“Don’t mind her,” a voice sighed from close behind, and I turned to face the director, Buck Mitchell, a middle-aged American with shoulder length gray hair, as he now shook his head somewhat apologetically. “She goes off at everybody, mostly for no good reason other than maybe her hair won’t curl today, or her nail is split. She’s amazingly beautiful, knows what effect she has on men, and has grown accustomed to their squirming at her feet for attention. She hates everybody and everything outside her dressing room.” A slight frown wrinkled his brow. “She is also a damned fine actress and always in demand. In other words, mostly we let her have her way, just so she keeps up the good work. That’s why we even let her bring that damn yappy mutt all the way up here with her.” He rolled his eyes. “Won’t go anywhere without the furry beast. Even takes it on set at the studio. Yap! Yap! Yap! Damn critter drives me crazy; but anyway . . .” he took my arm and led me towards his tent. “This will only be your problem for a few hours. I have to live with it. She’s my wife!”
In the tent, over a cool glass of orange juice, we discussed the strategy to be employed for the python shoot. Outside the dense foliage reverberated with the shriek of cicadas and a multitude of other equally energetic invertebrates. The heat was humid and stifling, as it invariably is in tropical regions, and I can well imagine the actress’s discontent in this world so far removed from her own. However, everybody else seemed in high spirits, excited, while at the same time nervous about the handling of the pending scene. A huge python, after all, was not something one worked with every day.
With the details discussed and finalized, the actors and crew were called in for briefing. Julie presented herself last, bringing with her little Fifi, cradled in her folded arms and yapping irritatingly at everyone and everything around.
I smiled at her, noting once more just how truly beautiful she was. She in turn ignored me totally while Fifi, your typical Maltese/poodle/lap dog, glowered at me, baring its miserable array of tiny teeth and rendering a chorus of yap-yaps in my face.
All matters finally discussed, I led the party out to the Nissan, where Slimy was dozing contentedly, still in his carry-cage lined with comfortable sacking material. Julie, however, shunned the demonstration, strongly reminding us all that, though she would be in close proximity to the snake, she would herself be occupied with the quicksand, and had therefore no need to otherwise concern herself with “that slimy creature.”
Having briefed the team on the basic do’s and don’ts of python handling and having assured them of this particular specimen’s favorable character, I now produced Slimy in the flesh. And true to his usual way, the giant snake took to the handling as though with relish, sliding gracefully from neck to quivering neck as each in turn buckled slightly under the weight of the huge reptile. And within seconds, all were amazed at the cool, soft feel of the shiny body-scales, astonished that the snake allowed itself to be so easily handled, showing no distress or any inclination to bite.
In the same vein, the shoot went well, with minimal fuss and retakes. Slimy quickly becoming the star of the show as he easily, and almost it seemed, eagerly, performed as was desired of him. Julie too, with total disregard for her obvious discomfort, played her part in the swamp with typical British gusto, delivering a performance as realistic as the scene demanded. And at the end of a day spent in sweltering heat and somewhat demoralizing swampy conditions, covered in mud and decaying vegetation, we all returned to base for showers and an African-style barbeque supper to be served under a crimson sky as the glowing ball in the West gracefully slipped from view. A perfect end to a perfect day. However, the night was still to come, and with it, drama beyond my wildest dreams.
With my job done, my plan was to leave at the crack of dawn, when the air would still be cool before the later onslaught of the day’s heat. But for now the night was young and warm and friendly under the African sky. Drinks were served after supper, and everybody gathered around the cooking fire to discuss further the film saga now finally completed with the shooting of the python scene. Only Julie seemed not to be affected by the events, even declining to participate in a champagne toast to the success of the show. Instead she somewhat isolated herself off to one side, where she sat brooding, with little Fifi snuggled on her lap.
“She’s not the party type,” her husband confided in my ear as he noted my occasional curious glances in Julie’s direction. “Seldom accepts a drink and does not enjoy jolly people.” He pulled a face with a lop-sided grin. “Prefers the company of that yappy mongrel. Damn thing even shares our bed! But let me say one word, and it’s me that gets put outside!” He took a sip from his glass. “But this is not your problem; have another drink.” And throwing his head back, he downed the remainder of his still half-full glass of champagne.
