At Home in Mossy Creek

by Deborah Smith

  Yuri tried to show an interest in my work, but it was clear he didn’t understand what I did or why it was necessary. I didn’t take offense. I knew that my work wasn’t the stuff of thriller novels, and that most people didn’t understand it. I’d come to terms with that long ago.

  Because of that and because Yuri seemed distracted, I didn’t go into much detail about my work. I asked him about his position at the circus, but that was something I didn’t much understand. Inevitably, we began to lapse into comfortable silences which lengthened with the morning. Yuri clearly had a lot on his mind, and I wasn’t accustomed to carrying on conversations while I worked. Occasionally he would ask about some wildlife or tree, or I would point out certain mountains when we came to vistas. But mostly we just walked, enjoying the exercise and the fresh air.

  It’s hard to describe the magic of a winter mountain morning. The air is ethereal ice. You can feel every breath as frigid shards of nothing enter your body, then morph into a lovely cloud of steam as it leaves. Occasionally you’ll hear some winter creature rustling through the dead leaves carpeting the ground, seeking what sustenance the bleak season has to offer. Mostly, however, the silence is so acute, your footsteps run up the massive trunks of hardwood trees and echo through their barren limbs.

  Yuri clearly enjoyed the hike and the mountains, which linked us with a kinship few can understand. We were mountain men at heart, if not reality.

  Around noon, I took Yuri to the cabin I’d built from Appalachian hardwood when I first came to Colchik Mountain. I made lunch from the supplies Josie and I kept there. Yuri loved the grits Josie had cooked that morning, so we had grits and canned beef stew.

  I had a few more collection sites to check, so we headed out soon after we’d cleaned up.

  Yuri seemed to be in brighter spirits, for some reason. Maybe it was the grits. At any rate, he soon began to hum as we walked along.

  “That’s an unusual tune,” I commented. “What is it?”

  “You vould not know, I tink,” he said. “It’s old Russian . . . how you say . . . people song.”

  I stared at him hard for a second, then I got it. “Folk song.”

  “Yah. As you say. Volk song. ‘Kak za Donom za rekoi.’” He frowned. “How you translate. Hmmm. Don River. On other side.”

  “Across the Don River?” I asked. “Beyond?”

  “Yah. You understand.” He began to sing the words. It was a lovely song, with a lilting quality that seemed common to folk songs. His expression told me that he was far away in his mind. No doubt he was revisiting his boyhood Russia.

  Suddenly he stopped both his song and his steps.

  I stopped and turned. “What’s wrong?”

  He was at full alert, his dark eyes peering into the surrounding woods intently. “Deed you hear that?”

  “What?” My gaze followed his. I could see nothing through the trees. “No, I was listening to you.”

  “You have bears here, no?”

  I blinked hard. “Well, yes. But it’s February. Bears are in hiberna—”

  A honking wail moaned through the trees.

  “Well, I’ll be . . .” I shook my head. “That certainly sounds like a bear. But in February?”

  Yuri alertly peered in all directions, trying to discern the direction from which the bear’s call came. “Some bears get hungry. They vake and vant to eat. Ezpecially those that do not get fat enough in fall.”

  “Now that you mention it, I believe I read that some place, but I’ve never seen a bear up here from December to about March or early April.”

  The bear called again.

  Yuri’s head zeroed in on a point down the mountain. “He iz that vay.”

  I pointed in the opposite direction. “Then let’s go this way. If that bear’s hungry, I don’t want to run into him.”

  I continued down the trail, not noticing for several strides that Yuri wasn’t following. I turned back to see why just in time to see Yuri step off the path and head downhill.

  “Yuri, where are you going?”

  Instead of replying to me, Yuri began singing the Russian folk song again, this time at the top of his lungs.

  Cussing, I rushed to catch up with him.

  “Are you nuts?” I called. “Black bears aren’t the most aggressive of the ursine genus, but they will attack if cornered.”

  Yuri paused long enough after the first chorus to say, “Not black bear. Brown.”

