The Bear in the Market

The sun rising to the east paints the land beautiful colors, even through the city’s tall steel fencing. It is a fine fall day to head to the Bazaar. I think of the kiss I gave on my wife’s and children’s heads before I left. My rug is under one arm and my bag of dried salmon slung over my other shoulder. There are faster ways to the Bazaar Fauna, but I prefer the view along the fence line. It also gives me a look at the first animals coming into the city.

Before I round the corner to the main street leading to the Bazaar, I glance at the guard tower as they screen the animals coming through. It’s quite an amazing world, I think to myself. Several species have developed a sign language for trade to ensure prosperity and comfort. Sure, my bear and badger patrons could maul and eat me, but a reliable source of long-lasting dried salmon is much more advantageous. The guards must, of course, screen for the wild animals who do not know, or care, about the gift and peace of trade. As usual, I see several wilds harassed away with electric batons. Most of them get the hint. I hate when a guard must use a rifle to put down a wild who’s overly enticed by the multitude of smells coming from the city.

Between two curious wild raccoons is a trader fox ready for the entrance test. You can always tell a wild from a trader by the claws and eyes. Trader’s claws have been reduced for easier manipulation, and their eyes are much more expressive. The fox sat, turned a paw up with one claw raised, and then turned its paw to the right with two claws showing. It should be a dead giveaway that an animal is a trader when it’s carrying a sack or gathering of items, but this fox knew the language to get in. It used the correct direction of the paw and number of digits to say, “I, tool.” Meaning, “I have tools to sell.” I don’t particularly like dealing with foxes, but I take a mental inventory to see if we need any tools at home.

The first smell of the Bazaar Fauna will never not be assaulting. You become blind to it relatively quickly, but that first inhale gets me every time. Raw meats, drying furs, and anything water-soaked from the otters. Of course, I do enjoy some of the perfumes and hair coating the beavers are renowned for. After the smell, it’s all about getting a great spot to set up your rug. Thankfully, it doesn’t take me long to find a spot and watch the masses peruse. Humans amble about, badgers go directly to what they need, squirrels take any route they please (no matter how inconvenient to others), and the bears slowly make their own paths as others eddy around them. I have even heard in foreign countries that chimps and gorillas make for great trading partners, though they can be overbearing at times.

The Bazaar is alive and well today. Different-pitched screeches and hoots let me know that trade is vibrant. I see several familiar faces, even amongst the array of species. But a newcomer catches my eye. A scraggly bear with knotted fur loosely hanging from a bony frame. He looks somewhat wild, but with the features and aura of a trader. One of the downsides of this convergent evolution is that some animals become traders and forget, or never learned, how to survive independently. Trader animals, no matter how inept they are, hang on to trading posts, as they are easy targets in the wild.

I must have one of those faces, I guess. A sucker or just a nice guy, but I am one of the first vendors this disheveled bear visits. He drops his bag and sits upright on my rug to communicate.

Two claws up and then one claw right. “You, food?” The intraspecies communication is simple and direct, but it is also easy to decipher. “Do you sell food?” I give a head nod to indicate yes.

One claw up and then a closed hand facing right. “I, trinket.” This means he sells novelty items used for decoration ot collection. I don’t particularly enjoy trinkets; squirrels always try to scam them. The bear takes out of his bag some branches with low-quality wood carvings on them. As far as trinkets go, these aren’t even worth the bag they came in.

A claw towards my salmon and then four claws down. “How much?” I don’t want these carvings, but they seem rudimentary enough; maybe I can turn them into something good with the beavers.

I put three fingers left and then close my fist to the left. “Thirty trinkets for one fully dried salmon.” The bear shakes his head no and gives me two claws down. “Lower?”

I’m not feeling so generous, but I can understand not accepting the first offer. I give him two fingers and then five fingers to the left to indicate twenty-five trinkets. The bear shakes his head again as it hangs in disappointment. He points to his chest to say, “Thank you.”

I don’t know what that bear expected with poor wood carvings. I mean, he can do an alright fish, but his flowers are atrocious.

For some reason, I couldn’t get this exchange out of my mind. Something in his eyes was so desperate. But desperation leads to terrible exchanges, and so I try to forget about it. The rest of the day at the Bazaar seems like any other. However, I keep an eye on that bear whenever I’m not busy and he is in the vicinity. I can see some of the hand exchanges he is having with other vendors. Every time he asks for a lower price, and many times an absurdly lower price. The worst is when he offers the initial price. Many of the trading animals give him the closed fist down, which means, “That’s ridiculous!” in a very insulting way. Every time he says thank you, and moves on. It must be incredibly hard to be an animal trapped between poor trade skills and a lack of wild ones.

I wake up on the next fall day and head to the Bazaar like any other day. I get most of my stimulating conversations with my family at home, and I then I must make endless hand signs with lowballing and overpraising animals. The raccoon in front of me is trying quite hard to push his goose feather pillows. I know I can get a decent deal because of the way this raccoon only uses its right hand. It’s awkward when some animals only use one hand, and they have to twist it to face away from their body. Experienced traders use both hands. Right to point left, left to point right, and either for other communications. These pillows are not on my mind, as I see the scraggly bear back for again, looking for new faces.

Products, disagreements, and even enticing deals don’t intrigue me whenever this poor creature is within sight. Another day and another host of rejections. I can’t help but feel pity for this bear. My curse and blessing is that I can always hear the beautiful, and nagging, voice of my wife in my head at times like this.

“No creature sets unreasonable prices. In their mind there is always a reason. Find the reason, and you can find the right price.” It irks me how smart she can be. What is this bear’s reason for going through all of this hardship? He obviously isn’t a hunter, but what forced him to be an awful trader?

