John Godey - The Snake

He walked slowly northward along Central Park West, resting on a bench now and then, fighting off the temptation to doze. There were five police cars parked near the Boys Gate, and a lot of cops inside the park. As he walked eastward he passed a group of Puries being herded by some cops.

The Puries looked disheveled, and one of them had a bloody lip. The cops were grim-faced. He turned and watched the cops shove the Puries into patrol cars. More work for the Reverend's lawyer, who had been kept busy the last few days bailing out the Reverend's flock.

Two cops, carrying shotguns, were standing beside the thicket that led up to the rock overlooking the black mamba's hollow. Converse stopped and swore silently. Keep going, he thought, come back later. He nodded to the cops and sauntered by them, then stopped again. While there was only a small chance that they would find the snake, suppose it found them, and attacked?

He turned and went back to the cops. One of them recognized him and said hello. "It's the snake guy," he said to his partner.

Converse said conversationally, "You fellas got a lead of some kind?"

The cop who had spoken first said, "We're looking, that's all. Christ, we never stop looking."

He other cop gestured toward the thicket with his shotgun. "Come on, Charlie, let's get it over with."

"I hate this duty," Charlie said. "Ask me to kick a door in with a perpetrator inside and I'll do it, but snakes… He shuddered.

"You can save yourself the trouble," Converse said. "It's not in there."

"You checked it out?" Charlie said.

"Yesterday. It's not there."

"He's the snake guy," Charlie said to his partner, "so there's no point to going in there."

Converse nodded. "Waste of time."

The second cop seemed doubtful. "The sergeant finds out we dogged it, we're in trouble."

Charlie said, "You want to go in there?"

The second cop said, "That sergeant is a bitch."

The stubborn sonofabitch, Converse thought, he's going to win out, and I'm going to have to go in there with them to protect them, and if the snake does show up they'll repay me by blasting it to bits.

"Ah, what the hell," the second cop said, "let's forget it. Sergeant beefs, we'll tell him the snake guy says it ain't there, right?"

Concealing his relief, Converse nodded and said, "See you, fellas," and walked away. A dozen paces on he looked over his shoulder. The two cops were heading away from the thicket, walking toward their squad car, drawn up on the grass. Satisfied that they had given up, he headed toward Central Park West. He would come back later, toward morning, after the police had cleared out of the park, and bag the black mamba.

He left through the Boys Gate and caught a bus. The man beside him had a newspaper. The headline announced the death of Mrs. Emily McPeek.

Converse wept. The man moved to another seat.

The attack on the McPeek family affected the city as no previous event had done. Reflexively, spontaneously, people began to gather at City Hall. It started near noon and gradually, thoughout the day, increased in numbers and intensity. Many came from other boroughs Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx-to voice their shock and horror. The fact that the snake had invaded a victim's living quarters created a new level of terror.

Nevertheless, the gathering was quiet. There were some concerted, rhythmic calls for the mayor to appear, but for the most part the crowd was orderly. A change of mood took place with the arrival in the afternoon of organized groups representing several unions, welfare recipients, P.T.A. mothers and the unemployed. The emotions of the crowd, worked on by these experienced demonstrators, began to heat up. The crowd became noisy, then unruly. The mayor's bearded aide made three separate appearances on the steps, but the crowd refused to be satisfied with anything less than the presence of the mayor himself. At length, near 5 o'clock, when the size of the crowd had been swelled by home going workers, the mayor was at last persuaded to show himself.

An hour later, still somewhat shaken, Hizzonner phoned the Police Commissioner. "I want to tell you," he said, "that although I am no stranger to harassment by the public, this is by far the worst I have ever gone through."

"I know," the P.C. said, "I've been going over the reports. They're bad."

"Bad is not the word for it. Do you know that some character took a punch at me? I almost got hit."

"You're right. Bad certainly isn't the word for that."

"My staff, they said, 'Show yourself, that's all they want. Show yourself and they'll be happy.' So I stepped out onto the steps, and this guy ran past your cops and took a swing at me."

"I'm looking into it," the P.C. said, "and I'm going to ride some asses.

Also I'm issuing instructions to beef up the force at the Hall."

"What bothers me is that it might catch on, and that the level of violence might escalate." The mayor's voice lowered to a whisper. "They might try something with a gun."

"Oh, no," the P.C. said, "that just isn't done. People don't try to shoot mayors. I don't know why they don't exactly, but there just isn't any incidence of it."

"A thing like that could change overnight. It worries me."

"Well, I'm not a psychologist, your Honour, but for some reason, they like to go right to the top. The president, yes, everybody wants to shoot the president, because he's the top man, that's what seems to appeal to these nuts and their ambitions."

"It has been said-and by God, it's the truth-that being mayor of New York City is the second most important job in the United States after president. Well, suppose you get some nut who isn't as ambitious as the others, who maybe is content to knock off the second most important man in the country?"

"I don't think anybody hates you that much, Mr. Mayor."

The mayor laughed bitterly. "We won't go into that. Let's get to the point. The snake. It's driving this city crazy. It's making national and even international news. The hotels and restaurants and theaters and airlines are driving me crazy. Even the overseas airlines. Hundreds of cancellations. We need those tourists, Francis. Destroy that snake before it destroys us."

The Lord is my shepherd.

Graham Black stood on the flat rock and stared down into the tangled thickets of the hollow. It was deeply shadowed with the dark of evening and the overhanging miasma of evil. The Lord is my shepherd, and He has led me.

Down there lurked the beast, the messenger of Satan, upon whom the beloved Reverend Sanctus Milanese had declared holy war. And under his inspired generalship 1, Graham Black, humble soldier in the army of the Church of the Purification, have been directed to the lair of the enemy. Thank you, Lord.

If Graham Black had been capable of detachment, he might have recognized that his afflatus was familiar, that he experienced it anew each day, each time he explored another possible hiding place; and that the litany of faith had never altered or wavered in all the days he had spent scouring his assigned sector of the park. But Graham Black did not question himself.

He knew only certainty. Why else was he returning to a place he had already searched thoroughly once before? Was that not a Sign in itself?

The Lord is my shepherd.

The revelation had come earlier in the day, and, dizzy with joy, he had wanted to rush to the evil place, but God had blessed him with caution as well as wisdom. There were many police in the area, and they would have beset him and hindered him in doing the Lord's work. So he had waited until the approach of darkness, when the police had given up and gone away. And then he had come straight to this place.

As he started off the rock and down into the shadows, he felt himself trembling. Not in fear but in expectation. God is my buckler and my shield, He will allow no harm to befall me. I feel His presence all about me, an invisible cordon of security and love.