Bears Discover Fire

The wind was suddenly quiet; the low sound of the water came in. Katie and I looked up as the gulls’ wings stirred and they fell back toward the sea. Then it was dark; the wind came up again and George started to cry. Katie began to rock him and smiled at me across the room.

When spring came, we went back to the house on the hill. We stayed on through the next winter, and the next.

George learned to walk before I tried to teach him to fly; then, during the third summer, I would take him out on the side of the hill and toss him into the air. At first he would fall with a wild flutter and thump, laughing. By the time cold weather came, he could rise off the ground by himself and stay up for a few seconds. By that time, he had a baby sister. Her wings were red, like fire.

NEXT

“NEXT!”

“We want to get a marriage license, please.”

“Name?”

“Johnson, Akisha.”

“Age?”

“Eighteen.”

“Groom’s name?”

“Jones, Yusef.”

“Yusef? You with him? Honey, you kids are in the wrong line.”

“We are?”

“Try that line over there, on the other side of the Pepsi machine. And good luck. You’re gonna need it, child. Next!”

“NEXT!”

“We want to apply for a marriage license.”

“For who, might I ask?”

“For us. For me and him.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“She told us to get in this line. I guess because—”

“I can’t give you a marriage license. He’s black.”

“I know, but I heard that if we get a special permit or something—”

“What you’re talking about is a same-race certificate. But I can’t give you one, and I wouldn’t if I could. The very idea of blacks marrying each other, when—”

“So why’d she tell us to get in this line?”

“This line is for same-race certificate applications.”

“So what do we have to do to get one of those?”

“Under the law, just ask for it. Even though there’s something disgusting about—”

“So look, lady, I’m asking.”

“Here. Fill this out and return it to window A21.”

“Does that mean we have to start in line all over again?”

“What do you think? Next!”

“NEXT!”

“Hello, I’m not even sure we’re in the right line. We want to get one of those special certificates. To get married.”

“A same-race certificate. You’re in the right line. But under the Equal Access Provisions of the Melanin Conservation Act, we can’t just hand those out. You have to have an Ozone Waiver to even apply for one.”

“I already have the application filled out. See? That white girl over there told me about it.”

“She told you wrong. What you filled out is the application for the waiver. But you can’t get the waiver without twelve and a half minutes of counseling.”

“Can’t you just stamp it or whatever? We’ve already been standing in three lines for hours, and my feet are—”

“Excuse me? Maybe you know more about my job than I do?”

“No.”

“Good. Then listen up. I’m trying to be helpful. What I’m going to give you is an appointment slip to see the marriage counselor. Take it to Building B and give it to the clerk at the first desk.”

“We have to go outside?”

“There’s a covered walkway. But stay to the left, several panels are missing. Next!”

“NEXT!”

“We have an appointment slip.”

“For what?”

“Counseling. To get a waiver, so we can apply for a certificate, or something. So we can get married.”

“Sit down over there. The Sergeant Major will call you when he’s ready.”

“The Sergeant Major? We were supposed to see a marriage counselor.”

“The Sergeant Major is the Marriage Counselor. Has been ever since the Declaration of Marital Law, under the Ozone Emergency Act. Where have you been?”

“We don’t get married every day.”

“Are you getting smart with me?”

“I guess not.”

“I hope not. Take a seat, in those hard chairs, until I call you. Next!”

“NEXT! At ease. State your business.”

“We need to get the counseling for—”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to him.”

“Me?”

“You’re the man, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yes, sir! We, uh, want to get married, sir!”

“Speak up. And don’t call me sir. I’m not an officer. Call me Sergeant Major.”

“Yes, sir; I mean, Sergeant.”

“Sergeant Major.”

“Sergeant Major!”

“Now tell me again what it is you want.”

“This is ridiculous. Yusef already told you—”

“Did I ask you to speak, young lady? Maybe you think because I’m black I’ll tolerate your insolence?”

“No. Sergeant. Major.”

“Then shut up. Carry on, young man.”

“We want to get married. Sergeant Major!”

“That’s what I thought I heard you say. And I guess you want my approval as your marriage counselor? My blessing, so to speak?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well, you can forget it! For Christ’s sake, boy, show a little backbone. A little social responsibility. You kids are the kind who are giving our kind a bad name. You don’t see white folks lining up trying to evade the law, do you?”

“They don’t need to line up.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady. And nobody told you to sit down. This is a military office.”

“She’s been standing for hours, Sarge. Major. My fiancée is, uh—”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Will you quit butting in, young lady! Now, let me get this straight. Is she pregnant?”

“She is.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“That’s why we want to get married. Sergeant Major.”