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“Nope.” The man gave the lever another yank, raising the speed of the machine. The riders screamed from their spinning seats.
Will and John skulked away. “Fuck,” muttered Will.
“Theron must have been fucking with us, that prick,” John said.
“That fuckhead.”
They walked a bit farther, and John said, “Sumbubbabitch.” The boys laughed.
They needed to head home before Will’s dad started worrying about the car, but as they circled toward the exit, they passed a small crowd gathered in front of the tent with the wrestling bear. A barker wearing a cowboy hat was standing on a wood platform in front, bantering through a microphone, trying to lure someone to take on the animal. “Come on, I thought West Virginia was full of brave mountain men,” the barker taunted. “No one wants to make twenty-five dollars?” He held the microphone close to his mouth, so every breath and smack of his lips echoed unpleasantly out of the amplifier.
Someone down front in the crowd yelled for him to bring out the bear so they could get a look at it. The barker tossed a few more insults at the crowd, but eventually he turned and yelled something into the tent. After a few seconds, a black snout nuzzled aside a flap, and a black bear ambled onto the platform, followed by its handler, a stocky man wearing red trunks and tights. The handler held a chain that linked to a muzzle on the bear’s head. When they got to the barker, the handler yanked the chain, and the creature stood on its hind legs. The crowd whooped.
A man yelled, “That bear’s skinnier than my wife!”
“But can you pin your wife?” the barker snapped.
More laughs and hoots.
The boys edged forward to get a better look. Upright, the bear looked precarious, and it actually appeared to be smaller than the handler, though its real size was hard to gauge since its curved upper spine and bent knees gave it a stooped and almost arthritic posture. John studied the low, square hips, the rounded shoulders, the forelegs held awkwardly at the sides. He had an overwhelming sense of recognition, and he whispered to Will, “That’s no bear. That’s a man in a costume.”
“How can you tell?”
“Look at the way it moves. Look at the body. That’s an actor.”
Will stared and nodded. “You may be right.”
The barker still couldn’t lure any takers, and he tested various pitches. He said Boris came from the forests of deepest Siberia. “This is your chance to fight the Russians.” He raised the prize money to thirty dollars. He started singling out onlookers, teasing them, challenging their virility. Still no takers. Scanning the crowd, the barker spotted Will and John. “Lookee there, two college boys,” he cried. “You fellows got brawn and brains,” the barker taunted. “You ought to be able to outthink a bear.”
The crowd gawked and laughed. John shook his head self-consciously. A squat old man in overalls piped up, “They don’t want to mess up their haircuts.” More laughter.
The barker sensed an opportunity. “Tell
you what,” he said, marching to the front of the platform so he loomed over the two of them. “Here’s the deal. I’ll let you two wrestle him together. Two against one.”
Will and John looked at each other.
“How about it?” the barker asked the crowd. “Isn’t that a deal? Two college boys against a bear!”
People screamed, urging the boys to go for it. Anonymous hands slapped their backs. Will said to John, “What the hell, it’s a man in a costume.”
John wished he could consider it for a few seconds, maybe talk it over. But the noise and the attention demanded a quick response. Besides, it was almost impossible not to slide along on the excitement and momentum. He looked up at the barker. “Yeah, sure,” John said softly.
“We’ve got a match!” the man cried as the crowd of West Virginians cheered. The barker leaned over to help hoist the boys onto the platform, and after thrusting the microphone in their faces to ask a few perfunctory questions, he announced, “Get your tickets now!” Then he led the boys through the flap into the tent.
The wrestling ring was a canvas square about twenty feet on a side contained by a fence of wire mesh about six feet high. Plain wood bleachers rose around the sides. The bear was already squatting in one corner of the ring next to the dour handler, who was sitting on a three-legged stool. The barker, all business now, handed the boys bulky overalls. “Put these on over your clothes,” he ordered.
The overalls smelled stale and felt heavy.
“Now these.” The barker gave each of them an old, worn football helmet. John got the Packers, Will the Redskins.
“I feel like I’m in a space suit,” John said when they were fully outfitted.
The barker thrust a clipboard dangling a pen into Will’s hands. “Sign that, both of you,” he ordered.
“What is it?” Will asked.
“Waiver of liability. Just sign it.”
