When the artist calls, Mary hands her father the phone without speaking. They laugh together. They talk about Goya and William Blake.

“Don’t let any collectors buy me,” she hears him say. “I want to be in a museum.”

When he asks her, she carries the art books down from the study and drops them, crashing, into the pile beside his bed.

“I know you’re unhappy about this,” her father says. “But it’s my body, not yours.”

The bell rings, and Mary turns away to open the door. Mercedes is on the welcome mat, rolling up her sleeves.

At the museum, Mary checks over her shoulder. Walks faster. Even when she is inside of the dioramas she does not feel safe. On the ladder, toning the edges of a cloud, she is sure that someone is watching. She turns and sees an elderly couple on the other side of the window.

The old woman’s handbag matches the husband’s shirt. It is a Hawaiian print, with purple and blue flowers. The old man is wearing sandals. He waves at Mary. His wife is digging through her pocketbook, pulling out her glasses to read the information plaque. On the floor, behind them, is the bear.

The animal has left its pedestal. Its face is round, the snout worn to skin, the eyes made of brown glass. The bear rises on two legs in the marble hallway, close to six feet, swaying a little behind the couple before leaning forward to sniff the old woman’s hair.

“Look out!” Mary screams. She gets off the ladder and bangs on the window with both of her hands.

The old woman drops her pocketbook. Her husband freezes, then takes her elbow and begins pulling her away. They both stare at Mary as if she has lost her mind. The bear’s attention, meanwhile, has been diverted. The elderly couple makes for the exit, and the bear begins to bounce with its two front paws against the glass.

Mary backs up and knocks over one of the antelopes. With every bounce the window shakes, and she is afraid that it will break. The bear has not changed its expression, but with each push it throws down more weight, until finally one of its legs falls off. The animal drops to three legs and shakes the fourth, horsehair and cotton wadding spilling out of the hole. Mary finds the latch for the trapdoor and slips into the back room.

This is the animal she saw in the corridor last week. She is sure of it. Mary calculates the distance to the exit. She opens the door to the hall a crack. The bear is gone, but Dr. Fisher is there, holding the old woman’s handbag.

“What the hell is going on?” he says.