Touching Spirit Bear (15 page)

“Thanks,” Cole muttered. For several more hours, he sat and shivered. Outside, the rain kept falling, and lightning brought angry thunder to the sky. As night fell, a small stream of water trickled across the center of the floor. Everything Cole touched was wet, soggy, and cold.

He prepared himself for a long night. Tonight he wouldn’t sleep much. He hugged his arms to his chest and let his teeth chatter. He hadn’t been this cold since he had nearly drowned trying to escape more than a year ago.

Suddenly he heard footsteps outside the tent.

“It’s warmer in the cabin if you want,” called Peter’s hesitant voice.

C
OLE NEEDED NO
second invitation into the cabin. Fumbling with the zipper, he crawled from the tent and sprinted through the cold rain. When he opened the cabin door and let himself inside, Garvey greeted him with a wink. Peter was seated on the bed and eyed Cole with distrust.

“Thanks, Peter,” Cole said. After drying off and putting on new clothes, he heated water for hot chocolate. “Anybody else want something hot?” he asked.

Garvey shook his head.

“How about you, Peter?” Cole offered.

Peter shrugged.

When the water came to a boil, Cole made up two cups of hot chocolate and handed one to Peter, who took it hesitantly. “Why haven’t we seen the Spirit Bear yet?” Peter said.

Cole sat down at the table. “We will.” He blew at his steaming drink.

“I don’t think there really is a Spirit Bear,” Peter challenged.

“I didn’t think so either when I first came here,” Cole said. “Even after I saw it, I thought I had just imagined it.” He pulled up his sleeve to show the long scars from the mauling. “But this wasn’t my imagination.”

“That could have been from any bear,” Peter asked.

Garvey stood and stretched. “I’m hitting the sack.” He pointed over by the door. “Cole, you sleep there, and Peter, you sleep in the bed.” He handed Cole a rolled-up piece of foam. “Here—it beats a hard floor. Use one of my blankets tonight. Tomorrow we’ll dry out your sleeping bag.”

“Thanks,” said Cole.

Garvey stretched out his own foam pad and positioned himself between Cole and Peter. “Whoever stokes the fire during the night gets an extra pancake in the morning,” he said.

“I’ll do it,” Cole said. He didn’t mind if he had to stoke the fire for the next month. It felt so good just to be warm and dry again. As Garvey blew out the lantern, Cole pulled the blanket over himself and lay back on the foam mattress. This sure beat a leaky tent. He glanced over into the dark toward Peter. “Thanks for
letting me sleep inside,” he said.

“It doesn’t mean we’re friends,” Peter grunted.

In the days that followed, whenever Garvey left the cabin or walked to the stream alone, Peter took the opportunity to get back at Cole in some way. Twice he walked in his muddy boots across Cole’s sleeping bag. Every time he passed by the hooks where they hung jackets to dry, he knocked Cole’s jacket to the floor. At night, when he went out to go to the bathroom, he left the door standing wide open. Returning, he did the same. Cole slept the closest to the icy air and had to get up to close the door to keep from freezing.

The final straw came when Cole returned from a walk alone around the bay. He found the bear carving on his totem destroyed. Someone had taken the hatchet and hacked the carving completely away. A familiar rage burned inside Cole. He confronted Peter in the cabin. “Why did you wreck my bear carving?” He tried to keep his voice calm.

Peter shrugged. “You never really saw a Spirit Bear. Besides, what are you going to do to me? Beat me up again?”

“No, I’m not going to beat you up. But can’t you leave me alone?”

“I suppose you’ve never done anything to me,” Peter said bluntly.

Garvey listened quietly.

Cole had a sudden idea. “I know where there’s another big log around the point that would make a good totem. If you want, we can drag it here for you to make your own totem.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“When you carve, it gives you time to think.”

“I don’t need to think—I need you out of my face. And besides, what would I carve?” Peter asked.

“Anything you want. If you see a whale, carve a whale. If you see a Spirit Bear, you can carve a bear. I’ve learned from every animal I’ve carved.”

“There is no Spirit Bear,” Peter challenged again. “It was just a regular black bear that hurt you. Probably an ugly one!”

Cole ignored the comment. “I’ll help you drag in a carving log if you want.”

