Chapter 2 no snakes in ireland
Across the desk, McQueen eyed the newcomer suspiciously.He never hired such a person.But McQueen is not hard-hearted. If the job seeker is short of money and willing to work, then he will not object to giving the other party a chance.
"It's hard work, you know?" he asked, with a thick Belfast accent in his voice.
"Yes, sir," said the applicant.
"It's a quick job. Don't ask questions. It's not illegal. It's contract work. Do you understand what that means?"
"I don't understand, Mr. McQueen."
"Well, it means that there is a lot of money for you, but it is paid in cash without any formalities. Do you understand?"
He meant no income tax and no health insurance.It seemed he should add that the work was not covered by state workers' compensation insurance and that health and safety standards were simply disregarded.After the day's work is done, everyone can get the money immediately, and of course he will get the bulk because he is the contractor.The job seeker nods to show he understands, even though he doesn't.McQueen studied him.
"You said you were a medical student in your final year at the Royal Victorian College of Medicine?" Another nod.
"It's summer vacation?" Another nod.
The job applicant is clearly a cash-strapped student who needs money to get through medical school.McQueen sits in this shabby office in Bangor, running this thievery business with a battered truck and a pile of second-hand sledgehammers.He considered himself a self-made man, devoutly embracing the Protestant philosophy of work in Northern Ireland.For people who can share this philosophy, no matter what the other person looks like, he will not turn him away.
"Well," he said, "you'd better get a place here in Bangor, it's impossible to get to and from Belfast on time every day. We start at seven in the morning and work till sundown. By the hour It's tiring, but it's very profitable. Say a word to the government and you'll be fired and thrown out like shit on a shovel. Okay?"
"Yes, sir. Excuse me, when will I start? Where will I go?"
"The truck picks up at the Station Square every morning at six-thirty. Assemble there on Monday morning. The foreman is Big Billy Cameron, and I'll tell him about you."
"Okay, Mr. McQueen." The job seeker turned to leave.
"One last thing," McQueen said, picking up his pencil, "what's your name?"
"Halkishan Ram Lal," said the student.McQueen looked at the pencil in his hand and the list of workers on the table, and then at the student.
"We'll just call you Ram," he said.That's the name he wrote down on the list.
The students walked out of the house, and it was Bangor in July outside the house, and the sun was shining brightly.This place is located on the north coast of County Down, Northern Ireland.
On Saturday evening he found cheap lodging in a run-down boarding-house in Station Street, the part of Bangor where small hotels are concentrated and within easy reach of the railway station.Every morning, the trucks leave from there.Through the dirty window of the room he could see all the way to the other side of the embankment, where the trains from Belfast came in.
He searched for a long time before finding this room. Before that, he asked several boarding houses with "bed and breakfast provided" posted on the window, but the front desk told him that they were full.Indeed, in this midsummer season, many idle laborers flock to this town.The landlady, Mrs. McGurk, a Catholic, had a few vacant rooms.
On Sunday morning he brought his belongings from Belfast, mostly medical textbooks.In the afternoon, as he lay in bed, he thought of his home state of Punjab, where the scorching sun scorched the brown hills.After another year, he will become a qualified doctor, and after another year of practice, he can return to his hometown to treat the villagers.This is his dream.He calculated that this summer he would earn enough money to tide over the final difficulties.In the future, he will have his own salary income.
He was woken by the alarm clock at a quarter to six on Monday morning, washed in cold water, and arrived at the station square just after six.It was still early, so he found a cafe that opened earlier and drank two cups of black tea. This was his breakfast.At a quarter past six, a worker from the demolition team drove over in a broken truck, surrounded by a dozen people.Khalkishan Ram Lal didn't know whether to walk over and introduce himself to them, or wait at a distance.He chose to wait.
At twenty-five past six the foreman arrived in his own car.He parked on the side of a side road and strode over to the truck, McQueen's list in hand.He glanced at the dozen or so people and recognized them all, so he nodded.The Indian stepped forward, and the foreman glared at him.
"Are you the nigger McQueen hired to work?" he asked.
Ram Lal stopped in his tracks. "My name is Harkishan Ram Lal," he said, "Yes."
