The Bear Went Over the Mountain (21 page)

“Well, well,” said Sinkler, his eyes lighting up. The Reverend Sinkler wanted to
reach out
. He was not accustomed to socializing with moderates, but if he was going to make a run for the presidency, he needed them. “I’m delighted to meet you, sir, delighted indeed.”

The bear shook Reverend Sinkler’s hand, and the reverend was pleased to see that it wasn’t some wishy-washy fag grip, but a fine, manly handshake.

“I read your book,” said the bear, because his publicist had told him to always say that to his fellow authors so no one’s feelings would ever be hurt.

“You have? Why, that gives me pleasure, Mr.… er … Jam, it certainly does. Especially because I enjoyed
your
book enormously.” Reverend Sinkler hadn’t known of its existence until a moment ago, but his publicity
director had also counseled him that it was important to say he’d read the book of any other writer he met.

“I can see you two have a lot to talk about,” said Elder, and eased himself out of the room.

Sinkler gazed at the bear with the benevolent gaze he shone on all human beings, so that they might know that he loved them. The bear gazed back, sniffing the reverend. He got faint traces of two-hundred-dollar cologne. He also smelled Pan-Cake makeup, and it smelled edible. He leaned over, held the reverend by the shoulders, and licked his face. It had a buttery sort of flavor.

Sinkler attempted to draw back, but a fine, manly grip held him firm. Is he a Frenchie? wondered Sinkler, then decided it had to be something like that, for the man was a best-seller, not a pervert. “Thank you for your sincere display of emotion, sir. I see we’re together on that long and shining road that leads to everlasting brotherhood.”

The producer entered. “Reverend, we’re ready for you now.”

Sinkler pivoted like a top as the long and shining road of telecommunications rose up before him. “Time to proclaim at the crossroads,” he said with a loving smile.

The bear remained in the green room, eating his Cheesy Things. A wall monitor carried the show, and he saw the reverend talking to the show’s host. He looked around for a remote with which to change channels, but
there was none. When an assistant producer walked in, the bear pointed at the monitor and said, “Cartoons.”

“You can say that again,” said the assistant producer, eyeing the reverend on the screen.

The bear nodded, eyes still on the monitor, where the reverend was speaking in the cadence of an earlier, more primitive America. The bear was impressed with the reverend’s sonorous drone.

The assistant producer shook his head. “It’s frightening to think he could be our next president.”

“I want to talk like him,” said the bear.

The assistant producer chuckled. “We all do. He’s worth a hundred million.”

This figure was meaningless to the bear, as he’d gone from being a bear to being a millionaire with no stops in between. But he still couldn’t speak in long, droning sentences like the man on the screen.

When his turn came, he gave his typical interview, which confounded the show’s host, delighted the cameramen, and lit up the switchboards. Reverend Sinkler watched on the television in his limo, amazed by the simplicity of his fellow best-seller. “I’m going to have Hal Jam down to Godland,” he said to Craig Sudekum, a Christian publicist.

Sudekum cleared his throat diplomatically. “The man embraces extramarital sex in his book, Reverend.”

“We’ve got to move with the times, Sudekum.”

“Always risky, Reverend.”

“I’m
reaching out
.”

“I recognize that, Reverend.” Craig Sudekum was the gray eminence behind Norbert Sinkler. Sinkler had the charisma and the common touch, but Sudekum had the brains, and had carried this big, dumb Bible-walloper from obscurity to the threshold of the White House.

“Hal Jam’s warm and sincere,” said Sinkler. “He doesn’t use big words. He doesn’t make you feel like a dumbbell.” Reverend Sinkler stared out the window toward the street. “I like Hal. I think my congregation would like him too.”

“If kept off fornicational topics, Reverend.”

“He’s looking for readers, Sudekum, same as I am. We’ll keep him off fornication and show him off to the moderates. I
need
moderates, and this man Jam will be my first. He’s actually read my book.”

“Yessir. Do you wish me to contact him?”

“You do that.” Reverend Sinkler got on the intercom to the driver. “I’m seeing black faces. Lower the gold.”

“Yessir,” said the driver, and pressed a button on the control console. The fourteen-carat gold crucifix that served as a hood ornament on the Godland limo lowered itself electronically into the hood and sank out of sight.

