Help! A Bear Is Eating Me!

by Mykle Hansen

  Maybe it’s an even larger bear. Or something else large: a moose? A beaver? It would have to be a giant radioactive space beaver. Definitely not a squirrel. It’s something that snaps branches, something that hacks through brush. Something largeish, scaryish. Coming closerish.

  Maybe if I piss my pants, the bear will be revolted and go elsewhere … it’s coming closer, over on the left. Very close now. I am peeing. I am marking myself with my scent. This Marv is taken, find another one.

  With a loud cluster of twig-snaps it enters the clearing. I hear its animal breath, quiet but labored. It sounds winded, tired … running from something? Running from the hunt? Are my useless team members in pursuit of this bear, chasing it through the night with their night-vision goggles? … no, my useless team members don’t chase bears through the night, they wait around for bears to show up near lunchtime, the lazy dumbshits. This bear though … or whatever it is … is coming closer, walking on its hind legs, sniffing the air … approaching … it smells me, it knows I’m here.

  God dammit! I don’t just dislike bears, you know, I HATE them. Hate them hate them hate them! I’m not putting up with this! I am losing it, losing my cool. No more mister nice Marv! If that bear gets another step closer I’m going to confront it with a display of strength: a mighty vicious roar, animal to animal. You want a piece of me buddy? You want a piece of me? You’re fucking with the wrong Homo, buster. Sapiens, that is.

  Enough is enough. Don’t come any closer! I mean it! I have had it with you bears! I am through! Finito! Over and out! I will not be intimidated, I will not be frightened and I will sure as hell not be eaten!

  Look out! Stand back! I am focusing all my rage, all my anger! I am reaching down deep, deep into the inner Marv, the Ur-Marv, down into the collective might of my warrior ancestors! I am summoning the Beast! You want the Beast? You want a piece of the Beast? One more step and you get the Beast! The Beast inside Marv! The fire! The ancient anger! It’s rising up, through my heart, my lungs, my larynx, my teeth! Here it comes …

  “AwooooOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

  How do you like that? That’s the motherfucking Beast, baby! Think twice before you mess with that!

  Still think you’re tough? Show me what you got … oh please! You call that a roar? You sound like a terrified walrus! Like Edna having a panic attack! Ha ha! Girly bear! Does girly bear want to fuck with the Beast? Look out, here it comes again …

  “AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO — ”

  BOOM!

  An explosion! The Beast wonders what the fuck is up with that, but the Beast doesn’t care! The Beast is raging! Feel the rage …

  “AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO — ”

  BOOM!

  Another one! Crazy … that must be the sound of the fire within, being unleashed! Wow, the Beast is hot tonight!

  “Ah-WOOOOWAWAWAWOWOWOWowo — ”

  Ow! Ouch! Okay, the Beast felt that! Right in the hip! That hurt! Dammit! How dare you hurt the Beast! Now the Beast is really mad —

  Aaah! Bright blinding light! No! The Beast can’t see! The fire inside must really be raging out of control now …

  Ohmigod … MARV!

  … the rage! The fire …

  FRANKIE! FRANKIE! WHERE ARE YOU OMIGOD I SHOT MARV!

  … the anger, the aggrivation …

  MARV! MARV! IT’S ME! I’M HERE! IT’S JUST ME! … the annoyance, the stupidity, the nagging …

  FRANKIE! MARV’S HERE! HE’S UNDER THE CAR! I SHOT HIM!

  … the fat, the ugly, the stupid …

  MARVIE!! MARVIE PUDDING?! DON’T DIE! OPEN YOUR EYES!

  Ladies and gentlemen, meet Edna. My cream puff. My sweetness. The fat in my bacon. The bullet in my hip.

  So … I’m rescued. Like that. I realize that I should be excited about this. Of course I’m excited! I’m saved! Saved by … god dammit, why did she shoot me? That is classic Edna. And now she’s shining a Mag-Light right in my face, and screaming my name over and over. Thanks, that helps. But … it doesn’t matter. If Frank’s really with her, then I’m really saved.

  Saved! Unless I’m dreaming again. No, please … finally, finally, they’re here! Ignore the wife, think about the rescue! Oh, sweet rescue! I’m going to a beautiful hospital, in a city where there are no bears and hardly any trees. A beautiful American hospital where the nurses have tight asses and you’re surrounded by expensive machinery that glows and beeps with power, and they never run out of OxySufnix, and animals are not allowed …

  Oh God. Now Edna begins to sob, right on schedule. “Marvie? Oh Pudding … I’m so sorry … don’t die … ”

  “ … Edna … ”

  “Marvie! What are you even doing down there? You look wretched! I thought you were some kind of wolverine! Oh honey … does it hurt? You’re not trying to fix that car yourself are you?”

