This slip of an English doctor was proposing catching a wounded snake. With her sarong/bag? While wearing his shirt.
The sensible thing to do would be to pick her up and cart her away. She was clearly a lunatic.
‘Stick,’ she repeated, and, bemused, he backed off and searched for a stick.
‘These guys can be strong,’ she warned. ‘A twig’s not going to do it. I need one three fingers thick at least. And I want your hat as well.’
‘Not my pants, too?’
‘You can keep your pants.’
‘Your generosity leaves me speechless.’
She chuckled some more. She was watching the snake the whole time, though, and he suddenly thought this woman would be a magnificent doctor. She was thinking on her feet. She had time for humour. She was intrigued and committed to what she was doing.
It was up to him to match her for professionalism. One stick, three fingers thick.
Finding such a stick was easier said than done, especially as he had to go off the track to find it and he had a mind to keep his eyes on the ground for snakes as well as sticks. Every stick looked like a snake.
Paranoia didn’t begin to describe it.
He found a stick. He returned with it to Jess.
‘Excellent,’ she said, and he felt like an intern being praised by a senior consultant.
‘Now what?’
‘Now we put your hat there, with my hat next to it. The plan is to get this guy into my makeshift bag. The cloth’s a bit thin and I don’t fancy getting bitten, so once he’s in the sack we’ll coil him into my hat. Then we stick your hat on top and we have a snake-proof container.’
‘It seems to me,’ he said cautiously, ‘that your definition of snake proof might differ a little to mine. How long are those fangs?’
‘So what’s your alternative, Dr Oaklander?’ She put her hands on her hips and he thought, wow, that shirt never looked this good on him. It could never look this good on anyone.
An alternative…
‘We could fetch help from the refuge?’ he managed, struggling to focus. ‘Find someone with the right equipment who knows what they’re doing?’
‘Leaving this guy to suffer for another half-hour? Maybe manage to crawl away to die? Not happening.’ She was laying her sarong/bag open on the ground between the two hats. ‘If you’re nervous, stand back. Come to think of it, stand back anyway, just for a moment. I’ll need you, but not for a minute. Here goes.’
She didn’t wait for his approval. She simply stepped forward briskly, approaching the snake from behind, allowing no time for hesitation. Before he guessed what she intended, she was pressing the stick down squarely and firmly, just behind the snake’s head. And with the head trapped… She was stooping… And holding…
She was gripping a snake in her hand!
It was maybe five feet long. Thick and solid, and suddenly writhing.
‘I need your help now,’ she said calmly. ‘He’s too strong for me to lift with safety. If he hangs and writhes he’s likely to hurt himself more. Can you support him under his body? If he’s not too strong we’ll coil him into the bag.’
To say he was thunderstruck was an understatement. She was holding a snake almost the size that she was.
She, however, was in charge. He was deemed medical assistant, assistant snake charmer, assistant idiot.
He stepped forward and took the snake’s body, just past midway.
Its strength was astonishing. It writhed and he held and Jess held as if it was totally commonplace that she was standing half-dressed, holding a snake by the head.
How lethal?
He didn’t want to know. There was no way he was asking.
‘I have him nicely under control,’ she said, sounding just that, nicely under control. ‘Can you lower him gently into the bag? Use the bag itself to control the coiling. He’s terrified. Once he’s almost in, then we put the bag into my hat. My hat’s the biggest. It’ll seem dark in there. He’ll want to go deeper. I’ll be able to tug the bag closed over his head.’
And, amazingly, it worked. He believed her now, that she’d seen this done before, even that she might have actually done it. Under her direction it was almost easy. He held the snake just below the gash, he lowered the slashing tail into the bag. The bag contained the slashing and gradually he eased the rest of the snake in. Because Jess had the head firmly in her grasp, there was no threat—it just took physical strength.
Quite a bit of physical strength. This guy might be wounded but he was putting up a fight.
She couldn’t have coped on her own.
Would she have tried? He wouldn’t put it past her.
She had him fascinated. A London obstetrician, a slip of a girl, coping with a snake as if this was just another terrified patient, presenting for birth.
