With great effort, Mr. Norman turns himself over on the couch. He lies on his back now, the pillow-lover picking up where she left off, the electric birds going at it in the imitation dogwoods. He folds his arms over his chest. He sees the cacti (asparagi, octopi, walri), he feels the brutal sun a million miles away. Ten million, whatever, it’s a star like other stars, gaseous, bigger than Jupiter, involved in photosynthesis. He thinks the hot urine might feel good streaming down his sinewy enlightened legs. Or maybe it would feel bad. Either way.
As he does every morning, he vomits sentences, phrases, jingles, until there are just words, then syllables, a long, dry, incomprehensible heave.
That little kid in the front yard walks tight figure eights with his head down. He stops occasionally, stares up at the Normans’ dark house.
She (Gloria) says, “Trent, my kids love their teddy sharks. They just love them.”
Mr. Norman becomes aware of his heartbeat. With his hands on his chest he can feel his own four-chambered heart pumping blood and riboflavin throughout his body.
Turns out it isn’t shaped like a heart.
Capillaries, aorta, ventricle, plate tectonics, Valentine’s Day.
Somewhere a gun says, “Flesh is weak, motherfucker.”
Somewhere a siren says, “You just wouldn’t believe what they can do with artificial limbs these days.”
Somewhere a diamond pendant says, “I love you.”
A bald guy on the Pundit Network says it’s not a matter of whether we distribute guns in the schools, but when.
Seven chapters and the guy hasn’t gotten off the couch yet.
In the palms of his folded hands, Mr. Norman feels the beating, the beating, the creepy beating of heart under bone.
8
Four-Minute Guarantee
Here at News 8 we know you live a busy, hectic life. We know that you juggle work and entertainment and family, and that your time is your most precious natural resource.
Most other stations give you the day’s news in six minutes, but in our crazy and hectic world, who has time for six minutes of news? That’s why we at News 8 give you our Four-Minute Guarantee. You give us four minutes and we’ll give you the planet. Weather, sports, news, and in-depth analysis of current events — all in four minutes or our name isn’t News 8.
And tonight after News 8 join us for our ongoing series, Bear v. Shark: The Tale of the Tape. Tonight we focus on the tongue factor. Do sharks have one? Tune in at 10:04.
9
Patented Comfort System
Not even light yet, Mr. Norman roaming his house, socks on carpet, the soft rustle like artificial sweetener in decaf. Room to room to room, I mean, a bear, yes, of course, would and can, but a shark does and just might, also.
Rows of triangular teeth.
On TV, well, a man and a woman. Together. Vigorously and imaginatively. Is that her leg? And what’s that? Is she having the time of her life or is he hurting her? Are they in love, these people on the greasy counter of the fast food restaurant? Not the characters, who after all just met (“Can I take your order?” “OK, bend over”), but the actors, are the actors in love? Do they live together in a ranch-style house on the edge of town, a give-and-take marital situation, all about compromise and communication — communication is key — with knickknacks on shelves, photos in albums, this eerie deal where each finishes the other’s sentences? Is their lovemaking gentle, traditional? Face-to-face and with no animals or power tools?
In the hallway Mr. Norman pauses, sees the televised sex act reflected on the sad gray face of the family’s old broken TV. I’m afraid it’s gone, a guy in a jumpsuit had said six months ago. The use of condiments in that way, it requires love, does it not? Love and trust? Or hatred and vengeance? Or massive indifference? It requires something. Man, look out, here comes the manager and he’s not wearing pants.
Mr. Norman. Up the stairs to his sons’ room. A poster on the door, a collage of tooth and claw, Do Not Enter. Mr. Norman enters.
Curtis in his fake bearskin sleeping bag giggles and says, “Ruptured Achilles tendon.”
Matthew looks sullen even in sleep. Like he thinks sleeping is stupid.
