A nearby village has called me to repair their boiler. It’s in the bottommost cellar of the city hall and provides heat and power for the entire town.

I pull through the gate at the edge of town and I’m greeted with cheers. Children flock around my cart, shouting and jumping, trying to touch my hands. Men shout and sing, women throw flowers and wave handkerchiefs. I proceed to city hall.

The mayor is standing on the steps, beaming and clutching his suspenders. We almost thought you wouldn’t come, he says. Where is it, I ask. He nods and leads the way inside.

The great stone building is pitch-black. A smell like stale bread fills the room. The massive pillars in the lobby are fitted with electric lights, unlit and idle. The mayor lights a torch and opens a small door that leads to a ladder going down a shaft.

It’s down there, he says. He tosses the torch down the shaft and I climb down after it. When I reach the bottom I look up. It’s too dark to tell if he’s still there or not.

I pick up the torch and turn around. I’m at the end of a long stone hallway. The walls and floor are damp and moldy. There’s a low hum that resonates from further down the hall.

I walk down the hall and turn the corner and enter a massive chamber. Filling most of the chamber is an enormous grey bear. It must be forty feet high, and is lying with its head between its paws. I freeze and drop the torch, but aside from following me with its eyes, it doesn’t budge. I slowly look around the room. There’s nothing in sight that resembles a boiler. I back out of the room, hurry down the hall and climb up the ladder.

The mayor is waiting at the top. That was fast, he says. Are you finished already? And where’s the torch?

What’s the big idea, I shout. I’m a plumber, not a goddamned veterinarian.

He blinks a few times. What are you talking about?

There’s no boiler down there, it’s just a giant bear!

Is this some kind of joke, he asks. If you can’t fix it then just say so. But don’t expect to get paid just for showing up.

I stare at him, waiting for a glimmer in his eye or the crack of a smile. He stares back with an impassive slab of a face. I turn around and climb back down the ladder.

Walking into the chamber, I’m met once more by the bear’s massive, lethargic eyes. In the torchlight they look like huge glass orbs. Keeping an eye on the thing, I slowly walk around to its side. It watches me until I’m out of sight, and makes no effort to turn its head. Its ponderous girth rises and falls with its steady slow breath, creating the low raspy hum that vibrates the stone and my gut.

The bear’s body is close against the walls, but when it exhales I’m able to just squeeze by. Its thick fur is coarse and warm. It gives no reaction when I brush up against it. My loop around the bear confirms that there is no boiler in this room. No pipes leading out, no wires, no holes in the walls, nothing but a large stone chamber occupied by a bear and myself.

I stand in front of its face and stare into its eyes. It stares back, unblinking and indifferent. So what’s your deal, I ask. It stares. I sit down. The stone tiles are surprisingly warm. We continue our stare. How’d you even get down here, I ask. Absentmindedly I pull a wrench out of my bag and fiddle with it. I tap it against the floor and a faint, hollow sound echoes through the chamber. The bear’s eyes grow large as it lets out an earsplitting roar and lunges at me. I scramble out of the way just as a massive paw smashes into the floor. Instinctively I hurl the wrench at the raging bear. The wrench strikes it square between the eyes and the bear is instantly silenced. Its whole body begins to shudder, and following some low heaving sounds, it vomits forth a deluge of rats, which swarm out and cover the beast. In a matter of moments the rats devour every inch of the bear, scramble around the room, and then pile on one another in the exact shape of the now-deceased bear.

I hear shouts from upstairs echo down the hall. I turn back to the rats, which are perfectly still. I slowly walk over, retrieve my wrench, and walk back to the ladder.

As I emerge from the cellar I’m met with modest applause. The lamps in the hall are now lit, and illuminate the faces of the mayor and about ten other townspeople.

Thanks for the work, he says. About seventy percent of the town has power again, but if you could just…He looks at me, then shakes his head. Ah, nevermind. We’ll make do somehow. He turns to an attendant who hands him a burlap sack. Here’s your fee, he says. Well, seventy percent of it.

Uh…thanks, I say. I take the sack, which is lighter than I expect. The mayor and his entourage nod politely, then wait for me to leave. I walk outside and climb onto my cart. I take the reins and head out of town amidst a sea of half-smiles and disguised disappointment.

<<back