Peter shrugged indifferently, but after lunch he followed Cole and Garvey down the shore to see the log. Cole carried a rope. With the three of them working, they floated the log back along the shoreline. By dark, they had maneuvered it up beside the cabin next to Cole’s totem.

“So what should I carve first?” asked Peter.

“Whatever you want. What was the last
animal you saw?” asked Cole.

“I saw a mouse in the cabin this morning.”

Cole smiled. “Then tonight we’ll dance the mouse dance, and tomorrow you can carve a mouse.”

“I’m not going to dance a dumb ‘mouse dance,’” Peter said, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Every animal has something to teach us,” Cole said. When Peter didn’t answer, Cole motioned toward the trees. “Let’s collect firewood for the dance.”

“
You
collect wood,” Peter said, heading for the cabin. “It was your idea.”

“I’ll help you,” Garvey said.

Cole nodded. “I’ll start the fire now so we have good coals for cooking supper.”

Peter disappeared inside the cabin, refusing to come out until supper was ready. Then he sat out away from the fire as he sipped soup and ate one of the baked potatoes that Cole had wrapped in aluminum foil and cooked in the embers.

After eating, Cole added more wood to the fire. He waited until flames licked high into the night air, then stood and approached the fire. “I’ll dance first,” he announced. Slowly he moved around the fire, pretending to sniff about like a mouse. Suddenly he scampered away from the fire as if frightened, then came back again, sniffing.
Finally, he pretended to eat a full meal. When he finished, he sat down. “My mouse dance taught me that a mouse is persistent and bold,” he said. “Mice are survivors that make the best of wherever they are or whatever they have.”

Garvey nodded. “That’s a good lesson. Now it’s my turn.” He stood and moved around the fire. Garvey’s dance seemed to mesmerize Peter, who watched closely, following every movement. After Garvey finally sat down and finished explaining that mice are often not noticed and see things others don’t, Peter stood and began dancing. His moves were jerky and unsure, and he kept glancing self-consciously over his shoulder, but he continued to move. When he finished, he remained standing beside the fire without speaking.

“So what did you learn from your dance?” asked Garvey.

“I learned that I look like a stupid dork!” Peter said sharply. He turned and ran into the cabin.

Cole and Garvey remained by the fire. “He’s never going to forgive me,” Cole said.

Garvey shrugged. “Think how much your arm and hip still hurt. Wounds of the spirit heal even slower.”

Cole thought about Garvey’s words long after they went to bed. The next morning, he went out and began carving a mouse into his log instead of
going to the pond. He didn’t have the heart to carve another bear where Peter had destroyed the first one. The bear carving had taken nearly a week to finish.

Reluctantly, Peter came out and began carving at his own log. By late afternoon, both boys had carved mice into their logs. Cole couldn’t believe how real Peter’s carving looked. “That’s unbelievable,” he said. “Where did you learn to carve?”

“I think my mouse looks better than yours,” said Peter.

“It does,” said Cole. “But carving a totem isn’t competition. Saying your carving is better is like saying your feelings are better.”

Peter smirked. “Mine are.” He turned to Cole. “Did you really see a Spirit Bear?”

Cole nodded and told how he had pulled a handful of white hair from the bear that mauled him and then thrown it away. “The only reason I always had to prove things was because I knew I was a liar,” he said. “I threw the white hair away because I decided I was tired of lying.”

Peter studied Cole as they went to the cabin for lunch. He sat quietly through the whole meal. After lunch he returned to his log to keep carving. “I want to be by myself,” he told Cole.

Cole and Garvey looked at each other but
agreed to take a long hike outside the bay to look for whales. It was nearly dark by the time they returned. Hiking back around the bay in the gathering dusk, Cole could see Peter still carving, but not on his own log.

“That jerk!” Cole said. “He’s messing with my totem again. Hey!” he screamed, breaking into a run. “What are you doing?”

Peter stepped back from the log as Cole came running up.

Cole stared down, dumbfounded. In the same spot where the bear carving had been destroyed, Peter had almost completed another bear. The new carving was so real, the bear looked as if it were stepping out of the log. “That’s incredible,” Cole exclaimed.

“Hope you didn’t mind,” Peter said.

“Could you teach me how to carve like that?” Cole asked.

Peter shrugged. “Depends on if you want to learn.” He turned away and headed into the cabin.

