Snake Read Online Free Page B

with sticks.
    â€˜Ya ya ya ya.’
    â€˜Ho. Ho. Gittalong.’
    The ramp bowed under the bull’s weight.
    â€˜Hurry it up.’
    The bull reached the bottom of the ramp and surveyed the scene, taking his time, betraying no agitation. He had the comportment of a dictator: magisterial, mean. The cows, unsettled by the noise, had removed themselves to a far corner of the paddock. At that moment, Girlie saw what she was not supposed to see: the bull’s penis, unsheathed, livid, huge. Girlie stole away. Boy caught sight of the bull’s penis at the exact same moment: His eyes bugged out of his head.

17
    Hillbilly Music
    I T WAS LATE, around midnight, and in the shadows on the ceiling of Boy’s room, the Battle of Britain was being fought, Spitfires in dogfights with Messerschmitts, Flying Fortresses and Blenheim Bombers droning across the English Channel. They were model airplanes hanging from nylon fishing line. Fiddly bits of plastic glued to plastic, faithful in detail down to decals and the number of guns in the turrets.
    The household was asleep, except for Boy, who was under the blankets, where it was warm and sharp-smelling, like a fox’s lair. He was listening to his transistor radio, a Grundig, his pride and joy, which was tuned to a station playing country music. Hank Williams was singing, ‘Hey, Good-Looking.’ Boy liked the man’s nasal voice, the economy of his message, his restraint. The radio was Boy’s school. He learned about life from it, the best he could.
    Boy was exactly the child that Irene wanted, sturdily masculine, with a winning manner. He was a great one for agreeing with you and then doing as he wanted.
    They enjoyed each other, mother and son. They laughed a lot.

19
    Varanus Giganteus
    R EX BELIEVED A country woman should be able to do everything her husband could and more. In keeping with this policy, he announced over porridge that Girlie was to help him kill a rooster. This meant chopping off the head, plunging the body into scalding water so that the feathers could be plucked easily, eviscerating it. The mess afterward was terrible, with feathers and globs of gut everywhere. Once, a headless bird had flapped loose from Rex’s hands and run in useless, frantic circles; even Boy was more appalled than entertained.
    Water was put on the stove, and the stump used as a chopping block placed on the lawn. Girlie stood on the verandah and watched the preparations. She couldn’t speak or move; she was paralyzed with revulsion. The rooster lay in the shade of an ornamental grapevine, its legs bound, struggling feebly.
    â€˜Here, Girlie. Come and hold it. Like this.’ Rex laid the bird across the stump. ‘I’ll do the honors with the axe.’
    Suddenly Girlie was running down the path, slamming the gate, hightailing it across the paddocks. She inched under barbwire fences, crashed through stubble, eventually hiding in a clump of box trees, where she stayed all day, concealing herself whenever the utility truck came near, the sheep dogs in the back, Rex calling her name. Eventually, around dusk, under cover of the lengthening shadows, she crept home and lay on her bed, feigning sleep.
    Rex hauled her off the bed. He rarely cuffed his children, but he had been out of his mind with worry. He yelled at her until she howled; he shook her so hard her head wobbled on her shoulders.
    Rex decided that what would cure Girlie of her rebelliousness was a dose of Epsom salts. He was a great believer in Epsom salts, to cleanse the bowel but also to spruce up the spirit. With a large enough dose, a morose person could be made sunny overnight. He mixed a tablespoon of the stuff in warm water, and Girlie scrunched up her face to swallow it.
    â€˜You’re as ugly as a goanna when you do that,’ said Rex, to check tears.
    The Epsom salts had the desired effect: Girlie’s feces turned to water and gushed from her. Mortified, she positioned a