Snow Bear and Me

The train moved slowly through the white land.

John pressed his face against the cold window.

Outside, the world was full of snow.

Tall trees with heavy white branches stood in long lines.

Sometimes, a small house appeared, with smoke rising from its chimney.

Then it was gone, and there were only the trees again.

John was ten years old.

He was traveling alone to his grandfather's cabin in the high mountains.

His mother had said goodbye at the station, with tears in her eyes.

"Be a good boy for Grandpa," she had said.

"He will take care of you all winter."

John's father had been sick for many months, and his mother needed to stay near the hospital in the city.

So John was going to the mountains.

He had been on the train for many hours.

Now the sky was getting dark.

The light from the train made small yellow squares on the snow outside.

John felt very far from home.

He missed his mother already.

He missed his warm bed, and the sound of the city, and the smell of his mother's bread.

The train stopped at a small station.

John picked up his bag and walked out onto the platform.

The cold air hit his face.

It was so cold that his nose hurt.

There were no other people.

The platform was empty.

Then he saw an old man with a white beard.

He was wearing a thick brown coat and big boots.

It was Grandpa.

"John! My boy!" Grandpa said.

He gave John a warm hug.

His coat smelled of wood smoke and pine trees.

"Come, come. The horse is waiting."

John had not seen his grandfather for two years.

He looked older now.

But his eyes were still bright and kind.

A small wooden sled was waiting outside the station.

A brown horse stood quietly in the snow.

Grandpa put John's bag on the sled.

Then John climbed in, and Grandpa covered him with a thick blanket.

"Are you ready?" Grandpa asked.

"It is a long ride to the cabin. About one hour through the forest."

"I am ready," John said.

The horse began to walk.

The bells on its harness made a soft, sweet sound in the quiet evening.

Soon they were moving through the deep forest.

The trees were very tall, and their branches met above the path.

It was like going through a dark, white tunnel.

John looked up.

The snow was falling again.

Big, soft pieces, like white feathers.

They landed on his hat and his coat.

He had never seen so much snow in his life.

In the city, the snow always became gray and dirty.

Here, it was white and clean and beautiful.

Grandpa pointed to the dark trees.

"These are old, old woods," he said.

"Many things live here. Foxes, deer, birds, even bears."

"But in winter, most of them are sleeping."

John listened.

He could only hear the bells and the soft sound of the horse's feet on the snow.

The forest was quiet, like a place that was waiting.

The cabin was small but warm.

It was made of dark wood, and there was a stone chimney on the roof.

A yellow light came from the windows.

To John, after the long cold journey, it looked like the most beautiful house in the world.

Inside, a fire was burning in a big stone fireplace.

There were two soft chairs near the fire.

Above the fireplace, an old clock was ticking.

The walls were full of pictures, books, and shelves with strange, interesting things.

There were old stones, dried flowers, and a long pipe.

"Take off your wet things, John," Grandpa said.

"And come close to the fire."

John pulled off his hat and his coat.

His hands were red and cold.

He sat down near the fire, and Grandpa gave him a hot drink in a wooden cup.

It was sweet and warm, and tasted of honey.

"Tomorrow we will start your winter life here," Grandpa said.

"But tonight, you need to sleep."

John's small bedroom was at the top of a wooden ladder.

The bed had a heavy blanket made of wool.

From the small window, John could see only white.

White trees, white ground, white sky.

Soon his eyes were closed, and he was sleeping deeply.

In the morning, John woke up to a strange light.

The sun was shining on the snow, and the snow was throwing its bright light back through the window.

He had never seen anything like it.

The whole room seemed to glow.

He went down the ladder.

Grandpa was at the table, drinking coffee.

"Good morning, sleepy bear," Grandpa said with a smile.

"How did you sleep?"

"Very well," John said.

He was looking out of the big window.

"Grandpa, look at the snow. It is so deep."

"Yes," Grandpa said.

"It snowed all night. Today, we cannot go far."

"But after breakfast, we can walk a little, near the cabin."

