The Angel and The Bear

BANG! BANG! BANG! 1

His eyes flew open. Sheets flew as he tumbled out of his motel bed, over the edge farthest from the door, and hit the cold carpet in his underwear. The old rug reeked of feet and chemicals. He breathed heavily for a few minutes in the darkness. His heart pumped heavily in his chest. The air conditioner in the motel room cycled off.2

As a middle-aged man, fear did not effect Paul like it used to—the butterflies in the stomach and the blood rushing to his head were the least of his symptoms. Recently, when the fear set it, his heart seemed to tumble to a stop. He was sure that on several occasions it actually had. Now, on his hands and knees, every aspect of him seemed frozen, dead, and time suddenly seemed so as well. 3

No, he could beat this. He was still in control. He felt ice surge through his veins, and he collected himself. Mind over body. He was ready to go.4

Slowly, he rose from his hiding place. Perhaps he had imagined the knock. Lately, it had gotten so hard to keep what was happening separate from the dreams. Sleep had been hard to find again lately. Looking up, the clock on the nightstand above read 2:12AM. He elevated himself more, and peered over the bed.5

BANG! BANG! BANG!6

Paul stopped breathing. Watching the door and the curtained window, he heard slow footsteps outside, shoe leather slowly scraping on concrete. A sliver of a person appeared, standing at the crack between the curtains in the window. This was it, what had been coming for fifteen years. They had finally found him. 7

But no. A moment later, he heard the door of the adjacent motel room swing open. A loud whisper… “What the hell are you doing?” 8

Laughing whispers. “You gave me the wrong room number shithead.”9

Footsteps. A slamming door. Silence. 10

Most nights Paul slept in the cab of his rig. He felt a lot safer there. If things got uncomfortable, it was easy to light up and pull out fast; he had enough cigarettes and pills to keep him awake fifteen hundred miles if he needed it. But tonight was his fiftieth birthday, and he felt motivated to take some risks-- thus the motel room. He felt that if he tricked himself into taking more chances, maybe with time, things would get better. Maybe someday, he would not have to do this all alone.11

The next morning, Paul woke early and packed fast to hit the road. Leaving his room, pausing on the concrete balcony of motel’s second floor, the cool air of the high plains of Wyoming was a welcome smell. Looking out he could see mountains behind him to the east and miles of sunny comforting nothingness ahead. Fourteen hours of empty interstate and then he could drop off his rig with Whitey in Reno. And tomorrow night, he’d be safe. Someplace real safe. It’d been too long.12

On the road, Paul drove in silence. No radio. Ever. No TV flickering in his cab, parked late nights at the truck stop. No conversations with waitresses in the morning over coffee. No stories shared or heard with other drivers. Not even a newspaper to give his eyes something to do. Paul had become a master at enduring every awkward scene of life one second at a time, straight up.13

Whitey was his guardian angel, a small fleet owner who never asked questions and never cooked up small talk from behind the steel desk in his cinder block office. A rare breed in the trucking business. Whitey only wanted happy customers, and everything on schedule. Paul made sure he never let Whitey down, and Whitey made sure that there was no pleasant conversation, just a friendly smile, a parking lot, and a check waiting in Reno. This trip was no different, and that night Paul swapped his rig for his pickup, and the next morning, he headed south into the mountains.14

Before reaching his destination, Paul stopped at the small mining town, set in the foothills, and executed his usual routine-- a trip to the grocery store to collect peanut butter, bread and cans of precooked pork products. Paul hated cooking in the mountains. Pots and pans could make just living a full day project. He didn’t want to spend any time up there washing stuff. He wanted every second to himself, just listening to the wind roar in the aspen trees. But with two days of uncooked food facing him, he decided to treat himself to lunch at the barbeque shack across from the grocery store.15

Early lunch was always good there, and as usual, given the time, Paul was the only person in the place. The two girls behind the counter were nice as could be. A third with skinny arms worked a meat slicer in the back like she was playing a harp. After he ordered, they all giggled and whispered amongst themselves the moment he turned his back to the counter. As he settled into the booth in the corner, the bells on the glass door rattled. More customers. In strode a young guy in a black bowling shirt, embroidered with some ad for a seaside New Year’s eve party from five years ago. He had slick hair and sunglasses-- and an attractive woman about five years younger.16

The young man paused and looked around. “Look at this dump,” he said loudly. Tourists from L.A. had a bad habit of rattling this town, and unfortunately for its residents, the drive from L.A. to Reno was way too long to avoid stopping here.17

The woman on his arm half-smiled, in a phony way, and whispered “Sssh.” Her happiness was only phony tough, and the guy didn’t buy it.18