·  ·  ·

Reverend Sinkler and the bear dined together in the Pump Room of the Omni Ambassador. Jacket and tie were required. The bear was wearing his tweed suit and clip-on tie; Reverend Sinkler was in a navy blazer with gold buttons, to match the tiny, eighteen-carat crucifix fixed to his Armani tie.

The reverend lifted his wineglass and sipped judiciously. “You’ll be at the top of the show, nothing too formal, just some light conversation. I have to tell you up front that sex can’t be one of those topics, unless it’s family oriented. Will that be a problem?”

“No problem,” said the bear. Bettina had instructed him to say this whenever anybody on the tour asked him if he could do something.
Do it all, Hal. All publicity is good. Just say
no problem.

“I’m happy to hear you say that, Hal, happy indeed. I knew it wouldn’t be hard for a man of your character and faith to modify his presentation.”

“No problem,” repeated the bear. He was eating Pump Room chicken fricassee, and his mood was a contented one. I’ve got the largest territory of any bear in the world, he said to himself. None of the others come close. Without fear of contradiction I can say there’s not a bear alive who wouldn’t want to be eating chicken fricassee right now. But would their table manners be as well developed? Would they have their napkin tucked under their chin? Would their paw be out of the soup or dangling
inside it? These gains are not won easily. Another bear in this situation would be slobbering and farting. He might drop a turd alongside his chair, as a warning that everything on the table is his. I’ve resisted. It hasn’t been easy. But it was necessary.

“I’d like to change gears here, Hal, and talk some politics. I’m not seeking office, mind you, but there’s a ground swell of folks who think I should take a shot at the White House. What would you think of my candidacy?”

The reverend had gestured with his fork as he said this, and the bear assumed that candidacy must be something like fricassee. He lifted his own fork. “Sounds tasty.”

“Well, well,” said Sinkler with a satisfied smile. “That’s very good to hear, sir, very good indeed.” What in hell does Sudekum know about politics? thought the Reverend Sinkler to himself. I
knew
Jam was ready to swing to the right. “We’re moving fast here, Hal, but I think great movements always do. Would you endorse my candidacy on the air?”

“No problem,” said the bear.

“That’s wonderful, Hal, and most gratifying. Since we’re moving right along, I don’t mind telling you I think I can do something for this country. Because a country is like a congregation.” Why, that’s not half-bad, thought Sinkler to himself, and made a note to give that line to his speech writers for further development.
A country is like a congregation. A country is a congregation
. “I can promise
you this, Hal. Nobody will ever be able to accuse me of pulling my pants down with some secretary in a motel room.”

The bear looked down into his lap, checking as he often did, on the correctness of his own pants. “I have mine on right.”

“Of course you do, and so do I.” Reverend Sinkler had wrestled with the devil of lust on several notable occasions, but had always managed to keep his pants on. There was at this moment a woman seated at the table across from him with her half-bare tits squeezed up over the neck of her dress. Tits a man could lose an election over. The reverend looked back toward Jam. “We’re all human.”

“I’m trying to be,” said the bear.

“Very well put, my friend. Very well indeed. And I’m trying too.”

“You too?” asked the bear.

“Me too, Hal. I won’t pretend I haven’t known animal lust.” Reverend Sinkler felt a strange bond with Hal Jam. The man didn’t sit in judgment of you, and for this reason Reverend Sinkler felt he could share with him openly. “I’ve got thirty-seven good-looking women singing in a choir behind me every Sunday. But I don’t take advantage of my position.”

“I usually do it from behind,” said the bear.

“They’re bonding,” said Will Elder at a nearby table.
He was speaking on a cellular phone, long-distance to New York.

“He’s bonding with Norbert Sinkler?”
Bettina was at home in alphabet city, her workday done, but Will Elder had instructions to call her if Hal Jam got himself in trouble.

“Sinkler’s invited him to Godland.”

“And he accepted?”

“He’s going to appear on the Godland Prayer and Shopping Network.”

“How the hell did this happen?”

“They hit it off.”

“There goes the National Book Award. The Cheesy Things endorsement was bad enough.”

