Over to You Read online

  Judson said, ‘Why should I tell you?’ He did not look up. He was picking the tea leaves off the back of his hand one by one and returning them to the cup.

  ‘I want to know, Judson.’ The old man was speaking very gently. ‘I’m getting keen about this too. Let’s talk about it and make some plans for more fun.’

  Judson looked up. A ball of saliva rolled down his chin, hung for a moment in the air, snapped and fell to the floor.

  ‘I only kill ’em because of a noise.’

  ‘How often’ve you done it? I’d love to know how often.’

  ‘Lots of times long ago.’

  ‘How? Tell me how you used to do it. What way did you like best?’

  No answer.

  ‘Tell me, Judson. I’d love to know.’

  ‘I don’t see why I should. It’s a secret.’

  ‘I won’t tell. I swear I won’t tell.’

  ‘Well, if you’ll promise.’ Judson shifted his seat closer and spoke in a whisper. ‘Once I waited till one was sleeping, then I got a big stone and dropped it on his head.’

  The old man got up and poured himself a cup of tea. ‘You didn’t kill mine like that.’

  ‘I didn’t have time. The noise was so bad, the licking, and I just had to do it quick.’

  ‘You didn’t even kill him.’

  ‘I stopped the noise.’

  The old man went over to the door and looked out. It was dark. The moon had not yet risen, but the night was clear and cold with many stars. In the east there was a little paleness in the sky, and as he watched, the paleness grew and it changed from a paleness into a brightness, spreading over the sky so that the light was reflected and held by the small drops of dew upon the grass along the highlands; and slowly, the moon rose up over the hills. The old man turned and said, ‘Better get ready. Never know; they might come early tonight.’

  Judson got up and the two of them went outside. Judson lay down in the shallow trench beside the cow and the old man covered him over with grass, so that only his head peeped out above the ground. ‘I shall be watching, too,’ he said, ‘from the window. If I give a shout, jump up and catch him.’

  He hobbled back to the shack, went upstairs, wrapped himself in blankets and took up his position by the window. It was early still. The moon was nearly full and it was climbing. It shone upon the snow on the summit of Mount Kenya.

  After an hour the old man shouted out of the window:

  ‘Are you still awake, Judson?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘I’m awake.’

  ‘Don’t go to sleep,’ said the old man. ‘Whatever you do, don’t go to sleep.’

  ‘Cow’s crunching all the time,’ said Judson.

  ‘Good, and I’ll shoot you if you get up now,’ said the old man.

  ‘You’ll shoot me?’

  ‘I said I’ll shoot you if you get up now.’

  A gentle sobbing noise came up from where Judson lay, a strange gasping sound as though a child was trying not to cry, and in the middle of it, Judson’s voice, ‘I’ve got to move; please let me move. This crunching.’

  ‘If you get up,’ said the old man, ‘I’ll shoot you in the belly.’

  For another hour or so the sobbing continued, then quite suddenly it stopped.

  Just before four o’clock it began to get very cold and the old man huddled deeper into his blankets and shouted, ‘Are you cold out there, Judson? Are you cold?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the answer. ‘So cold. But I don’t mind because cow’s not crunching any more. She’s asleep.’

  The old man said, ‘What are you going to do with the thief when you catch him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Will you kill him?’

  A pause.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll just go for him.’

  ‘I’ll watch,’ said the old man. ‘It ought to be fun.’ He was leaning out of the window with his arms resting on the sill.

  Then he heard the hiss under the window sill, and looked over and saw the black Mamba, sliding through the grass towards the cow, going fast and holding its head just a little above the ground as it went.

  When the Mamba was five yards away, the old man shouted. He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, ‘Here he comes, Judson; here he comes. Go and get him.’

  Judson lifted his head quickly and looked up. As he did so he saw the Mamba and the Mamba saw him. There was a second, or perhaps two, when the snake stopped, drew back and raised the front part of its body in the air. Then the stroke. Just a flash of black and a slight thump as it took him in the chest. Judson screamed, a long, high-pitched scream which did not rise nor fall, but held its note until gradually it faded into nothingness and there was silence. Now he was standing up, ripping open his shirt, feeling for the place in his chest, whimpering quietly, moaning and breathing hard with his mouth wide open. And all the while the old man sat quietly at the open window, leaning forward and never taking his eyes away from the one below.

  Everything comes very quick when one is bitten by a black Mamba, and almost at once the poison began to work. It threw him to the ground, where he lay humping his back and rolling around on the grass. He no longer made any noise. It was all very quiet, as though a man of great strength was wrestling with a giant whom one could not see, and it was as though the giant was twisting him and not letting him get up, stretching his arms through the fork of his legs and pushing his knees up under his chin.

  Then he began pulling up the grass with his hands and soon after that he lay on his back kicking gently with his legs. But he didn’t last very long. He gave a quick wriggle, humped his back again, turning over as he did it, then he lay on the ground quite still, lying on his stomach with his right knee drawn up underneath his chest and his hands stretched out above his head.

  Still the old man sat by the window, and even after it was all over, he stayed where he was and did not stir. There was a movement in the shadow under the acacia tree and the Mamba came forward slowly towards the cow. It came forward a little, stopped, raised its head, waited, lowered its head, and slid forward again right under the belly of the animal. It raised itself into the air and took one of the brown teats in its mouth and began to drink. The old man sat watching the Mamba taking the milk of the cow, and once again he saw the gentle pulsing of its body as it drew the liquid out of the udder.

  While the snake was still drinking, the old man got up and moved away from the window.

  ‘You can have his share,’ he said quietly. ‘We don’t mind you having his share,’ and as he spoke he glanced back and saw again the black body of the Mamba curving upward from the ground, joining with the belly of the cow.

  ‘Yes,’ he said again, ‘we don’t mind your having his share.’

  A Piece of Cake

  I do not remember much of it; not beforehand anyway; not until it happened.

  There was the landing at Fouka, where the Blenheim boys were helpful and gave us tea while we were being refuelled. I remember the quietness of the Blenheim boys, how they came into the mess-tent to get some tea and sat down to drink it without saying anything; how they got up and went out when they had finished drinking and still they did not say anything. And I knew that each one was holding himself together because the going was not very good right then. They were having to go out too often, and there were no replacements coming along.

  We thanked them for the tea and went out to see if they had finished refuelling our Gladiators. I remember that there was a wind blowing which made the windsock stand out straight, like a signpost, and the sand was blowing up around our legs and making a rustling noise as it swished against the tents, and the tents flapped in the wind so that they were like canvas men clapping their hands.

  ‘Bomber boys unhappy,’ Peter said.

  ‘Not unhappy,’ I answered.

  ‘Well, they’re browned off.’

  ‘No. They’ve had it, that’s all. But they’ll keep going. You can see they’re trying to keep going.’