A
S SUMMER CAME
to the North Country, group visits to the pond had become a daily event, until the day Peter announced, “This morning, just Cole and I should go.”

Garvey had already pulled on his pants. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Peter nodded.

Garvey turned to Cole. “What do you think?”

Cole eyed Peter and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

Again Garvey asked, “Are you guys sure you’re ready for this?”

“Yes,” Peter said, his voice firm.

Cole nodded, but found himself a little scared.

“Okay, have a good soak,” Garvey said.

Cole packed their towels in his backpack. He paused, then slipped in the at.óow. He and Peter let themselves out the door into the breaking dawn and worked their way along the shore. Neither of them spoke as they reached the river
and started wading upstream toward the pond. Peter stumbled along angrily, his fists clenched. An awkward and thick silence hung between them.

When they finally reached the pond, Cole couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “I’m glad we came alone,” he said. “It’s time we were friends.” He held out his hand to Peter, but Peter knocked his hand away.

“I’ll never be friends with you.”

“Look, Peter, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Peter shoved Cole, knocking him off balance. “You beat me up and smashed my head on the sidewalk until I was bleeding. They had to pull you off me. What do you mean, you didn’t mean to hurt me?” His eyes were wild.

Cole had regained his balance. “What I mean is, I didn’t mean to get so angry. I didn’t decide all of a sudden to get mad and hurt you.”

“And so now everything is supposed to be all right?” Peter shoved Cole again with both hands.

“No, it’s just that—”

“Everything will be better when my headaches go away, when I sleep at night, and my bad dreams quit.” Peter’s eyes welled up with tears. “I can’t walk anymore without stumbling. Sometimes I can’t think straight, and my words don’t come out right.” He shook a fist in Cole’s face. “You don’t really care about me. You just want to
get off this island. That’s all you want.”

“A year ago, that was true,” Cole said. “But not anymore.”

“You haven’t changed,” Peter challenged, his voice growing louder. “You would beat me up again if you had the chance.”

Cole shook his head. “I could beat you up right now, but I won’t.”

“You won’t, ’cause you’re scared of Garvey,” Peter said. “And ’cause you’re scared of jail.”

Again Cole shook his head. “It’s because I’ve had a lot of time to think. And besides, if you thought I might beat you up again, why did you tell Garvey you wanted to come alone with me this morning?”

Peter bent down, pretending to tie his boot.

“You have to believe me,” Cole pleaded. “I’ll do anything to help you and make things right. It doesn’t do any good to stay mad.”

Suddenly Peter sprang up, shoving Cole hard, and sending him stumbling to the ground. “Stay away from me! I don’t need your help!” he screamed.

“I’m so sorry,” Cole repeated.

“You’re not sorry for anything!” Peter shouted. He kicked at the ground, pelting Cole with gravel and dirt.

Shielding his face, Cole got to his feet, but
Peter stormed forward and shoved him again. “Why don’t you beat me up again? I don’t care anymore!”

Cole quietly stood his ground.

“Maybe you’re scared of me,” Peter said, swinging his fists. He struck Cole squarely in the face. “Go ahead, hit me!” he taunted. “Kill me. I don’t care anymore.”

“You do care,” Cole said, shielding his face. “I’m not ever going to hurt you again. Can’t you see that?”

“Liar!” shouted Peter. He hit Cole hard in the gut. “You’re scared of me.”

When Cole refused to fight back, Peter grew bolder. Again and again he struck Cole with his bare fists. Cole raised his arms to try to ward off the blows, but he didn’t fight back, nor did he run. This only made Peter angrier. He hit harder.

As the blows pummeled him, Cole’s own anger smoldered. He grabbed deep breaths. He would not get angry. Not now. As he tried to back away, he stumbled and fell. Peter was on him instantly, hitting and yelling. All Cole could do was curl his knees up to his chest and try to cover his face.

Then Peter started kicking him. To Cole it felt as if a sledgehammer was striking his chest and arms. He rolled away, but the next kick
caught him in the face and slammed his head back. He tasted blood. The world spun in lazy circles. The hammer kept hitting. “Stop!” Cole gasped. “Please stop!”