Both children are breathing in and out. They’re alive. Something in the room is beeping not rhythmically. Electronic football beeps like that. Basketball, too. Electronic war also beeps like that, and so does laser archery. Sleeping kids: the blank, naked faces, unstimulated. Mr. Norman feels he should feel something. He does feel a little something, yes, there it is, and he wonders if it is a flood of love. There it is again. That would seem to be the logical thing, looking at one’s sleeping children, a flood of love, but what does a love flood feel like? Would he know one? Is it often mistaken for indigestion? Are there tests? Is there a battery of tests? Can we rule anything out? Does a love flood leave behind soggy scraps of sentiment, glistening on the banks of your heart?
Beep beep. Beep.
Mr. Norman goes to his bedroom, his handsome wife. Through the blinds are those the first rays of a glorious new day? Is that the Life Giver rising yonder in the East? No. It’s just a streetlight. The metallic frames of bedside photographs gleam, but the pictures remain black, inscrutable. Mr. Norman can’t remember the images inside those frames. Probably him, Mrs. Norman, the boys, squinting in sunshine, mouths turned up to resemble smiles.
Mr. Norman sits on the edge of the mattress, which is really a patented comfort system with microcoils that overlap and interlock like chapters in a novel.
Mrs. Norman turns in her sleep. She says, “What?”
Mr. Norman says, “I mean, just think about it.”
Mrs. Norman says, “You’re here.”
Mr. Norman says, “Be as honest as you can.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Right now. Let’s.”
Mr. Norman says, “Promise?”
Mrs. Norman used to be such a great water skier. It’s not like she could do fancy tricks, it’s just that she was so graceful and easy on the water. Smiling in the spray.
She says nothing but sort of moans from the back of her throat. Her head rests on the merest suggestion of a pillow, just the idea of a pillow, really, the UnPillow, lost in a standard-size case, wafer thin and neck friendly, eighty-five dollars plus s&h. Mrs. Norman is a disciple of Posture.
Mr. Norman looks up at the dark ceiling. He says, “I just need to know.”
Mrs. Norman says, “I’m right over here.”
Mr. Norman crawls under the comforter, but he’s on top of the lightweight, wrinkle-free sheet and his wife is underneath it and he can’t find her and they toss and wrestle and grunt, while the mattress subtly conforms and adjusts to their marriage. That’s not her breast, it’s her shoulder, and soon she’s mumbling and sleep-breathing again, her patented spinal corset creaking slightly with each breath.
Mr. Norman in the dark. It’s going to be a big day, a big weekend. If something is wrong, and I’m not saying something is wrong, but if something is wrong, it will be set right this weekend. Won’t it?
Mr. Norman says, “Honey.”
The bedside photographs like small broken Televisions.
Mr. Norman says, “Honey, am I fun?”
10
Bear v. Shark: The Question
The question is simple, as are most profound questions.
Given a relatively level playing field — i.e., water deep enough so that a Shark could maneuver proficiently, but shallow enough so that a Bear could stand and operate with its characteristic dexterity — who would win in a fight between a Bear and a Shark?
11
Weather Europe
You should know by now: The Normans of America are going to Las Vegas for The Sequel: Darwin’s Duel, Surf against Turf, Lungs v. Gills in the Neon Desert for All the Marbles.
Mrs. Norman and the two boys, Matthew and Curtis, are awake. They’re getting ready, it’s pretty exciting.
Mrs. Norman’s electronic mail message says, “This is going to be fun!” It (the ele
ctronic message) says, “Don’t forget to pack underwear and a toothbrush.”
Mrs. Norman comes downstairs. Her posture is remarkable, it’s something she’s worked on. She says to Mr. Norman, “How was your day?”
Mr. Norman says, “What?”
Mrs. Norman says, “Oh.”
She says, “How did you sleep?”
Mr. Norman says, “There was an interesting program last night on the Great Wall of China. Turns out it’s technically a hologram. It’s the largest man-made hologram.”
Mrs. Norman says, “What do you mean by technically?”
Mr. Norman says, “You mind if I turn up the birds?”
Mrs. Norman says, “I dreamed that I found a turtle and I knew I had a CD stuck in him but I couldn’t figure out how to get it out. It was so frustrating because I knew the CD was inside there, it was that Mall Sonatas one I like so much. Inside the turtle.”
