by Steve Berman
“It’s late for visitors,” Snow said, looking up from his book.
Mama Anna waved a hand. She didn’t hold much stock in timekeeping. “Go see who it is!”
“I’ll go,” Red said. He clambered up from the couch.
The wind was a howling hound down the chimney, making the fire dance wildly. When he lifted the latch and pulled open the door, in blew a whip of snow like a twirling cloak, before any of them could see who their visitor was.
“It’s a bear,” shouted Red. He sounded more excited than afraid, as he turned to Mama Anna and Snow. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you—it won’t hurt anyone!”
And, with that, he widened his stance and put up his fists.
Mama Anna put down her macramé and shook her head. “No, no—nobody’s getting hurt. Let him in, poor thing, he’s half froze!”
“Come in, friend, and warm yourself by the fire,” she called out to the bear.
To the astonishment of the twins, the bear replied, in a deep but quite human voice, “Thank you, Mama Anna. I mean no harm. I’m just cold.”
Red stood back, as the bear lumbered into the cottage. Where he trod, the floorboards creaked and he left big puddles that seemed to look more like footprints than paw prints. He sat before the fire, taking up the entire hearth, and curled around himself like a huge dog, while the fire melted the mantle of snow from his shoulders and his fur steamed.
Red hung his head. Then he raised his voice and addressed their visitor. “I’m sorry for trying to fight you,” he said, with a sheepish smile, then he dropped down to sit on the rug next to the bear.
“That’s alright.” The bear opened one sleepy eye to look at him. “I protect the things I love, too.”
EVERY NIGHT THAT WINTER, THE bear came and knocked on the door, and Red let him in to sleep in front of the fire. It didn’t take very long for him to become almost part of the family. It was nice to have some new company in the cosy cottage. The bear told them all about his life in the forest: where to find the entrance to secret caverns underground, and where the best berries grew. When it got later, he wove them wild tales of the forest and of magic, of fairies and goblins and treasures lost and found. Mama Anna told stories of the bands she’d seen play and the people she knew. Snow and Red had heard them all before, but the bear’s delight made them seem new all over again. Snow played guitar for them and talked about his girlfriend, Marie, who had green eyes and yellow hair and was his sun and stars and rolling ocean. When it was Red’s turn to speak, he fell unusually quiet.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Mama Anna asked: Red was never quiet.
Snow knew his brother well. He reached out to pat one hefty shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. One day your prince will come.”
WINTER MELTED INTO SPRING. ON the morning that Red saw the first green spears of snowdrops poking through the snow, their friend the bear left the cosy cottage for the final time.
“Don’t go,” said Red, when the bear told them he must. Of the three of them in the Ruskin family, Red was the one who had grown closest to the bear, staying up until the small hours every morning, talking about trifles and dreams and wishes.
The bear blinked at him, solemnly. “I wish I could stay, but I must leave. I am bound to guard a great treasure from the wicked goblins who live in this forest and would try to steal it. Nothing must cause me to leave my post.”
“But …” Snow hesitated, as though he was loath to point it out. “You’ve left your post already, by visiting us every night this winter?”
The bear shook his huge, shaggy head. “In winter, the ground freezes and the goblins stay sheltered in their caves below. As soon as it thaws, they dig their way out.” He paused on his way to the door, looking back at the family, although it seemed like he addressed Red alone. “Next winter, I’ll come back. I promise.”
Red smiled, but he felt all scrambled up inside. He would miss the bear’s company and his stories like missing a part of his heart. Sadly, he lifted the latch and pulled back the bolt. But when the bear went through and ran off into the forest, a bit of his pelt caught on the catch and pulled away as if it was a fur coat, revealing a brief glint of silver beneath.
IT HAD BEEN A WEEK. Spring unrolled like a patchwork quilt, embroidering the hedgerows with primrose, and fat pansies and waxy crocus laced across the cottage lawn.
“Red, are you okay?”