No need to ask how Billy Cameron got his nickname "Big Man"; he was six feet three inches tall without shoes, plus a pair of huge boots with spikes and steel toes on his feet.Two arms hung like tree trunks from broad shoulders, and a mop of ginger hair covered his head.His small eyes looked down fiercely on the little Indian.He was obviously not happy, and he spat on the ground.
"Get in the car then," he said.
On the way to the construction site, Cameron sat in the front cab, with no partition between the cab and the compartment.A dozen workmen sat on benches on either side of the carriage, and Ram Lal sat next to the tailgate, next to a small but stocky man with piercing blue eyes.His name was Tommy Burns, and he seemed friendly.
"Where are you from?" he asked, out of sheer curiosity.
"India," said Ram Lal, "Punjab."
"Well, where?" asked Tommy Burns.
Ram Lal smiled. "Punjab is part of India," he replied.
Burns thought for a moment. "Are you Protestant or Catholic?" he asked at last.
"Neither," said Ram Lal patiently, "I am a Hindu."
"You mean you're not even a Christian?" Burns asked in amazement.
"Yes, I believe in Hinduism."
"Hey," Burns said to the group, "this guy isn't even a Christian." He wasn't angry, just curious, like a child who has just discovered a new and interesting toy.
Cameron turned from the front cab. "Wow," he exclaimed, "a heathen."
The smile on Ram Lal's face disappeared.He stared at the canvas awning on the opposite side of the carriage.By this time they were south of Bangor, rumbling along the road towards Newtownards.After a while, Burns started introducing him to everyone.Among the workers were a Craig, a Monroe, a Patterson, a Boyd, and two Browns.Ram Rall has been in Belfast for a long time, and they can be identified from Scotland by their last names, which shows that they are both devout Presbyterians-the Protestants make up the majority of the people in Northern Ireland, and the Presbyterians is their backbone.These people looked friendly and nodded to him in return.
"Didn't you bring a lunch box, boy?" asked the older Patterson.
"No," said Ram Lal, "too early for the landlord to be ready."
"You've got to have lunch," said Burns, "and, well, breakfast. We'll make our own fire and make tea."
"I will definitely buy a lunch box and bring it with me tomorrow," Ram Lal said.
Burns looked at the Indian's rubber-soled boots. "You've never done this kind of work before, have you?" he asked.
Ram Lal shook his head.
"You need a pair of strong boots to protect your feet, understand?"
Ram Lal promised to buy a pair of army boots if he could find a store open back in the evening.Craig watched him from the opposite side as they made their way through Newtownards, still on the A21 towards the small southern town of Comer.
"What's your job?" Craig asked.
"I'm studying medicine at the Royal Victorian Medical College in Belfast," says Ram Lal, "and hope to graduate next year."
Tommy Burns was delighted. "Which means soon to be a real doctor," he said. "Hey, Big Billy, if any of us get a bruise, boy Ram can treat us."
Big Billy snorted. "He's not going to touch a finger of mine," he said.
This sentence suppressed the conversation. They drove all the way to the construction site, and no one said anything.After leaving Comer, the driver headed northwest again.The car traveled two miles on the road to Dundonald, turned right onto a side road, and stopped at the end of the woods.They saw the building that was about to be demolished.
There used to be two distilleries on this site that produced fine Irish whiskey, but both ceased production many years ago, and this huge old whiskey distillery is one of them, abandoned for years.It sits on the banks of the Comme River.The river flows from Dundonald to Comer, propels the distillery's huge water wheel, and continues down to Strangford Firth.Wagons hauled malt along that dirt road and barrels of whiskey out along the same road.The sweet river water that drove the machine was once poured into wine vats to make wine, but now the winery has been empty and abandoned for many years.
Then of course the local kids slipped in and found it an ideal place to play, until a child broke his leg and the local government came to investigate and declared it a dilapidated building and issued a demolition order to the owner.
The owner's ancestors had been prominent local squires, from a large family used to the good life, and he wanted to knock the house down as cheaply as possible, so he called on McQueen.Demolition with heavy machinery is quick but expensive, while Big Billy and his demolition crew use sledgehammers and crowbars to tear down houses.McQueen also struck a deal with a builder to resell him the finest lumber and hundreds of tons of old bricks.After all, rich people nowadays want their new houses to have a bit of "style", that is, to look antique.Since rich and high-ranking officials can decorate their seemingly ancient new residences, old bricks and old wooden beams that have been weathered by the sun are naturally expensive.McQueen will grant their wishes.