Matthew, the older boy, comes downstairs. Colorful sharks circle his pajamas and lunge at fat lazy seals. He has cut off the sleeves, apparently with dull scissors or a knife.
Mr. Norman checks the Internet for the weather. He wants to check the weather on the Television, too. He asks Matthew to turn the Television to the weather network.
Matthew sighs and says, “Which one?”
Mr. Norman says, “The one on the staircase.”
Matthew says, “Not which Television, which weather network?”
Mr. Norman says, “How many are there?”
Matthew scowls. It’s a difficult age. Or maybe something is wrong with him. Or maybe this is just normal. He says, “There’s the Weather Network and there’s Weather Network Plus and there’s Extreme Weather.”
Mrs. Norman is sitting right-angled in the kitchen Net Nook, printing a course map and checking the weather on the Internet. She says, “There’s also Weather Europe.”
Mr. Norman says, “What’s the difference?”
Matthew says, “Weather Europe is not a part of our cable package.”
Curtis appears downstairs with a briefcase.
Mrs. Norman says, “Cable package.”
Mr. Norman says, “Just put it on the Weather Network.”
Matthew says, “I’ve said it so many times and I’ll say it again. The Weather Network Plus is better.”
Mr. Norman says, “Why is it better?”
Matthew says, “What it is is more up-to-the-minute and complete.”
Mr. Norman says, “More complete than twenty-four hours a day?”
Matthew says, “It has more weather.”
Mrs. Norman says, “I wonder why they even have the Weather Network anymore.”
Curtis says, “Extreme Weather has this thing where they show you the weather from the weather’s perspective. It looks awesome.”
Mr. Norman says, “Put it on Weather Network Plus.”
Matthew says, “I have no idea what channel that is.”
Mrs. Norman (in the Net Nook) says, “Just a sec, I’ll check our local cable listings for details.”
12
The Old Televisions, Part II
The point being: Watching Television used to be a distinct and bounded activity, like bowling or extreme virtual snowboarding. You were not doing it and then you were doing it. Likewise, you were doing it and then you were not doing it. On, off. Off, on. 0, 1. Binary: simple, discrete, delineated. You turned it on to watch and you turned it off when you were finished. When you were finished, you turned it off. Seems so strange now. That one-inch heavy plastic border around the screen, everyone thought it was a nonpermeable membrane. It would have been silly to suggest otherwise. But here’s the thing: as the images on the screen kept getting brighter, sharper, clearer, the Television Set’s plastic border kept getting fuzzier, blurrier, more ill-defined. The spilled images shimmered and danced in American parlors. Television became, gradually, nondiscrete. Watching Television became, gradually, nonbinary. TV got tangled up in our lives, and there was no untangling. Our lives, which are on continuously (until they are off). You don’t turn a life on and off, off and on, on and off. Likewise with a TV, which is bound to life inseparably, inextricably. You wouldn’t (and couldn’t) turn it off even if you could. And you can’t — because there is no off switch, because the Televisions are built into the walls of homes, because they are in stores and restaurants, mounted in the corners above your booth, spilling pixels into your porridge. And most of all, because they are there (and on) even when they are not there. Did you ever see that one episode of American Nightmare where the insane guy wants to turn off his Television? And there’s no off switch and there’s no cord to pull out? And he’s going crazy, running around, screaming? It’s spooky, kind of, but it’s also hilarious. He’s running around with this wild look and finally he gets a gun and he stands in front of the big screen and he fires a shot right into it. And we’re at floor level looking up at the screen — the crazy guy’s screen — and we see it like explode and we hear something fall to the ground and then we see the crazy guy’s foot twitching at the bottom right of our screen. Through our screen we see his exploded screen and his foot. And when the cops come later, they find the guy on the floor with a single bullet through his head. That’s a cool one.
