Free Bearwalker by Joseph Bruchac Page B

I’m crying. It’s just sweat, that’s all.
    Mr. Philo finishes the story. Mr. Mack stands up and starts slapping his hands together. That huge pasted-on smile is back on his face. “Everyone!” he shouts. “Come on! Show your appreciation. Let’s all have a round of applause for the former director.”
    Everyone applauds, even though it breaksthe mood. Which is what I think Mr. Mack intended. Then there is an awkward silence. Using the heavy wooden cane that he leaned on as we walked to the fire circle, Mr. Philo has lowered himself slowly down onto the bench next to his wife. She’s wrapping her blanket around his shoulders. He looks tired now. Mrs. Philo is whispering something into his ear and he is nodding wearily.
    â€œI have a story to share,” a heavy voice growls from the darkness behind Mr. Mack.

12
Real Stories
    M r. Mack is standing up and clapping his hands. “Wonderful!” he gushes. “Now we are going to hear a real Native American story from a true Native American.”
    My fear is overcome, for the moment at least, by my disgust at this obnoxious man and the disrespect he has just shown to Mr. Philo with that one simple statement. As if the story he just shared with us was a lie.
    I don’t know anything about how boards work, but I wonder how the board of directors for Camp Chuckamuck ever chose Mr. Mack.
    Walker White Bear looms up from the darkness behind the camp director. He moves slowly as he takes the place of Mr. Philo on the slightly raised ground that elevates him above the rest of the circle. He’s not as tall as the old basketball star, but he’s a very big man. There’s menace in the way he walks, each step so heavythat it seems as if his feet are sinking into the ground. I shove my hand into my pocket and find the shape of my bear good luck charm. It’s just a carved piece of wood and I know I’m not being logical. But all I can think is that I need help. Just feeling it in my hand reassures me. A little.
    â€œThere’s nothing as dangerous as a bear,” Walker White Bear begins. His voice comes from so deep in his chest that each word is like the thud of a drum. “They’re all teeth and claws. They’ll tear you apart if they get ahold of you, and rip your head off. I’ve been around bears. I’ve walked with bears. Never show any weakness to a bear. Stand your ground. Face them down. Comes to the point where it’s either kill or be killed, you have to be ready to do what needs to be done.”
    He looks around the circle of awed adolescent faces staring up at him. He has just about everyone here hypnotized. Not the Philos, though. And not Mr. Wilbur, who is sitting between the two old people with his arms around them. And not me.
    The one who calls himself Walker White Bear nods his head and smiles a closemouthed, self-satisfied smile.
    â€œDon’t expect any favors from a bear. Whatever you get from a bear, you got to take.” He reaches up one pawlike hand to grab the ugly claw necklace around his neck and shake it. “That story about a bear taking care of a child? Hrrrggghh!” His deep growling laugh shakes the air. “That’s not going to happen. You know what a bear would do to a child? Let me tell you what I saw when I was up in Alaska, up where they have real bears and not those measly little black bears you get around here. Up where they have grizzlies.”
    He pauses for dramatic effect. I know that whatever he says next is going to be unpleasant.
    â€œI was walking along a trail when I saw a little baby bear. It was up on a rock with its eyes closed. If any of you girls saw it you would have said it looked like a little teddy bear.”
    He slowly growls those words “little teddy bear” to make the mockery in his tone even more emphatic.
    â€œIsn’t that cute? You probably would have wanted to give it a hug. But when I got closer, it