A Feast of Snakes

by Harry Crews

  There was no joy singing in his heart though when he woke up and realized what he had done, so he had slipped quickly into his Levis, a T-shirt, and a denim jacket, and left the trailer. When he fired up his pickup, he heard both baby boys scream simultaneously. He wondered if something might not ail them younguns, crying the way they did all through the day with such fantastic stamina.

  He drove over to the high school first, where they were already building the snake. The cheerleaders, led by Hard Candy Sweet, had sorted out their materials and were starting now to stretch the chicken wire over the frame that eventually would be a papier mache rattlesnake standing thirty feet high and coiled to strike. That night after the dancing it would explode in one sudden bursting bonfire. Hard Candy was up on a piece of scaffolding and turned to wave to him, but apparently wasn’t going to come down to talk to him. He wanted to ask her about Berenice, to ask if she had gotten in from the university yet. Eventually though, watching her bend and stretch there inside her tight red-hot little short shorts (the weather was still holding warm), moving her firm round arms, making her little titties lift and soar, made him impossibly anxious to see Berenice, so he left and drove back to his ten-acre campground, where sure enough Lummy and his brother George had set out the Johnny-on-the-spots in just the neatest and best way, so that he could hardly believe it.

  He was standing by the little lady under the white bonnet looking at her thousand-snake masterpiece, admiring the way the deer’s hooves showed sharp as razors there above the snake, when Lummy appeared out of the crowd at his elbow.

  “Mistuh Joe Lon?”

  Joe Lon did not turn to look at him; rather he recognized his voice and kept staring at the fine sharp detail of the rearing deer’s hooves. “Everthing’s fine,” he said. “You and George done a good job gitten them shitters ready.”

  “Say we done good,” said Lummy. “Howsomever, it don be whatall I come to axe you bout.”

  Joe Lon looked at him for the first time.

  “It be Lottie Mae.”

  “What about her?”

  “I want to thanks you for gittin Mistuh Buddy to letter loose.”

  Joe Lon said: “It’s all right. I’as glad to do it.”

  “Sompin bad wrong with Lottie Mae,” said Lummy.

  “What ails her?” said Joe Lon, only half listening.

  “She be hexed I thinks,” said Lummy.

  “Hexed?” said Joe Lon, thinking: Just nigger talk. I spend half my goddam life listening to nigger talk and the other half of it totin whiskey to them. God knows what I did to deserve it. Believing as he did, though, in the total mystery, power, and majesty of God, Joe Lon assumed he had done something, and that he would never find out what it was.

  “Mama say she been acting powerful strange since she come in las night,” said Lummy.

  Joe Lon waved his hand as though brushing away flies. “Look,” he said. “You or George one got to stay at the store all day today. I want it kept open to midnight and I want it opened up right now. I ain’t gone have no time for the store today.”

  “I know no Sherf ain’t gone hex no gul. Special no nigger gul. Sherf got sompin else to do cept go roun hexin on nigger guls.”

  Joe Lon blinked. It was as though Lummy had not heard him. And he knew Lummy would go on like that until he took care of Lottie Mae’s hex.

  “Okay. Right,” said Joe Lon. “I’m gone ask Buddy first chance I git. But you right. He ain’t hexed nobody, much less Lottie Mae. I’ll tell him that being the sheriff, he better see who done it. Is that okay?”

  “He ain’t gone do that.”

  “He will if I tell him to…”

  Lummy gave Joe Lon his blue-gummed smile. “Don think twice. George and me is put our minds on it. Go on and don think twice.” He slipped back into the crowd and was gone.

  Joe Lon walked around awhile, looking at the booths and speaking to a few people, assuring some of the visitors that, yes, the store would be open tonight, right on until midnight. He saw his old coach, Tump Walker, who was one of the great high-school coaches in the country, and who was Honorary Chairman of the rattlesnake roundup. He was scowling and dripping tobacco juice.

  “I tell you, son, they crazier ever year, they are. It’s one tourist here that’s tainted. If he ain’t tainted, I never shit behind two heels. You know what he’s got?”