“Don’t fucking shush me”
The woman’s smile vanished. 19

“I wasn’t…”20

“Bitch.”21

“ Just Please... Not now. You always…”22

“I always what?”23

“Please. Just don’t…”24

“Just don’t what?”25

The woman looked away from him. Her eyes began to water.26

The man smirked, “Fuck you. You know. Fuck you. Every damn day. Every fucking time we leave for a weekend it’s this. One massive mother fucking buzzkill after another. Wonderful… I’m eating.”27

He turned to the girls behind the counter.28

“How you girls doing?”29

Exchanging glances, one spoke. “What can we get for you today.”30

The loud man contemplated the menu, removing his sunglasses. 31

“Gimme two number ones, fries and two cokes,” then slowly turning back to his woman, “What?”32

She exhaled and looked away from him. In a quivering voice-- “Every time… you always… you…”33

“Bullshit!” He stared her down, grew a smile, then turned to the girls who were watching him nervously. He put his sunglasses back on.34

“Fuck this. We’re leaving. You can eat that shit in the glove compartment.” He grabbed his woman’s arm and pulled her out the door. She looked scared. She looked tired.35

Paul wanted to get up. He wanted to tell the girls to close their eyes. He wanted to teach the knucklehead in the bowling shirt not to act this way, not to use such language around ladies. He so desperately wanted to rescue them all. He wanted to slug him, take him down a few levels, make him feel scared, fearful for a long time. He could do it too. Oh could he handle this guy. The skinny little prick. 36

But Paul sat silent. He sat alone, focused on his food. He took his time eating, so not to arouse suspicion from the ladies behind the counter. They were silent now too. He new they were looking at him. But inside, he counted the seconds until he swallowed his last fry and was out the door with a full soda in hand. His truck pulled out, and he was bound for the mountains. Salvation.37

He knew all too well that there was nobody out there helping anybody. The people who needed help the most were left to the hands of rotten men. And they sure had their way.
Even worse, he also knew what monsters looked like. Unfortunately, for Paul they weren't the loud guys chewing out their girlfriends in restaurants, they were the quiet ones sitting in the corner.38

The drive up the mountains was gorgeous. It was late in the season. Hardly anyone was on the road. He’d have pleasant solitude this time, as always. As the road climbed higher and higher, every thousand feet in incremental elevation was announced with a small green sign. As the road wound its way up the walls of canyons through tight switchbacks, the sun repeatedly appeared and vanished, eclipsed by the peaks towering above. The sky’s color also changed, the thin air cutting it to dark indigo. Next to the road, pine trees erupted from almost vertical rock, finding life from almost nothing. Sculptures of hope.39

Eventually, the road flattened out at a small lake. Other cars were parked close by, left by other mountain visitors. But there were no people. He’d see nobody. 40

Paul pulled his pack from the back of the truck and put it on. It sure was heavy. He could have used a lighter tent and sleeping bag, put he preferred the old canvas pup tent he’d always had. No use buying anything better. 41

He was out of shape. The five-mile hike to his spot took him until almost sunset. When he arrived, as was sometimes the case, the altitude had got the better of him. His head felt like he had spent all afternoon sniffing gasoline. He needed to puke. He struggled to pitch his old tent in the hard soil but ultimately got it in the ground. The metal tent stakes were all twisted to hell. Up this high, the earth was dry, hard and shallow, almost like standstone. His fingers felt sore from bending the tent stakes and the stakes were hot from the bending. The fingers were sore in a good way. All bruised inside.42

He gathered wood for a fire in a small pit he dug, and he surrounded it with available melon-sized mica stones. He made himself comfortable as the sun went down. He’d feel better in the morning.43

Paul kept thinking about the loud guy in the barbeque restaurant. That guy. He probably slapped that woman around pretty good. It was amazing what the timid ones would bear out of love. But Paul had not been one of the bad ones. He had not been like the skinny loud guy. But he had been something worse. Oh the things he’d done. Fifteen years ago, it finally reached a head, and everything suddenly went wrong. But never a nasty moment since. Just year upon year of fear and silence. He had been vigilant in everyway possible to protect himself and everyone else from the way things were.44

Hours passed. The fire crackled. Paul threw on another log.45

And then… A voice. Footsteps.46

“Hello!” came the friendly voice. A figure emerged from the trail, a middle aged gray-haired man, about Paul’s age, but bigger. Six foot six and smiling. 47

“Hello!” he said again in a warm voice. “Sorry to barge in, but I’m lost, and boy,” looking over his shoulder at the trail, “is it dark out there.” He laughed.48