The party continued into the starlit night, with the volume of it ever-increasing as bottles of good-quality champagne were liberally distributed for relentless consumption. And as the fever pitch grew, so the “happy-snap” instamatic cameras appeared all the more frequently to record the occasion. Indeed, I myself was feeling rather flighty, even to the point of seriously considering approaching Julie for conversation. These thoughts were quickly laid to rest as her scowl of disapproval at my approach blasted the air from my sails, and I allowed for discretion to prevail over valor.
Later, when the suggestion was made that Slimy be liberated from his confinement to be included in the “happy-snaps,” my initial reaction of caution was heavily frowned upon by all inebriated around me, until finally the champagne bubbling merrily through my veins tumbled the last remnants of resistance, and I conceded.
And there came a roar of approval from the team as Slimy finally made his appearance at the edge of the circle, draped smartly around my neck, his head held high as though in anticipation of the new experience of being invited to a party. Everybody rushed up to greet the gentle snake, stroking him and tickling him as though he were a cuddly kitten, their earlier fears long forgotten. The sounds of “oohs” and “ahs” and giggles resonated as Slimy slid from neck to neck for respective photographs, while all about the dense forest was alive with the sounds of insects and frogs. The fire and gaslight flickered shadowy forms against the trees and along the leafy floor, as the stars glittered above in a cloudless sky. And as the cameras flashed and excited voices rose in delight of the moment, I thought, What a perfect ending to a wonderful evening.
Then Jenny, the makeup artist, who by now had consumed somewhat more than her fair share of champagne, claimed Slimy for herself, draping him voluptuously around her neck and shoulders as she slowly, sensuously, gyrated her hips as though a belly dancer from the Far East. Happily Slimy swayed with her to the rhythm, his head held ever high, his eyes staring, as though in trancelike rapture. And all about, the party took on a new and increased volume as in unison the team clapped and cheered to the undulating movements of the woman, faster and faster until beads of sweat glittered down her cheeks and neck.
Julie meanwhile had not moved from her position outside the circle of activity, where she viewed the proceedings with irrational distaste. She had stayed quiet for the entire night until Jenny, still gyrating to the rhythm of the clapping hands and sweating under the weight of Slimy (who now seemed to have slipped into a hypnotic sleep) ceremoniously and sensuously started to remove her clothes, to the loud approval of all present, inebriated and otherwise. This now apparently being the straw to break the camel’s back, Julie lunged to her feet, almost toppling little Fifi upside down as she did so, and with black rage in her eyes she shoved her way through the crowd to confront Jenny.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” she challenged through pursed lips, with little Fifi yapping from her position, cradled under Julie’s right arm. There was a moment of stunned silence as all clapping suddenly subsided and all cheering waned, to be replaced now instead by startled looks of dismay.
“Do you think this is a friggin’ freak show for lowlifes?” Jul
ie continued to vent her pent up frustration at Jenny, who sweating and breathless, too, now stared in dismay. Fifi continued to yap in all directions, as though in support of her owner’s harsh condemnation of the light-hearted activities that had just been brought to a crashing, unceremonious halt. Yap! Yap! Yap!
Next to me where I stood closest to the scene (from where I had kept a close vigil on Slimy), I heard Buck release an exaggerated sigh, as though he had seen it all before. As if to confirm my thoughts, he slumped his shoulders, shook his head, and muttered under his breath, “Oh boy, here we go again,” and taking a step forward as though to intervene, he reached out to take Julie by the shoulder, but pulled back quickly as little Fifi reacted to the movement with a noshing of tiny teeth and a harsh series of yaps.
Buck’s face now flushed with sudden anger and his reflex getting the better of him, he slapped out at the irritating little mutt, connecting with it accurately on the snout. Hooowwwllll . . . Yap! Yap! Yap! The irritating little animal vented its frustration at its attacker. Hooowwwlll . . . Yap! Yap! Yap!