One with fangs.
He had him inside. Her makeshift bag was doing its job. The whole bag was writhing.
Jess still had the head.
‘Now we lift him into the hat,’ she ordered. ‘Thanks be, I wear a big one.’
It was big. He recognised it from the hotel gift shop—a fun sombrero-style straw hat with a red stripe.
The snake was squirming wildly in its bag, but contouring inside.
‘Excellent,’ Jess said. ‘Now, if you stand back, I’ll drop him in and tug it closed.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the top of the bag up over its head and bring it down behind your hands.’
‘You risk—’
‘So do you,’ he said. ‘You have a son. I don’t.’
‘There’ll be anti-venene at the hotel.’
‘You know there can be complications. No argument.’
She glanced up at him and read his face. She didn’t argue.
She shifted her hands back as far as she could without giving the snake any leeway to swivel.
‘One, two, three, go,’ Ben said, and with that he hauled the bag up, back over the fangs, back to Jessie’s hands. A split-second movement that left no room for error. He hauled the bag tight shut, knotted it at the top and let it fall. He grabbed his hat, used it to scoop the rest of the sarong/bagbag fully into Jessie’s hat, shoved his hat on top and held.
They had a parcel. Two hats, a sarong bag and a snake inside.
‘Nice,’ Jess said. ‘It needs a bow.’
She took the sleeve of his shirt and ripped it off. She ripped it again, all the way to the cuff, so she had a long line of linen.
‘Gift tie,’ she said, and he held the hats while she tied it four ways, around the hats, leaving a loop at the top for carrying.
‘I liked that shirt,’ he said mildly, and she chuckled.
‘I was scared you might say that. That’s why I didn’t ask.’
She was enchanting.
Nate had walked away from her?
‘Let’s get this guy to help,’ she was saying briskly. ‘I know he seems strong, he fought really well, but that’ll be adrenalin. The sooner we get that wound cleaned and closed and get him into a warm, dark place where he can recover, the better his chances. Wild animals die of shock and snakes are no exception. Will you carry him, or will I?’
‘You organised the gift wrapping,’ Ben said faintly. ‘I believe the least I can do is carry your package.’
The wildlife shelter was still a wall of grief. Marge had been truly loved, they could see it in the faces of everyone there.
Sally, though, managed to pull herself together enough to help. ‘It’ll be a red-bellied black snake,’ she said when Jess described it. ‘They’re lovely snakes, not as venomous as most, and quite timid. And endangered. They eat the introduced cane toads, you know, and whole populations are being wiped out with the cane toad’s poison. They’re so beautiful. And not nearly as venomous as some. But Marge used to look after the snakes.’ She sniffed. ‘I…I know it’s dumb but I’m scared of them. So’s Dianne. Our vet’s coming over tomorrow. We’ll pop him into a shelter and hope he survives.’
‘If Marge used to treat them, you’ll have equipment,’ Jess said.
‘Gloves and things?’ Sally pulled herself together but it was a visible effort. ‘There’s a whole cupboard for reptiles. If you want, I can show you.’
‘You’re proposing treating it?’ Ben asked, but he already knew the answer. He was beginning to be in awe of this woman.
‘Of course. Didn’t you hear Sally? It’s not very venomous.’
‘Just a little bit venomous,’ he said. ‘Meaning you have to be bitten quite a lot before you die. Quite cute really, when you put it like that. Almost cuddly.’
She grinned. ‘You needn’t worry. I’m not proposing cuddles or letting anyone get even a little bit bitten. If Marge has what I hope she has, there’ll be a leather hood. We’ll put the snake in that. It’ll be fang proof. We figure where the head is through the bag, we fasten the hood around its upper body, then we slip the back end out. Voilà, we have a treatable body.’
‘Voilà,’ he repeated, dazed.
‘Just like a magician,’ she agreed.
‘I don’t think…’ Sally seemed dumbstruck. ‘I’m not sure… Our insurance…’
‘Do you have anti-venene on hand?’ Jess asked.
‘Of course, but—’
‘Then there’s no problem. Neither Ben nor I are about to sue, even if we do get a nibble.’