Red straightened up and wiped his brow with his shirt sleeve, resting the head of his axe on his boot. He looked at his brother. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“It’s just …” Snow nodded at the pile of chopped firewood that heaped up all around him like a fortress wall. “You’ve chopped enough to last us ‘til next winter.”
Red huffed, which was not like him. He wasn’t okay. He’d been moping for seven days. “You’re right. Maybe we should go for a walk.”
“That’s the spirit.”
“We could collect some more firewood.”
Snow sighed.
Despite his gloomy mood, Red’s spirits seemed to lift the deeper into the forest he and Snow wandered. Winter walks were fewer and shorter and both brothers missed the outdoors when they were kept shut up inside.
Whilst they walked, they talked. “Tell me truly, though,” Snow asked. What’s wrong?”
Red heaved a sigh. “Nothing, really. I mean.” He swiped idly at a passing dead branch with his axe blade. “You have Marie, and I’m so happy for you ....” He didn’t need to say any more: Snow nodded in understanding.
“You’ll meet someone. You will.”
“I know.” Red frowned. “I meet plenty of men in the city, and lots of them are very good looking and really nice, but they’re just never the one, you know? I don’t want a fling. I want someone to fall in love with. Someone I can talk to for hours, and tell all my hopes to. Someone who’ll be my best friend as well as sleeping with me.” His frown became a rueful smile. “It’s funny: I usually feel even lonelier in the winter when we can’t go out as much, but this past year, when the bear visited every night, I didn’t feel lonely at all.”
“You miss him.”
Red sighed again. “I think maybe he was my best friend. Why can’t I just meet a man with a personality like that?” He paused, to glance at his brother. “I never told you, did I? A weird thing happened as the bear was leaving.”
“What weird thing?”
Red tilted his head, musing. “As he went out of the front door, some of his fur caught on the latch and it sort of … pulled back. And underneath it was silver, like metal.”
Snow rounded on him, blocking the path in front of them, his eyes wide. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” Red said, patiently. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked you.” He thought for a moment, and his mouth dropped open. “Do you think he’s a robot bear?”
His brother punched him lightly in the arm. “I’ve heard stories like this before. The bear was certainly a bewitched prince!”
Red raised his thick eyebrows.
“No, listen. A handsome prince, all clad in silver, and under a spell. A spell cast by a wicked witch, to turn him into a bear.” He eyed Red’s dubious face with an expression of exasperation. “How many talking animals have you met?”
“Mama talks to the animals all the time.”
“Yes, but they don’t usually talk back, do they?”
Red had to concede that point: he nodded, slowly.
Snow continued, “So, the witch turns the handsome prince into a bear—”
“Why?”
“Well, I don’t know, do I? We should find him and ask!”
Red pulled a face. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. I mean, he might actually be a bear. It would be a bit rude to go asking him if he was a cursed prince. It might hurt his feelings.”
But Snow was adamant, and Red was rarely one to argue with his brother, and so they carried on, into the forest, searching for the bear.
When it was
past three, and they’d eaten all of their food, and it was certainly time to turn back and be home for dinner, they stopped for a rest.
“Alright,” Snow sighed. “We can look again tomorrow.”
“Before we go back.” Red nodded toward a large, fallen tree that was blocking the path. “Might as well take some more firewood while we’re here.”
However, when they approached it, they began to hear some very strange sounds, of grunts and growls and muttered swearing.
“What the fart are you staring at, lamp-lighter?”
An irate goblin was standing on the log, shaking his fists at them. He was dressed in a brown velvet suit and long, black boots. He had ears like a rabbit and tusks like a pig. His eyes were glaring red, his wrinkled skin green as clover leaves, and the hair and beard that trailed clear six feet behind him were whiter than Snow’s curls.
“Hey,” said Red, with a little wave.
“What the coccyx!” bellowed the goblin.
Red winced.
“Well, don’t just stand there, corn-starcher, make yourself useful and get me free!”
Peering closer, the brothers could see that the end of the goblin’s trailing beard was caught in a split in the tree trunk.