Violence erupting in her face, Julie turned to face Buck, just as at that very same moment an angry Jenny swung round, almost tumbling under the weight of Slimy as she ventured to launch her retaliation at Julie. The air was rent with the sounds of vocal battle while, all about, astonished mouths dropped open in further dismay.
With words being exchanged by Julie to Buck and Buck to Fifi, Jenny now stumbled drunkenly into the attack. With Slimy still swinging heavily from about her shoulders, she lunged for Julie, grabbing for her long, beautiful hair. Pivoting around to face the attack, Julie unwittingly brought Fifi around with her. And from where I stood, somewhat shocked into immobility, I saw Slimy’s head jerk erect as though having received an electric shock and his senses fixed rigidly on the furry little animal now rendered so tantalizingly just inches from his nose! Hooowwwlll, Yap! Yap! Ya . . .
CHOMP!
And Slimy, no longer the meek and mild exotic pet, transformed once more into predator extraordinaire, struck out with instinctive and deadly accuracy.
And, with that chomp, total pandemonium shattered the night!
Clamping his huge mouth down hard on the furry tidbit so thoughtfully presented to him, Slimy now pulled back in an attempt to draw the morsel into his coils so that the erratic, frantic squirming of the dog might be rendered immobilized under pressure. But rendering a horrific scream, more of startled surprise than of fear, Julie clutched at Fifi’s hindquarters, while at the same moment Jenny wrenched her body backward in an awkward attempt to keep her balance, upset now by the outstretched tugging motion of the heavy-bodied snake.
And for one split second, the scene before my eyes materialized as ludicrous as any I might ever imagine: on the left, a screaming woman with a huge python draped around her neck, leaning back against the outstretched pull of the reptile as it determinedly held fast onto the head of a squirming little furry animal, whose hindquarters were in turn being fiercely tugged in the opposite direction by another screaming woman!
And with quiet inner resignation, I thought, Oh Lordy, my life is over!
For one split second in time everybody gawked, seemingly frozen to the spot. Then chaos, as suddenly the entire team moved in at once. There was shouting and screaming and tugging and tumbling and a whole lot of cursing, as everybody tried to do something but achieved little as they all tumbled over one another in a frenzy of uncertainty. Both Julie and Jenny continued to scream, all the while tugging frantically at little Fifi, who was about to be torn in two, as Slimy diligently pursued the very reason for his existence, to indiscriminately devour anything furry that would fit in its mouth.
The sudden dawning realization that my very immediate, and indeed far-reaching future, was precariously balanced on the final result of the unfolding catastrophe before me, spurred me into action. Lunging forward just in time to avoid the tumbling crush, I grabbed Slimy behind the head with one hand while simultaneously encircling Julie’s outstretched arms with my free arm. My priorities were clear: first prevent the mutt from being ripped in two by the opposing forces, then dislodge those forces and free the mutt.
However, simple as this analysis of remedy seemed, there were detrimental opposing factors involved, the first becoming painfully evident as a frantic and hysterical Julie blindly mistook my interference as a further threat to her beloved Fifi and turned to direct the full force of her frustrated, fearful anger in my direction. Screaming still, now directly and accurately into my right ear, and never slackening her grip on Fifi’s ever-stretching hindquarters, she lifted her knee to my crotch, to render me quickly and effectively doubled over in open-mouthed, breathless agony. And for good measure, as my head dropped down past her mouth, she clamped her teeth down hard on my ear . . . and held on.
Good grief, the agony of it, as desperately I tried not to release my grip on either her arms or Slimy’s neck, convinced still that the demise of the mutt would depict similarly my immediate future. Fighting back the terrible nausea creeping up into my throat, the flashing, dazzling lights exploding behind my eyes, and the terrible crunching of my ear, I twisted my body, to reverse my elbow into Julie’s stomach! With a forceful expulsion of air from her lungs, she relinquished her excruciating grip on my ear, as did she her grip on the somewhat elongated Fifi. Unceremoniously she crumpled to her knees, all fight gone out of her. It was a desperate gamble, but I saw no other way out.