  “Edna, please … my legs … ”

  The blinding light diminishes as Edna waves the flashlight in another direction … God, if she would just shut up, everything would be so much more okay again. If she would just be useful, if she would just be quiet —

  “ … AAAAAAAAH! FRANKIE! OH GOD! HE’S HURT REAL BAD!”

  And then the blinding light returns as Edna swings the flashlight back and jiggles it in my face as she hops up and down in a blind panic.

  Rescued by Retards: the Marv Pushkin Story. Funny how you can lose touch with how stupid a person is after only a few days. Clearly I’m going to have to do the heavy mental lifting here. But where in foresty-fuck is Baumer … Frank Baumer … Frankie? Waitaminute … what is this Frankie stuff ?

  Ah yes: taking his timid time, slowly trudging around the Rover like he’s inspecting a prostitute for sores, here comes Frank Baumer in his scruffy hunting boots from Sears and his poorly-fitting outdoor gear. Edna, pouting, hands him the pistol. He bends down on one knee and shows me the clean-shaven blandness of his well-fed face, to once again impress me with his iron grip on the obvious:

  “Gosh, Marv, looks like you got yourself good and stuck there.” He almost looks like he’s suppressing a chuckle, but he wouldn’t dare.

  I clear my throat, business-style. “So glad you’re coming up to speed, Baumer. Now gimme some water! Where the fuck have you been? I’ve been out here for like three days!”

  Edna looks at Baumer sheepishly and says nothing. Baumer hands me a mostly empty Nalgene bottle of Baumer-scented backwash, which I drink anyway. They are both crouched down beside the Rover, peering under the running board at me, looking oh so laundered and smelling oh so clean. Edna leans an arm on Baumer’s shoulder, looking sad and frightened and, even after a hardy weekend in the woods, very fat.

  “Well I’m sorry, Marv, we didn’t know. We were back at camp, you know, just relaxing. We thought you went home,” says Baumer, trying to look all steely-eyed and faux-outdoorsy. And clean shaven, and not caked with scum. “You’re sure lucky we found ya,” he says.

  “Home? I’m the one who led you pussies out here. I could have died! Look at me! Look at my legs! I need two tourniquets and an ambulance! Stat! While you assholes were picking your noses and playing shuffleboard back at Asshole Camp, I’ve been locked in hand-to-hand combat with ferocious man-eating bears!”

  Baumer and Edna look slightly taken aback.

  “Bears, ya say?” says Baumer, talking real slowly, “Well heck, Marv … I mean, sorry, but you spilled bear bait all over yourself right before you stormed off. You oughta know better than to run around in the forest with that stuff on you, I mean … you’re asking for trouble, don’tcha think?”

  Note to self: Fire Baumer. Ruin career of Baumer. Pour bleach on head of Baumer. Dent Toyota of Baumer. Trample cat of Baumer. Burn down house of Baumer. Inform mother of Baumer: Baumer terminated for unnatural acts with Mouseketeers in company bathroom.

  But first things first. “Baumer, here’s what you do: take my Leatherman Super Tool and cut the sleeves off your shirt. We’ll use them for tourniquets. Edna, you go find that jack over there and give it t
o Baumer. Get the tourniquets tight around my legs before you start jacking up the car.”

  Baumer looks strangely uncowed. His gaze and his flashlight both wander down my torso, towards where my legs were just three short days ago.

  “I dunno, Marv — ”

  “No you don’t know! I know!”

  “It’s just I don’t think — ”

  “I am the one who knows. I am the one who thinks. You are the one who shuts up. That is the thing you get to do, and also you get to pull me out from under this car and take me home — pronto, as in yesterday! The spare tire is under the floor in the cargo hatch. Don’t climb in the car, it’s sitting on me. Just lift it out gently … would you get going for fuck’s sake, before Mister Bear gets back. Come on, you guys, show me some hustle here. I’m still in danger, you are too in case you care. We’re parked in the Bear Zone!”

  Edna and Frank exchange a look, and just like that, they dismiss themselves. “Hey! Where are you going! I’m still talking here! Helllo! Edna! Baumer! Front and center! Right now!”

  Incredible. The fuckers. The fuckers are ignoring me! They’re just plain not doing what I tell them to when I tell them to do it! I must be hallucinating. Of all the inappropriate times to mess with the Beast … Frank Baumer, I will fire you and then rehire you so I can fire you again, over and over until you beg me to leave you fired. Edna, you just bought yourself a quarter-pounder of trouble and a side of french-fried hurt. Where’s Frink when I need him? That pussy would never dare walk away when I’m talking. That pussy understands teamwork.

