Snakes

A short story by Daniel Crocker

At first, I'd only seen a few brown leaves move like waves, over and under each other, out of the corner of my eye. As I turned my head I saw more. A thin, aluminum wire body with watery rainbow colors. A diamond-head and darting pink tongue. In Sunday school, I was told that they were evil. The Devil had taken the beautiful shape for his own--to tempt a woman. On the playground I'd heard horror tales of young boys, like me, dying before the poison could be sucked from the soles of their feet. But, the flowing liquid metal before me seemed to be none of these things. There were no dripping fangs hanging from a gaping mouth and it certainly wasn't coming right at me. It was beautiful-- more angel than devil.

I had been playing catch with the two kids next door and now they were on me like sweat-bees.

"Whatcha lookin' at?" Chris asked. He was the oldest--older than me by two years. His shirt was off and his tanned hide was like tough and patchy leather. His colorless hair was matted with earth, his diamond eyes tiny.

"Snake!" he yelled, "Snake!"

The youngest boy, Chris' brother Jo Jo, screamed in a harsh, girlish way. He wasn't sure were the snake was, so he pumped his legs like quick hydraulics, like some voodoo dance, to make sure he wasn't stepping on it. When he finally saw it, a good distance from him, he pointed and screeched again. He screamed so hard a snot bubble grew from his left nostril, popping as slowly, as silently, as it came.

"Aw, man, where's a rock?" Chris asked. "We gotta kill it 'fore it gets away," He looked at me, "Get me a rock, man."

I was motionless. Silently begging the snake to get away, to make it to the sanctuary of the back yard weeds. Still, I was afraid to touch it--to actually grab it and carry it to safety. Chris stared at me and then, finally sure I wasn't going to move, ran to fetch a rock himself.

When he returned he had a jagged stone the size of softball with him. Its edges were sharp and gray, but it was clean of moss and dirt and looked less like a weapon than the filthy hand clenched around it. Chris cocked his arm against the sun.

"Why do we have to kill it?" I asked. Thinking we could just chase it away.

" Why?" Chris looked at me as if I'd already gone half-crazy with excitement.

"Look," Chris said, "Snakes are for killin'. When ya see a snake ya kill it. Ev'rybody know it, an' I know you had to a learned it somewhere too."

I nodded. He unloaded. The stone hit the snake in its middle. It seemed to jump and I thought I saw a few scales flake off, though it could have been my imagination. Jo Jo squealed in delight. A wet and gap-toothed grin spread across Chris' tight, thin face. The snake darted its tongue in quick, jab-like flurries as it brushed its tail against the stone. Jo Jo tried to squeak a warning to his brother about coming within striking distance of the angry snake but, Chris, grabbing with instinct, already had the stone back in his hand. He had not been bitten or even struck at, however, the quicker thrashing of the snake and the violent rustling of leaves was enough to run ice up and down my spine.

The stone struck again with fiercer energy. I could now see tiny red cliffs of meat surrounded by silver, oily waters. This time the stone had taken flesh with it and eaten a red hole into the pretty thing. It wiggled helplessly-uncontrollably. To see a thing bend in every way and in such mindless positions made me sick at my stomach. Its spasms were so alien. The more it thrashed around in death, the more I hated it.

I took the stone from the ground. I gripped my fingers around the dull, red stains already smudged into the rock. I cocked my arm like a gun. But there was no explosion, only the rock falling softly to the ground beside me. There was so much silence that my ears hurt from it. The empty sky was huge above me. The grass eagerly grabbed at my feet. Chris' small liquid eyes tried to pierce me, but they just seemed dumb and clumsy. I took the heel of my boot and placed it gently on the head the dying snake and pressed down hard--grinding my heel deep into the ground. Bones cracked beneath my weight. Blood flowed in tiny rivers from beneath my sole.

"Yeah!" Chris yelled, ""Yeah, you kilt that good."

I watched from a patchy mesh of screen and duck tape as Dad's faded blue Ford pickup grew larger and larger kicking clouds of dust and gravel into the air behind it. The sound of the engine became louder and louder until it finally stopped in front of the house. Dad stepped out, back bent. He carried a small black, tin lunch pail in his right hand and a newspaper was tucked underneath his arm. His jeans hung low and the crotch was faded. He crossed the yard in slow deliberate steps, bent his head down over the snake, gently nudged it with the thick heel of his dark boot, then, just as slowly, walked his way back across the yard and into the house.

Dad sat down in his chair and opened the paper in front of his face. I untied the heavy black strings from his squid like boots and pulled them off his feet. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Supper sure smells good." He said.

I stood in front of him, trying to see around the dry paper that blocked his face. It was like that for a long time.

Finally, "Did you kill that snake out there?"

The paper didn't move.

"Yes, sir." I tried to keep my voice strong. Wondering if he'd react with pride or anger.

"You know," he finally said, voice deep, "Ugliness always tries to kill beauty." Silence. "Understand?"

"Yes." I said--not knowing if I did or not.

"Even if you don't," he said, "you will."

"Yes, sir."

"'Then let's eat." He threw the paper to the floor, and we did.