  “Whatever it is wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Surprised me, by God. Sumbitch’s got five hundred snakes over there in cages in his trailer. Ever kind of snake you could think of’s what he’s got.”

  “Why you reckon he’s got’m?”

  “Beats the shit out of me,” Coach Tump said. “Just loves goddam snakes enough, I guess, to go around the countryside in a camper packed with’m.”

  They stood watching each other, thinking about the tainted tourist. Finally, Coach Tump said: “Seen you daddy lately, son?”

  “Yes sir. Coach, I seen’m lately. He’s fine. How you been?”

  Coach Tump sent a long solid stream of tobacco juice into the dirt, shifted the cud in his mouth, hustled his balls and said: “I been real good. But what I thought to ask you was, how’s you daddy’s Tuff?”

  “Trainin real hard, Coach Tump, trainin real hard.”

  “By the good Lord, I alius said, they’d never beat one of you daddy’s dogs in the fourth quarter. Aye God, they come to fight.”

  “Daddy’s lookin to retire Tuff. He knows he’s gone retire Tuff, and then ole Tuff’s gone be boss stud of all the pits.”

  “We all know he will, son.”

  Joe Lon, always diffident in the face of his old coach and teacher, said: “Listen, Coach, you go on by the store and tell Lummy to give you whatever it is you want. Tell’m to mark it down to me.”

  Coach Tump said, “You alius was a good boy, son,” slapped Joe Lon on the back, sent another stream of juice on the air, and walked away in his rolling bowlegged stride.

  Joe Lon was just about to go back to his truck when he saw Berenice all the way across the campground and instantly wanted to run, not sure whether toward her or away from her. He ended by casually strolling in an oblique angle toward the place where she stood with her back half turned to him. But before he was halfway there she tossed her long yellow hair and in the gesture caught sight of him. She went into that high-kneed run, her arms out and smiling, that reminded him of the way she used to run toward him after a game, when he was sweating and bruised and full of victory. He walked a little faster, very self-conscious of the fact that many people there would know who both of them were and how it had been with them before he got down with Elf and the babies and she went on to the University of Georgia, where she was still distinguishing herself with cheerleading and the football team and other achievements.

  She threw her arms around his neck and squealed and everything was as it was, the familiar body pressing against him, except that now she seemed fuller, stronger, surer of herself. It was just something he sensed the moment he touched her, something richer and deeper and more complicated. Whatever it was did not make him feel good.

  “Joe Lon Mackey! Are you a sight? My, you’re just as handsome as ever. My strong handsome beau, and the best football player that ever put on a helmet!”

  She kissed his cheek, and he couldn’t help thinking that in the old days she would have said: The best football player that ever put on a jockstrap. But these by God weren’t the good old days and he hadn’t seen her in over a year, because her father, Dr. Sweet, had given her a trip to Paris the previous summer to study French. French! The very notion of somebody studying French threw Joe Lon into a rage.

  “You looking good, Berenice. Real good. I got you letter and …”

  He quit talking because he had gradually become aware of a boy about his own age who had strolled up and was now standing at Berenice’s shoulder. The boy leaned forward to look at Joe Lon. Joe Lon disliked him immediately, disliked the soft look of his face, the way his lower lip seemed to pout, and
disliked the eyes that would have been beautiful had they belonged to a girl. But it wasn’t just the boy’s face or the slight, slope-chested way he stood. Joe Lon could have spat on him for the way he was dressed. He’d seen guys dressed like that before and he had never liked one of them: double-knit tangerine trousers, fuzzy bright-yellow sweater, white shoes, and a goddam matching white belt. His hair was neatly cut and looked as though he had slept with his head in a can of Crisco.

  Berenice saw him watching the boy and introduced them. “Joe Lon Mackey, this is Shep Martin, from the University of Georgia.”

  “Shep?” said Joe Lon. Shep was a fucking dog’s name, wasn’t it?