“Writers on tour are adults in diapers.”

“When is he supposed to go on the air with Sinkler?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do, Will?”

“I’ll do my best, but short of locking him in the closet …”

Godland was ten miles out of Chicago, and the bear arrived in a Godland limo. The bear had no concept of religion. He was here for the candidacy, which he pictured in a creamy sauce with tender little peas floating in it.

Norbert Sinkler himself greeted the bear as the limo pulled up in front of the main building. This building was dubbed Kingdom Come Hall and was a study in giantism worthy of the Third Reich.

“Welcome, Hal,” said Reverend Sinkler. “God Himself told me this morning how happy He was that you were coming.”

The bear squinted up into the bright winter sky. Sunlight shined on the dome of Kingdom Come Hall and on the fluttering flag of the Everlasting Miracle Ministry, Limited Liability. He sniffed the air for chicken candidacy, but the only smell was that of french fries coming from the surrounding Godland shopping mall.

Norbert Sinkler took his guest by the elbow and led him toward the entrance to Kingdom Come Hall. “We’re proud of our place in the American landscape, Hal,” said Sinkler, gesturing at the colorful gingerbread designs of the shops on the streets radiating out from the holy center. The bear thought the architecture was pretty nice too. This was because he was a bear.

Reverend Sinkler led him into the hall, which echoed with their footsteps. The bear stared up at the domed ceiling. It was the highest ceiling he’d ever seen, with pretty paintings on it, of Norbert Sinkler and a longhaired, bearded man leading people toward the clouds.

“All of this was built by prayer,” said Sinkler.

The bear’s nose began to twitch. He was getting hungry. “Let’s have your candidacy.”

“We’re working on it round the clock, Hal. Mailings. Telephone solicitations. Major advertising. God
will
be in the White House.” Reverend Sinkler imagined himself on inauguration day, taking the oath of office, his resonant tones filling the hearts and minds of the world. That’s why he needed Jam, and others like him, moderates who were finding their way toward redemption.

“I’d like your candidacy now,” said the bear.

“So would I.” Sinkler was moved by his guest’s earnestness. “But these things take time.”

The bear nodded, and his tongue went over his snout again, in loving anticipation of those little peas in sauce.

Sinkler led the way into the backstage area of the hall, threading through lengths of electric cable. The bear was taken in tow by the makeup people and then handed over to the assistant director. Through the curtains could be heard the audience of several thousand believers in Norbert Sinkler’s version of reality, who would join hearts with the millions more who watched the Christian Prayer and Shopping Network at home.

The assistant director led the bear onstage to the guest chair, and Reverend Sinkler went to his podium. The orchestra settled in, and the choir members came onstage, in long red robes.

The bear’s nose immediately pointed toward the thirty-seven women in their long red robes. Fine-smelling bunch of females, he said to himself. Gives a bear the urge to make little bears, just the way nature planned it, more or less.

The cameras swung into position, the director’s signal came from the control booth, and the show’s theme music began.

The cloud of scents emanating from the thirty-seven robes whispered and danced in the bear’s nose. He’d gotten a taste for human females, and they were the best. He knew he was being a bad bear, but a desperate urge ran through him, to bite, display, challenge. Could be some trouble up ahead, but a bear only lives once.

The women of the choir looked at him in nervous fascination. The male guests who came on the Prayer and Shopping Network talked about family values. This man was sniffing the choir, as if … well, it was too disturbing to think about, but as if he had his nose
up there
.

“My dear friends, welcome.” Norbert Sinkler bowed his head toward the audience, and on cue the choir began to sing softly in the background, their eyes still taking sidelong glances toward the guest.

“My friends, I’ve had God’s blessing on me today, and I’ve heard His word in my ear. God said to me, ‘Norbert, give those folks the biggest, most loving welcome
you can. Open your heart to them, so that they can open their hearts to God …’ ”

The bear’s heart was opening to the lovely ladies. Their song was sweet, and their scent was going up his nose into his brain, commanding him with a primordial command, to conquer all that female flesh, to frolic in its moist scent. Yes, he said to himself, yes,
yes
.

Norbert Sinkler’s back was to the choir as he plunged on with his sermon, feeling it was going to be a
rouser
.