After breakfast, Grandpa gave John a pair of strange, long shoes.

"What are these?" John asked.

"Snowshoes," Grandpa said.

"They are like big feet. They help you walk on top of the snow without sinking."

John tied them on.

They felt heavy.

When he tried to walk, he fell down two times.

Grandpa laughed kindly.

"Slowly, slowly," he said.

"Lift your feet, like this. Soon you will run like a deer."

Step by step, John learned.

After half an hour, he was walking quite well.

The snow made a soft sound under his snowshoes, like someone breaking sugar.

They walked behind the cabin.

There was a small wooden building.

"This is the wood store," Grandpa said.

"Here we keep all our wood for the fire."

"Fire is life in the mountains, John. Without fire, we cannot live in winter."

John looked back at the cabin.

From here, with the smoke from the chimney and the tall trees behind it, the cabin looked very small in the great white forest.

But it also looked safe and warm.

He felt happy.

A week passed.

John learned many things.

He learned to cut small pieces of wood with a small axe.

He learned to feed the horse, whose name was Boris.

He learned to help Grandpa in the kitchen, and he could now make pancakes by himself.

His face was getting red and strong from the cold air.

At night, he slept like a stone.

But sometimes, he still missed his mother.

He wrote letters to her, and Grandpa took them once a week to the village.

The letters from his mother always said the same things.

"Father is the same. Be brave. Be a good boy for Grandpa."

John read them many times.

One bright morning, Grandpa said, "Today, John, we will go a little further."

"I want to check the small river. Maybe we can catch a fish."

They walked into the forest with their snowshoes and a big bag.

Grandpa was carrying a long stick with a sharp metal end.

The forest was very quiet.

Sometimes, a heavy piece of snow fell from a high branch with a soft sound.

Once, a fox crossed the path far in front of them.

Its red coat was bright on the white snow.

Then it was gone.

After about half an hour, they came to the river.

Most of it was white and frozen, but in one place, the water was still moving.

It was dark and fast.

While Grandpa was making a hole in the ice with his stick, John walked a little further along the river.

He was looking at the strange shapes of the ice.

Suddenly, he heard a small sound.

It was very soft, but it was different from the sounds of the forest.

It was crying.

John stopped.

He listened carefully.

The sound came from behind a thick tree, near the river.

He walked there, very quietly.

Behind the tree, there was a hole in the snow, like a small cave.

John knelt down and looked inside.

At first, he saw only darkness.

Then, two shining eyes looked at him.

It was a small bear.

A baby bear.

John's heart jumped.

He had heard stories about bears in these mountains.

But this bear was tiny.

It was no bigger than a cat.

Its fur was white and gray, almost like the snow.

It was crying softly, and it was very thin.

John looked around.

There was no mother bear.

He looked again, more carefully.

Near the small cave, half hidden by snow, he saw a big, dark shape.

He felt cold, and not only because of the wind.

It was a big bear.

A mother bear.

She was not moving.

She was dead.

"Grandpa! Grandpa, come!" John shouted.

Grandpa came running through the snow.

When he saw the small bear and the dead mother, his face became very serious.

He stood quietly for a long time.

"Poor little one," he said softly.

"He was waiting for his mother. But she is not coming back."

The small bear cried again.

The sound went straight to John's heart.

"Grandpa, we cannot leave him here," John said.

His voice was shaking.

"He will die."

Grandpa looked at the small bear for a long time.

Then he looked at John.

The boy's eyes were full of fear and hope.

"John," Grandpa said slowly.

"A bear is not a dog or a cat. A bear is a wild animal."

"He belongs in the forest, not in our house."

"But Grandpa, he is so small," John said.

"He cannot live alone in this snow. Please, can we take him home? Just for a little time?"

Grandpa was quiet.

He looked at the dead mother bear.

He looked at the deep snow, which had been falling for many days.

He looked at the gray sky, which promised more snow tonight.

He looked again at the tiny bear, who was now too weak even to cry.

Finally, Grandpa nodded.

"We will take him home," he said.