13
Dew Point
Mr. Norman staring at the Television on the staircase. Red arrows and blue arrows battle for meteorological supremacy. Clouds and decimal points race along coastlines. Happy yellow suns, happier and yellower than real suns, are scattered across a map. The suns have smiley faces, even though they are leaving burn marks in the earth.
There is a thunderstorm warning, a heat advisory, a wind alert, a smog watch, a pollen alarm, a low-pressure trough, an Appalachian wedge, a hurricane stage three. There is weather everywhere. Weather is assaulting this defenseless planet and it’s like nobody gives a damn.
In the top right corner of the Television is a small box tuned to a different channel. Picture in picture: Extreme Weather’s award-winning weathermentary, Tsunami Tsurvival! Slow-motion footage of a piece of rice slicing through a car door.
Mrs. Norman walks by. She says, “Interesting footage.”
Damn right, it’s unbelievable footage, we’re talking never-before-seen footage. Mr. Norman is pretty interested in the footage, but there’s Matthew staring, impassive, unimpressed. Something’s not right.
Sometimes Mr. Norman has the vague feeling that Matthew is gay. He thinks he would be OK with his son’s homosexuality, just fine. When the time comes he would have a talk with him.
Mr. Norman might say, “Son, I’m straight but not narrow.”
He would say, “Matty, hate is NOT a family value.”
He might add, “I’m glad we had this talk. Celebrate diversity.”
Mr. Norman says, “I think it’s raining.”
Curtis, the younger boy, whose scholastic efforts have earned the Normans this trip to Las Vegas, a pudgy child, unathletic, unequivocally pro-Bear, a good kid, friendly, outgoing, not much of a reader, a pretty decent PlayMax Extreme Death Match player, says, “What?”
Mr. Norman says, “I think it’s raining.” To himself he adds, “Gay pride.”
Sedge Kellerman, the weather guy, says, “The Bear Index (BI) refers to how hot a bear would be at this temperature.”
Picture in picture: Asian youngsters whistling through a school-yard like bullets. Pretty stock footage.
Curtis says, “No, I was just outside putting the satellite dish on the Sport Utility Vehicle. It’s threatening, but it’s not raining.”
Mr. Norman says, “But look at this satellite photo.”
Mrs. Norman, up from the Net Nook, stares at the Television on the staircase. She says, “That’s a satellite photo of Finland.”
Curtis (the younger boy) says, “Are they the Dutch?”
Mr. Norman says, “What is barometric pressure?”
Curtis says, “My teacher says the Dutch don’t have a culture anymore. It’s been taken away.”
Matt
hew says, “What I’m asking you is who would want the Dutch culture?”
Curtis says, “Her gardener is a Dutch and he’s bitter and kind of hunched over and he says the culture has been sucked bloodless.”
Mrs. Norman is so upright she’s almost leaning backward.
Sedge says, “It looks like clear weather today for our pilots. It’s a good day for air strikes, Chuck.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Barometric pressure is how hard the sky is pressing down on us.”
Mr. Norman says, “But gravity is a constant. That’s one of Newton’s quips.”
The younger boy, Curtis, says, “It turns out that Newton may not really have gotten an apple shot off of his head.”
Mrs. Norman says, “Then what’s dew point?”
Mr. Norman’s older son (Matthew) says, “Wooden shoes and tulips and fjords? No thanks, you can have it.”
Chuck (Sedge’s co-anchor on the TWN Plus morning shift) says, “Good luck, boys. Come home with your shield or on it.”
Mr. Norman says, “Turns out the record high for today is only eighty-five.”
Matthew says, “Is that metric or what?”
Curtis says, “I think that’s Weather Europe, Dad.”
Sedge Kellerman says, “Now back to Gail at the Humidity Desk.”
Mrs. Norman checks the Internet. She says it turns out that the Dutch have worked hard to retain a thriving, vibrant culture.
14
Question-and-Answer Period
Upstairs, a bright-toothed, square-jawed young man in a hooded raincoat shares a split screen with a button-cute Television Personality. They’re both going places, you can just see it.
Bear v. Shark: The Novel Page 2