“How did you manage that?” Red asked.
The goblin’s green face turned a shade brighter in rage. “Master-thatcher! I was cutting some wood for a modest fire. I don’t require so much as you folks—so wasteful! Look at you—the amount you eat!”
Red glanced down at his ample belly and narrowed his eyes at the goblin.
“But when I split the trunk, the edges sprang back and caught the end of my beautiful beard. And now you two prongs are here to laugh at my misfortune, on top of everything!”
“We’re not laughing at you,” Snow said. He approached cautiously, inspecting the split in the trunk.
“We want to help you,” Red agreed, bending down to try and pry the fissure apart. But it was no good. Even with Red’s tough hands on the job, his strength wasn’t a match for a big old oak. And even with Snow’s nimble fingers at work, he couldn’t tease the goblin’s hair from the grasp of the tree.
“It’s only the very ends,” said Snow, consolingly. “It’ll hurt you if you try to yank it out. Just think of it as a trim.”
“Do what you must” the goblin spat.
And Red raised his axe and chopped off the tip of the goblin’s beard, freeing him from the split oak.
“There,” Snow said. “It looks fine! Neater, even. All nice and straight.”
Now that he was free, the goblin seemed more irate than ever. “Fishing crates!” he screamed. He jumped down and gathered up his fallen axe, and a heavy bag that clinked when he hefted it: beneath the buckled flap, Red glimpsed the glint of gold. “How dare you cut off a piece of my wonderful beard? I wish you nothing but ill luck for all your days!”
And with that, he ran off into the trees.
“Well,” said Red. “He was a dick.”
Snow nodded in agreement.
They lingered in the clearing just long enough for Red to chop some firewood and bundle it up to carry: after their altercation with the goblin, even Red wasn’t really in the mood for logging. “It’s getting late,” Red said. “Mama will wonder where we are.”
Snow nodded. “Let’s walk back by the stream. It’s quicker.”
THE SPRING RETURNED TO RED’S step as they followed the melody of the stream. In winter it sometimes froze, even though it was fast-flowing, and in summer it sometimes dried up. But now, in spring, the water was in full surge, musical and jolly, its banks fringed with flowers.
“Oh no,” said Snow.
Red followed his gaze to further down the bank, where an all-too familiar figure in brown was hopping towards the water.
“Hey,” shouted Red. “The bank’s right there! Stop, or you’ll fall in!”
The goblin’s barrage of curses broke the peace of the waterway. “Bendy fools! You again!”
Several birds erupted, panicking, from the undergrowth.
“I know where the flapping bank is. Do you think I’m doing this on purpose?”
Looking closer, the twins saw that the tip of his trailing beard was tangled up in a fishing line being towed upstream by a not overly large, but very determined fish.
Red exchanged a perplexed glance with his brother.
“Dig your heels in and sit down; it’s just a fish,” Red advised. “It might tug you off balance, but it’s not strong enough to pull you in if you’re sitting down.”
Grumbling, the goblin went down on the bank like a dropped sack of beets. He jutted his chin forward, howling in outrage. “It’s worse! It’s worse! You stupid bedspread! Oh, it hurts, it hurts.”
“Wait there,” Red shouted. He scrambled down the bank, wading up to his knees in the stream until he reached the goblin struggling on the opposite side. “Here, I’ve got you.”
He tried to pull at the fishing line, but it was too thin to get a grip on, so he held onto the end of the goblin’s beard as gently as he was able, pulling it up to take away the strain.
The goblin howled all the louder. “Unhand me, you terrible clump! Your dirty hands are besmirching my beard.”
“If I unhand you, you’ll fall into the stream,” Red said, placidly. He called back up to Snow, “Dude, do you have any scissors on you?”
“Scissors? What!” The goblin’s eyes leaked fire. Then they looked in danger of popping right out of his skull at the sight of the little army knife Snow handed down to his brother, miniature scissors unfolded. “Keep those things away from my beautiful beard! You mean to disfigure me! Frock!”