‘Oi,’ said Ben.
‘But we won’t,’ Jess said. ‘We’re good, we are. Two highly trained specialists. What a pity our snake isn’t pregnant. We could do a package deal.’
Ben just…looked.
The hood worked like a charm. It was Jess who was nominally in charge, but it was Ben who did the hooding, who made sure the snake was secure, who lifted him free from the hat and laid him full length on the table.
‘Anaesthetic?’
‘I don’t actually know how to anaesthetise a snake,’ Jess admitted.
‘Really? I’m shocked.’
‘I know,’ she said, looking crestfallen. ‘Snakes seems to have been overlooked in Anaesthesia 101.’
‘We could phone someone.’
‘Set up a video link with a team of city specialists?’ She glanced around the austere little treatment room. Apart from general concern, Sally and Dianne had left them to it. They were on their own. ‘Maybe not.’
‘I’d imagine these guys can feel pain,’ Ben said.
‘Of course they can, but as for putting in an intravenous drip…’
‘Imagine trying to find a vein. So that leaves us with…’
‘Working clean and fast and hoping for the best.’
Ben nodded. He was examining the wound. Within the darkness of the leather hood the snake seemed to have relaxed. The big body lay limp, the full length of the table.
It did look like tyre damage, he thought. Skin crushed at the side, torn, the surrounding area grazed.
‘Clean, then super-glue,’ Jess said. She was foraging in the cabinet. ‘Here we are.’
‘Super-glue?’
‘Fancy name but I bet it’s just that. Dad used to use it all the time and it’s brilliant. How long do you think stitches would hold? We clean, we haul the sides together, we glue, we tape until it holds. And then we hope.’
‘You’re nuts,’ he said, and grinned at her. He was, after all, a man who liked a challenge.
And she grinned back. Their gaze met, locked, held.
There was work to be done. That smile…it had to be kept until later.
As a challenge?
It took a good half-hour to clear embedded sand and gravel, to debride damaged edges, to make sure the wound was clean enough to prevent infection taking hold. Then, gradually, painstakingly, Ben pulled the jagged edges together and glued them closed.
Ben was better than she was, Jess conceded. She might have rudimentary snake knowledge but Ben had better hands.
Jess loved her small hands when she was confronted by a tricky birth that needed careful manipulation; she could use her hands where most obstetricians had to use forceps. Ben, however, had fingers that worked with such delicacy she would have had to use tweezers and they’d have tugged, torn. He seemed to know how to push the skin together using the snake’s whole body, gently squeezing until the edges met, making sure each sliver of skin was in position, holding, waiting until Jess dropped a tiny dollop of glue, waiting with all the patience in the world until it held, then adjusting the tape and then moving along.
The tape was hardly needed. The snake could shear it off in the next couple of hours, but by then the glue would hold fast.
It was a tedious task. Skilled. All to save a snake that might have bitten them if they’d stood on it.
A snake that might yet die.
The snake lay limp and unresponsive. If Ben’s gentle handling, careful probing was hurting, it made no sign.
Um… Maybe it was already dead?
‘We’re going to look pretty silly if we take our patient into Recovery and find he died half an hour ago,’ she said.
‘So take his vital signs.’
‘How do you take the pulse of a snake?’
‘And how do you do CPR?’ Ben demanded. ‘Our medical training is indeed lacking. I believe that’s the end. Last piece closed. The glue’s worked like a charm.’
‘He’ll hardly have a scar,’ Jess said admiringly.
He grinned, tension easing. Stepped back. ‘Yes! The operation is declared a hundred per cent successful.’
‘Even if he’s dead?’
‘Immaterial, my dear Dr McPherson. Our work here is done.’
‘Except for putting him into a cage.’
He looked suddenly nervous. ‘Uh-oh.’
‘Wuss,’ she said, and grinned back at him. Feeling…excellent. ‘I’ll hold his head, you take the body.’
‘Nope,’ he said. ‘Fair’s fair. You held the head last time. Fifty-fifty risk.’
‘Only this time the head’s wearing a leather hood.’
‘There is that,’ Ben said, and grinned some more. ‘I’m not stupid.’