  “Actually, it’s Shepherd,” said the boy, in a voice that sounded like a radio announcer. “Many men in my family are named Shepherd, my father, an uncle, my grandfather— like that.”

  “No kidding?” said Joe Lon.

  “Shep is on the debating team up at Georgia,” said Berenice Sweet.

  “Oh,” said Joe Lon.

  He had never been introduced to anyone on a debating team before and he wasn’t sure what to say because he wasn’t real sure what it was. Probably some fag foreign game like soccer. Anybody that’d play soccer would suck a dick, that’s what Joe Lon thought.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” said Shep, “what a great athlete you were.”

  “I played a little football,” said Joe Lon shortly, looking off toward the dark fortress-like wall of trees that surrounded his little campground.

  “I told you he was modest,” said Berenice. “Didn’t I tell you he was modest?”

  “You sure did,” said Shep, “and I just want to shake your hand.” He thrust out his hand.

  Joe Lon reluctantly took it. “I ain’t been on a football field in two years,” he said.

  For some reason he couldn’t meet the boy’s eyes. Or even Berenice’s. It was all too embarrassing, and that infuriated him. He kept wondering why she had sent him that letter. Why had she sent it?

  “How’s Elf?” said Berenice.

  Joe Lon felt his face get hot. “Okay,” he said. “She’s okay.” He was remembering the pale weak way her thin face looked in the light that morning and the blue smear of a bruise running up from her mouth.

  “And the kids? What is it now? Two boys?”

  “Yeah, two,” said Joe Lon.

  “Both of them running backs. I’ll wager,” said Shep. He leaned forward and actually punched Joe Lon in the shoulder. “Must be great,” he said, “just great.”

  Joe Lon took a step back. He was afraid he was going to snap and coldcock both of them right there. He didn’t know what he had been expecting or hoping for from Berenice but it sure as hell was not this.

  “Look,” he said, “I gotta go.”

  “Aw,” said Berenice, “really? I was hoping you could come over to the house and have a cup of coffee with us.”

  “Sure, man,” said Shep, “I’d like to …”—here a little deep-throated radio announcer chuckle—“… talk some football with you.” Now a sudden seriousness about the beautiful girl’s eyes. “What do you think about Broadway Joe, anyway?”

  “I’d like to talk, but,” Joe Lon said, waving his hand to include the campground, the people milling about, the booths where the crafts were being shown, “there’s a lot of things I have to take care of.”

  “But we will get together?” said Berenice, taking his arm and squeezing it.

  Joe Lon gritted his teeth. “Yeah, we’ll get together.”

  He was turning to go when Shep caught his hand again and pumped it. “It certainly was a pleasure,” he said.

  Joe Lon mumbled something and walked away between the rows of campers. He walked looking at the ground, feeling that he had somehow just been humiliated. By the time he got to the trailer his jaws were aching from his clamped teeth. Elfie was up and in the kitchen. She was wearing a pretty yellow apron upon which she had embroidered little flowers.

  He remembered her working on it when she was pregnant with the second baby. It had ruffles across the top and tended to disguise her ballooning lower belly, for which he was thankful. She had her hair pulled back and tied with a ribbon. And even with the bruise that face powder had not quite been able to cover she looked very cheerful, even happy. He was glad for that because he had not welcomed the thought of facing her after last night.

  “You ready for you some breakfast, Joe Lon, honey?” she asked from where she stood doing something at the sink.

  “Just coffee,” he said.

  “Joe Lon, you got to eat, honey.”

  “Come on, Elf,” he said, “I got a little bit of a headache.”

  “Really?” she said. “You want some aspern?” She hadn’t moved from the sink. “I got me some aspern yesterday at the store if you want some.”

  He held on to the edge of the table and would not let himself say anything. She had already straightened up the trailer and washed and fed the babies. They were both in a playpen by the door in the living room where the sun came through the window. She had done all that and now she was only trying to help him and he knew that and knew also that she could not help it if everything she said drove him wild, nor could she help what had just happened out there to him at the campground. So he just sat at the little white Formica table, holding on to the edge of his chair, and looking out the window. She was watching him and he could feel the weight of her gaze.

