by Ike Hamill
“Oh, you need a knife, right?”
I’m so hungry that somehow the fish looks good. A little fire would be nice, but I can’t help thinking that the fish must be made of sashimi, somewhere under those scales. When I look back up, I’m just in time to dodge the next flying thing—a knife.
It bangs off the wall and I pick it up. It’s a sturdy weapon. If I used it, I think I could even do damage on the bear. Then what? I’m stuck here with these animals.
The bear sits down and gives me some basic instruction. I’ve never tried to cut up a fish before. I make a mess of it. Somehow, I get a chunk of something that looks edible. It is—barely. It’s not the cool, sweet sashimi that I imagine, but when I swallow, it stays down.
“Okay,” I say. “I have food in my belly. What am I doing here?”
The bear reaches up with a claw and scratches his chin. “You should give some serious thought to letting life happen without questioning everything,” he says. “All these questions are bad for your brain.”
I shake my head. “Am I under arrest?”
The bear laughs. It’s a low, barking sound. I frown and return my attention to the fish again. A little fire and salt and this fish would probably be delicious.
“Forgive me, but this is not where I want to to be,” I say. “I’m trying to get information so I can figure out how to get the hell out of here. My brain will be just fine when I solve this problem.”
“I like the light here,” the bear says. “It’s stark, but it’s also really clean. Everything is precise. All the edges are razor sharp.”
“What does that…” I start.
The bear holds up a paw to stop me. “Try declaring something. Don’t question, just state.”
I think for a second. “My life was better two weeks ago. I want to return my life to that.”
The bear rolls his eyes. He says, “Fruit tastes better after a long sleep.”
I don’t know the point of his game. I’m pretty sure there isn’t one. Maybe if I play along, I can get some information out of him. “I’ve heard that the upper atmosphere of Venus is nice. Get a little glass ship and watch the lightning—sounds peaceful.”
He cocks his head a little at that.
“Choice is an illusion,” he says.
“Most bears are dumber than they look,” I say. “And some bears look unimaginably dumb.”
He frowns.
“I’m a good-natured sort,” the bear says. “In fact, amongst creatures of the ursine persuasion, I might be the most good-natured sort you’re going to meet. I would hate to see someone ripped to shreds just because they have a lousy sense of humor.”
If I sit up a little straighter, I can just see the top of the Earth above the wall of this cafeteria. The glass ceiling—or whatever is keeping in the air—shows me that little slice of my home. I can’t tell which continent I’m looking at. The clouds obscure the coastline, and my geography skills aren’t top notch. Still, there’s enough of the planet visible to illustrate my next point.
“I know this is a question, but it’s rhetorical. Do you see that little blue and green thing over there with the white clouds? That place is my home. Frankly, I can’t imagine how I’m going to get back there. Maybe I’m not actually on the moon right now. Maybe this is all a clever illusion. Regardless, it’s a form of torture for me. Death might be a more desirable option.”
“It’s not your turn to die,” he says. “But it might be your turn to suffer.”
“I don’t like the idea of a life without choice,” I say. “Are you certain that choice is an illusion?”
I don’t give him a chance to answer.
I take the knife, still slimy with fish guts, and I grip it tight in my fist. Before I can think too hard about what I’m doing, I slice a clean, deep line from my elbow to the palm of my hand. The blood pauses for a second before it bursts forth. I switch the knife to my left hand and do my best to repeat the process on my other wrist. The second cut isn’t as deep or as straight. My will, my strength, and my dexterity have all been challenged by that first incision. Still, I think I’ve done the job well enough. Blood streams from my arms. Am I the first human to spill his blood on the moon? I hope so.
Chapter Twenty-Two
* Trial *
BLOOD SPLASHES OUT OF my arms and I wonder how much is still left inside of me. I’ve never thought to ponder before—what does a person’s-worth of blood look like when it’s soaking into the sands of the moon? Each heartbeat feels slower. There’s no appreciable pain. My wrists seem like they’re a quarter of a million miles away. Death feels like a long, slow orgasm. The bear spoke of suffering. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
My fear is that he will intervene somehow. He’ll bring some magic cure. Worse—he’ll bring some pecking gull to work me over. Instead, he just laughs his coughing, barking laugh. My eyelids begin to feel heavy. His bear voice sounds far away.
I can see through my eyelids and see through the terrain of the moon. I see Earth, hanging in the sky against the deep dark black. Then, I can see through Earth and I see the sun. It’s just another star amongst billions. The Milky Way, our galaxy, has three hundred billion stars and it is only one galaxy of the universe. Some estimate that there are a hundred billion galaxies in the universe. I can’t even fathom the width and breadth of creation. I am no longer infinite. I am a tiny clump of cells, expiring one by one, as oxygen fails to arrive on time to keep the metabolic processes going.
The bear’s laugh fills my head.
The last time I saw my brother, he was bleeding. Maybe it would be better if brothers didn’t have best friends. They should be best friends to each other. They should remain isolated from the rest of the world to an extent, so their bond supersedes all others. Practically, a person has to see their brother all through life. Family events, deaths, births, and marriages. There’s no guarantee that a best friend is going to appear at those occasions, but a brother will probably be there.
