shirt.
Curtis says, “Thanks.”
Mrs. Norman says, “It could be ich or dropsy.”
The T-shirt says, “I won the Bear v. Shark essay contest and you didn’t.”
Mr. Norman sits in the crowded lobby. There are crumbling columns and wax gladiators. Chariots race and slaves battle to the death for a fruit-eating emperor in a gigantic ceiling mural.
Everyone looks familiar. Did he see them in TeleTown? At a Food Mart in America? In the small Television lounge of the Plugged Inn? Are they stars of Comedies, either romantic or situation? Are they the vixens and cads of Prime Time that we love to hate? Is that his family over there at the front desk?
There are supposed to be many stars in Vegas this weekend.
Banners say, “Welcome Bear Fans & Shark Fans.
Some guy whose T-shirt says, “Lindbergh is a lie,” says, “Glad to see you here.”
Some other guy says, “I’ll meet you later.”
In the corner of the lobby, two grown adults gallop violently on Plexiglas horses in a horse-racing video game. The loser says, “I got gypped.”
A crying person says, “I just can’t believe I’m actually here. I cannot believe it. I cannot believe it.”
A Television Reporter for an American station stares into a camera and says, “Here in the lobby of the Roman Coliseum, there is a festive, jubilant atmosphere.”
A Television in the corner says the same thing at the same time.
The losing guy on the Plexiglas horse leans back, out of breath. He says, “That fucking sucks.”
Mr. Norman asks a pretty woman for her autograph.
The pretty woman smiles and says, “I don’t think I’m who you think I am.”
Mr. Norman says, “Who are you?”
The pretty woman says, “I’m just a pretty woman.”
Mr. Norman says, “That’s who I thought you were.”
The pretty woman autographs a Food Mart receipt up against an Automatic Teller Machine (ATM) shaped like a slave-eating lion.
Someone says, “I’m telling you, the shark looked puffy and pale.”
Mrs. Norman and the boys make their way through the crowd to Mr. Norman and the pretty woman. Mrs. Norman says to the pretty woman, “You look familiar.”
The front desk person says, “The new fish are on order, sir. There’s nothing we can do about it.”
The horse-racing loser pushes the horse-racing winner off his Plexiglas horse. The winner falls and his elbow bends the wrong way.
A banner says, “Las Vegas: America’s younger, good-lookin’ sister.”
75
Bear v. Shark: The Logo
A woman in an office says:
The official logo for Bear v. Shark I, we felt, was all wrong. The shark was cartoony. You can see here — the big, toothy smile and the waving fin. I’m just not thinking ravined here. This image gives no sense of the sharks ability to make the sea boil with blood. And the bear? Well, take a look. Way too Soviet. A stern profile that expresses the animals strength adequately but really fails to capture the bears natural charisma or its fun-loving disposition. Bears are in circuses, after all. They dance and ride tiny bicycles.
The challenge, really, was to convey the split personalities of these beasts, and that’s what our firm tried to do for the Bear v. Shark II official logo. What we have here are two animals who are both a great deal of fun, and yet also are killing machines who rip meaty limbs from torsos. You want to scare kids, but you don’t want to scare them too much, you know what I mean? It’s got to say Nature and Vegas. Moreover, you want to make it appear evenly matched. You dont want to make it seem like you are rooting for one over the other. This isnt so easy.
I don’t mind telling you that I’m really tickled at the way it came out. I think our artists did a fantastic job. And the color scheme — the charcoal gray with the cadmium yellow — strikes me as a perfect way to represent these complicated and beautiful creatures.
76
Like the Dial of a Radio
A smooth, bright elevator, then a fluorescent corridor.
The Normans walk through a long hallway on the twenty-first floor of the Roman Coliseum.
Televised people on boxes within boxes laugh or cry convincingly, and the muffled sounds are a comfort to the road-weary family. Outside of almost every door they hear a voice they recognize. Walking the hallway is like turning the dial of a radio — God, do you remember radio dials? — or like channel surfing in three-dimensional space. Ball game? Take about ten steps back. A very funny and occasionally touching syndicated Situation Comedy about a group of cool friends who hang out together in a thick stew of sexual tension? All the way to the end of the hall. The advertisements — the jingles, the catchwords, the 25% mores and 50% lesses — seep out into the hallway and infiltrate desire.
Ever seen ants on something dying or dead?
Is a dead mouse really still a mouse?
It’s been a long day and it’s late. Mrs. Norman’s posture frankly just isn’t what it was when she started this trip.
Matthew says to Curtis, “By the way, what happened to you back there in America?”
Curtis says, “I got up briefly with this cult.”
Matthew says, “What was the cult’s belief system?”
The hallway carpet says, “All roads lead to Fun!”
Curtis says, “Essentially, they believe that the bear and the shark are like the Trinity. It’s a complicated ideational grid.”
Matthew says, “Sounds stupid.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Matthew, beliefs cannot be right or wrong. We need to tolerate and respect all systems of thought, no matter how stupid or bankrupt they are.”
Curtis says, “I didn’t quite catch all the nuances, but it turns out they want to blow up the Dome.”
Matthew says, “Well get in line.”
The hotel room doors say, “MMCXII . . . MMCXIV . . . MMCXVI . . . MMCXVIII.”
Trays of half-eaten meals lie on the floor outside the doors.
A Televised Person says, “I’m feelin’ like a bitch in heat!”
The audiences laugh: (1) The live studio audience before which the show was taped; (2) the lonely person locked inside the hotel room; (3) the children walking through the hall.
Curtis says, “That’s the one where Alex thinks he’s in bed with Lola, but it’s really David’s mother.”
&nb
sp; Matthew says, “That one’s OK.”
The signs on all the doors say, “Do Not Disturb.”
Mr. Norman knows that you can be so damn tired and still not be able to fall asleep.
The hotel hallway stretches on and on.
77
Some Common
Freshwater Diseases
Just try to keep a real pretty fish healthy. There aint no doin it.
Not hardy creatures.
Turn sideways like that.
Brilliant scales get all fuzzy and rotted.
Among the thousand natural shocks are Ammonia Poisoning, Black Spot, Corneybacteria.
Dropsy, Fungal Infection.
Velvet, Ich.
Parasitic Infestation.
The symptoms of your Ammonia Poisoning include red or bleeding gills.
Fish tend to get darker in color and they gasp for air at the surface.
Their very home is a poisonous cage.
Can be prevented but not cured.
Avoid adding expensive fish to new tanks.
Just makes sense, don’t it?
Start with cheap fish.
Canaries in the coal mine.
Splurge and get yourself an ammonia detoxifier.
I think the symptoms of Black Spot go pretty much without saying.
Tends to strike your Silver Dollars and your Pariahs.
Corneybacteria leads to a swollen head that will inevitably push the eyes outward.
Pop ’em right out in some rare and severe cases.
With Dropsy you can expect bulging sides and stomach.
Dropsy is not technically a disease. It’s a symptom, a common one.
With your Fungal Infections keep on the lookout for a cottonlike substance on the fins and mouth.
There are many fine commercially available products to cure Velvet, a very common disease that has something to do with pustules.
You want to handle Ich?
What can I say? Watch for white pimply fins.
Bear v. Shark: The Novel Page 13