Bear Sightings, Chapter Three

The Quest Begins

“Nice day for a walk in the woods,” Candide said, getting out of the station wagon. “Who’s the little one?” 

“This is my daughter, Marie,” Aurora said. “She insisted on coming along.” 

Candide embraced Aurora for a long time. When she let go, Aurora looked closely at her old friend: She looked weary, careworn, frail, elderly, and disappointingly human.

“Hi, little princess,” Candide said to Marie.

“She doesn’t know about… the princess stuff,” Aurora said. 

“Yes I do,” Marie said. 

“Where are Fleur and Canari by the way?” Aurora asked.

“They're at a national mental health conference. Fairy business has been slow the past few decades; we've had to get side jobs as mental health professionals. The skill sets of the two professions are not as different as you might think.” 

It was a lovely October day, cool and bright. Sunlight fell on the ground in slanted rays. The leaves were brilliant, red, yellow and orange. Aurora and Marie followed Candide along the trail, a well-trodden path with gentle rolling hills. There were no ferocious bears in sight, nothing dangerous or even remotely quest-like. Hikers passed them with their hiking sticks, smiling and nodding as they went. 

After Aurora stopped and chatted with someone she used to know from PTA, Candide decided to veer off the path through the trees. “Shortcut,” she said, pushing bushes and brambles aside. They soon came to another trail—much more narrow and rugged than the first—with a succession of broken rocks and boulders going uphill at a sharp angle. 

After a long, steep ascent, they followed a still narrower trail around the rim of a cliff. Then they dove back into the trees off the path again, till they came to a large rock that jutted out over a several-hundred-feet drop into a ravine, where a roaring creek flowed over rocks. Far in the distance—above their heads—they saw a white rushing waterfall, shining in the sun.  

They stopped to rest. 

“See that waterfall?” Candide said. “That's where we're headed.”

Aurora was too winded to respond; her many hours of jazzercise had not prepared her for this quest. 

“Are you OK, Marie?” Candide asked.

Marie, who was breathing hard and sweating, simply nodded her head. 

“Can’t you just fly us over there?” Aurora asked, when she had caught her breath. “Where’s your magic wand?” 

 Candide shook her head sadly and laughed. 

“We must continue,” Candide said finally, looking at her watch. She led them back into the woods and brambles and onto a muddy path, over a rickety bridge, and through a grassy clearing where the sun beat down on them mercilessly and burrs got stuck in their socks. Then she led them up the side of a rocky cliff.

Finally, they came to a pool that flowed into the mouth of a cave with overhanging trees and vines touching the surface of the water. It looked so serene and picturesque; Aurora was startled by the beauty. 

“You must cross this pool and enter that cave,” Candide said. 

Aurora looked toward the cave and felt that she was staring at the end of her life. 

“Marie, I want you to wait here with Candide while I look inside,” she said.

“No, Mom, I’m coming with you,” Marie answered.

“Marie, please.” 

Aurora looked at the pool: it was blue in the middle, still and deep. There was a waterfall on one side and a steep stone bank on the other. There was no way to circumvent the pool; the only way was through.

“How do I get across?” Aurora asked, turning around to look at Candide. But Candide was gone. “Candide?”

“She disappeared, Mom!” Marie said. Aurora called Candide's name several times--looked around in despair--stood silent, staring blankly at her daughter--thought about turning back—wished desperately that she was still in her suburban home—then, finally, decided that the only way was forward. 

“Do I swing across?” She wondered, looking at the vines. 

“Mom, get the Super-Blankie,” Marie said. 

“But I'm not cold,” Aurora answered. 

“If you lay the Super-Blankie on a pool of pure spring water, it will turn into a raft.” 

“Really? I don't remember reading anything about that,” Aurora said.

“It’s in the fine print at the bottom of the instruction booklet,” Marie answered. 

“Well, I guess it won’t hurt to try it,” Aurora said. She pulled the fuzzy blue square blanket out of her backpack. She placed it on top of the water. It was still blue and fuzzy. 

It began to sink. 

“You have to step on it, and then it turns into a raft,” Marie said. 

“That's absurd. I'm not going to do that,” Aurora said. Aurora had begun to contemplate the vines again, when she heard a splash: Marie had jumped into the pool, onto that sinking blue square, and had disappeared from sight.

“Marie!” Aurora screamed, and jumped in after her. Aurora, who had never learned to swim, weighed down by the backpack and its contents, began to flail in the water. 

“Mom!” Marie screamed. She had reappeared in the middle of the pool, on the Super-Blankie, which had turned into a blue foam raft. Aurora spluttered and bobbed in and out of the water and began to drift toward the waterfall. When big open-mouthed alligators began circling around her, she sank—deep into the heart of the blue—past underwater plants and fish in brilliant colors—past octopi and sea unicorns. When she reached the sandy bottom of the pool, she sat cross-legged and opened her mouth and found that she could breathe. 

She was face-to-face with a shark. It was white and large and it had beady eyes and huge teeth. 

“How are you doing today, Ma'am?” The shark asked. 

“I need to find my daughter,” Aurora said. 

“Would you like a ride?” 

“That would be wonderful. I don't know how to swim, and I've got this backpack...”

“Climb on my back,” the shark said, and Aurora climbed onto the shark's slippery back and held on to his dorsal fin. “I know the place,” the shark said, and he shot up through the water, past the aquatic plants, the sea unicorns, the octopi, the brightly-colored fish, and up where the alligators still circled. This time they circled around Marie on her raft, who had come to look for her mother. 

Marie was crying, beside herself with fear.

“It's ok, Marie!” Aurora said. “It's a friendly shark, dear! He gave me a ride. Climb on his back!” 

So Marie, trembling and uncertain but young enough to trust her mother's word, climbed on the shark's back and clung to her mother. The shark slid through the water, causing the alligators to disperse, and stopped just before the mouth of the cave. 

“It's really shallow here,” he said. “You can walk the rest of the way.” 

“I can't thank you enough, dear shark,” Aurora said. 

“The name's Alexander,” the shark said, with a little dip of the head. 

The shark turned around and disappeared into the deep blue pool. Moments later, Aurora and Marie watched him fly into the air and soar over the waterfall.