But, of course, a friendship is a reciprocal arrangement. Since I was the older one, my brother always depended on me, and we were never really peers. It’s impossible to build a true friendship on that foundation.
When my brother stepped forward and tried to be my friend, what did I do? I did what most other brothers would do—I shut him out. When I tried to apologize to him, he couldn’t accept it. He saw me as the leader, and couldn’t allow me to humble myself before him. At least that’s what I think happened.
The laughing bear is beside me, barking his guffaws into my ear.
“ORDER!”
The gavel draws my attention to the front of the court. Maybe it’s just his robes, but the bear behind the bench is the biggest bear I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot lately. When the hammering of the gavel ceases, my bear lawyers stops his laughing and straightens his tie.
Of course, I realize that this is just a dream or maybe a death-induced hallucination. But who cares? I really enjoy court procedurals.
The chair on my left squeaks as the prosecuting bear pushes back from the table. I don’t recognize what kind of bear he is. He’s very short. His neck is wide and his forehead is flat. Most of his head is a dark brown, but his muzzle is almost blonde. His hair isn’t as long. His paws, sticking from the wrists and ankles of his three-piece suit, look almost neat and tidy, especially compared to my lawyer’s shaggy feet. His jacket is unbuttoned and his vest is stretched to cover his belly. The button at his neck looks like it might put an eye out if it gave way.
He stands. “Your honor, the prosecution would like to call our next witness to the stand.” He yawns a little at the end of his request. His tongue is enormous.
Everyone turns as the doors at the back of the courtroom bang open. The gallery is filled with primates and monkeys. I’m looking at the backs of a hundred furry heads as we all wait to see who will come through the doors. I’m no zoologist, and I wouldn’t want to speak out of turn, but I recognize chimps, gorillas, baboons, and macaques.
Most are sitting. Some are too small so they stand on the benches to see.
A black bear in a gray uniform comes waddling through the door. His hand is stretched down to reach the grip of a lumbering orangutan. They almost share the same gait. Neither one looks comfortable walking upright.
The bear stops at the swinging half-door that separates the lawyers’ pen from the gallery. The orangutan pushes through the doors himself and he walks bow-legged to the front of the room. His reddish fur sticks out in tufts from this t-shirt and shorts. He’s the one slob in the whole courtroom.
The orang arranges himself in the witness box and adjusts the microphone down towards his round face.
“Please state your name for the record,” the prosecuting bear orders.
The orangutan clears his throat and looks to the judge before he speaks. “My name is Jeremy Softick.”
“Sof-tick?” the prosecuting bear asks.
“That’s correct.”
“Could you describe your relation to the defendant, Mr. Softick?”
“Yessir. He’s my brother,” the orang says.
I lean over to my lawyer and whisper. “That’s a lie. He was my friend, but not my brother.”
The bear pats the air with a paw, signaling for me to stay quiet.
“Could you describe for the court your last encounter with the defendant?” the prosecutor asks.
The Jeremy orangutan leans into the microphone again before he answers. “Yessir. We had an argument while we were shoplifting.”
A horrified gasp sweeps through the gallery. The prosecutor bear holds up his paws and quiets the crowd before the judge bear can even bang his gavel again. The prosecutor bear licks his nose with that impossibly long tongue and continues.
“How old were you at the time?”
“Maybe fifteen? I’m not sure. We could drive—I remember that. We must have been at least sixteen, I suppose.”
I lean to my lawyer bear again. “That’s bullshit. I saw him at high school graduation.”
It seems like the prosecutor bear might have heard me. “You didn’t see your classmate in high school after you were sixteen?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jeremy says. “I saw him, of course. But I think our last encounter was when we were sixteen. By encounter, I thought you meant talking to each other and stuff.”
I suppose he’s right.
“Fair enough,” the prosecutor bear says. “What was the subject of the argument?”
“He, uh the defendant, said that he wished his mother dead and she died. He said that he could do the same thing for my parents if I wanted him to. I told him that I didn’t wish my parents were dead, and he called me a pussy,” the Jeremy orangutan says.
The prosecutor bear nods and gathers his bear arms behind his back. He’s standing behind his table and leaning his belly against the edge.
“What kind of bear is he?” I whisper to my bear.
“Sun bear,” my bear whispers back.
I nod. It doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t know their habitat or how smart they are. I don’t even know if he’s a big sun bear or a small one. My question really didn’t result in anything other than a nasty look from the judge.
“And what did you do when the defendant called you that?” the prosecutor asks.
Jeremy looks to the judge, almost like he’s seeking permission for what he’s about to say. The judge makes no sign that I’m aware of, but Jeremy continues anyway. “When he called me a pussy, I shoved him and then yelled to the clerk that he was shoplifting.”
“Weren’t you both shoplifting?”
“I intended to, but I hadn’t picked anything up yet. The defendant already had several things down his pants.”
“What were those things, do you recall?”
“Yessir, they were, uh, various things. A computer game, a magazine, and a box of rat poison.”
“Did the defendant have a plan for those things?”
“Objection,” my bear says. “The witness is being asked about my client’s intentions.”