  But these pussies … Edna and Baumer are having some sort of private whispering session a few yards away. All I can see is feet, and all I can hear is little breathy esses and tees, like little kids talking in class. They are standing curiously close together, those two. Is Baumer unable to smell Edna’s fetid breath and noxious french purfume? Is Edna not concerned that Baumer might accidentally shoot her in the foot with that flimsy sidearm he’s dangling in his hand? What are they talking about? What could be more important right now than getting me rescued?

  Oh come on. No way. I didn’t just see that. Edna stepping up on her tip-toes and leaning into Baumer? Tell me, did she wipe some kind of turd-stain off his nose? Tell me they didn’t just kiss. Jesus. What the hell is going on here? Frankie?

  And look, now here comes innocent little thrice-fired Baumer to talk to me again. Like … like it’s a sunny day and unicorns are licking our butts.

  “Frank … I’m actually kind of dying down here? What’s the hold-up?”

  “Yeah, you’re stuck pretty good there, Marv. We’re gunna have to go get some help.”

  “Help? Frank, for Chrissake, don’t get help; be help. Jack up the car and I won’t be stuck. Change the tire and we’re home free! I’ve still got half a tank of gas. We can be in Anchorage by morning and there’s a hospital there, but Frank, there’s just not much time. I’m low on everything here, beer, food, blood, I need to get going. Frank, look at me.”

  Frank Baumer ponders this, but he won’t look at me. “It’s just, it’s … it’s not that easy, Marv. Those legs won’t get you anywhere, and really I don’t think it’s safe to move you. You need hospitals and stuff. That’s the first thing they tell you about the scene of an accident: don’t move people. Edna and I will go for somebody in the morning. You gotta just hang in there, boss.”

  “The morning! What, after breakfast and coffee and yoga? After your beauty sleep? Go now for Christ’s sake. Look at me, Frankie! I’m meat on the hook here! Could you at least pretend to be concerned?”

  “Look! I’m really sorry! We just … we can’t drive out at night, Marv. There’s parts washed out, there’s a lot of off-roading and stuff. In the morning we’ll go. You’ll be okay, you gotta believe me.” And then he reaches under and pats my shoulder like I’m his little Papillon. “Be brave, Marv. Don’t worry, you’re gunna be fine. Just hang in there, tiger.”

  I grab his loathsome, condescending sleeve. “Not fine! Worried! Just jack up this car and I will nurse my own god damn wounds and drive myself the fuck home! This is a Range Rover! It’s guaranteed!”

  “Marv, please!” suggests ever-helpful Edna. “Use your anger tools! You could hurt yourself even worse if you get all worked up!”

  “Hurt myself? You just shot me!”

  “I said I was sorry! Honestly, Marv … you’ve got to hold on a little longer, Pumpkin. Please … for me?”

  “First you shoot me … and now you want to see my anger tools?”

  And then Frank chuckles. Frank Baumer chuckles. At me. He thinks I’m funny. I consider cutting off one of his fingers. I have a knife. I can still hurt people. He says to me: “Marv, you’re talking crazy. Don’t try crazy stuff. You’re in no shape to drive.”

  And then … then he reaches across my chest into my right breast pocket … and pulls out the gleaming fob that holds my Range Rover’s ignition keys and door/alarm remote. Just like that. Like he knows which pocket I keep them in. Like he’s been watching me. I grab for the keys, for his arm, his coat, anything, but my hands are just like big bunches of bananas hanging off my sleeves. And he says: “Just hunker down and hang in there, Marv. Help is on the way. You’re gonna live. You’re gonna be fine.” And he gets up to walk away, the keys still dangling from his limp, worthless wrist.

  “Gimme that! Get back here with that! Those are mine! Don’t you leave!” He walks over to Edna, and they stand there looking at me from a distance. “Edna! Do not leave! Bitch, you had better not leave! Get over here right now and jack up this car!”

  “Get a grip, Marv! Honestly we’re doing the best we can. Why do you have to get all grumpy at a time like this?” Edna sobs pointedly, but she doesn’t comply. Why doesn’t she comply?

  “Baumer! You are so fired if you don’t get back over here right now and get busy with that jack!”

  Edna stands up with a meaty, phlegmatic sigh. Now I don’t see them, I just hear their heavy footsteps crunching back into the forest, Edna’s sobs and labored breathing fade out like a steam train rolling away from the station without me.