"But John, listen to me carefully. You must understand something."

"Yes, Grandpa?"

"This bear is not yours. He is a child of the forest."

"We will help him through the winter, because that is the right thing to do."

"But when the snow melts, when spring comes, we must take him back."

"He must go back to the forest where he belongs."

John felt tears in his eyes, but he nodded.

"I understand, Grandpa. I promise."

"Good," Grandpa said.

He took off his big coat and gently picked up the small bear, who was so light, like a piece of bread.

He wrapped the bear in the coat.

The little animal did not move.

They walked back through the forest.

The wind was getting stronger.

By the time they reached the cabin, the snow was falling again.

Inside, Grandpa put the bear close to the fire, but not too close.

John brought a soft blanket.

They watched the bear's small body slowly warm up.

"He needs milk," Grandpa said.

"Warm milk. He is very young. Maybe two or three months old."

John ran to the kitchen.

He warmed some milk in a small pot, and Grandpa gave it to the bear with a small spoon.

At first the bear was too weak.

But after a few drops, he started to drink.

John watched, holding his breath.

After several minutes, the bear had finished half the cup.

Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep, his small body close to John's leg.

"He is alive," Grandpa whispered.

"But he is not safe yet. The next few days will tell us."

That night, John could not sleep.

He came down the ladder very quietly.

The fire was small now, but still warm.

The little bear was sleeping in his blanket near the fire.

John sat down beside him.

He put his hand gently on the bear's small back.

He could feel the bear's heart, beating fast and strong.

The bear made a small sound and pushed his head against John's hand.

John smiled in the firelight.

"Don't worry, little one," he whispered.

"I will take care of you."

Three days passed.

The little bear became stronger.

He could now drink from a small bowl.

He could walk a few steps, although his legs were still shaky.

His eyes were dark and bright, and they followed John everywhere.

Grandpa said, "We must give him a name."

"What name?" John asked.

"That is your job," Grandpa said with a smile.

"He has chosen you. So you must choose his name."

John thought for a long time.

He looked at the bear's white and gray fur, which was the color of the snow.

He looked at the way the bear's small nose moved when he was sleeping.

He thought about the white forest, about the quiet snow, about the soft sound of the wind through the trees.

"Yuki," he said.

"Yuki?" Grandpa repeated.

"That is a beautiful name. What does it mean?"

"In Japan, where my mother's friend lives, it means snow," John said.

"I read it in a book once."

"Yuki," Grandpa said softly.

"Yes. Snow Bear. It is a perfect name."

The little bear opened his eyes.

He looked at John as if he understood.

Then he stood up and walked, slowly, to John's feet.

He sat down there and closed his eyes again.

John laughed.

"He likes it!"

From that day, the bear was Yuki, and the cabin had three people in it.

Yuki grew quickly.

After two weeks, he was running around the room, falling down, getting up, and running again.

He liked to play with John's old wool socks, which Grandpa gave him.

He liked to put his nose in John's coffee cup, until Grandpa took it away.

But most of all, Yuki liked to be close to John.

When John was reading by the fire, Yuki was sleeping on his feet.

When John was eating breakfast, Yuki was sitting next to his chair, watching every spoon.

When John was outside, cutting wood, Yuki was playing in the snow nearby.

Yuki had a special way of saying hello.

He would push his nose hard against John's leg, and then look up with his bright eyes.

John always laughed.

He would kneel down and hug the small bear.

Yuki's fur smelled of the forest and of warm bread.

One night, when John was in his bed, he heard a small sound on the ladder.

Soft, careful steps.

Then there was a soft thump on the floor.

Yuki had climbed up the ladder for the first time.

The little bear walked across the dark room, climbed onto John's bed, and curled up next to him.

John did not move him.

He listened to Yuki's quiet breathing.

Outside, the wind was strong, and the snow was deep.

But here, with Yuki beside him, John was warm and not at all alone.

In the morning, Grandpa saw Yuki on John's bed.

He did not say anything.

He only smiled and shook his head.

