story time morning, with small bear

Kara is always asking anyone who will stand still to tell her a story. She’s always saying, “Tell me a story,” and when that doesn’t work, “Tell me a story about when you were a little boy/girl.” She can even be particular, “Tell me a long story, like that time about the tree (referring to a near-death experience I often tell her involving falling headlong out of a tree.)” She can be quite persistent, that little lover of narrative. And, indeed, nothing motivates her like a story withheld – I’m referring to the cruel but parentally useful dinnertime, “Take another bite and I’ll tell you what happens next.” Lynn-nore came up with that one – only a woman could have invented it – and it truly is brilliant.

Anyway, this morning she was jumping up and down in the bathroom, reciting the aforementioned story mantra, and I was in an obliging mood, so I began like this:

Once there was a small bear. He had been chosen among all bears living to go and seek out the Great Bear, the origin of his kind, in the deep jungles of Africa. Through many adventures, the small bear had made it across the ocean to the shores of Africa. And, through many more, was now parachuting down into the jungle, his quest coming closer to its end.

Kara was ecstatic! She has a hard enough time holding her body still, anyway, and spun tight in the dewy tresses of a tale unraveling, she sometimes jumps up and down or simply squeals in anticipatory delight. This time she put her hands together and urged me on, “What happened next, Daddy? What happened next?”

Well, I continued, all the while putting toothpaste on the end of her toothbrush, once on the ground, the bear was seized by strong quick scouts of the Trout clan, and taken, bound, to King Trout. Everyone knows the trout people are no friend of bears, and, seeing this bear there among them, the trout king went crazy with joy and revenge. First, he ordered small bear to be stripped of all his possessions. Second, he ordered that small bear should be boxed soundly with wet and fishy trout tails. And, finally, he said that small bear should be thrown back, defenseless, into the thickest part of the jungle.

“What happened then?” asked Kara, now brushing her teeth. I had better things to do, and nearly left the story there but for her foamy protestations.

Undeterred, I said, small bear set himself to complete his quest. He remembered that while parachuting down into the jungle, he saw a monkey village in a clearing near the hills of the horizon. He decided to make for the village, in hopes that the monkeys would feed him and set him back upon his aim to find the Great Bear, the origin of all his kind. What he didn’t know, however, was that between him and the monkey village lurked a hungry lion. (Kara stopped brushing.) “Keep brushing, Kara. Get those back teeth, too: top and bottom.” Yes, as small bear picked his way carefully through the vines and branches of the jungle, he was unaware that though he did not see a lion, a lion most certainly saw him. The lion was tracking him already and slowly, ever so slowly, would soon get close enough to have his meal.

And that was it. Kara was done, and it was time for Lynn-nore to fix her hair and for us to be off to school. Today, after all, is Kara’s first gym day – a beautiful, blue New England clear day – and we didn’t want to be late. She asked me, “Is that true about the bear?” “No,” I retorted.

But, true or not, what do you think? How would you end the story? Or Is it better not knowing, perhaps peeking between the fingers?