Despite the arguing, we got the windows up in time to save us from the red, brown dust that can clog your nostrils for weeks, or at least most of us survived. Chris was sneezing. That'll teach him to get the window up faster.
It was five minutes of hell everytime we passed a truck or car. To avoid choking, it was manditory to get the windows up before the automobile passed us. Both cars had to slow down and sneak by each other, avoiding the drainage ditches on both sides. Then the drivers had to trudge through the other car's dust for about four minutes, until the fog had lifted. Even rolling up the windows didn't stop the dust from coming in, we still had to tape the hatch back shut and stuff towels in the door jams.
Then Alice, my older sister, screamed, "There's a snake in the road."
"Oh, Les." My Mom said to my Father while she grabbed her seat belt. "Slow down! There's a snake in the road."
"Oh, boss!" said Chris, my younger brother.
"God, that sucker's big," I said, "Hey, Dad, what kind is it?"
My Dad's eyes opened wide, turned glassy, and got that look resembling those times when he used to spank us, all serious like.
"Go around it," My Mom said. "Don't run over it. Oh, Les! It may come up from the bottom."
Meanwhile an African woman, with her baby strapped to her back with a piece of Java print, had already anticipated the danger and had picked up a large stick out of the ditch. My Father was just about to squash the six foot snake--ba bump!
"It's dead," he said as he pulled over.
The woman, with the eucalyptus branch in her right hand, began thumping the still very much alive snake. It was crawling awkardly for shelter in the gutter. Then the baby began to cry. A short cry, then a long silence while it breathed. Then another series, always accompanied by the haphazard beat of the club. Then a young Aftrican man road up on his bicycle and saw that it was his job to kill the already mutilated snake. He ran over to the lady, shouting at the top of his register, grabbed the stick and started pounding the snake into the ground, giving one loud cry for each hit.
The big bloody mess didn't even resemble a snake any more. The woman, sick to her stomach, began throwing up. Gobs of muck came spewing out of her mouth and splashed to the ground.
"Start the car, Les." Mom said.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Mom, I feel sick; let me out."
1979
© Donald Grube, 2010