After that, Yuki always slept with John.

The little bear and the boy were never apart.

John had not been so happy in a long, long time.

Winter became deeper.

The days were short.

The sun rose late and went down early.

Sometimes, snow fell for two or three days without stopping.

Then the world outside the cabin was a great white silence.

John and Yuki spent many hours together.

John was teaching Yuki to know his name.

Every time he said "Yuki," he gave the bear a small piece of dried apple.

Soon, Yuki came running every time John called his name.

"You are training him like a dog," Grandpa said, while he was reading by the fire.

"But a bear is not a dog. Remember that, John."

"I know, Grandpa," John said.

But it was hard to remember.

Yuki was growing fast, but he was still a small, soft, friendly thing.

He did not look like a wild animal at all.

Grandpa was teaching John many things, too.

He taught him the names of all the trees in the forest.

Pine, fir, birch, oak.

He taught him to read the marks of animals in the snow.

Fox, deer, rabbit, the small straight line of a mouse.

He taught him how to know the weather from the shape of the clouds.

And he told John stories.

Long, slow stories, while the wind was crying outside.

Stories about Grandpa's life, about old people in the village, about bears and wolves and brave hunters from many years ago.

"My father, your great-grandfather, knew the language of the forest," Grandpa said one evening.

"He could walk through these woods at night with no light."

"He said the trees told him the way."

"Could he really hear them?" John asked.

Grandpa smiled.

"Maybe. Maybe a person who lives long enough with the forest learns to hear things that other people do not hear."

Yuki was sleeping at their feet.

He made a small sound in his sleep.

Grandpa looked at him for a long time.

"This little one will know things, too," Grandpa said.

"When he goes back to the forest, he will know more than other bears."

"Because he has lived here, and he has seen us, and he has learned about the world from a window."

John did not want to think about Yuki going back to the forest.

He changed the subject.

"Grandpa, can you tell me another story?"

Grandpa looked at him.

There was something gentle and a little sad in his old eyes.

But he started another story, and they sat by the fire until late at night.

The weeks passed.

Yuki was now as big as a large dog.

His fur was thick and beautiful.

He liked to push his head into the snow, and then come up with snow on his nose, and look very surprised.

John laughed every time.

In the long evenings, John wrote letters to his mother.

He told her about Yuki.

His mother wrote back, "Be careful, my dear. A bear is a bear."

John did not understand what she meant.

He thought he understood Yuki very well.

He thought Yuki was his friend, and that nothing could change that.

It was late February when John saw the first sign of spring.

He was outside, getting wood from the wood store.

He looked up and saw a small bird on a high branch.

It was singing.

John listened.

He had not heard a bird sing since November.

He had almost forgotten that birds had voices.

The song was small and clear, like a little bell.

He ran inside.

"Grandpa! There is a bird singing!"

Grandpa came to the door and listened.

Then he nodded slowly.

"Yes," he said.

"Spring is coming. Not yet, but soon. The birds know first."

John wanted to feel happy.

But suddenly, his heart was heavy.

The bird's song meant the snow would melt.

The snow melting meant spring.

Spring meant Yuki must go.

The promise.

John remembered the promise.

In the next few weeks, more birds came.

Sometimes, in the afternoons, the snow on the south side of the cabin became wet.

Small drops of water fell from the roof.

Yuki, who was now quite big, watched the falling drops with great interest.

He tried to catch them with his paws.

He was happy.

But John was not happy.

He was watching the snow melt with worried eyes.

He counted the birds.

He looked at the gray patches of ground that were appearing on the south hill.

One afternoon, when Grandpa was outside, John sat by the fire with Yuki.

He hugged the bear's neck.

Yuki was so big now that John could not hug him completely.

The bear smelled like the forest itself.

"Yuki," John whispered. "I don't want you to go."

Yuki turned his head and pushed his nose against John's face.

It was their old hello.

"What if you stayed?" John whispered.

"What if you stayed with us, and we built a place for you, and you lived here always?"

That night, John could not sleep.

He had an idea.