“Chill, mate.” Red tried to wrangle the tiny blades with one big hand, the other still full of squirming goblin. “I’m only going to cut the fishing line.”
And with that, Red snipped the line, the tension broke, and the goblin fell backwards up the bank.
The goblin stood up, shakily, brushing himself down. He was vibrating like a whistling kettle ready to boil.
The twins exchanged a nervous glance.
“You pieces of shed! Look at what you did! My fine suit is all covered in mud! My fishing line is quite ruined and now I shall have no dinner, because of you!”
Scrambling up the bank, he paused only to rummage in a patch of dropwort to retrieve another large, hessian bag—the gleam of pearls visible within—before running off into the trees once more.
“You’re welcome,” Snow called after him.
THE GOING WAS SLOWER AFTER that, with every step punctuated by the squelch of Red’s wet boots.
“I don’t know why you helped him,” Snow said. “He was the worst.”
Red shrugged, and shook some weed off one foot. “Even horrible people don’t deserve to fall in streams,” he said, although he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
By the time they reached the little path that led home, the shadows were starting to lengthen, the trees bending down to whisper. Above, the branches crowded with unseen birds, trilling and warbling in unison. Both men jumped at the sound of an almighty squawk that was definitely not a bird.
“What on earth was that?” Snow asked; but Red was already running soggily down the path towards the source of the noise.
There was a bird, although it wasn’t the bird who was making the noise.
“You again,” Snow said, when he caught them up.
Flapping frantically, a gigantic buzzard was trying to fly back into the canopy, the goblin caught firmly in its claws. Thrashing his legs, the goblin squealed and bellowed, as Red held firmly onto the hem of his velvet coat.
“Let go!” Red called. Snow noticed then that the goblin was clutching the buzzard as hard as the buzzard was hanging onto the back of his coat.
“If I let go, I’ll fall, shot-glass!”
“I’ll catch you,” Red said. “Just let go.” Spotting his brother, he shouted, “Come and help.”
With both of them holding tight to his coat tails and
tugging, finally the goblin lost his grip. With a ripping of fabric, he fell out of the clutches of the buzzard’s fierce talons, and landed harmlessly in Red’s strong arms.
“Ugh,” the goblin spat, struggling more frantically to be free of Red’s grip than when the buzzard was abducting him. “Set me down, you pike!”
Red did so, gladly, taking a step back as the little creature puffed up with rage once again.
“How dare you! Look at what you have done! My fine coat; it’s ruined! First my beard and now my suit—why do you carts torment me so?”
“Sorry about your coat, man,” Red said. “But you were about to be bird-feed. We had to help you.”
“Well next time,” the goblin spat, “don’t bother.” Turning, he dragged a cloth sack out from behind a tree trunk, hefted it onto his tattered shoulder, and stormed off along the path.
BY THIS TIME, RED AND Snow were quite exhausted and more than ready to be home. They trudged on in silence, until, not far from the cottage in the clearing, they saw a most unexpected sight.
“Bear!” called Red joyfully, but then faltered in his tracks even as he made to run towards their friend.
“You flagging pests again!” the goblin exclaimed, cowering against a stone, cornered by the bear. The bag of jewels he had been carrying spilled a rainbow of light across the rocks: the goblin glanced down at it and licked his lips.
“Dear bear,” he said, in a wheedling tone. “See, those two who have come along—they are a far finer meal for you than a slender waif such as myself. Just let me take my jewels and be gone and you can eat them both up!”
“I think not,” the bear spoke.
The goblin flinched, paling in fright, at the words.
“What, didn’t you recognise me?” the bear asked. “You thought I was a bear of the forest?”
“Please!” moaned the goblin, now turned a greenish shade of grey. “Have mercy! Spare my life and take them instead.”
“I have a counter-offer,” the bear said in a terrible tone. “Return those jewels you stole from me, lift the curse you placed upon me, and then I might think of sparing you.”