The truck rumbled back to Bangor. "Well, boys," said Big Billy, "here it is. We'll start with the roof tiles, and you know what to do."
The men stood by a mass of tools: a seven-pound hammer; a crowbar six feet long and over an inch thick; There are also short-handled hammers and various wood saws.The only means of ensuring their personal safety were some safety net straps with buckles and hundreds of feet of rope.Ram Lal looked up at the building and gasped. The building was four stories high and he had a fear of heights, but he couldn't faint or fall because the scaffolding was expensive.
One of them consciously walked up to the building, pried off a door panel, tore the boards apart like cards, and started a fire.Soon, a pot of water brought from the river boiled, and then the tea was ready.They each had an enameled mug except Ram Lal.He made a note of it in his heart and bought one too.The work was dusty and thirsty.Tommy Burns finished his cup of tea, refilled it, and handed it to Ram Lal.
"Do you drink tea in India?" he asked.
Ram Lal took the teacup.The tea has been steeped, sweet and off-white.he does not like.
They stood high on the roof and started their first morning's work.The tiles were not kept, so they were broken off by hand and thrown on the ground away from the river bank.They had been instructed not to block the canal, so the tiles had to be thrown over the other side of the building, on the ground around the winery, which was overgrown with wormwood, weeds, gorse and brambles.The workers are tied together with ropes, so that if one loses his grip and wants to slide down the roof, the people next to him can hold him.Due to the lack of tiles, large holes were exposed between the roof beams.The top floor was under their feet, and the malt warehouse was below.
At ten o'clock in the morning they descended the rickety stairs of the building to breakfast on the grass.They boiled another pot of tea.Ram Lal had no breakfast to eat.At two o'clock they break for lunch, and everyone else eats big sandwiches.Ram Lal looked at his hands.His hands were cut and bleeding in several places; his muscles ached and he was hungry.He secretly made a note to buy a pair of thick gloves.
Tommy Burns took a sandwich from his lunch box. "Aren't you hungry, Ram?" he asked, "Don't worry, I still have some here."
"What are you doing?" Big Billy asked across the fire.
Burns looked defensive. "Just give the boy a sandwich," he said.
"Let that nigger bring his own sandwich," said Big Billy, "and you mind yourself."
Everyone looked down at their lunch boxes and ate in silence, obviously no one wanted to argue with Big Billy.
"Thank you, I'm not hungry," Ram Lal said to Burns.He went aside, sat by the river, and dipped his burning hands in the water.
By the time the truck came to pick them up at sundown, half the roof tiles had been knocked off.Another day and it's time to use the saw and nail remover to remove the rafters.
This job has been done for a whole week.The once magnificent building, now rafters, planks and girders removed, stands empty.Open windows are like open eyes, looking forward to the coming of death.
Ram Lal was not used to such hard work.His muscles ached and his hands were blistered with blood, but he struggled because he needed money.
He had bought a lunch box, an enamel mug, a pair of stiff boots, and thick gloves.None of the others wore gloves; their hands were hardened by years of hard work.For a whole week, big Billy Cameron kept prodding him to do the heaviest work.Hearing that Ram Lal was afraid of heights, Billy arranged him to work on the highest place.The Punjabi swallowed his anger because he needed the money.On Saturday, things finally exploded.
All the wood has been removed, now they have to remove the masonry.The easiest way to make this huge building fall on the side away from the river is to plant explosives at the corner of the wall facing the open ground.But they couldn't do it that way, because anywhere in Northern Ireland you have to apply for a license to use explosives, which would alert the taxman, and McQueen and his men would have to pay a handsome income tax. McQueen also had to pay an additional state insurance premium.Therefore, they could only take the risk of standing on the crumbling floor and chiseling off the wall piece by piece. The supporting wall below continued to crack under the vibration of the sledgehammer, and was in danger of collapsing at any time.
