You're Late! Where Have You Been?

That's what the rude "bear" blurted at me -- You're late! Where have you been?

I'm not going to embarrass myself any more than necessary (i.e., to confide honestly with you). I did not have the presence of mind to say, with a sneer or snarl, "what's it to you, buddy?" Or, better, "Didn't I see you at the circus last year?" No, I'm sorry to say, I was dumbfounded, I was flustered. My instantaneous response was to assume I probably was guilty of something. No, that's not quite right; I don't automatically assume I'm wrong -- quite the contrary. What it is is some primitive slow response that has to do with perils on the ground once our folks came down from the cozy trees. Something totally unexpected; something not experienced or seen demonstrated on the screen.

But I wasn't entirely stupid, for I did manage to ask in my best annoyed voice that "who are you? What's your name?" At least I think that's what I said. He, the bear, didn't answer, and, I later realized that had he said who he was, I'd know nothing of real importance, for that question, I realize, is a social reflex -- Who are you? What is your name? As if it was relevant to the situation.

I'm not going to go through the tedious narrative of what exactly was the verbatim conversation at that encounter and later -- suffice to say here that the bear was impatient to get me to acknowledge an obligation I had made before but which I had no memory of.

That initial meeting with the bear was -- wow -- two months ago, at least. At one point I was so agitated that I thought seriously about not going back to the Center until the bear had moved on, or whatever bears do when they have run out of boobs like me to make fools of. But, I didn't quit. That's not a particularly noble trait, though it is considered by many as a sign of strength (I'm not sure why).

Since that initial encounter two months ago, I saw the bear twice. In the first instance he repeated his assertion that I had promised to do a report and that it was long overdue. I kept asking what report and he kept accusing me of knowing but playing dumb. The second time, and the last time, he did tell me his name was Ahque Pant. Like James Bond, he said, "Pant, Ahque Pant."

What kind of name is that, I asked. Indonesian? Indian? Tibetan? He didn't say. And before I could ask him to spell his first name, he was ought of sight.

Since it's been awhile since I last saw the bear, I probably would have dismissed these strange episodes were it not for Mr. Pant's appearance. His face suggests an Oriental caste, I think it's because his eyes are slightly slanted and his face is more rounded than sharp. I can't say I looked very attentive at his eye color, but think more brown than not. But it's his skin color that distinguished our bear, Mr. Pant -- it was/is grey, with a slight bluish tinge. Grey -- like he was neither black nor white but smack dab in the middle of the anthropologist's skin pigment chart -- grey -- as if he'd been designed to blend in with all races, a centrist, if you will.

Oh, yeah. And another thing that I've remembered -- Mr. Pant's speech is remarkable because he articulates words so carefully with precise emphasis of vowels as well as consonants. It's like he had learned English in some artificial environment, or -- a crazy thought -- maybe his voice was not his own but one programmed by some computer. Oh, I forgot to add -- the person inside the bear costume was bald, completely hairless, as far as I could tell.

I have a feeling I won't see Mr. Pant again. That's a hunch. But, should he show up and ask me where that report is I've figured out how I'd reply. I'm working on it, I'll tell him. And the next time after that, I'll say the same -- I'm working on it. Ha!