“Then fight, you coward!” Peter screamed like a madman.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Cole shouted as the next angry kick to his stomach took his breath away. Then the kicking stopped. Cole opened his eyes in time to see Peter sink to his knees next to him, crying. Peter’s body shook with great hiccuping sobs.

“Are you okay?” Cole asked, grimacing from his pain.

“I’m scared,” cried Peter. “I’m so scared. My thinking gets all mixed up, and I feel like the whole world is falling on me.”

Wincing, Cole sat up. “How can I make you believe that you don’t ever have to be scared of me again?”

“You just say that,” Peter sobbed.

“Peter, I’m not a bad person. I got mad at you ’cause I was really mad at myself. I thought my dad beat me because I was worthless.” Cole paused. “The dances, carving the totem, carrying the ancestor rock, touching the Spirit Bear, it was all the same thing—it was finding out who I really was.”

“You’re a jerk,” Peter sobbed. “That’s what you are.”

Cole fought back his own tears. “I’m part of some big circle that I don’t understand. And so are you. Life, death, good and bad, everything is part of that circle. When I hurt you, I hurt myself, too. I don’t think I’ll ever heal from what I did to you, but I’m sorry, Peter. I really am sorry.”

Peter knelt, crying, his body bent forward. Cole, not knowing what else to do, wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders. For a long time, Peter let himself be hugged, leaning back into Cole.

And that was when it appeared. Not twenty feet away, it stood watching them: the Spirit Bear.

“Look,” Cole whispered, letting go of Peter.

Peter still sniffled, staring down at the ground.

“Look,” Cole whispered louder, nudging him. “It’s the Spirit Bear.”

Peter raised his head and stared, his mouth opened in amazement. “Will it hurt us?” he whispered.

“No,” Cole whispered back. “We’re not threatening it. You and I have both become invisible.”

Peter looked at Cole, puzzled.

“Never mind, I’ll explain later,” Cole whispered.

For a full minute, the bear stood frozen in
place, gazing at them. The chattering of a squirrel nearby echoed like thunder in the silence. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the Spirit Bear swung its massive head around and ambled away, vanishing ghostlike into the trees.

Peter drew in a deep breath as if waking from a long sleep. “Did we really see what I think we just saw?”

Cole smiled and shrugged. “They say there aren’t any Spirit Bears here.”

“But I saw one,” Peter insisted. “Will anyone believe us?”

“It doesn’t matter what other people think or believe,” Cole said. “It’s what
you
believe. That’s what’s important.”

That morning, as Cole and Peter soaked, a warm silence blanketed the pond. Afterward, they found a second ancestor rock so both could roll their anger down the slope. When they headed back to camp, Cole’s face was swollen, and he hugged at his sore ribs with an elbow.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked.

Cole licked at his numb and swollen lips, and grimaced. Still, he smiled. “I’d hate to go through that again.”

Peter walked without speaking.

When they arrived back in camp, Cole broke
the silence. Standing beside the totems, he explained to Peter that being invisible was being a part of life’s circle and accepting it. “This morning, when we forgave each other, we also forgave ourselves,” he said. “We allowed ourselves to become a part of the big circle. That’s why we saw the Spirit Bear.”

“What makes you think I forgave you?” Peter said.

Cole pulled off the backpack. “I have something I want to give you,” he said. He took out the folded at.óow. “Garvey gave this to me as a symbol of friendship and to show he trusted me.” He handed the at.óow to Peter. “Now I want you to have it.”

“Are you saying you trust me?” Peter asked.

Cole nodded. “I hope someday you’ll trust me.”

Peter stared at the at.óow as he spoke. “I want to help you carve the blank space on your totem, the space you saved for your dance of anger.”

Cole hesitated. “Okay.” He ran to the cabin and returned with the knives.

For the next two hours Cole and Peter carved together. When they finished, Cole hollered for Garvey to come from the cabin and take a look at the nearly perfect circle that now completed the totem.

When Garvey joined the boys, he stared down at the log and at what they had carved. “You carved a perfect circle,” he said, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Why a circle?”

Cole and Peter glanced nervously at each other, neither wanting to speak.

“Could it be because every part of a circle is both a beginning and an end?” Garvey asked. “And everything is one?”

Peter shrugged awkwardly and grinned at Cole. “A circle is all I could teach him to carve.”

Cole smiled and nodded. “I’m a slow learner. But I’m working on it.”