A bad idea.

A small voice inside him was saying, "Run away. Take Yuki and run away."

"Hide in the forest, in a small cave. When summer comes, no one can send him back."

John knew it was a child's idea.

He knew it would not work.

But the idea would not leave his head.

In the morning, his eyes were red.

Grandpa looked at him over the breakfast table.

"John," he said gently. "Are you not sleeping well?"

John could not look at him.

"Grandpa," he said, very quietly. "What if we kept Yuki?"

Grandpa put down his coffee cup.

He was quiet for a long moment.

"John," he said. "Look at me."

John looked up.

There were tears in his eyes already.

"Yuki is bigger every week."

"In summer, he will be a young bear. In two years, he will be very big and strong."

"He needs a forest. He needs other bears. He needs the wide world."

"If we keep him here, we will make him sick and unhappy. Do you understand?"

John could not speak.

He only nodded slowly.

But inside, his heart was breaking.

March came.

The world began to change.

Every day, the days were a little longer.

Every day, the snow was a little thinner.

Now, on the south hill, John could see brown earth and dead grass.

Small green things were starting to push up.

Yuki was changing, too.

He still loved John, and he still slept on his bed at night.

But during the day, he spent more and more time outside.

He stood at the edge of the forest and looked at the trees for a long time.

Sometimes he made a low sound, deep in his throat.

John had never heard that sound before.

"He is feeling the change," Grandpa said.

"He is starting to remember that he is a bear. The forest is calling him."

John pretended not to hear.

But one afternoon, John found Yuki at the wood store.

The bear was standing on his back legs and pulling at a bag of food.

When John came, Yuki looked at him with strange eyes, bright and a little wild.

For one short moment, John felt afraid of his own friend.

"Yuki!" John said. "No!"

Yuki dropped to his four legs.

He looked normal again.

He pushed his nose against John's leg, the old hello.

But John's heart was beating fast.

That night, John went down the ladder very late.

Grandpa was still up, looking at the fire.

"I saw it today," John said.

"I saw the wild thing in his eyes."

"Yes," Grandpa said. "I have seen it many times in the last few weeks."

"He is becoming a bear," John whispered.

"He has always been a bear," Grandpa said gently.

"We just have not always seen it."

John sat down next to Grandpa.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

"Grandpa," John said finally. "When will it happen? When must we say goodbye?"

Grandpa looked at the fire.

"When the snow has melted from most of the ground."

"When the small streams are running. When the days are warm."

"Then he will be ready. And we must be ready, too."

"How will I be ready?" John asked.

His voice was very small.

Grandpa put his arm around John's shoulders.

"It will be hard, John. I will not lie to you."

"It is always hard to say goodbye to someone we love."

"But this is a good kind of goodbye."

"We are not losing Yuki. We are giving him back his life."

"The life of a bear. The life he was born to have."

John leaned against Grandpa.

The fire was warm on his face.

Yuki was asleep on the floor.

"I will try to be brave," John said.

"I know you will," Grandpa said.

In the next weeks, John tried to remember everything.

He watched the way Yuki's nose moved when he was asleep.

He learned the lines of Yuki's face.

He smelled Yuki's fur, the smell of the forest.

He listened to Yuki's heart, which was beating, beating, beating, like a strong slow drum, full of life.

It was early April.

The snow was almost gone.

The streams were full and loud, running down the mountains, singing about spring.

The trees had small green eyes on their branches.

The first flowers, small and yellow, were starting to open in the warm places.

For three days, Yuki had been very restless.

He could not sit still.

He stood at the door, looking at the forest.

He made the deep sound again and again.

He still came to John, but his eyes were already in the trees.

One morning, Grandpa woke John early.

The sky outside was pink with the new sun.

"Today, John," Grandpa said. "Today is the day."

John felt cold inside.

But he had been waiting for this day, and somewhere deep inside, he was almost ready.

"Yes, Grandpa," he said.

They had a quiet breakfast.

John could not eat much.

Yuki was outside, walking around the cabin in big circles, like a person who had a question to ask.