  Catching up, I pulled on his arm. “We don’t have brown bears in this part of the country. Ursus Americanus is the only bear native here.”

  Yuri stopped to look at me. “Is brown bear, my friend. I know this.”

  The bear called again.

  “Hear?” he said. “Is brown bear. Is Russian bear.”

  “Russian? No, Yuri, it can’t possibly—” I broke off when he resumed his song and his stride. I watched his broad back in disbelief. Had Tatiana’s desertion unhinged his mind? A Russian bear? This was Georgia, but the American Georgia, not the Russian Georgia. Even if it were, why on Earth was Yuri singing?

  With a sinking feeling, I followed. Several yards later, Yuri stopped. I came up beside him and there about thirty yards away, to my utter amazement, was a brown bear. He stood on his hind legs, sniffing the air. Bears have a keen sense of smell and hearing, but their eyesight isn’t all that great.

  “There’s a chance he hasn’t seen us, Yuri,” I said softly. “If we turn around very slowly, we could probably make it back to the—“

  Yuri ignored me. He broke into another chorus of the folk song and continued toward the bear.

  Oh, geez. A Russian with a death wish. Josie was going to kill me for feeding our guest to a bear.

  The bear’s gaze zeroed in on Yuri, and it let out the strangest sound I’d ever heard from a bear. I didn’t claim to be a bear expert or anything. I saw them often as I trekked through the mountains, but we gave each other wide berths, as a rule. Still, this was not a sound I’d ever heard from a bear. It was plaintive and eerie.

  The bear dropped to all fours and took several ambling steps toward the Russian.

  Suddenly Yuri spun around and made a wild gesture with his arms.

  Then—and this is when my mouth dropped open—the bear reared up and started spinning. Wailing and spinning and clawing the air with its paws.

  Yuri mimicked the bear’s motions, singing the whole time.

  Dancing. The bear was dancing. Here in the middle of the north Georgia mountains, we’d come across a dancing bear.

  No, not just a dancing bear. A Russian dancing bear.

  This had to be a dream. Some bizarre dream.

  The song and dance continued for several more minutes. When Yuri stopped, the bear released another loud wail.

  I tensed, waiting to see what would happen. Just because this bear had been tame once didn’t mean that it still was. No telling how many years it had been since the bear was part of a circus troupe. How long had it been, even, since they’d had dancing bears in the United States? The practice had been vilified for decades.

  Standing a few yards from the bear, Yuri stood still and held both arms out in welcome. The bear hesitated, then placed his head between Yuri’s beefy hands.

  With a loud, joyful laugh, Yuri scratched the bear’s neck.

  “Someting to eat in backpack?” he asked.

  “Yes, I . . .” I dropped my backpack and reached inside, fumbling for the granola bars that Josie had dropped in that morning. I pulled out three, tore the packaging off one by one, then gingerly approached Yuri, holding them as far in front of me as I could.

  “Do not have fear,” Yuri said with a genuine smile. “This old man is tame as kitty cat.” He took the bars and offered them to the bear, who devoured them greedily.

 
“If you have more, give them now,” Yuri said. “Our friend vill find if you do not.”

  I rummaged in my backpack and found two more. I handed them to Yuri, and he fed them to the bear.

  After finishing, the bear licked Yuri’s hand.

  “How is this possible?” I asked in amazement. “I’d almost swear he was purring.”

  Yuri’s shrugged. “He run away from circus. Or maybe was let loose when too old to dance good. Poor old man.” Yuri ruffled the bear’s thick fur. “Heez in bad shape.”

  “He is?” Never having been this close to a bear, I didn’t know what good or bad shape was.

  “Heez fur iz dull, thin. He has no meat on bones. No wonder he iz not in vinter lair. Heez starving.” Yuri lifted the bear’s head and pulled back his lips to bare his teeth. “See? Only half left.”

  The bear nuzzled into Yuri’s leg. His need for human attention was touching. And now that Yuri had pointed it out, the bear did look bedraggled.

  “I wonder how long he’s been up here?” I said more than asked. “I wonder if . . .”

  “Vhat do you vonder?” Yuri asked.