“Can you restate?” the judge bear asks.
The prosecutor bear says, “What did the defendant state he intended to do with those things?”
“He said he was going to poison the rest of his family,” the Jeremy orang says.
My pulse is pounding in my ears and my lungs are hot. I stand up.
“This is bullshit,” I say. I’m not loud or boisterous. I’m simply stating a fact. A mumble passes through the crowd of monkeys and apes. The judge bear starts banging his gavel immediately.
“Tell your client to sit down and keep his mouth shut,” the judge bear says.
I feel a gentle paw on my back, but I shrug it off.
“No,” I say. I’m louder this time. The courtroom falls silent. “No, I’m not going to suffer this terrible dream any more. It’s absurd. Goddamn bears. And this orangutan? Seriously? I get it—I felt guilty about my mother, and I’ve never really forgiven myself. I’m leaving.”
When I push through the swinging doors to the gallery, the bailiff bear—a black bear in a gray uniform—moves to block the big doors at the back of the court. Another murmur sweeps through the crowd. I hear one of the chimps on my right side say to his neighbor, “They always resort to violence.”
Behind me, the judge bear is banging furiously.
I’m eye to eye with the bailiff bear. He’s one of those black bears with a dark nose. Most seem to have a lighter snout, but not this one.
“Get out of my way,” I say.
“Please return to your table,” he says.
I make a move to dodge around him, but he sidesteps right into my path. They don’t move very fast on their hind legs, but he’s not guarding a very big space. His uniform is silly. His legs are so short, that the waist of the pants is very low. The uniform is mostly shorts. I have an idea right out of junior high school gym class.
I drop to my knees and grab his belt on the way down. His pants pop off his belly and wrap around his stubby legs. The crowd gasps. I don’t know if uniformed bears normally wear underwear, but this one isn’t. I’ve seen so many naked bears over the past few days that the sight seems perfectly normal to me, but the gallery gasps. Maybe it’s not the sight of his furry genitals. Maybe it’s just the disrespect behind my action. The bear seems embarrassed. He drops down in an effort to cover himself with his paws.
“Absurd,” I say.
I step onto his back and climb over him. Fortunately, the door opens out and I step through to the hall. I slam the door shut behind me.
I’m in an echoey, fancy hallway, near a balcony with a stone railing.
The door opens behind me and a couple of uniformed bears spill out.
I run.
The courthouse is all fancy stonework and marble. My slapping footsteps make a tremendous sound down the hall. At the end, a big wooden door looks grand enough to lead to the mayor’s office, but it’s not where I’m headed. I’m rushing for the glowing exit sign that sticks out from the wall. I glance back as I round the corner to the stairs. The bears are slow. It’s a combination of the uniforms and slick floors. I’m easily outdistancing them.
I run down the stairs and turn around on the landing. There is a pair of bears coming up from the bottom to cut me off. Instead of confronting them, I run halfway down the flight and then leap over the railing. I reverse direction on the ground and head for the door. Pushing through that, I’m in a little patio area, surrounded by stone benches and hedges. With a few strides, I use a bench as a step and jump over a hedge. I jump blind, and get lucky. The short hill on the other side of the hedge is soft and grassy. I hit it with my feet and roll, popping back up before I get to the walkway. Behind me, the uniformed bears haven’t even reached the door, as far as I can hear.
I sprint down the walkway, across a grassy park, and to a sidewalk that runs along a road.
I come to a skidding stop at what I see there. My mouth hangs open. It’s two bears—the adult is wearing
a pretty sundress that extends down to her knees. The little guy is wearing shorts and a tiny hat. He’s on all fours and she’s standing upright.
This is the first female bear I’ve encountered. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me before this moment, but every other bear I’ve seen has been male. I should have figured there were females around. It’s tough to keep a species going with just males, but I’m literally stunned at the sight of her.
She sees me glance at her cub and I realize that I’ve made a terrible mistake. I should have kept running. Everyone knows not to get anywhere near a female and her cub. She growls so loud that it feels like the sound is tearing apart the air with the vibration.
I run backwards for a step or two before I can turn around. I nearly fall and I feel the ground shake as she drops to her feet. I have no doubt that she would be able to outrun me. She’s not going to let that dress slow her down.
As I run down the sidewalk, cars pass me on the road. With a quick glance back, I realize that the mother bear is not chasing me. I slow down to a more manageable pace. I don’t want to be on this road anymore. It’s too busy. For all I know, the bear police are going to be searching for me.
I turn down a side street and try to think of a plan.
The houses are small but well-maintained. It’s a typical suburb. The yards are pretty good. They have flowers planted along the sidewalk. Some have fences.
“Hey!” a voice calls.
I look around and prepare for another sprint. I’m thinking I should run between the houses. It’s the middle of the day, and since court is in session, it’s a fair bet that people are at work. It might be easier to throw off pursuit if I stay off the roads.
“Hey!” she calls again. I spot her. She’s a gorilla, over in the space between a garage and the back corner of a house. She’s holding a pair of pants over her hairy arm. With her other arm, she’s waving me over.
I decide to take a chance.
---- * ----