THE TAMED SNAKE.

One Wednesday evening during our August holiday, I was weeding cowpeas in our banana garden when I heard hens clucking and making nervous, jerky motions. I left my hoe and snooped cautiously towards the scene.
What I saw nearly knocked the last breath out of me. It was a long, thick, gleaming, black serpent with a chain of beautiful, multi-coloured beads around its neck.
There had always been rampant rumours around Nyasi village that Martie’s late father had been a keeper of a hideous enormous snake, although I had personally never encountered the monster. In fact, people were so much used to the snake that they never bothered themselves so much whenever they spotted it among the bananas or in the bushes. One could just remark in cynical, helpless horror: “There’s the monster!” and hurry away.
And nobody ever dared to kill the snake, because you do not do that and stay alive; the snake possessed potent powers of witchcraft. Marties’s father had been a fearsome neighbour and no one in the entire village ever trifled with him. We children were always sternly warned not to trespass or pluck a fruit on his farm. Even long after he was dead, his spirit still haunted the farm and the banana garden.
Martie’s homestead was next to our banana garden in the moist depression at the extreme western end of our farm. People had always feared passing through this valley at night claiming that Walucho, Martie’s father used to snoop among the bananas after twilight to take his monstrous pet out for an evening stroll…
I seized a stout lose pole from the fence and started stalking the serpent. She was staring at me unblinkingly, fearlessly, and somehow mockingly. There was something mystic, mysterious and daunting in her small, still eyes that gave me the jitters.
For one horrible, breathless moment, my entire body trembled with fear as our eyes met. Her eyes were so cold and merciless and haunting. My hand started shaking violently as I lifted the pole up. So I decided to hold the pole with both hands; I lifted it up above my head, and then brought it down swiftly upon the head of the serpent. The words in the Bible, which God addressed to the serpent, “I shall put great enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her seed; her offspring will crush your head, and you will bite their heel,” rang clearly in my mind.
With another frantic stroke, I crashed the head of the serpent. She writhed in pain for a long, long time before she lay limp and motionless on the ground while I stood there, gasping for breath and perspiring furiously around my forehead and under the armpits. Then, when I was sure the monster was completely dead, I turned and walked away towards the entrance.
As I emerged from the garden, the first person I spotted was Eliza’s brother Tom, who was strolling outside their homestead.
“Tom!” I shouted nervously at the top of my voice, “I’ve killed a very huge snake! Can you please come and help me drag it to the toilet?” My voice sounded tremulous and shaky. But instead of Tom coming to help me he disappeared quickly into their compound. After a moment, Petro and his entire family popped out and all curiously rushed to the garden.
In no time our banana garden was flooded with curious people. And since nobody wanted to have anything to do with this dreadful serpent, which was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people near and far, I decided to drag it to the toilet pit unassisted.
The unconcealable horror on the faces of the people, and the whispered conversations were enough to convey the magnitude of my offence. And to accentuate the dreadfulness of my disastrous act, no one from Martie’s family came to the scene, which was just about two hundred metres away from Martie’s compound.
Fortunately for me, at that time, my father was still away at work at Lulu Lulu Farm, and mother had attended a church function at Shangalamwe Catholic Church.
That night, there was great mourning and lamentation in Martie’s compound. Martie’s mother gathered all the family members and performed a mourning ceremony close to that accorded a dead human being. Later that evening, Martie was sent to our home to notify our family that the total number of days the person who had murdered their ‘daughter’ had to live on this earth was thirty days!
“Serve you right!” Father growled in a startled response, “You will go into the grave alone! Yes, let all your evil deeds go with you! As for me I’ve played my part to bring you up. For the last four months, I’ve persistently warned you against these lunatic protestant ideas, which claim there is no power and harm in witchcraft. But you have given me a deaf ear all along. For now, I wash my hands. Let no harm come to any other members of the family. In fact, soon I shall slaughter a sheep to perform a cleansing ritual to purge my family of the potency of the witchcraft.”
“Father,” I replied dauntlessly and almost cheekily, “What I know is that snakes are there to be killed, says the Bible. Oh, in fact, they are a symbol of Satan! I shall always kill every snake that I come across, whether it is black, white, red, or blue! And there’s no harm in killing snakes, in Jesus’ name!” I retorted aplomply.
Father narrowed his dazed eyes and stared at me wordlessly for a long, long moment without saying anything. Then he dipped a hand in one of his coat pockets, took out a cigarette, stuck it to his lips asked Mildred to give him a glowing faggot. He and lit the cigarette and small billows of smoke started ensuing from his lips and mouth as we sat there in dreadful silence, in our kitchen, waiting for supper.