  “I’ll git the coffee, Joe Lon, honey,” she finally said.

  He nodded but did not answer. His thoughts had already turned back to Berenice and the postcard and the Crisco Kid she had brought home with her. The Crisco Kid, yeah, that’s what he was. Second-string lardass on the debate team. Well, Mr. Crisco Kid, it may be you go one on one with Joe Lon Mackey before you get out of Mystic, Georgia. It may be you just-got yourself in more shit than you can stir with a stick.

  “Honey, here’s some fresh hot.”

  She set the coffee on the table and waited for him to taste it. He bent his head to the raised cup.

  “Is it good?”

  “Yeah,” he said, “it’s good, Elf.”

  She stood where she was, smiling now, but with her mouth conspicuously closed. “You know what, Joe Lon, honey?”

  “No, Elf.”

  “I made me a phone call this morning first thing.”

  “Okay, Elf.”

  Through the window he watched the little lady under the white bonnet where she sat unmoving in the bright November sunlight sticking rattles onto a stretched canvas. To the right and in front of her the three-thousand-dollar, thousand-snake deer with the razor hooves kept killing and killing the already mutilated diamondback.

  “You know who it was to?” said Elfie.

  “No,” he said, “I don’t know who it was to.”

  “To the dentist in Tifton.” Her voice was rising and lilting, full of surprised triumph. “I called the dentist, and I’m gone git these old sorry teeth of mine fixed.”

  He turned his eyes from the window to look at her where she had retreated to the sink. He could see now what she was doing. She was washing out baby diapers. Although he had not before, he now smelled the ammonia from his son’s piss and he wished he didn’t. He forced himself to smile at her as she still watched him over her shoulder.

  “That’s real good, Elf,” he said. “You done real good to do that for youself.” His throat felt very tight. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  She left the sink and came to stand behind him. “I done it for you, Joe Lon, honey. I coulda done without it for myself.” She moved closer to the back of his chair. Her thin soft hands touched him, one on each shoulder. “Me’n the babies love you, Joe Lon, honey.”

  He could only nod. He turned loose his coffee and took hold again of the table. He desperately wanted to howl.

  ***

  Lottie Mae had dreamed of snakes. Snakes that were lumpy with rats. In a dream she killed one of them with a stick and the moment it stopped writhing and wa
s dead, the stick in her hand was a snake. When she tried to turn it loose she saw that she could not because the snake was part of her. Her arm was a snake. And then the other arm was a snake. And her two arms that were snakes crawled about her neck, cold as ice and slick with snake slime.

  There were other dreams, but when her mother, Maude, woke her, she could not remember them. But because she could not remember the dreams did not mean she had gotten rid of the snakes. Her mother’s hand where it touched her shoulder and gently shook her seemed snaky, the fingers cold with snake skin, and alive with a boneless writhing. She lay as still as stone under the snakes; all that moved was her eyes, which she cut toward her mother bending over her bed only to find the snakes had twisted themselves into the black braids of her mother’s hair.

  “Chile, I got the miseries,” her mother said.

  Lottie Mae said nothing but watched the snakes carefully.

  “You got to go to Mistuh Big Joe’s and do for me.”

  Lottie Mae drew back the light cover that was over her and got up. Her cotton dress was on the bedpost. She slipped it on and buttoned it up the front.

  “Chile,” her mother said softly. “Take it off. It got blood on it. I git you sompin else.”

  But Lottie Mae went into the kitchen instead, where she drank two glasses of water taken with a dipper out of a metal bucket sitting on a shelf. Her mother limped in behind her. The sockets of her mother’s hips sometimes fused with the miseries and when this happened the girl had to go to the big house to cook for Big Joe and empty his daughter’s slop jar. Her mother came to the water bucket and took her arm. Lottie Mae turned her vacant eyes on her mother. The expression on her face did not change at all.