Grandpa packed a small bag.

He put in some food and water for them, and a long rope, although John was not sure why.

"We will go to the place where we found him," Grandpa said.

"It is the place his life began. It is the right place."

John nodded.

He could not speak.

They walked into the forest, the three of them.

John was wearing his thick coat, but the air was already mild.

Birds were singing from many trees.

The forest was full of small wet sounds.

Drops of water, tiny streams, the soft falling of melting snow.

Yuki ran in front of them, then back.

He was playing.

He was happy.

Then he ran ahead again, his nose busy, his ears moving.

The forest was speaking to him in a language John could not hear.

After more than an hour, they came to the river.

Most of the ice was gone.

The water was full and dark.

John recognized the place.

The big tree, the small cave, where it had all started.

Grandpa stopped.

"Here is a good place," he said softly.

John knelt down on the wet ground.

He called Yuki, who came running.

John put his arms around the bear's big neck.

Yuki was as tall as him now when he stood on four legs.

"Yuki," John whispered into the warm fur.

"You must go now. You have a home, a real home."

"It is here. The forest is your real mother now."

Yuki was still for a moment.

Then he pushed his nose hard against John's face.

His old hello.

John was crying.

He did not try to hide his tears.

"Goodbye, Snow Bear," he whispered. "I love you."

He stood up.

He stepped back.

Yuki looked at him with his deep dark eyes.

For a long moment, the bear did not move.

He was looking at John as if he understood everything.

Then Yuki turned.

He walked, slowly at first, into the trees.

Then a little faster.

He stopped once, and looked back at John.

A bird flew above them.

The sun was bright now.

For a moment, John thought Yuki would come back.

The bear was standing very still, looking at him.

Their eyes were holding each other across the wet ground and the new green grass.

Then Yuki turned again.

He walked further into the trees.

His thick winter fur shone in the morning light.

He moved between the dark trees, and the trees seemed to welcome him, like old friends.

John watched.

He did not call him.

He did not run after him.

Yuki walked on his four strong legs, his back going up and down with each step.

He was bigger now, and stronger, and braver.

He was a real bear.

He looked at the trees, at the river, at the sky.

He was learning his world.

He walked over a small hill.

For a moment, only his back was visible.

Then his head appeared again on the other side, far away.

He stopped one more time.

He turned and looked toward John, very small in the distance.

John raised his hand, slowly.

It was a small wave.

A goodbye.

Yuki seemed to look at him for a long, long second.

Then the bear turned, and walked down behind the hill, and was gone.

The forest was quiet again.

John stood for a long time without moving.

He was looking at the empty hill.

His heart felt empty too.

But not only sad.

There was something else, something he could not name.

Grandpa came up behind him and put a heavy, gentle hand on his shoulder.

"He has gone, John," Grandpa said softly.

"Yes," John said.

His voice sounded small in the big quiet forest.

"He has gone."

They stood together for a while.

"He went on his own four feet," Grandpa said.

"He did not look afraid. He did not look lost. He looked like a bear."

John nodded slowly.

Yes. That was true.

Yuki had not run from anything.

He had walked into the forest like a king walking into his own country.

"Grandpa," John whispered. "Will I see him again?"

Grandpa was quiet for a moment.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"The forest is big. Bears live a long time."

"Sometimes, on a cold morning, you might see a big white bear far away on a hill."

"And you will not be sure. But you will know in your heart."

They started to walk home.

The sun was higher now, and the forest was full of light.

John walked slowly.

He was tired, but it was a good tired.

When they reached the cabin, John felt strange to come in.

The room was empty without Yuki.

The blanket on the floor was empty.

The small bowl was empty.

John stood at the door, and his eyes filled with tears again.

But then he looked through the window, at the great forest that began only a few steps from the cabin.

Yuki was out there, somewhere. Walking. Alive. Free.

John dried his face and turned back into the warm room.

Outside, a bird was singing.

Spring had come, at last, to the high mountains.

And John was going to be all right.