At lunch, Big Billy walked around the building twice and then returned to the fire.He began to tell everyone how to remove a large piece of the outer wall on the third floor.He turned to Ram Lal.
"I want you to go up there," he said, "to kick the wall out when it's about to fall."
Ram Lal looked up at the wall. There was a long crack running across the base of the wall.
"This wall will fall any moment," he said calmly, "and whoever stands on it will fall with it."
Cameron stared at him, his face flushed, even the whites of his eyes. "I don't need your advice on my job. Do whatever you want, you stupid nigger." He turned and walked away.
Ram Lal stood up and said sharply, "Mr Cameron..."
Cameron turned around in surprise.The workers sat there with their mouths agape in shock.Ram Lal walked slowly towards the big foreman.
"There is one thing we want to make clear." Ram Lal said, his voice was so clear and loud that everyone in the open space could hear, "I am a Punjabi from northern India, and I am also of Kshatriya descent. The caste of the warrior. I may not have enough money to complete my medical studies now, but two thousand years ago my ancestors were warriors, princes, dignitaries and scholars, and your ancestors crawled naked on all fours. Please don't Humiliate me again."
Big Billy looked down at the Indian student, the whites of his eyes bright red.The other workers sat there dumbfounded.
"Is that so?" said Big Billy quietly. "Is it still like that now? Oh, it's not like it used to be, you black bastard. What do you want to do now?"
As he spoke, he swung his arms and slapped Ram Lal's face with a "slap".The lad fell several feet and landed on the ground.His head was buzzing and he heard Tommy Burns yelling, "Lie still, boy. If you stand up, Big Billy will kill you."
Ram Lal looked up at the sun.The giant stood right in front of him, fists clenched.It dawned on him that he couldn't take advantage of a fight with the tall Northern Irishman.A shameful sense of shame came over me.His ancestors once held swords and spears, rode horses and galloped across fields a hundred times larger than the six counties of Northern Ireland, and were invincible.
Ram Lal closed his eyes and lay still.After a while, he heard the big man go, and the others began to whisper.He closed his eyes tightly to keep the tears of shame from flowing.In the dark, he saw the scorching Punjab fields, and saw people galloping their horses across the fields.Brave and proud men with turbans, hooked noses, black eyes, and beards, they were the warriors of the land of the five great rivers.
A long time ago, at the beginning of the world, Alexander I of the Kingdom of Macedonia once stared at a pair of greedy eyes, rode his horse and whipped his whip, and galloped across this vast wilderness; Alexander, a young god, was called the Great by people. When he was fifteen, he wept with regret because there was no longer any place for him to conquer.And those riders are descendants of the generals under the emperor, and they are the ancestors of Harkishan Ram Lal.
He lay in the dust while they galloped past him, looking down at him.Everyone galloping by had one word for him: vengeance.
Ram Lal stood up without a word.Things have come to this point, what has to be done must be done, and that is how his people behave.He worked in silence the rest of the day.He doesn't talk to anyone, and no one talks to him.
As night fell that evening, he began to prepare.He removed the brushes and combs from the old dresser, removed the dirty doilies, and removed the mirror from its shelf.He took out a Hindu scripture and cut a page from the book with a picture of the goddess Shakti, who symbolizes power and justice.He nailed the portrait to the wall above the dresser, turning the dresser into a shrine.
He also bought a bunch of flowers from a stall at the station and wove them into a garland.On one side of the statue of the goddess he placed a shallow bowl half filled with sand.He stuck a candle in the sand and lit it.He took out a cloth roll from the suitcase, took out six sticks of incense, and took out a cheap vase with a narrow neck from the bookshelf, put the incense in it and lit it.A refreshing smell of smoke filled the room.Outside, there was a rumble of thunder from the sea.
After the shrine was ready, he stood in front of him and bowed his head, holding a wreath in his hand, and began to pray to the gods for guidance.The first thunderclap rolled over Bangor.He spoke not contemporary Punjabi but ancient Sanskrit for prayers: "Devi Shakti...Goddess Shakti...Holy Mother..."
There was another thunderclap, and the rain began to fall.He plucked the first flower and placed it in front of the Shakti statue.
"I have suffered a great injustice, and I pray for revenge." He plucked the second flower and placed it next to the first.
