The Anthropologist-Hero

Did I tell you about how I encountered a bear and bit its ear off? I was walking along in the mountains toward the next sheepfold, where I was supposed to meet up with yet another person useful for my research, and, who, in the meantime had become a friend of mine (great when that happens). I was minding my own business, swinging my walking stick, thinking about the village gossip and whistling some tune that had stuck in my mind. As I lost altitude (like a plane – I did not say jumbo jet there, so be careful what you have just read into this!), I came into an overgrown area of hedges, and bushes, flowering away nastily as they do in the spring, to the great distress of allergic persons (not me though). When I walked around a bend in the narrow path, right in front of me, I discovered the backside of a bear. Sadly, the front was attached to it. He or she, I am not a biologist, remember, was apparently scanning the ground in front of it (the gender compromise) probably in search of truffles or something along those lines. I tried to step past as quietly as possible. I seriously had no interest in disturbing the animal. Of course, I stepped on a dry wood branch as you do (in cartoons, for instance), and the bear’s attention got attracted from truffle to trophy. I said hello, smilingly, because not only did I happen to be an anthropologist-hero, I am also of the polite kind (this would be the moment in the cartoon when the hero has gone off the cliff but has not begun its fall yet – in Disney films often supplemented by the character waving to the audience with a kind of stupid expression on its face – I am defying gravityyyyyyyy). The bear didn’t happen to be of the polite kind, and did not answer. It stood and waited, perfectly aware of its superior strength in near combat and stamina in pursuit, whether on land or on water (for the bear was also a surfbear, you know the kind). It was just curious to see how fear would creep into me suddenly, as my face turned from red to green to white-as-a-sheet in entertaining ways (given the lack of cable TV in bear communities). However, I refused to be scared (until now). I took off my anthropologist-hero-backpack (made by Camel, I am ashamed to admit) and was looking for my sword to cut its head off (still not scared). Of course, it had been forgotten somewhere. The backpack merely contained a microphone, a voice recorder, a notebook full of illegible, incoherent, but highly entertaining (for any other occasion than bear-encounters) scribble, some batteries (I wish I were McGyver, I could probably blow up the teddy), some mineral water bottle and… and… some home-made cakes. Let the negotiations begin. I give you these cakes and you get out of my fieldwork site, and we call it even (no I didn’t blow myself up like some kind of toad, I just put on my authoritative face and tone of voice – those who know me will picture it immediately). Cakes? You have to be kidding. Do you know how long the winter of my food discontent was and that I cannot stand the look of anything vegetarian, let alone berries in the widest possible sense (that is one hell of a rhetorical question my dbear). I’d rather have one of your ears, as an entrée, with truffles, and then your liver as a main menu. Sorry to disappoint you, but my liver doesn’t grow back, and is awfully loaded with the remains of the local rachiul. The drawbacks of fieldwork in rachiu-land. What about your legs? You won’t need those as a desk-bound academic. Ever heard of orange peel? Yeah! Life as a woman-anthropologist-hero is even harder. I am sure they taste awful. Arms? Come on! I seriously need my arms if I want to be a self-respecting writer… This charade went on for a while, and in this time cunning-as-a-nutshell was multitasking and looking out for the nearest shelter, or any kind of separation wall between me and mitts the size of tennis rackets and a will hellbent on the original sense of food (bloody traditionalists and revivalists!). But, let’s take it slowly, let’s not get too intimate too quickly, your Beariness: good to meet you, it needs to be celebrated somehow, before we proceed, and decide which bit of me is kosher for you… how to win time in a duel that is unfair from the start and which you didn’t really instigate! Toast to the health of your respective king or sultan or wife or whatever comes to a mind rushing with adrenaline. Due to lack of champagne I offered the contents of my mineral water bottle. When in Romania, never expect bottles to contain what they say they do on the label. Contained within was the strongest available rachiul of the blackest black market of Carpathia. The bear took a sip and started coughing, eyes red and tearful. I took the moment of confusion and phlegm to bite the busy bear’s ear (just for fun) and consequently make a run for the sheepfold my little eye had spied in the meantime. Definitely rekordverdächtig: at no time before has an anthropologist-hero jumped over fences so quickly and so unelegantly. When the bear got over the bittersweetness of high-percentage alcohol, it noticed the absence of its almost-for-sure-you-are-mine protein source, and accepted the cakes that I had left behind with a certain amount of thankfulness as frustration sweets. So if you see a bear with half a missing ear, it was the work of one desperate-and-cornered, though customarily vegetarian, anthropologist-hero.
Subtitle of this story: Baronesse von Münchhausen aka Nutshell-Kit gets a long long nose from telling absolute bearfiction-bonkers. Or: Schreiben Sie einen Aufsatz über eine gefährliche Begegnung und wie Sie aus dem Schlamassel wieder heraus kamen.