‘Some snakes have feathers and drink the blood of warriors and some live in the Underworld in Egypt. And others darken the sun when they fly and crack their tails like thunder,’ boasted the snake.
‘That sounds like stories about snakes, not real snakes at all. And the last one seems more like a dragon than a snake. Dragons are in the books of things that don’t exist,’ said Mary sternly.
The snake sighed and lowered himself to lounge in her hand, suddenly seeming as soft as a piece of silky rope. ‘Oh, well . . . Perhaps I seem less impressive than usual because I am hungry. Would you happen to have a mouse that I could eat?’ The snake’s head lolled off her palm as if he were almost faint with hunger, but his eyes watched her carefully and glowed.
‘If I did have a mouse, it would be my pet mouse and I wouldn’t ever give it to anyone so they could eat it.’
‘But I suppose that you eat fried fishes and grilled cutlets of lambs and stews of cow pieces and goose’s legs . . .’ He lolled again, wheezing as if he were famished.
‘Well, yes, but I had never met the lambs and cows and geese,’ explained Mary. ‘It would be rude to eat somebody I had met. And mostly we eat stews with vegetables and beans and things which don’t cost as much as meat. And we’re very far away from the sea here, so we don’t eat very many fishes. Do you live in a jungle?’
‘No.’
‘I would love to know what a jungle is really like.’
‘Your mind is wandering. I am very hungry.’
‘Tomorrow – which is Monday – we have sewing lessons at school. Mrs Kohlhoffer who teaches sewing always says my mind wanders. She doesn’t understand that I already know enough about sewing for the rest of my life. I am not going to embroider little covers for the backs of chairs ever again. I shall not embellish more slippers, or sew another bag to keep my sewing things in. I am not even going to be a surgeon – which would mean I had to sew my patients back together once I had sliced them open. No surgeon would be very popular if she embroidered flowers on her patient’s operation scars. I am going to explore the world and maybe a lion will bite off my leg, or an arm, or something, or I will need to sew up a wound caused by a machete – but I already know the right stitches for wounds, and for making tidy stumps after amputations.’
The snake was sitting up again – if we can describe a snake as sitting up – because he was interested in Mary and had forgotten that he was pretending to be hungry. ‘Little girl, little girl, the world is an odd place to explore and you must promise me,’ he said in his wonderful voice, ‘that you will be extremely careful wherever you go.’
This seemed a kind thing to say and so Mary gave her name to the snake. ‘I’m Mary.’
‘Thank you, Mary. Mary . . .’ said the snake in a voice that sounded as if he were thinking of something sweet and sad. ‘Well, Mary, I have been in the jungle at times and I know that when you are there you must always keep your machete very sharp so that it cuts easily and smoothly and safely. And put it back tidily in its sheath when you aren’t using it and never annoy a lion so much that it wants to bite you. In fact, avoid lions and all large cats. And also bears. And definitely hippopotamuses.’
‘I thought you were weak with hunger.’
‘I am worried about you. But you are also full of remarkable wisdom – you should write down the things I tell you so you won’t forget.’ The snake blinked. ‘But, yes, I am very hungry, too. Do you have, at least, some cheese? I might be able to survive on cheese. A little Gruyère, perhaps?’
Mary leaned in very close and kissed the snake on its nose. (Although, of course, it didn’t quite have a nose.)
‘You are very forward,’ the snake mumbled. But he also – like poured gold – slipped himself around and around her arm in a pleased way that sparkled his scales delightfully. Then he came to rest peaceably in her hand again. ‘You maybe could call me Camatayon, or Bas, or Lanmo, or . . .’
Because the snake seemed to have a great many names and because Mary liked the sound of that one she told him, ‘Lanmo. I will call you Lanmo.’
‘Yes, that will be good.’ The snake nodded.
‘Thank you for your name.’ Mary realised she was a little bit hungry herself. ‘Shall we go indoors? I can toast some cheese on bread. I know how to toast cheese.’
The snake angled his head as if he were thinking. ‘I think I would have to have cold cheese with no bread – because of my teeth. Toasted cheese would be too sticky.’ He opened his dark mouth carefully and slowly so that Mary could see his teeth, which were as white as bones and pointed. To the left and to the right of his front teeth he had a longer fang that was most especially pointed.
‘Goodness.’
‘I eeth ill oh ur oooh,’ said Lanmo the snake.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mary had been taught to be polite.
Lanmo closed his mouth and his needly teeth fitted together perfectly for an instant, before he tried again to speak. ‘My teeth will not hurt you.’
‘Oh.’
‘I promise.’
‘And what kind of snake are you?’
‘The kind that is never in books.’ And he nuzzled his head against the back of her hand and flickered his tongue.
Mary did find the snake some little pieces of cheese and he ate them daintily before telling her thank you and disappearing in his fast and snaky way.
This made Mary feel a little lonely for the rest of the afternoon, until she was eating her own dinner that evening – which was vegetable stew and then more vegetable stew – and noticed that the glow of two red eyes was blinking out from under her napkin.
‘Oh,’ she said out loud and then, because her mother and father had turned to look at her, she had to continue. ‘What lovely stew. Yes. Oh. What lovely stew.’ She did this because she realised that her parents might well wave their arms about and scream a lot if she said out loud, ‘Oh, I have a beautiful snake called Lanmo under my napkin. He has come back to see me again and so maybe he is going to be my friend.’
Lanmo, faster than a silky whisper, slipped into the pocket of her dress and she could feel him moving very slightly in a way that might mean he was giggling. This made her smile and she had to turn her smile into one that looked as if it could be about stews and not snakes.
Later, when Mary was by herself in the bathroom, getting ready for bed, she looked in her pocket, but there was no one there. Lanmo had gone again. She guessed, correctly, that he had done this so she could change into her pyjamas and brush her teeth in private. When she opened her bedroom door, there was the snake, curled on her pillow, tasting the air with his forked tongue and looking at her with his sharp red eyes. They shone in the tiny, dim room, which had no window because it was really a cupboard. He was trying to look domestic. ‘Hello, Mary. I am going to watch over you until you are asleep. I will keep away your nightmares.’
‘But I don’t have nightmares.’
‘You might now – you have a snake on your pillow.’ Lanmo grinned and rippled over so that Mary could get into bed and be snug. Then he lay very flat on top of her covers so that he could look into her eyes. ‘You will always be safe when I am here. Because I am your friend and I will come and visit you many, many times.’
‘Good,’ said Mary into her blankets, because she was very drowsy. She thought that Lanmo’s eyes reminded her of sunsets and somehow this made her very really extremely sleepy.
And the snake watched her until he knew she was dreaming safely and then he told her again, ‘I will visit you many, many times.’ He nodded his head sadly. ‘And then I will visit you one time more.’ He licked the air to be sure that she