The One – Song 7: Snakes and Dragons – Segment 1

Just before we begin today’s post, I include the last few lines from “Weighing Anchor,” the last of three posts for that Song. I include those lines here because today’s post continues that conversation from the previous post. 

Here, the journey begins in earnest. Our two adventurers have prepared provisions, and the blessing of the red boat for transportation. But the question remains: How well have they prepared themselves, both in body and mind? Of course, a journey on a river is classic, near mythical. The rhythm of the water’s flow, and the fact that “Time is marked by sun and meals and sleeping” are seductive. This is perhaps so because our travelers have entered the natural conditions of life just as it is, without contrivance or preconceived concepts. All is new. Everything hums with the physical, biological environment. Very little of humanity’s creations intrude.

Here are the last few lines from the prior post

So, what were you afraid of?” He’s attentive 

“Well, I’m not sure. I try not to think much.”

“Here’s a chance to try,” Hart encourages

“No, you first. You’re the one who brought up fear.”

“All right,” Hart concedes with mock impatience.  

            “I’ve got two points to zero so far now.”

“Not unless you say what you’re afraid of.”

Snakes and Dragons – segment 1

“That’s easy.  I miss that town we just left   

            and I wonder if I’ll see it again

            I didn’t hate it like you did, you know.

            But it was ‘when’ not ‘if’ that I would go.

            Your turn, and in the telling make it so”

Hart settles into silence – looks at me

“You’re right.  I couldn’t wait to leave that town

            I don’t miss anyone, but it’s the place

            I’ve always lived, so it’s like falling out

            of the nest.  It’s a good thing, but I’m scared.”

“Of what exactly?  Right now, for instance?”

I keep rowing to focus on something

that is mechanical without feelings

“Well, for instance, at the end of today

                        we have to get a message to our folks.”

“It’s already taken care of,” Hart says

            while barely suppressing an impish smile

“What!? That can’t be!” And now I stop rowing.

“I did it myself, and through mine yours know.”

“When?”

“Before we left.”

“If they told my parents, we wouldn’t be

            rowing down this river in this red boat."

“Well, we’re in the boat but you aren’t rowing.”

I pull up and slam both oars in their locks.

“Careful, you’ll break our boat,” says Hart giggling

“This boat is out of service until you

            tell me what you have done or didn’t do!”

“Let me start at this good boat’s beginning.  

            I told my parents immediately 

about our intentions. It seemed right to tell. 

How do you think I got all this food, blankets

and even some coin which I haven’t mentioned?”

Ignoring the money and provisions,

            I went to the heart of my own concern

“You trusted them? Are you some kind of fool!?”

“They’ve never given me reason not to.

            Not like your folks, I guess.  That is too bad.

I told them you wanted to be secret.

            They agreed to break the news to your folks

            tonight, when they expect us back in town.  

            All my parents asked was that I let them

know how we’re doing every week or two.”

I drop my forehead to my upright palms

I can’t believe how easy Hart makes this

I had snuck and stole and not said a word

I know my parents and they would never

            agree to such an open-ended jaunt

Still, I felt guilty about my deceit

            but telling Hart this? No. That won’t happen

“I’m not telling my parents like some kid.”

“Don’t have to. They’ll get the news anyway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?  I feel betrayed.”

“You would not have agreed.  Now we are gone.”

“I’ll get over it.  At least that’s one fear 

            counted down and dozens more to deal with.”

“Probably more,” Hart says.  “Now let me row.”

Two days later and many miles downstream

Hart and I have settled into silence

except when some words emerge worth saying

In this way we hear water-carried sounds

            birdsong, creatures rustling on shore, humming

                        from river towns – voices, carts, machinery

And always water sounds – droplets from oars

            wavelets against sandbars, dives from the boat

                        to cool off, then hanging from the stern while

                        the relentless current glides us due South

            