He prayed for an hour, and the rain continued.The rain drummed on the tiles above his head and trickled down the windows behind him.At the end of the prayer, the storm also abated.He needs to know what form the punishment will take, and he needs a signal from his goddess.
When he finished praying, the incense had just finished burning, and the room was filled with a rich aroma.The candles had also burned short, and the top of the dressing table in front of the statue was covered with flowers.Shakti looked at him calmly.
He turned and walked to the window to look out.The rain had stopped and everything outside the window was dripping.As he watched intently, a sudden gust of rain trickled down the gutter above the window.A trickle trickled down the dusty glass, cutting a trail through the grime.The dust prevented the water from flowing vertically downwards, but could only meander, so his sight was drawn to the corner of the window following the waterway.When the water stopped, his eyes fell on the corner of the room, where his pajamas were hanging on a nail.
He had noticed, during the downpour, that the straps of his pajamas had fallen and tangled up on the floor.The knotted end was out of sight, and the other end was exposed on the carpet, with only two of the dozen or so tassels sticking out like a forked tongue.The pajama strap looked like a snake in the corner.Ram Lal got it.
The next day he took a train to Belfast to visit a Sikh.
Ranjit Singh was also a medical student, but luckier.His parents were very rich and gave him a lot of living expenses.He received Ram Lal in a well-decorated room in his dormitory.
"I got a letter from home," Ram Lal said. "My father is dying."
"I am sorry," Ranjit Singh said, "and sympathize with you."
"He asked to see me. I'm the eldest son and I should go back."
"Of course," said Singer, "the eldest son is supposed to be by his side when the father dies."
"It's about the plane tickets," Ram Lal said. "I'm working part-time and earning a lot of money, but I don't have enough money right now. If you can lend me the bad money. I will continue to work when I come back." , will return it to you."
Sikhs will not refuse to borrow money, as long as the interest rate is suitable and the repayment is guaranteed.Ranjit Singh promised to go to the bank on Monday morning to withdraw money.
Ram Lal visited McQueen at his Groomsport home on Sunday night.Sitting in front of the TV with a can of beer in hand, the contractor likes to spend his Sunday nights that way.His wife led Ram Lal into the house, and he turned down the volume on the TV.
"It's about my father," Ram Lal said. "He's dying."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, lad," McQueen said.
"I have to go back and see him. At this time, the eldest son has to stay by his father's side. This is the custom of our nation."
McQueen has a son in Canada whom he hasn't seen in seven years.
"Yes," he said, "that's how it should be."
"I've borrowed money for the plane ticket," Ram Lal said. "If I leave tomorrow, I'll be back at the weekend. But the point is, Mr. McQueen, I need this job more than ever. There are tuition fees for next semester. If I come back at the weekend, can you keep this job for me?"
"Yes," said the contractor, "I won't pay you for the few days you're away, and I won't keep you an extra week's work, but if you can come back at the weekend, you can still come to work. Conditions remain the same, You have to understand."
"Thank you," Ram said, "that's very kind of you."
He kept his room in Station Street, but went back to his dormitory in Belfast for the night.On Monday morning, he accompanied Ranjit Singh to the bank, where the Sikh withdrew the required money and handed it to the Hindu.Ram took a taxi to Belfast International Airport, took a short flight to London, bought another economy ticket, and took the next flight to India.Twenty-four hours later, he landed in sweltering Mumbai.
On Wednesday, in a large, bustling market next to the Grant Road Bridge, he found what he was looking for.Mr. Chatterkey's tropical fish and reptile shop was empty when the young student, with his reptile textbook under his arm, wandered into it.He found the old shopkeeper sitting in the back of the store in the semi-darkness, surrounded by fish tanks and glass-fronted cases.During the hot day, the snakes and lizards in the boxes were napping.
Mr. Chatterkey is no stranger to academics.He supplied several medical centers with specimens for research and dissection, and the occasional lucrative foreign order.When the student explained to him what to buy, he nodded knowingly with his white beard.
"Oh, yes," said the old tradesman, "I know that kind of snake. You just happened to have one, and it just came from Rajputana the other day."
