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Authors: Dustin M. Hoffman
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wasn’t sympathy for Bertha; it was fear of his shed skin, of someone seeing the truth, the naked animal.
I put my ear against the bathroom door and heard Drew sniffle and pant. “We can still do it, Drew. It’ll be great,” I told him.
He opened the door, eyes red, lashes clumped. “You think so?”
“Sure. I’ll be here to help. We’ll make good money. The kids will love it.”
“Thanks, man. I needed to hear that.”
I never had kids, had no interest in pasting a Band-Aid over a skinned knee, a slab of frozen steak over a black eye. Drew couldn’t lull me into parental bliss, as convincing as his crying act was. If he wanted to offer up the vulnerable child, I would devour it, grow stronger.
“But what about Bertha?” He pulled at his eyes with the backs of his fists. “Bertha’s the main attraction.”
“We’ll say she’s sleeping.”
“No, man. We have to do better than that.” His eyes were dry now, but he kept pulling at them with his sleeves. “You could control Bertha. You just have to touch her.”
“She’s dead, crawling with disease.”
“You’re scared. I get it.” Drew’s eyes widened, and each bloodshot vein seemed to slither. “It’s okay if you are. Not everyone can touch the snakes like I do.”
His eyes, those damn eyes. I stared through those squirmyblood-filled capillaries. I could do anything Drew could—possess snake flesh and reptile knowledge simultaneously.
“I’m not afraid of touching the snakes,” I said.
And Drew had a plan, a big one. He convinced me to climb into the cupboard under Bertha’s fifty-tanker, convinced me with the challenge of flesh and fear. And there I was, pretzeled into a tiny box.
The cupboard was cramped and hot from Bertha’s heat lamp. I bowed my head so low that my ear pressed against my stomach. In one ear, I heard my breakfast churning. In the other, the children upstairs tapped across the floor, hollering, probably looking at all our complicated products in wonder, with no one but Drew to fumble over false explanations. It was too bad they’d miss out on that education, but Drew said the show came first, said the snakes were most important, interest before intellect.
They’d be headed down to explore the Realm of the Reptiles soon. I lifted my hand through the hole Drew and I had cut into the glass bottom of Bertha’s cage. I watched Bertha’s slumped carcass through another smaller hole we’d cut so I could see what I was doing. But I didn’t want to see Bertha. She made my muscles twitch. Even in death, she scared me.
My fingers found her skin. It was hot but lifeless, so different from a few days ago when I’d thrown her from my body, when each scale pulsed. I wished I’d worn gloves, but Drew had laughed when I suggested them.
I groped until I found the slit Drew had made, the half-moon he’d sliced through her underbelly with a box cutter. He’d dug out a fistful of Bertha innards, just enough so I could fit my hand inside. He’d gutted her so easily, even after all those tears, all his affection for the snakes. He’d torn away pink shreds of Bertha. And now it was my turn to be even colder than Drew, better than Drew. I fingered the opening and pushed my hand forward. If Drew could do it, I could. Her flesh squished against my knuckles. Through the peephole, I saw the upraised veins in my wrist, where they ended, where the snake became my hand.
I lowered my wrist, and then there was only Bertha. Drew had sliced and gutted only a few inches from her head, had cut the hole in the glass with enough clearance so I had a decent range of motion. When I moved my hand, Bertha slithered, alive again. Bertha and me. We longed for Drew, for him to challenge us, to set us in motion.
Children’s shrieks and gasps echoed off the glass walls of the Realm of the Reptiles. I still couldn’t see them, my vision confined to the tiny peephole showing only dead Bertha and darkness beyond her bright cage. But then a face
I put my ear against the bathroom door and heard Drew sniffle and pant. “We can still do it, Drew. It’ll be great,” I told him.
He opened the door, eyes red, lashes clumped. “You think so?”
“Sure. I’ll be here to help. We’ll make good money. The kids will love it.”
“Thanks, man. I needed to hear that.”
I never had kids, had no interest in pasting a Band-Aid over a skinned knee, a slab of frozen steak over a black eye. Drew couldn’t lull me into parental bliss, as convincing as his crying act was. If he wanted to offer up the vulnerable child, I would devour it, grow stronger.
“But what about Bertha?” He pulled at his eyes with the backs of his fists. “Bertha’s the main attraction.”
“We’ll say she’s sleeping.”
“No, man. We have to do better than that.” His eyes were dry now, but he kept pulling at them with his sleeves. “You could control Bertha. You just have to touch her.”
“She’s dead, crawling with disease.”
“You’re scared. I get it.” Drew’s eyes widened, and each bloodshot vein seemed to slither. “It’s okay if you are. Not everyone can touch the snakes like I do.”
His eyes, those damn eyes. I stared through those squirmyblood-filled capillaries. I could do anything Drew could—possess snake flesh and reptile knowledge simultaneously.
“I’m not afraid of touching the snakes,” I said.
And Drew had a plan, a big one. He convinced me to climb into the cupboard under Bertha’s fifty-tanker, convinced me with the challenge of flesh and fear. And there I was, pretzeled into a tiny box.
The cupboard was cramped and hot from Bertha’s heat lamp. I bowed my head so low that my ear pressed against my stomach. In one ear, I heard my breakfast churning. In the other, the children upstairs tapped across the floor, hollering, probably looking at all our complicated products in wonder, with no one but Drew to fumble over false explanations. It was too bad they’d miss out on that education, but Drew said the show came first, said the snakes were most important, interest before intellect.
They’d be headed down to explore the Realm of the Reptiles soon. I lifted my hand through the hole Drew and I had cut into the glass bottom of Bertha’s cage. I watched Bertha’s slumped carcass through another smaller hole we’d cut so I could see what I was doing. But I didn’t want to see Bertha. She made my muscles twitch. Even in death, she scared me.
My fingers found her skin. It was hot but lifeless, so different from a few days ago when I’d thrown her from my body, when each scale pulsed. I wished I’d worn gloves, but Drew had laughed when I suggested them.
I groped until I found the slit Drew had made, the half-moon he’d sliced through her underbelly with a box cutter. He’d dug out a fistful of Bertha innards, just enough so I could fit my hand inside. He’d gutted her so easily, even after all those tears, all his affection for the snakes. He’d torn away pink shreds of Bertha. And now it was my turn to be even colder than Drew, better than Drew. I fingered the opening and pushed my hand forward. If Drew could do it, I could. Her flesh squished against my knuckles. Through the peephole, I saw the upraised veins in my wrist, where they ended, where the snake became my hand.
I lowered my wrist, and then there was only Bertha. Drew had sliced and gutted only a few inches from her head, had cut the hole in the glass with enough clearance so I had a decent range of motion. When I moved my hand, Bertha slithered, alive again. Bertha and me. We longed for Drew, for him to challenge us, to set us in motion.
Children’s shrieks and gasps echoed off the glass walls of the Realm of the Reptiles. I still couldn’t see them, my vision confined to the tiny peephole showing only dead Bertha and darkness beyond her bright cage. But then a face
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