Time is marked by sun and meals and sleeping

            the last taking up a larger portion

                        than perhaps it should but the rocking boat

                        and the high-arched sun both tax energy

                        and staying awake much without purpose

On the hot afternoon of the fifth day 

            I sit chin in hand watching the boat’s prow

                        divide the silt-brown water into two 

diverging ripples expanding outward

Suddenly, a slender shadow-wrinkle

appears before the bow, off to the left

I shade my eyes against the glare, follow

            the rift to its source and there protruding

                        an inch or two above the waterline

                                    a glistening flat-scaled water snake’s gray head

                                                eyes – two fire-yellow coals of steely light 

                                    around her neck a broken, pale gold ring                     

                                    underbelly flashes glimpses of orange

“Stop rowing,” I whisper and point so Hart

            can see the reason for my abrupt charge 

I hear him gently pull up oars and lock  

We glide in the central channel, silent

            now paralleling the slender bodied

                        river snake who heads due South just like us

“Looks like she’s going somewhere,” I whisper.

“Most everybody is by accident

            or intention,” Hart whispers back sagely

“May be a ‘he?’”  It’s hard to tell with snakes.”

The serpent’s length looks about ten inches

            with girth hardly as round as a fat thumb 

Within the snake’s tiny head, I can’t see

            much room for intention, yet her wriggling

                        clear direction is not accidental

Her motive comes from my imagination

the force is obvious – of course, instinct –

                        a source of knowing without thought.  That’s good!

So very much simpler than relying 

            on our brains with their uncertain groping

But now a flush of impulse bubbles up 

“Let’s follow her!” I whisper sharp to Hart

“That’s likely,” he replies, “since we are all

            drifting South with the current anyway.”

I wave him off with a disgusted look

            and turn back to the spunky snake forging

            the river trailing the tiniest wake

A bit farther on she veers to the right

            but seems wary of our bow following

                        a few feet behind.  “Back row a bit,”

                        I whisper to Hart. “Watch her reaction.”

“All right, captain,” he says under his breath

When the snake likes the margin, she tacks off

            to left, crosses our bow, and makes for shore

We follow some yards behind and as we

near shore she vanishes around a corner

Hart pulls toward the snake’s left turn, and whispers,

“Shadowing a snake is bad, I must say.”

“I guess, if we were traveling in Eden.

            and if this snake was up an apple tree.”

I focus on the snake’s vanishing point

As we glide near, a backwater channel

            opens up that lays completely hidden

                        and there’s the snake waggling her way along

like she knows the place and where she’s going

In fact, she is far more certain than we

            who have no better compass than this lean 

                        reptile-needle’s unspecified objective 

We stay well back so as not to frighten

our unusual guide but each time we round

                        another channel turn, the snake appears

                                    making passage like a ship coming home

At the third turn, an old broken-down pier

            comes into view and behind it a hut

            with fishing nets and traps hung between trees

“I think we should turn around,” cautions Hart

“Nobody’s here.  Let’s go see,” I counter

Hart does not answer but keeps on rowing

The snake has disappeared under the dock

We crease the first piling and I hold us

            there while I peer under the dock and try

            to locate the snake.  “Phew! What smells rotten?”

            Hart asks holding his nose and grimacing

“There’s a bunch of fish parts floating around

under here,” I say peering under the dock

“Maybe the snake eats them.  That’s why she’s here.”

Hart lets out a short gasp.  I say,  "Don’t be

            so fragile,” but when I get up to face

            him I see he’s staring at the old hut

            and he looks like he has seen a demon – 

Background:

When a young person decides it is time to leave home, history lies behind, and for the most part, a blank future stretches ahead. This dynamic of past and future creates a tension that pushes the person onward in an ever-present state of alertness. Everything seems (and usually is) new. Everything seems brighter, richer, closer, and aglow with living. Have all of us not experienced this kind of adventure in small or large ways? If not, have we not longed for such a journey?

Exploration #1: In contrast to Hart, what do you think drives the main character to such an extreme aversion to the home town just left behind?

Exploration #2: Does the appearance of the water snake and its subsequent actions seem believable? From a literary sense, what could the snake symbolize?

Exploration #3: What are the differences in attitudes and beliefs between Hart and the protagonist as exhibited by the incident with the snake? With such diametrically opposed views, what are the chances they will continue to travel together?

NEXT: Snakes and Dragons – Segment 2