Bear v. Shark Read Free

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