  “Frank! Edna! I need water! I need medicine! Rescue me god-dammit! I’m sorry! I’m bleeding! I didn’t mean what I said! I’ve been under a lot of stress! Come back here and let’s just start over. Please! Edna! Did you hear that? Marv Pushkin is saying please, you know I never say please but I’m saying it. I’m asking nicely for fuck’s sake, so will you get the fuck back here, I love you already! Baby! Sugar bumps! I love you, Edna! I’m going to die! If you leave, I’ll die! I’ll do it, I swear! Edna!”

  Silence. Severe silence. It’s never this quiet. I’m totally alone. And I’m crying. Like a woman, like a fag, I’m crying.

  Note to self: Kill, kill, kill my darling Edna.

  9

  But wasn’t that the whole point? Isn’t that why I brought her along? To get her off my balance sheets, wash her out of my collar, pluck her like the nostril-hair she is?

  Certainly not! Oh no, officer, such an unspeakable act never crossed my mind. Kill my own wife? My loveypants, my cream and sugar, my honeydew melon, my ice cream headache? Oh no.

  Rather, I thought I’d delegate. Alaska is wild and dangerous — as we’ve seen — and there’s no shortage of mortal threats to which to delegate the wife-disposal chores with which modern advertising executives are so overburdened. People die out here constantly, especially weak, foolish, incompetent, ugly people like Edna. They drown in poorly-marked bodies of water with no lifeguards presiding. They fall off cliffs, into ravines. They are devoured by bears, or trampled by moose, or skeletonized by ticks. And when all else fails, there are always the tragic hunting accidents. In fact, just before we left I bought Edna a brown fur coat with a matching fur hat from Saks. From a distance she made a fine grizzly … but the stupid bitch refuses to wear it.

  “It makes me look fat,” she said.

  “Baby,” I enthused, “that coat makes you look fabulous. Being fat makes you l
ook fat.”

  And oh, she cried about that one. She’s a prize weeper, Edna is, a real lawn-sprinkler when she wants to be. No sense of humor, and no sense of taste, or of tact, and absolutely zero sense of when to shut up. Excellent sense of whining, though. One of the great whiners of our times.

  Mister Bear, you got the wrong guy. You’re supposed to be eating Edna, not me. I, not you or Edna, am supposed to be boffing my secret fuck in the woods behind Camp Image Team. But Edna has this incredible talent for fucking me up.

  I recall we were enjoying a very late breakfast back at Camp Image Team, Frink and Halsey had finally coaxed enough heat out of Frink’s anemic Coleman stove to sort of mildly cook some bacon and eggs. Just to accomplish that had taken them hours, while the rest of us stalked around like hungry snakes, smoking cigarettes and drinking cold, gritty coffee and cleaning rifles and suiting up for some serious killage. I hadn’t had nearly enough sleep, for the same reason that Marcia from Product Dialogue was still asleep in her one-bimbo pup tent — because between the hours of 3 and 3:45 A.M. I had traded Edna’s toilet-flushing snore for Marcia’s pork-holstering fanny in that same single-bimbo housing unit. So I could hardly complain, really, about the loss of sleep. But the absence of breakfast had me murderous.

  Edna had risen earliest of all, and there she sat on the self-inflating couch, picking fussily with her plastic fork at the runny eggs on her styrofoam plate, taking issue with Halsey’s cooking and the little black bits of flaked-off frying pan, being impossible to please, being difficult, being Edna. Much to my dismay she wore not the brown fur coat but one of those bright orange don’t-shoot-me-I’m-not-a-bear hunting vests, over a dumpy blue down ski jacket. Edna doesn’t even try to look her best.

  But I was prepared to accessorize her with a special cologne: Ranger Steve’s Sure-Draw Bear Bait, Yukon Formula. The efficacy of Ranger Steve’s secret recipe is sworn to on his website by a throng of experienced bear hunters, including celebrity outdoor hunting guide Rock Majestic. (I wasn’t able to find a bear bait endorsed by Ted Nugent.) Supposedly Ranger Steve’s bear bait is carefully pH balanced to smell exactly like both a honey-dipped pig on fire and a barn full of bears in heat. Supposedly bears swarm to it like flies to shit. Supposedly you just spray it on some jelly donuts, leave them lying out in a spot that’s easy to shoot at, the bears show up looking for the party, you blow away the bears. Ad infinitum. With this stuff one could bag a six-pack of bears in an afternoon, if one could just work out how to lash them to Baumer’s Toyota. (No bear marks on my Rover, please.)