The Bear's Story.

[Michelle Chapman ©1997]

Every Story Begins.

In the beginning there is the fire.

The Tribe comes at evening,
when the setting sun has stolen
the warmth from the air.

They sit beside the fire,
on the hard-packed earth.

The very old, the very young, the in-betweens,
all are here.

Leaving behind all the day's realities,
the Tribe concentrates.

They focus their complete attention
on the only one of their number who sits alone -

... the Storyteller.

Wrapped closely in hooded cloak and mask
the Storyteller's identity is shrouded in secrecy.

Man or Woman? The Tribe does not know.
Old or Young? The Tribe does not care.

For as soon as the storyteller's voice begins
shaping the shifting shadows,
making mystical magical marks in the smoke
from the fire,

the Tribe forgets the Storyteller

and listens only to

... the Story -


... 'Listen, ever Listen,
for the DRUMS of the Bear Clan
are telling you a story...

Their beat is

soft
dull
heavy

the tread of the bear in the forest.

Do you Hear?

The Drums Say :
"WE TELL THE STORY OF
LITTLE BEAR LOST
AND
LITTLE BEAR FOUND."

"Where can he be?"
CRIED MOTHER BEAR,
"He's such a good cub normally,
It's not like him to go missing!"

"WE KNOW WHERE HE IS"
Said the Drums.

"Perhaps he climbed the big oak tree looking for honey?"
SUGGESTED FATHER BEAR,
"He always had such a sweet tooth!"

"HE IS ONLY A LITTLE BEAR,"
Said the Drums,
"HIS LEGS ARE TOO SHORT TO FIND
HONEY IN A TREE!"

"Perhaps he went to the Bramble-patch looking for berries?"
SUGGESTED SISTER BEAR,
"He loves fresh fruit!"

"HIS LITTLE NOSE IS TOO SOFT TO PICK BERRIES,"
Said the Drums,
"AND THE THORNS GET IN HIS WAY!"

"Perhaps he has gone to the river to catch fish?"
SUGGESTED UNCLE BEAR,
"He loves their flashing silvery scales!"

"HIS PAWS ARE TOO CLUMSY TO CATCH FISH,"
Said the Drums,
"HE WOULD ONLY CATCH COLD FROM HIS WET FUR."

"..... BUT ....."

"WE KNOW WHERE HE IS!"
Said the Drums.

"Where? Where? Where?"
SHOUTED ALL THE BEARS.

"HE HAS GONE TO VISIT
THE GREAT BEAR IN THE SKY,
HIS GRANDFATHER,
AMONG THE STARS!"
Said the Drums.

"That's impossible!"
MOTHER BEAR SAID.
"He would never go so far without telling me!!"

"That's nonsense!"
FATHER BEAR SAID.
"If his legs are too short to reach honey in a tree,
how can he reach the stars?"

That's silly!"
SISTER BEAR SAID.
"If his nose is too soft to pick berries amid the thorns,
how he will hurt it when he falls from the sky!"

"That's rubbish!"
UNCLE BEAR SAID.
"If his paws are too clumsy to catch a fish,
how can he catch a twinkling star?"

"Our legs are long."
SAID ALL THE BEARS TOGETHER,
"We can reach honey that is high in a tree,
but we cannot reach the stars."

"Our noses are hard."
SAID THE BEARS,
"The thorns in the Bramble-patch don't stop us from collecting berries,
but we are afraid of falling from the stars."

"Our paws are nimble and quick."
SAID THE BEARS,
"We can catch the glittering fish in the sparkling water, but we can't catch the stars that shine in the sky."

"Oh No!"
EXCLAIMED MOTHER BEAR,
"If he has gone to visit the great Bear among the stars,
perhaps he will never come home!
It is so beautiful in the sky!"

"DON'T WORRY!"
Said the Drums,
"WE WILL BRING HIM HOME TO YOU."

And the Drums began to beat,

faster and faster,
and
louder and louder,

until the rhythm of their music
made all the Bears dance!

"TUM TUM-TUM
TUM TUM-TUM
TA-TA-TA-TA
TA-TA-TA-TA
TUM TUM-TUM
TUM TUM-TUM
TA-TA-TA
TA-TA-TA
TAAA"

Sang the Drums.

Suddenly, there was a rustle among the leaves, and
Little Bear's head peered out from
a cosy nest in the ferns.

"What's all the noise?"
ASKED LITTLE BEAR.
"I was having such a lovely dream.
I was up in the stars with the great Bear, my grandfather.

I was feeling ashamed, because
my legs are too short,
and my nose is too soft,
and my paws are too clumsy,
and I can't help you gather food from the forest."

The big Bears were so happy to have Little Bear safely
back with them
that they cuddled around him and
squeezed him and squeezed him
in
a
GREAT

BIG

BEAR HUG!

"Don't worry, Little Bear!"
ALL THE BIG BEARS BELLOWED.
"You may be only a little Bear,
but you are the only Bear we know
who has been to the stars!"

And they all sat down to a big dinner of honey and
berries and freshly caught silver fish that
shone like the moonlight.

And the Drums played them a happy dancing beat,

and told Bear Clan stories until the sun came up.'

Do you Hear?

In the darkness around the dying fire,
the Tribe stands, slowly, silently, unwilling to disturb
the echo of the story
that is ringing in their minds.

Singly, or in couples and families, the Tribe
shuffle off like sleepwalkers,
into their tents which the magic words woven by the
Storyteller
have filled with fiction and fantasy.

The camp falls quiet
as every member of the Tribe begins to tell his or her
own story
spinning life out of the dream-heavy air.

Alone beside the fire's glowing coals
the Storyteller sits
and listens.

Do you Hear?

In the sky high above a single star can be seen
twinkling through a hole in one of the tents.

Alice Liddell,
the girl who sees the star through the tear,
suddenly burst into tears.

But oh! - I forgot! -

I cannot tell the story of Alice here.
She is a character in someone else's dream.
A fantasy I heard long ago.

There are so many stories to tell,
I sometimes lose my way.

...
The stars in the sky see all our dreams
...

Moving quietly
a small, scruffy kitten
comes creeping into the tent.

She curls around and around
on Alice's feet,
kneading the thin blanket with needle claws.

Finally satisfied, she tucks her paws underneath her and
wraps her tail around to cover her nose.

Cuddling comfortably, she purrs herself to sleep.
And smiling, dreams. ...

"Moth and Mouse and Bird and Bee
Stalking silently - long grass - I'm free!
Velvet paws and razor claws
My prey does not see me.

Sun and Shade and Wind and Rain
Meow - I sing the same refrain!
Velvet paws and razor claws
It's time to prowl again.

Play and Pounce and Peer and Preen
Fur - soft and silky - blackest sheen!
Velvet paws and razor claws
Sandpaper tongue to lick me clean."

The moon has risen, a full moon.
Its light floods through a hole in the tent
bathing the kitten in its silvery glow.

She sits up and stretches,
and scratches behind her ear.
Sniffing at the air,
she turns around three times
and settles back to sleep.

Outside,
the bitter wind scatters the ashes from the fire.
The Storyteller is nowhere to be seen.

If you enjoyed this story, you might like to read an essay on metafiction, explaining the critical theory on which this story was based: Metafiction and the Poetics and Politics of Children's Literature.