MOUTH OF THE GIFT HORSE

Part I: No Man's Land

It was the same dream, again. The dream he would have every night, for the rest of his life. The dream which began with the empty cage, and panic crushing his chest. Bruno was gone.

He scoured every inch of the camp, calling until he was hoarse, thinking only of the many things that could happen to a bear. Poison. Traps. Bullets. Bear-baiters might have taken him, Lodz thought. Rousties, or soldiers, hoping to make some fast money. Someone might even now be taking bets on how many dogs Bruno could kill before the pack finally tore him apart.

Or worse, Bruno might have attacked someone. He prayed the bear hadn't attacked a child. If the bear had tasted human blood he would have to be put down. His throat tightened painfully.

Not Bruno. Not his best bear, his favorite, the one he'd raised from a five pound cub. Bruno, the biggest bear in the business, was gentle as a kitten.

He hadn't cut his hair since he got Bruno, because as a cub Bruno liked to hide in it, and never outgrew the need. Even now, bear would rest his giant head on Lodz' shoulder and hide his eyes in the thick dark hair, imagining himself safe by his mother, a cub again. So trusting, Lodz thought. If bear-baiters had touched Bruno, he would beat them to death. His grip tightened on the sword cane in his hand.

He tried not to think about the smells of blood, sulfur, and the sicksweet smell of death that surrounded him as he plodded through the mud and ash, hoping to find bear tracks.

The landscape was unrecognizeable, a dim, smoky wasteland skewered with the skeletons of blasted trees. Nothing familiar greeted his eyes as he peered through the haze, hoping for a glimpse of Bruno's red vest or hat in the distance. He had to calm himself. The bear would smell fear, and wouldn't come if he didn't feel safe.

The heat from shells and the charred woods made sweat trickle into his eyes. He closed them, took a deep breath, and thought about stroking the bear's thick brushlike fur, about his favorite song, about anything, except where he was. He made his voice carefree and soothing, singing the bear's name as if merely calling him to dinner.

He was sure he was heading in the right direction--the very smell that was making him gag, would be irresistable to a bear.
So far he had not encountered a single living person, which gave him hope that perhaps he would find Bruno alive.
He tried to keep looking in all directions, turning in a full circle from time to time. He really could only see a few feet in any direction, because of the haze. Smoke stung his eyes and made him dizzy.

While he was walking backwards he bumped straight into someone-a soldier.

He swallowed his panic, lest the soldier panic, too, and reach for his gun. He forced himself to sound pleasant and friendly."Have you seen my bear?" he asked in English.

The soldier's incredulous stare made him wonder if he'd chosen the right language. He was about to speak again, this time in French, when the soldier called him by name, staring at him as if seeing a ghost.
A chill ran through Lodz at the sound of his name in the soldier's American accent. There was strange about the boy, as if there was too much spirit in his body, too much life reflected in such young eyes.

"Do I know you, soldier?" he asked, peering at the blue eyes and perfectly chiseled features under the mud and grime, trying to think if he'd ever seen this boy before. It was possible. After so many years on the circuit, he was often greeted by people he didn't recognize.

Then with no warning, the soldier lunged into him and threw him to the ground, pinning him there. The flash of anger and confusion he felt at being attacked, vanished when he heard the explosion so close--practically on top of them.

No, it WAS on them, he realized. The soldier was acting as a human shield.
Heart pounding, he stayed still, pinned under the soldier's unconscious body.

"Are you alright?" He whispered. No answer. He carefully pushed the other man off him. The soldier lay unmoving. Lodz had no idea what to do in this kind of situation. There was blood. A lot of it. He started unbuttoning the man's jacket, and tearing at the linen collar of his shirt to use bandaging him up.

He rolled the soldier over, dreading the sight of his back blown open, full of shrapnel. There was so much blood, yet when he tried to find the wounds, he couldn't. The soldier's jacket hung in tatters, charred, but though the smell of burning flesh lingered, there was no open wound, no burns, nothing to show he'd been hit at all.

"We have to get you to the doctors," he said, getting to his feet. "thank God you weren't killed!"
"No." the soldier said. "That's okay, I'm fine."

"That's impossible."

"Yeah, well, I don't get hurt that easy. Let's not look a gift horse in the

mouth, okay?" the soldier said, standing up.

Lodz stood staring at the soldier. "You're right. We should give thanks for a miracle. Two miracles--I owe you my life. What's your name?"

The soldier looked as if he'd been asked something very personal, secret, almost dirty. As if confessing a crime, he muttered, "Henry Scudder."

Lodz took a card from the pocket of his red satin jacket, and held it out."Scudder, you said? Call me Lodz. If you ever need anything, anything at all, you come and see me. I am at your service for anything you might require. Now I regret I must go."

Scudder took the card, turning it nervously over and over in his hands. Finally he spoke. "You asked me about a bear. I saw him." He spoke slowly, reluctantly.

Lodz seized both Scudder's arms again. "Where? Is he alright?" Seeing Scudder's expression, Lodz steeled himself for the worst.
Scudder pointed. Lodz could make out a flash of crimson twenty yards away, and sprinted. The bear lay on his side, still wearing the hat that cheerfully announced his name in gold sequins.

"No. Please..." Lodz whispered. Blood bubbled from Bruno's nostrils and mouth as he lifted his head and crooned a greeting. Lodz dropped to his knees and ruffled his hands through the bear's fur. His hands came away covered with blood.

"He's been shot," Scudder said, "I'm sorry." and put a hand on Lodz' shoulder.

"Why would someone do that?" he cried, anguished, knowing why. "How bad? Dead, or does he need a doctor? We need to take care of him first." He stood at the edge of the trench, not bothering to wipe the mud off.

Scudder cursed under his breath. "We'll never get him to the infirmary in time," he said. "It'd be kinder to finish him off, or let him die."

Then Lodz saw the man. Alive, he lay in the trench on his back, gasping, drenched in blood, his legs shredded off, one arm gone, most of his face gone, too. Speechless Lodz stared down into the pit. Bruno could not have done this, he thought.

He hardly knew what he did, after that. He walked up to the truck behind him, and spoke to the driver. "Get this man to the Red Cross tent." Two gypsy men leaped from the cab of the truck, and loaded what was left of Bruno's victim into the back. A third in the bed of the truck, next to the bear cage, asked, "what about Bruno?" Lodz shook his head. The truck with its bear cage disappeared into the red mist.

The bear sniffed the air, and let out a gurgling cry. Lodz cradled the bear's head in his lap. He pressed his head against the bear's, ruffling his fur, letting his long black hair fall over the bear's face. He murmured soothingly, crooning his name, telling him everything would be alright now.

Then he drew a revolver from his jacket.

Two hours later, Scudder and Lodz were sitting in the back of the truck looking anywhere but at each other. Lodz leaned tiredly against the empty cage, holding the bear's hat and vest in his bloodstained hands, staring into space, the blood and grime on his face cut with the white paths left by tears. Silently they shared a flask, still avoiding one another's eyes.