  “I remember Josie talking about a circus fiasco here years ago. An elephant escaped and ran amok in town. Started a fire that destroyed the high school in Mossy Creek. I guess the bear could’ve escaped at the same time, but that was twenty years ago.”

  Yuri considered that. “Iz possible. Bears leeve to thirty year or more in wild. If he vas young bear . . . iz possible.”

  I glanced between Yuri and the bear. “Is he tame enough for me to touch him?”

  Yuri shrugged. “I tink so, yes. Come close slowly, and hold out hand. Like to dog you do not know.”

  The bear emitted a low sound as I approached. He sniffed the hands I offered him, then must’ve decided he liked me because he began licking them. His tongue was thick and rough against my palms. Then I remembered I’d handled the granola bars.

  The bear then nosed the backpack hanging from my other hand. I opened it and let him poke his head inside.

  “There’s not anything else to eat, you poor starving fellow.” I glanced at Yuri. “We need to find him some food. What does he eat? Meat?”

  Yuri shook his head. “Grain. Grass. Hay.” He brightened. “Greets!”

  I smiled. “We have several bags in the cabin. Let’s go back and fix him up.”

  As we made our way back to the cabin, the bear followed like a trained dog. Occasionally he would nuzzle Yuri’s hand. Once or twice he nuzzled mine. It startled me the first time, but from then on I stroked his nose like I’d seen Yuri do.

  “He’s starved for affection, isn’t he?”

  “Yah. Iz good bear. Not hurt, I tink, by people.”

  “Not abused.”

  “Yah. He love people, so I tink not abused. Cage open and he smelled voman bear, maybe. No circus I work for abuse bear. I do not understand this. Bear iz partner in act. Why hurt partner?”

  I finally had to voice to my astonishment. “How did you know? I mean, approaching that bear was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. How could you possibly know that it wouldn’t hurt you?”

  “Yuri not stupid, my friend, and only little beet brave. Is knowing. I know bears. I first start in Moscow Circus with bears. First I feed them, then later I train and perform with bear. When Iron Curtain fell and the Moscow Circus began touring beyond, I see that bear dancing iz not considered good thing outside Mother Russia. I see writing on wall, so I learn new trade. I still young man, and foot juggling take strength, which I had much. I still strong.”

  “Yes, no doubt about that,” I murmured. This was the most Yuri had said in the last two days, and I was extremely curious to hear his story. “But what if the bear had attacked?”

  “I knew he vould not,” Yuri replied. “As I said to you, is knowing. I could hear in his cry. This bear iz old. Starving. But not abused, I tink. Bear has long memory. Like elephant. He remembers that man iz friend. Man feeds bear. Bear misses good food when he iz not vith the humans.”

  “That makes sense.”

  We made it to the cabin, then. Yuri stayed outside with the bear while I went inside and put on the grits. It didn’t take long to rekindle the fire that had so recently been put out in the cast iron stove. I brought out the largest pot I had and cooked half a pound of grits. Yuri and I watched as the bear slurped them up, licking the bucket that I’d served them in until it was clean. The bear nuzzled Yuri one more time, then ambled underneath the steps and went to sleep.

  “Bear love greets like Yuri,” the Russian said.

  I sat beside him on the top step and consulted my watch. “It’s almost three o’clock. It gets dark up here by five. We need to head on back, if we’re going.”

  Yuri frowned. “I tink if ve leave, may not see bear tomorrow.”

  I nodded. “That’s true enough. I’ve never seen him, and I’ve been working up here several years. You are welcome to stay here in my cabin tonight, if you like. I need to get back, though. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. Do they celebrate Valentine’s Day in Russia?”

  He shrugged. “I never knew Valentine’s vhen I live in Russia, but I know it now. Tatiana, she love Valentine presents.”

  “Well, if I spend the night before Valentine’s several miles up the mountain—with a bear and a Russian—Josie will not be a happy wife.”

  “I understand, my friend. I yam most happy to be here myself alone. Bear good company.”

  “Chances are he’ll sleep under there for days, if not weeks.”

