James Mcclure - Snake

“Ee-flat,” he said to himself, remembering the word used by a fellow convict who had worked in one. It was all making sense now. What a fool he had been. Excellent sense.

Up to a point.

And when Mabatso’s thoughts reached that point, the giddiness returned twice as violently as before, dropping him to his knees with a jolt. To crumple once again and lie there, curled up like a wood louse, smelling his own smells among so many sharp alien smells, and feeling more afraid than he had ever done.

Because when those colony gates had swung open, he’d not only known what sort of place it was, but also how he had reached it, why he was there, and what to expect while he remained behind its walls.

Whereas now he knew the answer to only the first of those questions, and the rest of them had begun to tease his mind apart.

Chainpuller Mabatso could not even cry out. As isolated as his life had been on that hillside, he fully realized that a black man always had to have a very good reason for being in a white people’s dwelling at night.

Which came to the same terrifying thing.

Ramchunder had a rude awakening. His bedding was stripped off him and a flashlight shone in his eyes.

“CID. On your feet,” said Marais.

The waiter staggered up.

“Are you awake, man?”

“I-yes, I am, sir.”

“Have you in your possession a cassette player recently bought?”

“Have merciful pity, sir! The gent I bought it from said he had come by it quite aboveboard.”

“You’re making allegations?”

“Sir, you misinterpret!”

“ Ach, all right, Sammy-just as long as you’re the right Ramchunder,” said Marais, who had unearthed a good dozen of the buggers, all of them waiters.

Then he took a short statement which tallied in every particular with the one given to him by Bix Johnson, the crazy piano player. And had problems only when it came to Ramchunder’s reluctance to admit having been through the curtain.

“Do I go up for trespass?” Ramchunder asked gloomily as the ballpoint was put away.

“Not this time,” said Marais, and his good humor made him add, “That’s one of your boss’s laws, not mine!”

Kramer talked man-to-man with Piet until the little sod toppled sideways and fell fast asleep. Then he tucked a rug over the Widow Fourie, closed the padlock on the burglar guard at the front door, and drove back into Trekkersburg.

Dawn had just begun to snuffle its pink snout along the escarpment when he slipped past Mr. McKay’s flat and took the stairs. The lift at that hour sounded like Saturn 5.

By the fifth-floor landing, Kramer had decided there must be easier ways of making a wizard talk. But when he heard the rapid exchange in Zulu coming from behind the living room door of number 5C, he felt it may well have been worth all the extra trouble. And sat down where the coat stand had once been.

He tried to sleep a little. But there was something odd about Zondi’s tone that kept snagging on his veil of oblivion-something that made him sit upright and try to distinguish words.

Not long after that, the inner door opened and Kramer saw Zondi standing over him in shirtsleeves.

“Hope you slept well, you bugger,” Kramer said, getting up with a spring that sagged in the middle.

“Three, four hours, then this one started to knock for me.”

“Oh, ja? And?”

“The truth, I think.”

Kramer looked over Zondi’s shoulder. What he saw made him realize there was no need to dispute that-although he could also see Mabatso had not a mark on him, nor any reason to have one either.

“All right, but what did he say?”

“The man who asked Beebop for the ten rand was one Robert Zulu, who this prisoner knew in prison, and who work like an errand boy for him, buying him beer and all that. Finish of story.”

“Hey? Come on now!”

Zondi smiled in an ugly way and said, “Chainpuller doesn’t know any more about the robberies than we. He just got the idea of pretending he was behind them-he was riding the gangsters like a tick.”

“Him? This thing? Where did he get ideas like that from? And so quick?”

“Chainpuller does this all the time-for years, boss. You know that brother? He is an important man now, down in the Transkei, so he cuts himself free from this rubbish. But you know how it is when people think you have done a wrong, how they make sure this comes to your ears? Mabatso here was told many things about himself after the brother had gone, and so he-”

“You mean he never did anything to anyone? Just sat on his arse and let people throw their money at him?”

“That is the truth. It was the people’s own fears of darkness that made him so great-darkness only in their own minds.”

“What are you, Mickey Zondi?”

“I’m a superstitious kaffir,” said Zondi, breaking into a wide grin. “And you, boss, are wiser than the elephant.”

“ Ach, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, hey? But I can tell you one thing: I don’t suffer the same way from the blind spots of my people. Not in my work anyway.”

That, too, was meant as a joke, something flippant to lighten the disappointment now weighing down hard on both of them. But somehow it seemed to misfire.

Zondi said, “The charge against this prisoner, Lieutenant? Demanding with menaces?”

“Ja, what you like.”

It was a great pity the new day had to begin like that, almost as an omen.

The museum opened to the public at ten. Strydom arrived at nine and went in through the side entrance. He had not only the overnights to see to at the mortuary, but also both police patients and corporal punishments to attend. In other words, this was his only hour free until evening.

“Oh, there you are,” said Bose. “Had the idea of getting everything ready for you before your arrival.”

“Sorry, man, but I checked with the magistrate and that didn’t take as long as I thought. He says we can go ahead and do what we like. How is he?”

“It’s a beauty,” Bose declared without pride, as he continued to remove sections of the mold.

The plaster had taken every detail of the scales and Strydom clasped his hands in delight. Bose had coiled the creature in a most realistic manner, and even a layman could see how well this was going to reproduce.

“Might manage a lick of paint,” Bose murmured. “We haven’t a new case going in for some months yet.”

Strydom had already been captivated by the clockless back rooms of the museum, and very nearly asked if they ever employed skilled pensioners on bird stuffing or the like. Then wonder returned his thoughts to the immediate.

“Lovely and shiny,” he said.

“Vaseline; prevents it sticking to the p.o.p. The fact the colors fade so rapidly is one of the main reasons we’ve gone over onto casts. Now, Python regius, consent has been given, so it’s time for your little operation.”

Strydom, who could have kicked himself for not going through the proper channels in the first place, and so saving himself much anxiety, said idly, “King python, is it?”

“Royal. Must have been imported from up north and have cost a pretty penny, too. Although, with proper care, their life span makes it a goodish investment. Very gentle nature; an excellent pet.”

“No, thanks!”

“Any animal,” Bose reminded him pointedly, with a mischievous smile, “is apt to behave in a strongly defensive manner if it believes itself to be threatened. Usually, our friend the royal makes himself into an almost perfect ball, with his head tucked away on the inside-you can literally roll him about with your foot. Quite a trick.”

“Wonder if it was in her act.”

“Shouldn’t think so; once they’re tame, they stop doing it. Excuse me a moment.”