Igor The Bear

Diary

Igor the Bear does not do things quickly, not walking, not war, not regret, but on that stretch of sand near the old harbor he lit up slow and let the weed do what training never could and loosen the iron in his jaw. He spoke too rashly then, some blunt truth about an old friend's cooking or a rival's stance, words rolling out of him like a boulder finally tipping off a ledge, unstoppable once they started, same as everything else about him. A samurai learns silence like a blade learns its sheath, and Igor once wore that silence for years, disciplined and dead quiet, until the wars ended and the quiet started rotting into something heavier than peace. He tried, afterward, to reclaim that old discipline, sat cross-legged at dawn promising himself no more loose tongue, no more ape-ing into other men's business, and lasted exactly one tide before saying something else rash to a seagull. Still, sitting there in the salt and smoke with his mistake floating out over the water, Igor found he was grinning, slow and enormous, happier for having finally moved at all.”