  “Yah. He could. But I tink he vill vant to eat again soon.”

  “Well, there’s plenty of food to last you—and the bear—for a week at least.”

  “Greets?”

  I smiled. “Yes, there are four pounds of grits in there. I’ll be back up tomorrow. I’ll bring what we have at the house. Knowing Josie, we have several more pounds. At four cups of water to every cup of grits, a pound goes a long way. What I fixed earlier was just half a pound.”

  “I tank you.” He kissed the tips of his fingers and threw the kiss into the air. “I love the greets. Breeng cheese, too? So Yuri make like Josie?”

  “Okay, I’ll bring cheese. Josie will come, too, I’m sure. She won’t want to miss seeing a dancing bear. Probably has feng shui possibilities we’re not even considering.”

  “Fung—vhat you say?”

  “Don’t ask. I couldn’t even begin to explain Chinese decorating philosophy to a Russian.” My smile faded as I stared into the woods for a moment. Finally, I said, “They were expecting the Cirque d’Europa bus to be fixed tomorrow. When it is, they’ll be on their way.”

  “Yah.” He nodded slowly. “I know this.”

  I hesitated, but the question had to be asked. “Are you planning to go with them? Have you thought that far ahead?”

  Yuri stared across the vista that the cabin enjoyed. If you knew what you were looking for, you could see seven mountain ranges from the front porch. I’d built it there deliberately when I’d come to Colchik Mountain to establish my research. The view had given me the illusion of being on top of the world, instead of miles away from it.

  “I do not know,” he said at last. “I vas already tinking about leaving Cirque d’Europa. I have no partner. I am useless to them now.”

  “Can’t you find a new partner?”

  The Russian sighed. “I am feefty-and-two. I do not vant to keep tossing young weemen in air. My feet hurt.”

  I snorted. “I can imagine.”

  “But circus is all I know.”

  I contemplated Yuri’s dilemma. As I did, the wooden steps shifted as the bear beneath grunted and settled into a more comfortable position.

  “What about the bear?” I asked. “Could you take him with you and have a bear act instead of a
foot juggling act?”

  The Russian shook his head. “Cirque d’Europa has no animals. Not even trained dog. Peeple act only.”

  “Ah.” I didn’t ask if the business-like Miss Quinn would make an exception. If they weren’t already set up for it, there were too many hurdles to clear—facilities, transportation, insurance, just to name a few. “What about joining another circus?”

  “Yah, I must. But I don’t know if possible soon.” Yuri drew a large hand down his dark face.

  “You’re tired,” I said, stating the obvious. “There’s no need to decide anything now. We can discuss it more tomorrow.”

  I stood. “I’ll get a fire started, then let you get some rest.”

  After getting Yuri settled, I headed down the mountain. Josie was going to love this story.

  Chapter 4

  Saturday Afternoon

  The Circus Fun Continues

  Ida

  “IT IS MONSIEUR Rhett Butler in the flesh, again!”

  Philippe’s starry-eyed teenager, Camille, squealed that greeting as June ushered Amos into the leather-and-lace comfort of my den that afternoon. Philippe, his sons, his daughter-in-law, and I looked up from a spirited game of Texas Hold ‘Em at a card table in front of a crackling fireplace. I forgot the straight flush in my hand.

  “Rhett,” Camille crooned once more, grinning at Amos with her delicate, muscular hands clasped to the front of a Cirque d’Europa sweatshirt. She didn’t seem to notice that Amos had no mustache, looked more like George Clooney than Clark Gable, and was dressed in a decidedly non-Rhettish khaki uniform under a quilted, dark-blue jacket bearing the insignia of the Mossy Creek police department on one shoulder. But okay, yes, Rhett Butler. Absolutely. Amos has the style, the smile, the worldly wiles. He was that deadly combination known as a “man’s man” and a “woman’s downfall.” Mine.

  Camille’s effusive and embarrassing welcome might have flummoxed lesser men, but Amos merely arched a dark brow and nodded to her. His shrewd gaze remained where it had been from the moment he entered the room—on me and Philippe.