Begin with the Dancing Bear
… And at their birth, bear cubs
are nothing more than shapeless flesh — mere lumps —
until the she-bear licks their limbs and gives
to them the shape — however crude — that she
herself, their mother, has. …
— Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book XV as translated by Allen Mandelbaum
There once was a Dancing Bear who followed after the baneful Ring in her nose.
When the Ring burns hot she knows to rear up, to totter on back legs, to hop, hop, shimmy, skip and jump so her slack hide quakes and the bells round her neck ching-ching.
Naked faces full of loud, round, wet mouths shout and crowd, near, Near, NEAR. Bear lunges and Ring BITES. Hard pain. Keen and quick. Afterward, after bitter bite, Ring settles in to gnaw.
It is Boy who speaks through the Ring, in language the two of them know. Boy and Bear. Boy cub and Bear sow — cub and sow. The way of our wide world.
Boy and Dancing Bear eat together, bread and beer. Boy and Dancing Bear sleep together, in ditches, beside walls.
Ring pinches one way and Dancing Bear knows to bat o’er the top of naked faces, at head-gear. How the loud, round, wet mouths bellow! Ring wries another way and Dancing Bear knows to collapse on her back. Ring stings like a hornet and Dancing Bear waves her paw: up, down, side to side.
Boy beats his drum.
Wave the paw.
Beat the drum.
Wave the paw.
Bread and beer.
Naked faces.
Loud, round, wet mouths cough, Cough, close, TOO Close: Bear growls and Ring BITES.
The way of our wide world, says Dancing Bear. She often says so.
This story is a work in progress.
