Ernie had mastered the trick that had him balance a ball on his nose while standing on his hind legs. Without fail, the crowd roared and the children laughed. Elbows jabbed neighbors and eyebrows formed arcs and people said things like, “Can you believe that?”
“No,” came the response invariably. “I can’t believe that.”
Then one day, the Ringmaster sat Ernie down. The Ringmaster’s big lips formed a sad, colorless rainbow and he stared somewhere beyond Ernie’s left shoulder.
“The trick,” the Ringmaster began. “The one with the ball—it’s just not working anymore.”
“What do you mean? I’ve worked at that for ten years. It’s flawless!”
“Yeah, it’s okay. It’s just, well, we’ve got a new plan for the bear segment. We’d like to shoot one out of a cannon, and—”
“Okay,” Ernie interjected. “You can shoot me out of a cannon. Yeah. Wow, that’s actually a great idea. I mean, you’re insured, right?”
“Oh, insured, of course. But Ernie, I’m just not so sure you’re right for the cannon bit. You’re a little pudgy in the midsection. We need a more slender bear.”
“You know I’ve been on that P90x program, right? Come on! It’s only been like 18 days. Give it time!”
“It’s more than that, Ernie. We’ve kind of envisioned—see that uniform?—we’ve kind of envisioned a bear that matches that attire a little better.”
“Oh, I see, this has to do with the color of my fur!”
“Ernie, would you stop? Look, you’re just not the right fit. We’re going to have to let you go. We’re offering a separation package. I think you’ll see it’s more than just peanuts. I mean, it’s peanuts, sure, but a lot of ‘em.”
“You know what? Fine. I’ll go. And you know what? I’m betting I’ll find a better gig than this. I’ll perform for thousands—no, millions—and you’ll come crawling back to me.”
A single day of mourning, that’s all he allowed himself. He sat under a tree and ate a ridiculous quantity of berries. He knew he’d regret it, and he did. He skipped P90x that evening, too. It was leg day anyway, and he despised leg day equally as much as he despised arm day, back day, etc.
He awoke the next morning with only a slight (but expected) stomach ache. Regardless, he leapt up, clapped his paws together and set off on the trail with only a short stack of resumes in tow. (He wouldn’t need many, for obvious reasons.) He had decided against having a recruiter review his resume. After all, it contained only a single bullet point that read: “Balanced ball on nose to the delight of thousands!” He deliberated use of the exclamation mark, and decided in favor to add the desired exhilaration.
The first tent he happened upon was bright blue with big, bold lettering that read something, he wasn’t quite sure—hey, “literacy” wasn’t on his resume. He strode in, snout held high, and found the ringmaster, as evidenced by the obnoxious hat the portly gentleman wore. With resume outstretched, Ernie said grandly: “Sir, I give you the act you’ve long waited for.”
And as the ringmaster looked over the resume, Ernie saw two bears in the background rolling cigars. Then, an elephant waddled over and took up a freshly rolled cigar with its trunk. A monkey then lit the cigar, careful to impart an even burn. Once properly lit, the elephant delivered the cigar to its mouth by use of its dexterous trunk, and smoked the thing quite elegantly. Needless to say, the ringmaster laughed heartily at Ernie’s resume, and the monkey scurried beside him and with a quick flick of its opposable thumb, ignited the lighter and set the resume aflame.
“Well, I’ll be,” Ernie muttered. “But what makes this so special that it’s worth watching?”
“They’re engaged in the unexpected, of course!” the ringmaster said.
Ernie, having departed the tent not a little baffled, pondered this peculiar scene. If that is what they want, he thought, then that is what I shall give them. He offered a few peanuts to a scholarly squirrel and asked that a bullet be added to his resume to suggest his ability to roll cigars. With that, he returned to the trail. At last, he came upon another tent of a great many colors. He sauntered in and directly toward the ringmaster.
“Sir, prepare yourself to be awed!”
I don’t need to tell you that Ernie was quite perplexed to find, in the background, a bespectacled bear supervising the work of various species. The intent of this work was to construct a machine of magnificent proportions. The function of said machine, however, was a mystery.
“Now what makes this entertaining?”
“These animals are pushing the limits of productivity! This is far more fascinating than your balancing ball and cigar rolling tricks.”
It took Ernie some time to find that blasted squirrel, but when he did, he offered all remaining peanuts in exchange for some creativity.
“Make it sound good,” Ernie told the squirrel. “Something about building machines.”
The trail went deep into the town and long into the night. When the sun had nearly gone, he came upon a tent that lit the purple sky. Bulbs flashed and music played. This, Ernie thought, was the stuff of dreams. And so he went in whistling, thinking fondly of the third-time’s-a-charm adage. He at first could not locate the ringmaster. He peeked here and scoured there. Then he went into a small, well-hidden room and found the man with the objectionable hat.
“Sir, I proudly—”
And he stopped. For here the man under the hat was no man at all, but was himself a bear. Ernie let fly his anger.
“Now, you cannot convince me that this is what we bears are meant to do: wear awful hats and run circuses! Please, tell me how this is a thing to behold?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” the bearish ringmaster replied with a very proper British accent. “I’m no longer a bear at all.”
Ernie could take no more. He stormed out at once, and flung his remaining resumes into a lake. Even if he could find the squirrel, he had no more peanuts with which to barter. And even if he had the peanuts, he would be unable to fool anyone to see him as a ringmaster—he simply hadn’t the absurd hat to prove it.
Into the woods he went, far away from the bright lights and loud colors—away from the whirring machines and smoking cigars. He curled under a tree, and the long, cold night shook him nearly to death.
“Get up,” came a fluttery voice. “They’re watching.”
The sun sat high and cast a glow around the graceful figure. Ernie squinted and saw that it was a bear. He leapt to his hind legs.
“They’re watching? Where’s my ball?”
“You’re ball?”
“Yeah, my ball! I need a ball for the trick, you know!”
“You don’t need a ball. They just want to watch us do what bears do: bumble around all day.”
They stood on a trail at a distance that Ernie could not see their features. There were some tall people and some short people and some people in little carts. They seemed happy enough, but he couldn’t tell.
“They’re not laughing though,” Ernie said to his new friend.
“Does it matter?”
“No,” Ernie said with a smile. “I guess it doesn’t.”
“I’m Carla, by the way.”
Ernie fell in love with Carla, of course. He told her about his adventures and she told him where all the good berries were. He often reminisced about the old Ringmaster when droves of people came out to see him and Carla. The visitors didn’t number in the millions as Ernie had suggested, but there were still quite a lot. And they didn’t expect him to balance a ball or roll cigars or supervise an operation. They came to see him do what came naturally: He and Carla, sitting in the grass together, eating berries, and having a conversation in perfectly intelligible English.
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