8

Bears ate everybody. Bears devoured Edna and Marcia and the members of Image Team. Bears swarmed over the Forest Rangers, ripped them apart like bloody cotton candy, seized their shotguns and marched on Anchorage. Right now they’re rising up against mankind, a ferocious bear battalion tottering on their hind legs, chewing a bloody swath through Canada on their way to Washington D.C. to eat the President. Eat the tiny bald humans, they cry. Eat them all! They are crunchy!

That’s one explanation, at least. Pardon my mild impatience but whoever hasn’t rescued me yet is an asshole. Rescue me, asshole! I’m doing my part, I’m maintaining, I’m keeping my spirits up, I’m keeping my enemy distracted so you can sneak up behind him and blow him away with high-powered hollow-point slugs. Or bring a longbow if you want to do it Nuge-Style, I don’t care. But my supplies are running thin here, I’m completely out of Bud and Bud Light, I’m rationing the Diet Pepsi but I think maybe the NutriSweet is interacting badly with my medication. I’m getting the shakes, my legs are sending me way too much e-mail, and I keep seeing bear paws out of the corner of my eyes. My ass has cut off all communication. Bugs are colonizing my pants. Mosquitoes are laying eggs in my nose! Mister Bear himself has been gone all day and is still gone but I can’t disabuse myself of the premonition that more and bigger and hungrier bears are out there, nearby, looking for meat.

HELP! Isn’t that the basic human instinct? The thing that sets us apart from the bears and the ticks and the fungus and all the other bastard wildlife that’s feeding on me? Humans help each other. Humans worry about each other. They don’t even do it because they want to, it’s a factory built-in, like lust or greed or anti-lock brakes. It’s Marketing 101, for Jesus-H-Christ’s-sake, the basic manipulation of feeling and behavior. I am missing, they worry, they desire to HELP. Ergo, they are here yet. Only they aren’t. And what the fuck is up with that? I mean, if I was a worrier I’d worry, but not being a worrier I’m just sort of confused and pissed off.

If my rescue was an ad campaign it would be bombing, falling out of the sky in flames, crashing like the Chevy Nova in Mexico, and the clients would be screaming and the Veeps would be handing me my ass in an ashtray, and I’d be wringing my hair and wondering, why? And I’d almost certainly be firing someone. Lots of people. In fact, at this point I do believe there will be some firings. As a point of principle there must be, even if they do rescue me, some firings. (And they will rescue me, god dammit, or they’re going to be doing push-ups in a kiddie pool of deep shit.)

Oh, and did I mention that for the last twenty minutes or so, the normally chatty insects have gone suspiciously silent? The frolicsome squirrels? They fucked off. The twittering Alaskan birds, they have flown, and buried in the exquisite silence, under the deafening drip of my fluid leak, I am hearing off in the brushy distance very occasional bear-moving-around sounds: twigs snapping, undergrowth being crushed, fish being farted. Somewhere off in the Alaskan muck, on the left, someone’s looking for a midnight snack.

It’s not Mister Bear. Mister Bear is light-footed in the forest; you smell his breath, and then you hear his bronchitis, but never his footsteps. He’s not here, in fact he’s been gone all morning. Mister Bear, where are you at a time like this? I bet you’re balling some she-bear ho-bag on a bear waterbed in a sleazy bear motel, while I lie here like a duck stapled to the inside of a barrel. Thanks, M.B. Knew I could count on you.

Did I mention that I hate bears? This is just not fair. Fairness doesn’t enter into this. I left a party-pack of tender, crunchy subordinates back at Camp Image Team — the official Alaskan Bear Baiting Station, remember, where the bears are supposed to congregate for meals. It’s an all-you-can-eat Homo Sapiens salad bar over there. But oh, no, that’s not good enough for the refined tastes of Alaska’s hoity-toity bears. Won’t Big Brown be disappointed when he finds out I’m the only jerky left. No more Spicy Chorizo, no more Slim Jims, just raw leg of Marv. A Marv Bar. Hey Bears! Are you hungry? Peel open a Starv-Marv!

Maybe if I lie really still and try not to smell like anything, whatever it is won’t find me. Probably the wind is blowing in the wrong direction for whatever it is to sniff-o-locate me. Whatever it is, it’s making a racket. For all the faults of Nature, I appreciate the quiet. Whatever-it-is does not.

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 to 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.