“Where you headed?”49

“I’m trying to get to Scout Lake,” said the visitor out of breath and looking around and then laughing, “but this sure ain’t it.”50

Paul contemplated this for a moment. Three miles down, the trail to Scout Lake was clearly marked with a wooden sign with white letters. How had this guy missed it?51

“You need to head back down, go back about three miles. You should have forked to the right. You’ve come up the pass. That lake is about two thousand feet down off that shelf over there.”52

“Is that right?” the hiker chuckled, out of breath. “Whew. And this air don’t make walking easy.”53

The man paused and looked toward the woods. “I don’t have a flashlight. I ‘bout near killed myself coming up... Mind if I rest here a bit? It’ll only be a bit. If you’re like me, you don’t want guests or nothin’.”54

“You have a tent?”55

“No. I was supposed to meet up with a buddy down at the lake. Fishing. He has the tent. I couldn’t come up till this afternoon. That’s all right though. I got a bag. I just need to rest a bit, and then I’ll head on back down. I don’t mean to disturb your camp.”56

The visitor looked around, surveying Paul’s camp site.57

“You alone?”58

“Yeah… It’s just me up here.”59

“Sounds nice.”60

Paul was silent. He didn’t want conversation, but this seemed safe. He was miles from anywhere, He never talked much to anyone. 61

“Name’s Paul.”62

“Flint.”63

They shook hands.64

“Well Flint…” Paul hesitated. “Take a load off. I ain’t got anything to eat except some peanut butter. I don’t have much water neither.”65

“Friend, I don’t want a thing. I just need to rest for a moment. This air. It’s so thin.”66

Flint set down his pack, sat down, and leaned on it.67

“Yeah. My head was hurting pretty bad coming up. But its doin’ all right now.”68

“Where you from?”69

“Well, I’m on the road a lot.” Paul weighed his next words. “But I guess you could say Reno.”70

“Got a place there?”71

“Got a place I stay.”72

Paul didn’t want to say anything else. But this guy was polite. This was just a passing. It was good to talk. Just a little.73

Paul spoke some more.74

“How about you? You from around here?”75

“No. I’m like you. I spend all my time on the road. Don’t have much of anything really. I just like things simple.”76

“Me too… me too.”77

Flint looked at Paul then turned back to the fire.78

“You a driver or in sales or something?” asked Paul.79

“Naw, you don’t want to know. The truth is I can never hold down a job long enough to call myself anything in particular. But it’s nice to have a little of this and a little of that. Always something new. Just got to pay the bills. I’m careful never to borrow any money.”80

A log popped in the fire and smoke blew to Flint’s eyes he shifted and blinked. Not wanting to seem weak, he asked another question to Paul as he rubbed his eyes.81

“You married?”82

Paul took a moment to respond.83

“Was. A long time ago. Not any more. My wife passed away. Years ago.”84

The men sat in silence for a bit. Flint was still catching his breath. Paul remembered his wife and the time one summer when they drove up to Maine, a couple years before the kids were born. They had stopped for lobster at a shack near the beach by a lighthouse. They sat on picnic tables as the sun set that night, eating like king and queen, laughing as they made a mess all over the table, not having a clue how to eat lobster. The sun made everything golden. Later that night, at their hotel, they had danced to music on the clock radio in their room. She held his shirt so tight in back that it left a wrinkle. The next morning, he stared at the wrinkle for several minutes while she was in the shower, before packing the shirt carefully into his bag. God, he loved her so much. He still did. He missed her so.85

“Never got married again?”86

“No. Couldn’t do that. My wife, she....”87

Paul’s eyes stayed glued to the fire.88

“I’d prefer if we didn’t talk about her no more.”89

“All right friend”, said Flint in a comforting voice. “We don’t have to talk about nothin’ you don’t want to talk about. I just appreciate the company and this few minutes rest.”90

“I had two boys too,” said Paul. “Loved them. But I lost them the same time I lost my wife. Two boys. Jeffrey and William. They were good boys. Strong, just like their mama… But I can’t really talk about them neither. It hurts real bad…. You understand.”