He led Ram Lal into a secret room, and the two silently stared at the snake through the glass.
This snake is called Echis Carinatus in textbooks, and the author of the book is of course an Englishman, but he uses a Latin name.In English, this is the saw-scaled viper, the smallest and most venomous of all deadly snakes.
Textbooks say that this snake is widely distributed, from West Africa to the northeast to Iran, and from India to Pakistan.They are highly adaptable, and they can survive in almost any environment, from the humid West African jungles to the cold winters of the Iranian plateau to the scorching heat of the Indian mountains.
Something moved under the leaves in the box.
Textbooks describe the snake as being between nine and thirteen inches long and very thin.The body is brownish green with light spots, which sometimes blend in with the surrounding environment and are difficult to distinguish; there is a slightly darker wavy line on the side of the body.It is a nocturnal animal in hot and dry environments and hides during the heat of the day.
The leaves in the box swirled again, and a small head appeared.
The textbook explains that this snake is particularly dangerous to catch, and that it kills more people than the famous cobra, mainly because it is so small that if you don't pay attention, your hands and feet will touch it.The textbook author also added a footnote to the effect that the small deadly vipers mentioned by Kipling in his masterpiece "Ricky Tiki Tavi" certainly did not grow to two feet long A krait, more likely a saw-scaled viper.The author is apparently happy to cite the famous Kipling to prove the accuracy of his description.
Inside the box, a small black forked tongue was sticking out from the other side of the glass toward the two Indians.
Wary and irritable, is how the long-dead British natural scientist summed up Echis Carinatus.It attacks without warning, its fangs are very small, like two slender thorns, the marks left after the bite are not easy to detect.People who are bitten have no pain, but are almost certain to die. They usually only live for two to four hours, and the specific time of survival depends on the weight of the person bitten, as well as the body's resistance at the time of being bitten and after being bitten.The cause of death was cerebral hemorrhage.
"How much does this cost?" Ram Lal asked in a low voice.
The old shopkeeper spread his hands helplessly. "Such a rare breed," he said regretfully, "and hard to come by. Five hundred rupees."
Ram Lal sealed the deal for three hundred and fifty rupees, put the snake in a jar and took it away.
In preparation for his return to London, Ram Lal bought a box of cigars, emptied the box, and poked twenty small holes in the lid for ventilation.He knew that the tiny adder could go a week without food and two or three days without water, all it needed was a little air.So, he packed the viper and leaves in a humidor, resealed it, wrapped it, and wrapped it in a few towels so the fluffy towels would retain enough air even in a suitcase.
He had come with just a handbag, but on his return he bought a cheap soft-shell suitcase, packed it with some clothes from a market stall, and put the cigar box in the middle.He locked the suitcase a few minutes before leaving the hotel for the Mumbai airport.On the flight back to London, he checked his suitcases with the airline and checked his hand luggage, but found nothing of note.
The Air India jet touched down at London's Heathrow Airport on Friday morning.Ram Lal was among the long line of Indians bound for England.He proved he was a medical student and not an immigrant, and he was quickly let go.When he arrived at the baggage claim area, he happened to see the first batch of luggage tumbling out of the conveyor belt. His suitcase was among the twenty or so pieces of luggage in this batch.He walked into the bathroom with the suitcase, took out the cigar box from it, and put it in his handbag.
At the undeclared passage, he was stopped again, but only his suitcase was checked.The customs officer glanced at the satchel on his shoulder and let him through.Ram Lal took the free bus, walked through Heathrow Airport to Terminal 1, and took the noon airport shuttle bus to Belfast.At tea time he arrived in Bangor and was finally able to examine what he had brought.
He took a piece of glass from the bedside table, carefully inserted it between the cigar box lid and the deadly snake inside, and opened the lid.Through the glass, he could see the Viper turning around inside.It stopped and stared at him with angry black eyes.He lowered the lid and quickly pulled out the glass piece.
"Sleep, little one," he said, "if you want to sleep. Tomorrow morning, you will fulfill the mission she gave you for Shakti."
