holt, an' I says between my teeth: "Come outa that, yuh lil bastard!" an' I gives one hell of a yank; and, boyoboy, he lets loose, and I sways way back with him in my mouth and loses my balance, and we come crashing down to the ground with a hell of a jar. Damned near knocked me cold.
I swallowed him much as you would swallow an oyster and with every bit of as much right, if you will pardon an ethical intrusion. And just when he was well down between my jaws, so that my head was all swelled out of shape and my eyes were bugging out like lamp globes, why, damn me, if the kid's old pappy didn't come along with his fish spear and start to make trouble. Well, I couldn't do a hell of a lot of biting with the boy wedged in my mouth that way, but, believe me, fellah, I took care of the old man, all right. I got a hitch around him and his goddam fish spear with about the last third of my body; and when I got through squeezing him, he was ready to cry uncle, only he couldn't on account of his lungs being collapsed.
ETAOIN: You tell a vivid tale. What happened to the child's father?
THE SNAKE: Oh, I et him, too. And I looked around for the old lady, but I couldn't find her, so I just et the first vahine I came acrost. But the little fat boy was the best.
ETAOIN: You are a rare raconteur. Tell me of other of your meals.
THE SNAKE: No. It's your turn now. You tell me a story.
ETAOIN: There was a pig. A Duroc Jersey pig. It scampered about in its sty, eating slop and entertaining no spiritual conflicts. Fat it grew and fatter. Then one day its master loaded it into a wagon, took it to the depot, put it in a freight train, and sent it to a packing company. There it was slain, gralloched, and quartered after the manner of slaughterhouses. Some months later I went into a restaurant and ordered pork chops. And the chops they served me — may I die this instant if I lie — were from that very pig of which I have been talking. And the moral of this story is that the whole, sole, one and only and entire purpose of that pig's life, and the lives of its ancestors, and the lives of the things upon which pig and ancestors fed, and the climate and habitat that fostered their propagation and maturations, and the men who bred them and tended them and marketed them — the sole purpose of all that intermixed mass of threads and careers, I say — was to provide for me in that restaurant, at the moment I wanted them, a pair of savory pork chops.
THE SNAKE: There is merit in your contention. I philosophized along much the same lines when I was eating the little brown boy. Ah, I do so dearly love to talk about eating.
ETAOIN: There is but one subject more interesting.
THE SNAKE: I assume you refer to love.
ETAOIN: Yes. I do. Yes.
THE SNAKE: I still remember my first affair. It must have been eleven centuries ago. Ah, but she was lovely! Some twenty feet longer than I she must have been, for I was a yearling then; and her great fangs were like the blades of pickaxes. I was in the west; she was in the east. I smelled her all the way across the world. It was the first time I had ever smelled that smell, but I knew what it meant: funny how one knows some things without ever being told. I steered through the ocean waters to the east where she dwelled.
ETAOIN: It must have been a great voyage.
THE SNAKE: It was. I saw the nautilus, the squid, the obelia, and the elasmobranch shark. Flying fish flew about my head, and a frigate bird sailed over me. Hungry, I snatched the frigate out of the air and devoured it without even missing a stroke of my tail.
ETAOIN: How did it taste?
THE SNAKE: Nasty and fishy. I never ate another one. Pelicans, however, are not bad, and snow geese are extremely palatable.
ETAOIN: Well, did you find your mate?
THE SNAKE: Aye. Up alongside a brown rock island. She was
I swallowed him much as you would swallow an oyster and with every bit of as much right, if you will pardon an ethical intrusion. And just when he was well down between my jaws, so that my head was all swelled out of shape and my eyes were bugging out like lamp globes, why, damn me, if the kid's old pappy didn't come along with his fish spear and start to make trouble. Well, I couldn't do a hell of a lot of biting with the boy wedged in my mouth that way, but, believe me, fellah, I took care of the old man, all right. I got a hitch around him and his goddam fish spear with about the last third of my body; and when I got through squeezing him, he was ready to cry uncle, only he couldn't on account of his lungs being collapsed.
ETAOIN: You tell a vivid tale. What happened to the child's father?
THE SNAKE: Oh, I et him, too. And I looked around for the old lady, but I couldn't find her, so I just et the first vahine I came acrost. But the little fat boy was the best.
ETAOIN: You are a rare raconteur. Tell me of other of your meals.
THE SNAKE: No. It's your turn now. You tell me a story.
ETAOIN: There was a pig. A Duroc Jersey pig. It scampered about in its sty, eating slop and entertaining no spiritual conflicts. Fat it grew and fatter. Then one day its master loaded it into a wagon, took it to the depot, put it in a freight train, and sent it to a packing company. There it was slain, gralloched, and quartered after the manner of slaughterhouses. Some months later I went into a restaurant and ordered pork chops. And the chops they served me — may I die this instant if I lie — were from that very pig of which I have been talking. And the moral of this story is that the whole, sole, one and only and entire purpose of that pig's life, and the lives of its ancestors, and the lives of the things upon which pig and ancestors fed, and the climate and habitat that fostered their propagation and maturations, and the men who bred them and tended them and marketed them — the sole purpose of all that intermixed mass of threads and careers, I say — was to provide for me in that restaurant, at the moment I wanted them, a pair of savory pork chops.
THE SNAKE: There is merit in your contention. I philosophized along much the same lines when I was eating the little brown boy. Ah, I do so dearly love to talk about eating.
ETAOIN: There is but one subject more interesting.
THE SNAKE: I assume you refer to love.
ETAOIN: Yes. I do. Yes.
THE SNAKE: I still remember my first affair. It must have been eleven centuries ago. Ah, but she was lovely! Some twenty feet longer than I she must have been, for I was a yearling then; and her great fangs were like the blades of pickaxes. I was in the west; she was in the east. I smelled her all the way across the world. It was the first time I had ever smelled that smell, but I knew what it meant: funny how one knows some things without ever being told. I steered through the ocean waters to the east where she dwelled.
ETAOIN: It must have been a great voyage.
THE SNAKE: It was. I saw the nautilus, the squid, the obelia, and the elasmobranch shark. Flying fish flew about my head, and a frigate bird sailed over me. Hungry, I snatched the frigate out of the air and devoured it without even missing a stroke of my tail.
ETAOIN: How did it taste?
THE SNAKE: Nasty and fishy. I never ate another one. Pelicans, however, are not bad, and snow geese are extremely palatable.
ETAOIN: Well, did you find your mate?
THE SNAKE: Aye. Up alongside a brown rock island. She was
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