What was he doing? Paul swallowed hard. In the last decade and a half he had never been so careless and stupid. He had been so careful to never mention his wife and sons. But now? He had just told this complete stranger that his wife and sons had passed away, at the same time, and the names of his boys. Stupid. What should he do now? Lie. Tell a lie, make up a story, embellish like hell. Send this guy down the wrong road so that if he’s ever out east and hears a story or sees a picture, this night, this campfire, his face will never cross his mind. Yep. That should do it. What should he say? 91

But, no. This short conversation, tonight with Flint, felt good. Paul felt like a little part of him had been set free, telling a little truth. He would keep it honest, real honest tonight. Hell with the consequences. 92

Flint was looking at the stars now. Far from any town or city, free from any clouds, the stars were perfect, absolutely clear and innumerable. The Milky Way was a soft white haze spanning the sky-- a rainbow.93

From where they sat, the peaks above stretched clear to space, massive clock hands taking the stars one by one. Sitting perfectly still he could witness the spin of the earth, he slipping of time itself, one second after another being stacked on. Only the wisps of smoke, rising high to meet the black, now black themselves, compromised this effect, making the stars softly come and go randomly. Neveretheless, the certainty of time’s passing was inescapable here.94

“You ever wonder about all those?” said Flint following Paul’s gaze. “Pretty nice. Make a man feel real small. But that’s OK. It’s nice to feel small.”95

Paul knew exactly what he meant. “That’s the reason I come up here. To these mountains. No matter what you bring up here with you, it gets real small. These mountains have been here since before there was a single man. And they’ll be here long after. We ain’t nothing sitting here. Nothing at all.”96

“You know… walking up here today, I kept thinking about this old song they use to play on the radio”97

“Don’t listen to much radio anymore.”98

“No. This one was from a long time ago. It was some song about ‘all I need is the air that I breathe.’ The fella who wrote it didn’t know jack about high altitude. No air up here. But ain’t that always the way that it is. Some guy on the radio, singing stuff that he really doesn’t know anything about. But people hear it, and they sing along even if they’ve hiked up a hill like this and they know it ain’t true. People sing along even if it just a big lie.”99

“Well, there are some folks who don’t sing much.”100

“Why not?”101

“Ain’t my job. I let the others do the singing. Me, I just like to let it all settle out.”102

Flint contemplated this for a moment and then smiled.103

“It’s people like you my friend who ought to be writing the songs.”104

“Me? Never.”105

“Why not? Don’t you feel like you deserve a turn.”106

“No way. The stuff I have to say… It’s all shit. No good person ought to hear the stuff in my head.”107

The two men sat in silence for a long time, feeling the wind, the fire and the stars. But as time passed, Flint appeared impatient, as though he were waiting for something. Paul began to feel awkward. Then, without emotion, without looking at Paul, Flint asked, almost rhetorically, in a manner that made Paul think that maybe his guest wanted to retire for the night, “You like to fish?”108

Paul was relieved. He could talk about fishing all night. It felt so good to keep talking. He dreaded the moment this night would end.109

“Yep. I got bad tackle though. Don’t matter none. The trout down at Scout Lake—there are so many and they’ll bite on anything. They’re little though. Never get big up this high.”110

“Yeah. Me too. Love fishing.”111

Suddenly, there was a stir in the brush. A branch broke. There was a grunt. A groan. Flint turned. Paul did too. Both men watched as a huge form emerged from the woods. A large animal, as large as eight men, walking toward the fire, staring straight at Paul. A bear. But not one of those small dark bears, the kind you see on television taking snacks from cars in national parks. This was great beast, of light fur and a physique suggesting the muscles beneath his coat were hammered from granite, cocked with stretched tire rubber. He was focused, calculating, ready to spring. Strong, but not wicked. Breathing easy. Waiting.112

Bear accidents were all too common in this range. Eight thousand feet below, gruesome warnings were written every morning in red chalk on a blackboard outside the ranger station.113

Both men sat in silence for a good ten seconds, then Paul spoke, his voice shaking. 114

“Listen here. Listen to me Flint. This is what we got to do. We can’t outrun it, see. Our only shot here is to stand up and start making noise. Loud noise. We’ll stand quick and take about three steps toward it and yell like hell. You ready? On the count of three.”115

Flint responded to him in a voice soft and strong. His voice had changed. He was no longer winded from the thin air. He sounded… comforting.116

“Paul, we don’t need to do that. Counting or yelling isn’t going to make any difference.” 117

Flint wasn’t even looking at the bear. He was looking at Paul. He looked… relaxed?118

“I don’t know how much you know about bears,” said Paul quaking. “I don’t know much, but we ain’t gonna die. You hear. This ain’t it. We can do this. But you got to listen to me right now. Now with me on three— ONE… TWO… THREE…”119

Paul threw his hands on his knees to stand quickly and start yelling, but instead his knees and feet refused to move. In fact, to his own amazement, he remained absolutely glued to the log on which he was sitting. Was he paralyzed in fear? What was wrong with him? He explored his legs while he watched the bear. Everything felt numb. Was it the altitude again?120

