Unusual Creatures

Slowly, with intent, she squeezed the trigger…

…and over the barrel of the shotgun saw the flying, swirling table leg thud into the tin packing cases, saw the buckshot strike, in a motion so vivid. The shattered leg came to rest to the left of Jerry’s boots where he was sitting at that table to re-assess the day’s bantams, those brown pebbles with transverse rings about them, so elusive yet so compelling to a geologist looking for treasure.

Thirza dropped the shotgun’s barrel, and saw Jerry’s utter confusion from the noise of the gun in the tent’s confined space. He looked from her to the splintered leg lying at his feet and back at her.

“What on earth are you doing – trying to kill me!” he said indignantly, his voice rising in shock. Jerry had not heard the snap of the barrel closing when Thirza loaded the shell into the chamber.

Thirza knew that at such short range she had to aim carefully, concentrating the buckshot on the snake winding up the pine table leg, making dead sure Jerry would not be hurt in the hail of pellets.

Her shoulder ached from the recoil as she moved to Jerry’s side.

They saw lying there a mashed pile that looked like a thick brown-black rope twirled around a petrified log.

“Nehushtan,” exclaimed Thirza. “That’s what it looks like: the brazen snake wrapped around a pole – in the Bible.”

“The head is missing,” said Jerry, realizing what had happened, and turning he saw the smear on the side of the packing-case. “A perfect shot, Mrs. Nash. Well done.”

They held onto each other until Ginty interrupted them with a bark.

Thirza moved to the bed, sat, and held Ginty while Jerry swept the tangle of shattered wood and limp flesh out of the tent and promptly tied the tent flap closed.

The table had jolted with the impact adding to Jerry’s shock, and his bantams had spilled.

“We should move two of the packing-cases to support the table until we find something better,” suggested Thirza.

“Look at the holes in this packing case. Nothing we can do about it now,” said Jerry.

“Don’t touch it, there might be traces venom there,” Thirza warned out of concern for Jerry.

Jerry reached into his pocket, and pulling out a rag he used to wipe the sweat from his brow in the heat, wiped the slimy side of the packing case.

Thirza said in exasperation, “Oh, Jerry how can you do that? Now you will have to throw it away. How many times have I told you ‘waste not want not,’ Willy. You never heed that.”

Jerry had come to learn that when Thirza referred to him as “Willy” she was not amused.

“A little wash will make it as good as new,” he retorted.

“Fiddlesticks! Don’t count on me washing it,” came the reply.

Silence ensued. They readied themselves for bed. Ginty lay between them secure with Thirza’s hand gently resting on her warm, soft, tummy. “Good night, Jerry,” Thirza said.

Silence.

Before Thirza fell asleep she heard, “A remarkable shot, indeed.” So Jerry was awake. She smiled, Yes, she was his wife, his “vrouw”, as he introduced her despite is poor command of Afrikaans.

***

A rosy light invaded the tent interior stirring Thirza from sleep. It dawned on her that today was Jerry’s birthday. “Was he thirty-eight or thirty-nine?” she thought. “And me…approaching thirty-five! If we are to have children it will have to be soon.” A loud rumbling erupted – followed by a snort. She jolted upright in the bed. “A snore,” she lamented – no chance of more rest, but she snuggled down again in the warmth of the bed with Ginty between them.

She looked at Jerry who was facing her. His nose did look sunburnt. She made a mental note to remind him to wear his bush-hat. Jerry heaved, and as if he had read her mind she saw a blue eye peeping at her over the covers.

“Here, you old hen, go back to sleep,” he grumbled.

Thirza laughed; it was quite nice being called an ‘old hen’ in that way.

Jerry yawned and stretched out his arm over Thirza saying, “On the banks of the Omaruru river lived a poor married devil with the disturber of his peace…” then composed himself for more sleep.

Jerry liked to sleep in; as Thirza remembered, prompting her to say in the deepest voice she could muster: “This ‘old hen’ will crow if you don’t get up.”

“Hens don’t crow, silly girl,” replied Jerry sleepily.

“Oh, just watch me,” said Thirza sitting up in the bed with her arms raised, bent at the elbows by her sides in imitation of a rooster greeting the sun, and before she could utter a sound Jerry threw the covers off, covering her.

“There is no peace for the wicked,” he grumbled, getting off the bed. Where are my boots?”

She removed the cover “Probably where you left them last night,” offered Thirza, smiling, “and don’t forget to check them for scorpions. The stinky smell attracts them, you know.” She giggled. Jerry pretended not to hear.

She watched Jerry as he moved about getting dressed and thought about the dinner she could prepare for him tonight. What if they went fishing this afternoon? Jerry loved his fishing, he would jump at that suggestion, but what if he didn’t catch anything? She would have to think again if that were the case.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Jerry said, “I’m going outside to speak to Jim about the snake.”

“What does Jim know about snakes?” Her question went unanswered as Jerry was gone. Jim, a Herero by birth, was in charge of their domestic arrangements.

She jumped up, rummaged in a packing case for the blue dress she had yet wear here in the bush. It was Jerry’s birthday after all. She found the hand mirror she’d brought with her and checked how the dress looked. The creases will have to do, she thought then caught sight of her hair.

“It looks like sheep’s wool bunched up on my head,” she said aloud and using her fingers did her best to massage it into an acceptable shape.

Jerry walked back inside the tent and told her what Jim had told him, “It’s a Rinkhals, poisonous as all hell, a cobra too. “We can thank Ginty for saving us like she did.”

“Where is the snake now?” questioned Thirza, ” I don’t want Ginty getting ideas. You know what he is like. Remember that incident with the frog.”

Jerry laughed recalling Thirza’s panic the time she had carried Ginty all the way to the diamond diggings in the brushwood campsite near the banks of the Orange River where they had spent the first year of their marriage. Ginty was foaming at the mouth.

“It’s Ginty,” she had choked out. “He’s got a frog – inside. Oh, it’s all my fault.”

“Good God!” said Jerry. “I thought someone was trying to murder you.”

Thirza had mentioned the anti-snakebite serum as a possible solution.

Jerry laughed again, but the memory made him ask, “By the way, where is our first-aid kit?”

“It is in the packing case with the pit marks,” said Thirza, It was one of the ones they had moved to support the table last night. “Don’t forget that, Jerry.”

“Well I’m glad we didn’t need it last night. Jim has taken away what is left of the snake. He will probably eat what he can.”

“Jerry, remember when we were in Leliefontein in the church talking with reverend Thomas…he told us how my parent’s named me, how we would go into the wilderness and of serpents. I thought it odd that he would refer to those passages in the bible until he gave me the eagle pendant from my parents and it’s inscription confirming his words. I didn’t believe in omens – until last night. It looked like the snake was after you.”

“Think awhile, my dear. It is you that normally sits at that table every night working away on your novel, burning up the lamp oil. If I had not insisted on checking those bantams – then what? You know I sometimes doze off in the camp-chair after supper. I would have been too late to save you from the snake’s venom. Now, that is ominous.”

Thirza shivered. Was it a good or bad omen? She put it aside. “Enough of this talk – it didn’t happen and you, Jerry, are unscathed, thank God. Do you know it’s your birthday today?” said Thirza changing the subject, and standing on her tiptoes gave Jerry a kiss. I am taking you fishing today, sir.”

Jerry smiled.

“Come. It is time for breakfast; our fruit, porridge and tea are waiting.” Jerry disliked ham and eggs intensely as she had found out in her first attempt to cook for him.

They walked out and into the adjacent cottage tent, hand in hand.