It isn’t such a profitable day for me, and so, when I see the bear sulking out of town, I pack up my belongings. Something forces my curiosity and my legs to follow blindly. I don’t often leave the safety of the city walls, but I’m with a bear, I figure. The only real danger would be another opportunistic wild bear, right? Is this really a good idea? My legs still march forward as I take this risk to learn about this strange creature. This risk pales in comparison to my wife’s scorn if she found out that I was just one of the many faces to reject this poor bear.

This bear wastes no time leaving the dirt road into the city, and he heads for the Snake River. There aren’t any snakes, but everyone knows how it got its name. The bends of the river are a great way to lose or confront a tracker, and well, that’s what happens. This bear caught onto me quickly and is sitting waiting for me around one of the bends. A moment of panic attacks me, but this trader’s face shows no intent of violence.

The bear raises two fingers up, and then three down. “You, why?” The equivalent of, “What are you doing?”, or more likely, “What do you want?”

I point one finger up and then three down, ashamed. “I, why.” meaning, “I don’t know.” I then point at the bear, “Sorry.” The bear doesn’t get upset. He sort of laughs, huffs is more accurate, and he points one claw to the right. “Food?”

I put five fingers down, which means, “Thinking.” The bear dances a bit, huffing even more joyously. A wild bear would take my food and probably my life, but this desperately skinny bear just seems happy to see me.

Four claws down. “How much?”

“Thinking,” I sign again. I don’t want these trinkets, but this exchange has to be better than the alternative.

The bear claps his hands vertically, which means, “Follow.” Is this bear luring me into a trap? Would running be worse? Thoughts flood my mind, and yet my legs follow. For such a poor trader, the bear could walk and talk at the same time.

Two claws up. “You?” By itself means, “What’s your name?”

“Shinji,” I say aloud, and then I put up two fingers. The bear gives several distinct grunts, but I have no idea what it means. We continue to walk together around the many bends in the river. This bear is a lovely walking companion, and he even asks genuinely about my family.

We come around a last bend to an open field. The bear claps his hands horizontally, which means, “Wait.” The bear takes a curved path forward in the grass and sits a few feet away from me. With a big smile, the bear tells me to follow again. Confused, I step directly forward and hear a hollow thump beneath my feet. I pause, look down, and look up at the bear. “Trap door,” I say aloud, and the bear nods his head excitedly.

Many successful trading bears den in caves with lots of furnishings and comfort. Some of them have nicer-looking dens than my home. I heard that less affluent or dominant bears resort to digging holes. But the wooden cover hidden in the grass is genius. The bear then moseys over to where I’m standing and lifts the wooden pallet as I shuffle to the side. A strong scent of moist dirt rushes out, and light fills the dark space. The bear nudges his head toward the opening in the grass. Am I a fool for just walking into a trap like this?

Before I have more time to worry, I hear squeaks and huffs of small cubs. Two puny, but happy, bear cubs hurry into the light to smell and greet me. They remind me of my children, but much more furry. I look to the bear and sign two and then three fingers up. “You, child?” The bear somberly lowered his head and shook it no. He then gave me one finger and then four up. “I, family.” Meaning the cubs were one of his family member’s. Since male bears often don’t care for their young, I understand that these are his sister’s cubs.

“Family, why?” I sign. There is no agreed-upon sign for death, but the bear’s demeanor says it loudly. I point to the bear, “Sorry.” He points to his chest, “Thank you.”

Sadness takes me over as I imagine my family in such dire situations. Sadness should fill this entire den. Yet, the cubs are playing, and after a moment, the bear smiles again. The resilience is incredible. I survey the den and see that the food supplies won’t be enough for the upcoming winter.

“You, food?” the bear asks. Even now, in the bear’s emaciated state, he could just take the salmon from me. He still wants to trade? This bear’s heart is deeper than I thought was possible outside of humans.

‘Thinking,” I sign. I need time to process my thoughts and emotions. This bear took on his deceased sister’s cubs and still only wants a fair deal to feed his family. The bear huffs again and starts collecting all of the wooden carvings in the den. He then signs so quickly I almost miss it. One claw up, five claws left, closed fist left, three claws left, closed fist right, two claws up, one claw right, and four claws down. “I have fifty three wood carvings, how much salmon can this buy?”

I am still dumbfounded by the heavy emotional stake for this bear. Exchange rates and fair offers escape me.

“Thinking,” I sign again. I’ll have to give him an answer eventually. He deserves that. He deserves so much. This bear has the kindest face I’ve seen in any species. This den has a feel of desperation, but none of its occupants show signs of despair.

“Thank you.” The bear points to his chest and waits patiently. My family has enough; his does not, and he still thanks me.

I take the bag off my shoulder and push it toward him. I sign one finger left and a closed hand right. “One, trinket.” The bear’s gaze shifts rapidly between the bag and me. He shakes his head no. Five claws left, closed fist left, three claws left. “53.” It is my turn to shake my head no. “One, trinket.” I sign again.

Closed paw down and then three claws down. “Ridiculous, why?” The intraspecies sign language is efficient for trade, but it can’t express to this bear how I feel.

“All you want is to feed these cubs this winter. You don’t think like a trader; you think like a parent. This is not an unreasonable price for the reason you trade,” I say, trying to keep my bubbling emotions down as I look directly into his eyes. He can’t speak words, but his eyes show his immense appreciation.

He points to his chest repeatedly. “Thank you, thank you,...” He then closes his fist upwards. “Friend!” In that moment, the den filled with happiness. Their little hideout in the grass now felt like a safe shelter for winter.

Seasons pass, and the Bazaar keeps buzzing. I have not seen that bear around in a few years. But, some time every fall, there is a wood carving left outside my home. I must say, he's getting much better.