The bear remained about twenty yards away. It was still staring at Paul. Flint slowly stood up, dusted off his trousers, and walked over to Paul, sitting down next to him on the log. Flint’s eyes returned to the fire.121

”I can’t stand up” Paul said in a quaking voice, “Something’s gone wrong with my legs. You got to scare off the bear Flint. We aren’t gonna just sit here. We ain’t gonna die. I need you to help. I need you to take my arm and pull. Throw me over the shelf if you have to. We got a better shot doing that then against this bear.” Flint still did not respond. “What’s the matter with you?”122

Flint did not reply immediately. He chose his words carefully. He spoke softly. “Paul, I need to tell you something… There is something you need to know. I didn’t come up to here looking for Scout Lake tonight.” The wind roared throught the Aspen Trees and the fire for a moment was reduced to red embers. In the sudden crimson darkness, the bear continued to stare at Paul.123

Paul’s mind reeled. What was happening? How come he still couldn’t he move his legs? Fucking legs. Was this guy a cop? Yes, he was a cop. They’d found him. After all these years. The girls in the barbeque shop must have seen his picture or remembered his face from somewhere or maybe just though he was weird, and told somebody, and this guy, this cop, followed him into the mountains. This whole conversation had been a set up. What a sucker he was. But he had a chance to get away. The cop was a sucker too. He must have a gun and think he can throw down on a bear. What an idiot. A pistol can’t stop a grizzly, and in the time it takes to draw, that bear will be on top of him. All I have to do, thought Paul, is keep the cop between me and the bear and make a break for it. The cop won’t take the time to aim at me and fire if I break-- the bear will start moving the moment I do. This asshole will never get a shot off.124

But Flint seemed so calm. He didn’t seem like a cop. No, he wasn’t a cop.125

Flint spoke.126

“Paul, you don’t know me. You haven’t seen me before tonight. But I’ve been with you for a long time. A real, real long time. About fifteen years now. All those lonely years when you’ve been all alone. I was there with you all those times you could not sleep. The thousands of meals you ate alone. The millions of moments alone in your truck. And… I was there that night at that reststop outside of Davenport. You sat here five hours with a gun in your mouth. Not a soul came into that men’s room for five hours. The interstate was all snowed it. But you couldn’t do it. Couldn’t pull the trigger. Not because you were scared to die. But because you’d learned it was wrong, so wrong, to hurt anybody. Ever. Even yourself.”127

The bear snorted, shifted his weight. Hungry. But its eyes never left Paul. Not for a moment. 128

Paul’s legs remained paralyzed. He was now aware that it was not fear that kept his feet glued to the ground. Rather, it seemed that his feet were actually, physically, inexplicably fastened to the earth beneath them. He could not move. But with every passing moment, he felt less inclined to do so anyway. 129

Flint spoke again.130

“Some people think there’s this thing called karma. What comes around goes around. But really, there ain’t no such thing. Most people go through life, and they may be proud or sorry for the things they’ve done, the things they did. But that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change what really comes back to them in life.”131

Flint paused, then continued.132

“But sometimes things are different. Things are special. Sometimes if someone is sorry… really sorry for something they did, they’re given a special chance, a chance to pay for what they’ve done in this life. A chance to settle up before they leave. A chance to be free from all the guilt they’ve been carrying.” 133

The bear grunted.134

“And you’ve been good. So good. You’ve kept it all to yourself Paul, to keep everyone safe. You’ve resisted every temptation and trampled it out of your heart for the evil that it was. Nothin’ wicked in you. Just a soul full of splinters. That’s all. And you’ve been sorry, Paul. So sorry... And that’s all that matters.”135

Flint knew. Fifteen years of ceaseless running, all to evade the moment when someone might confront him about what he’d done. And now, at this moment, it was all over. Paul felt the paranoia and pain rush out of him. He felt his throat go thick and eyes well up.136

Flint continued softly, “Paul, I know about those things you did. All of them. Those things a long time ago. And how sorry you are. Those awful things your did to your wife and family.”137

Paul began to cry. He reached out for Flint. Flint wrapped his arm warmly around him.138

“Paul, what will happen to you over the next five minutes or so is what you’ve been waiting for. What you’ve wanted for fifteen years. It’s going to make everything all better. All better. And you don’t have to be ashamed of dying like this.”139

Yes, this would be his sweet violin. Paul’s eyes turned to the stars with their brutal clarity, and as always, in spite of the fear that now made him shake uncontrollably, he found comfort there. Flint spoke once last time.140

“It’s all right friend. It’s gonna be OK now. I’m here. And I’m here to hold your hand.”141

And with that, the bear approached.142


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