John Godey - The Snake

"May I ask which snake this serum is effective against?"

Consulting the lid of the cardboard box, Dr. Shapiro said, "Bitis, naja, dendroaspis. Bitis covers various species of vipers and adders, naja is the cobra, dendroaspis are arboreal snakes, such as the mambas of Africa. If our snake is not one of these, the antivenin will be useless. If it is one of these, it may be effective. The most effective antivenins are the specific ones: cobra serum for cobra bite, gaboon viper serum for gaboon viper bite, and so forth. Identifying the snake in the park is still of paramount importance. If you'll excuse me, I must attend to a patient."

"From East Side Hospital, Bill Stevens."

"Where did the snake come from, and how did it get into the park?" The anchorman answered his own question: "Nobody knows." Zoos, pet shops, laboratories, exotic animal farms-all of these had been queried, none had reported a missing snake. Nor had any individuals who owned pet snakes come forward. Perhaps such an individual existed, who for obvious reasons didn't wish to make a self-incriminating admission? A plea from a Deputy Commissioner of the N.Y.P.D.: "If you are such an individual, and your snake has escaped, call anonymously. It is vital that we know exactly what kind of snake the death snake is, so that the proper antidote can be stocked." The Deputy Commissioner made an appeal to the public for information, and gave a special police number, which the camera flashed on the screen.

"Where did the snake come from, and how did it get into the park? Thus far, we do not know. And perhaps we shall never find out."

The anchorman's face faded, and a tinkle of music introduced a laundry detergent commercial. The mayor found it mildly interesting.

After the commercial, the news report continued, setting the mood with a brief shot of a cobra in its glass cage at the Staten Island Zoo, erect, hood spread, eyes glittering. Next came a close-up shot of the mayor "at this morning's news conference at City Hall." Hizzonner leaned forward in his chair and watched himself with a blend of professional detachment and affection. "… leave no stone unturned…" Hizzonner sat back again when the camera focused on the Police Commissioner's speech.

Hizzonner, speaking aloud, passed judgment on his performance. "The one thing you can say for me is that I know where the camera is every second.

It must be instinctive."

From City Hall, the scene shifted to the American Museum of Natural History, where a herpetologist, holding a jar containing a tiny snake no thicker than a pencil, which he seemed to be using as a hand prop, since he made no mention of it, declared that a drastic sudden turn in the weather, a rapidly falling thermometer, was highly desirable. This would cause the snake to become lethargic, disoriented, thus sharply decreasing the danger of anyone else being bitten. Meanwhile, some general advice: Stay out of the underbrush. Watch where you set your feet down if you're walking in tall grass. Although many snakes could strike with incredible speed, they could not locomote swiftly: the average human could easily outrun just about any snake in the world. Don't worry (smiling) about the snake chasing you.

Except in very rare instances, such as during the breeding season, or in protection of their eggs, snakes would not pursue a man.

The herpetologist offered advice on what to do in ease of snakebite: avoid strenuous activity, alcohol, panic-all of these speed up the heartbeat and circulate the venom more quickly through the body. Lie down, apply a tourniquet above the wound in the direction of the heart, inject antivenin as quickly as possible. As to incising and sucking out the venom, it goes in and out of fashion with the regularity of (smiling) breast-feeding. If you do suck the venom, make sure there are no lesions in your mouth or lips.

Hizzonner paid little attention to the herpetologist. He was waiting for the inevitable man-on-the-street interviews, which, idiotic as they might seem, must be read seriously by the politician, for, however cracked and inarticulate, they were truly the voice of the people.

The first interview took place in the children's playground at Central Park West and 81st Street, near the Hunter's Gate. A young woman in a halter and shorts, filmed against a background of antic swings and seesaws, and the penetrating screams of toddlers, speaks aggrievedly: "Where do I go if I don't come to the park with my child-the French Riveria?" She turns her back to the camera and screams: "Mervynl Don't just stand there when he hits you. Hit him back." She faces the reporter. "Self-reliance. Young as he is, I keep drumming it into him. Where was V'

"You were intimating that you would continue to come to the park in spite of the snake."

"Where are my alternatives? I won't turn my son into a hothouse flower.

Besides, can a snake be any worse than the winos that hang around here and drink and spit and curse and ogle and generally carry on like an eyesore?"

A middle-aged couple, coming up out of an Independent subway station. The woman: "Maybe the snake will eat up some muggers. If that's the case, they should have one on every street." Her husband:

"Sylvia, it's nothing to laugh at!" Woman: "Do you see me laughing?"

Husband: "Sylvia!"

Another man coming out of the subway, hot, dishevelled, in a hurry, forcing the reporter to trot to keep up with him. The man: "It's a pure cover-up."

Reporter: "A cover-up? For what?" Man: "For everything."

So far, Hizzonner thought, mostly comedy. But his intuition told him there was more substantive matter to come, and presently he was proved right.

On Central Park West and 73rd Street, the spokeswoman for an angry group of mothers, surrounded by milling children: "They must close the park. That mayor, he's trifling with human lives."

In front of his storefront headquarters, an activist state legislator: "Tomorrow morning, I shall lead a delegation of justifiably indignant citizens to City Hall to confront the mayor and demand that he close the park forthwith, and keep it closed until such time as the snake is apprehended. And we will also demand an all-out effort to apprehend it, instead of this transparent half-hearted effort." Applause from the legislator's constituents.

On Cathedral Parkway, a clot of several dozen women, black and Hispanic, many dark resentful eyes. The spokeswoman, a large forceful black woman: "He close that park over our dead body. We stifling in our apartments, even the rats gasping. Where else we got to go to beat the heat? He close that park and he hear from us come election time." Flashing eyes in the circle around her, clenched fists, shouts of "Right on! Arriba!"

A man getting out of a taxi in front of an imposing apartment building on Fifth Avenue: "They've got a handful of cops in the park. It's pitiful.

They don't stand a chance in hell. What's called for is the mounting of a supreme effort. They're just not trying. What I'd like to know is where our tax money goes." Reporter: "Where do you think it's going?" Man, over his shoulder, as he hurries toward the building entrance: "It's lining certain pockets." Reporter: "Whose pockets, sir?" Man: "Don't ask me. Ask our mayor."

The final clip was light in tone, as if to even the antecedent bitterness. Three teen-aged girls, giggling. One of them says, "It's kicky." Re porter: "Kicky? What do you mean by kicky?" The girl: "Kicky? It means, well, like a groove." She and her companions burst into laughter and run off down the street. Reporter, shaking his head and smiling: "I'm kicking it back to you, Jerry."

Jerry, the anchorman, smiling, "You're in the groove, fella." He pauses, adjusts his face to appropriate sobriety, and says, "To recapitulate, a deadly venomous snake, origin unknown, suspected to be a cobra, is at large in Central Park. Two men have already succumbed to its fatal poison. The city has the jitters…"