When Bartlett Left the Bear (6-13)

When the bear first came to the zoo it was a cub, its vanilla white hairlets just coming out of oily black skin; Bartlett became attached instantly to the bear’s oafish and lumbering personality as small as it was. The zoo’s staff speculated on the degree of uniqueness the bear possessed, in view of its oncoming maturation and ability to provide the zoo with an ongoing polar bear presence. At that time there were two older polar bears – Charley and Luisa, the latter of which has died of old age in her sleep since; onlookers, after reading the informational plaque that detailed Luisa’s life, frequently suggested the silvery sheen of her coat was in fact due to her age and not a survivor’s trait after spending year after year on endless ice floats that extended limitless onto the horizons of the Chukchi or Beaufort Seas. The bear itself grew so quickly, almost unbearably, to Bartlett. She was her bear, her little bear – and so, as the bear became larger, so too did the need to respect it and refer to her animal handling training for safety concerns at the very least. And yet Bartlett trusted her — all could see it, how the bear let down her defenses when she approached, the way her eyes would leaven and relax, and the edges of mouth once taut would lax.