Release, in the end, was easy. Dianne led them to an enclosure she’d cleared for him and explained the procedure Marge used.
‘These hoods are designed to be released from a distance. Undo this first knot. Pop him into the pen and leave this long cord trailing. Close the wire and then tug. The whole hood will come free.’ She glanced dubiously at the limp snake hanging over Jessie’s arm. ‘He’s not dead, is he?’
‘If he is, I’m volunteering Dr Oaklander for CPR,’ Jess said firmly. ‘He’s the brave one. Okay, let’s release and see what we have.’
The reptile pens were at the side of the house. In the main pen, lizards and goannas snoozed peacefully in the sun—Jess saw a goanna with a splinted leg!—but she was starting to worry about the snake’s limpness. It’d be such a waste to have him die now.
Dianna led the way to a small enclosure at the rear. A rocky base, a patch of weeds, a hollow log. Half in sun, half in shade.
Convalescent heaven.
If he was still alive.
They carried him warily inside. Placed him on a sun-drenched rock. Ben sent her out. Undid the first knot as Dianne had shown him. Retreated with haste.
Closed the pen door and tugged the cord.
The hood slid free.
He was alive. He shifted, just a little. He stared around with his tiny, beady eyes. A ripple ran through his long body as if reassuring himself, too, that he was alive.
The sun shone on his brilliant black scales, on the amazing crimson markings. Dangerous. Venomous. Beautiful. Worth saving.
Ben tugged the hood out of the enclosure, and with no panic at all the snake slithered around and hauled itself into the shelter of the hollow log.
Coiled himself in. Settled.
Only his tiny eyes showed in the shadows.
‘He’ll do,’ Dianne said in satisfaction. ‘Marge always says…’ She faltered. ‘Always said that if they can make their own way in
to shelter they have a ninety per cent chance of making it.’
‘He’ll make it,’ Jess said, a trifle unsteadily. ‘Dr Oaklander makes the best snake surgeon.’
‘Snake surgery seems to be my splinter skill,’ Ben said modestly. ‘But it’s nothing to Dr Matheson’s catching skills.’
‘Yeah, three-quarters-dead snakes that have been run over, I can catch ’em in my sleep.’
‘No matter,’ Dianne said roundly. ‘You make a lovely team. Where’s your little boy?’
She still saw them together, Jess thought. No matter that it had been explained, man, woman and child made family.
‘My son’s back at the resort,’ she said. ‘I might bring him over to visit Slash if Slash recovers.’
‘Slash.’ Dianne stared into the shadows at the coiled snake with taped slash. ‘That’s a great name. I reckon that’ll stick.’
‘What will you do with him when he’s better?’ Ben asked.
‘Release him, of course,’ she said. ‘Exactly where you found him. I know they make me nervous but they’re the most beautiful creatures. The introduction of cane toads on the mainland has decimated their numbers but here… The more we can build their numbers, the happier we’ll be. They’re not an aggressive snake and they belong here more than we do. Now, was there anything else you were needing?’
‘We came to see how you were coping,’ Ben said.
‘Kind as well as competent,’ Dianne murmured. She gave herself a little shake. ‘We’re fine,’ she said. ‘We’re…we’re managing. The only thing is…’
‘What’s the only thing?’ Ben’s voice was gentleness itself and Jess found herself looking at him in astonishment. Gentleness. He had her more and more confounded. That this man could possibly be an Oaklander…
‘Marge’s daughter was in New York when she heard of her mother’s death,’ she blurted out. ‘She gets back tomorrow. We…we sort of thought it’d be nice to have the funeral here but Rebecca says Brisbane. She thinks it’ll be easier for the family. And she’s scheduled it for Christmas Eve. At midday. It leaves us stranded. We’d have to fly down on the twenty-third. Then it’s too late for us to fly back after the funeral and there’s no ferry back to the island on Christmas Day. Sally and I are desperate to go, but the research girls are going home for Christmas. The vet won’t be here. So the animals… They have to be cared for. We can’t leave them.’
Dynamite Doc or Christmas Dad? Page 11