Free to move now, I screamed to the disorganized crowd around me: “Grab the python’s body! Grab the python’s body!” And suddenly there came a surge of activity as Slimy was at last pulled off from around the shoulders of the still-shocked and screaming Jenny and cradled safely in the many willing, if uncertain, hands of the crew. My left hand, still gripped fiercely around Slimy’s neck, prevented the giant snake from re-coiling, thus preventing the process of constriction. Not deterred, however, Slimy’s highly flexible jaws were already in operation, working left to right in turn, to quickly draw the now unrestricted, kicking, and squealing Fifi further into those dark depths of no return. There was only one way to stop the process: unhesitatingly, I jammed the fingers of my free hand into the lips of Slimy’s upper jaw and tugged upward with considerable force.
Pythons are of course nonvenomous, killing their prey by constriction (suffocating the animal by constantly tightening pressure from its coils). However these sometimes large snakes are very powerful and have as many as a hundred long, needle-sharp teeth fixed within their jaws. A number of these now punctured the tips of my fingers as I desperately tried to loosen Slimy’s relentless grip on his tasty prize.
Soon my arm was crimson with blood, which must have looked frightening to those around me, but I knew that the effect was comparable to that of slight razor cuts, and the wounds were in fact very minor. However painful the operation, considering too that my crotch and ear still throbbed ceaselessly, I knew I could not stop now. Slimy struggled, twisted, and hissed his disapproval at me, but with strict instructions to those handling the body to “hold on for dear life,” I finally ripped the pup’s tiny body from the jaws of death, upon which the terrified little animal gnashed out viciously—Yap! Yap! Yap—and successfully managed to nip me on the wrist. Obviously the mutt was little the worse for wear, other than a few needle-like tooth puncture wounds visible through the skin on its head.
Relief flowed through my body, and I breathed a huge sigh and gratefully took Slimy from the arms of my “assistants.” Slimy was unimpressed and showed his disgust by squirming and wiggling in an attempt to free himself, presumably to pursue his recently stolen prey. Then, with a shock, I suddenly remembered Julie and turned to where she kneeled doubled up on the ground.
Thankfully, her husband and a few others were already attending to her, as were others to Jenny, who sat now in silence, her eyes staring as she sipped absentmindedly on a stiff shot of something alcoholic.
I quickly delivered Slimy safely back to his holding cage in the Nis
san before hurrying back to the scene to find Buck. I apologized to him sincerely for Slimy’s attack on Fifi and for personally striking his wife, promising to take full responsibility for the events. What did I have left to lose? My life was over anyway, as was my career at the park when Jack got the report . . . not to mention what Julie would do when she recovered!
To my total astonishment, however, Buck grinned a huge grin and draped his arm around my shoulder.
“My dear boy,” he said, “think nothing of it. We were all to blame, but you least of all. You saved the day, and unfortunately, the life of that nasty critter as well.” He reached for a half-empty bottle of champagne left unattended on a table. “Let’s have a drink.” He raised the bottle to his lips, then offering the same to me.
“But what about Julie?” I protested meekly. “I should apologize to her.” Buck looked at me now with humor in his eyes, the slightest of smiles creasing his lips.
“Between me and you, lad,” he said, lowering his voice slightly, his eyes shifting from left to right as though expecting to be overhead, “best thing that’s ever happened to her. Can only do her good. Don’t give it another thought!” And with that, he downed the rest of the bottle in one long gulp. And I thought to myself, These bloody movie people are crazy!
By morning, Julie had recovered sufficiently to be heard across the bush camp as she relentlessly hurled abuse at all who dared to come close, and it was with some relief that I turned the Nissan key and headed for home, six hundred kilometers across the country, back to Hartebeespoort, where the air was fresh and the people sane. Each finger of my right hand was adorned with small band-aids, stemming the flow of blood from the multitude of razorlike cuts inflicted by the python’s teeth. My ear, too, was similarly decorated, and I could just imagine the look on Jack’s face when I arrived back at the park to report that all had gone well.
Snakemaster Page 8