Before dark, he bought a small pitcher of twist-top coffee and poured the contents into a china jug in his room.In the morning, wearing thick gloves, he transferred the adder from the box to the jar.The angry snake bit his glove, but he didn't mind.By noon, it will have venom again.He watched for a moment the coiled snake in the glass coffee jar, screwed the lid on one last time, and placed it in the lunch box.Then, he went to catch the work bus.
Big Billy Cameron had a habit of taking off his coat as soon as he got to the job site and hanging it on the nearest nail or branch.Ram Lal noticed that, during lunch, the tall foreman made sure to go to his coat and take out his pipe and tobacco pouch from his right pocket, every day, as soon as he had finished his meal.After a comfortable pipe, he would knock off the ash, get up and call, "Now, lads, to work," before putting the pipe back in his coat pocket.When he turned back, everyone had to stand up.
Ram Lal's plan is simple but cannot go wrong.In the morning he would sneak the poisonous snake into the right pocket of the hanging coat.Big Billy Cameron, after eating his sandwich, would get up from the fire, go to his coat, put his hands in the pockets; and the snake would do the will of the great Shakti, and carry out its long journey , across half the world to carry out the mission.It will be the adder, not Ram Lal, who will put to death the Northern Irishman.
Big Billy would be swearing and pulling his hand out of his pocket, the adder hanging from his finger, its fangs digging deep into the flesh.Ram Lal will jump up, tear off the viper and drop it to the ground, stamping on its head.At this time, it is harmless and its venom has been excreted.Finally, in a gesture of disgust, Ram Lal would throw the trampled Adder far into the Comme River, which would carry the evidence to the sea.That might raise suspicions, but that's about it.
Just after eleven o'clock, Harkishan Ram Lal pretended to find a new sledgehammer, and took the opportunity to open the lunch box and take out the coffee can.He unscrewed the lid and shook the contents into the right pocket of the hanging coat.In less than a minute, he was back at work, and no one noticed his movements.
At lunch, he felt unable to eat.Everyone sat in a circle around the fire as usual.The old, cracked planks crackled, and the water in the kettle gurgled and boiled over the fire.The workers talked, laughed and joked with each other as usual.Big Billy wolfed down a large sandwich his wife had prepared for him.Ram Lal had chosen a place by the fire, near the coat, to sit down.He forced himself to eat.The heart in his chest was beating violently, and his spirit became more and more tense.
Finally, Big Billy crumpled up his finished sandwich bag and threw it into the fire, belching a lot.He stood up with a grunt and walked over to his coat.Ram Lal turned to look, but none of the others noticed.Big Billy went to his coat and put his hand in his right pocket, and Ram Lal caught his breath.Cameron fumbled in his pocket for a while, then pulled out his pipe and pouch.He started filling the pipe with tobacco, and found Ram Lal staring at him.
"What are you looking at?" he asked defiantly.
"Nothing," said Ram Lal, turning his face toward the fire.但他坐不住，于是站起来伸展一下身体，趁机把身子偏过去。他用眼角的余光看到卡梅伦把烟叶袋放回口袋中，又从中掏出一盒火柴。工头点着烟斗，惬意地抽了起来，然后信步走回火堆旁边。
拉姆·拉尔又坐回原先的位子上，难以置信地凝视着火焰。怎么回事，他问自己，伟大的沙克蒂怎么会这样对待他呢？那毒蛇是她的工具，是按她的旨意带来执行任务的道具，但她却打退堂鼓，拒绝使用这样的报复手段了。他转过头去，又偷偷看了那件外套一眼。在衣服衬里的左边紧靠接缝的最底部，有个东西动了一下，然后安静了。拉姆·拉尔震惊得闭上了双眼。一个洞，衣服衬里中有个小洞，这把他的整个计划给毁了。下午余下的时间里，他工作时一直恍恍惚惚，忧心忡忡。
坐卡车返回班戈时，大个子比利·卡梅伦与往常一样坐在前面。由于天热，他把外套叠起来放在膝上。在车站前，拉姆·拉尔看到他把仍然叠着的外套扔到自己汽车的后座上，然后驾车离去了。拉姆·拉尔追上正在等公共汽车的汤米·伯恩斯。
“告诉我，卡梅伦先生有家小吗？”他问。
“当然有，”这位小个子工人爽快地说，“老婆和两个孩子。”
“他住的地方离这里远吗？”拉姆·拉尔说，“我看他开着车。”
“不远，”伯恩斯说，“在基尔库利小区那边。我想应该是加纳威花园。你想去拜访他？”
“不，不，”拉姆·拉尔说，“星期一见。”
回到自己的房间后，拉姆·拉尔盯着正义女神那张没有表情的脸。
“我无意害死他的老婆和孩子，”他告诉她说，“他们并没有伤害我。”
女神从远处凝视着他，没有回答。
这个周末，哈尔基尚·拉姆·拉尔都是在忧虑的煎熬中度过的。那天傍晚，他走到环路旁的基尔库利小区，找到了加纳威花园。这地方就在欧文罗花园旁边，对面是沃尔本路。在沃尔本路的角落里有一个电话亭，他在那儿逗留了一个小时，装作打电话的样子，观察着路对面那条不长的街道。他觉得自己看到了大个子比利·卡梅伦的身影出现在某个窗口前，便记住了那座房子。
他看到一个十几岁的女孩从那屋子出来，与几个朋友相会。一时间，他真想追上前去，告诉她此刻有个恶魔正隐藏在他父亲的外套里，可是他没有勇气。
接近黄昏时，一位妇女提着购物篮从屋里走出来。他尾随她来到克兰德博伊购物中心。为了方便那些周六才领到工资的人购物，那里关门较晚。那位妇女走进了斯图尔特超市，她应该就是卡梅伦夫人。拉姆·拉尔跟着她走到货架前面，他想鼓起勇气走上去，告诉她家中的危险，但他还是不敢。毕竟，他有可能认错人，甚至还有可能看错了房子。那样的话，人们就会把他当成疯子带走。
那天夜晚，他没有睡好，脑子里老是浮现出那条锯鳞蝰蛇的影子，它从外套衬里的藏身处无声无息地溜出来，在全家酣睡的房子里游走，带去死亡的威胁。
星期天他又去基尔库利小区附近徘徊，而且认准了卡梅伦家的房子。他清楚地看到大个子比利在后花园里。下午三四点钟光景，他已经引起了当地人的注意。他意识到，他要么得大胆地走到正门前，承认自己所干的事；要么就得走开，一切听从女神的摆布。想到要与可怕的卡梅伦面对面，并且讲出实情，说卡梅伦的孩子正处于致命危险的威胁下，他简直怕得要命。于是，他又走回到车站街。
星期一早上五点三刻，卡梅伦全家起床了。这是八月一个阳光灿烂的早晨。六点钟时，全家四口人在房子后部的小厨房里吃早饭。儿子、女儿和妻子都穿着睡衣。大个子比利已经穿好上班的衣服了。他的外套还在过道的衣柜里，整个周末都没动过。
刚过六点钟，他的女儿珍妮一边往嘴里塞果酱吐司面包，一边站了起来。“我去盥洗室。”她说。
“姑娘，先去衣柜里把我的外套拿来。”她父亲一边说，一边吃着盘子里的麦片粥。过了一会儿，小姑娘拎着外套的领子回来了。她把衣服递给父亲，他连头也没抬。
“挂到门后去。”他说。女孩照办了。但是外套领子里没有悬挂用的标签，挂钩也不是一颗生锈的钉子，而是个镀铬衣钩，非常滑。外套在钩子上挂了一会儿，就滑落到厨房的地板上。姑娘正要走出房间，她父亲抬起头来。
“珍妮，”他喊道，“把那玩意儿捡起来。”
在卡梅伦家中，谁也不敢与一家之主犟嘴。珍妮走回来，捡起外套在衣钩上挂好。这时候，有个又细又黑的东西从衣服缝里滑落下来，蜿蜒地游到角落里，在油地毡上发出了干涩的沙沙声。她惊恐地瞧着它。
“爸爸，你衣服里那东西是什么啊？”
大个子比利·卡梅伦往嘴里送麦片粥的动作停了下来，卡梅伦夫人从炉灶边转过身，十四岁的儿子鲍比也停止往吐司面包上抹黄油的动作，朝这边看过来。那小东西盘曲在一排柜橱旁的角落里，紧紧弓着身子，一副防卫的样子。它盯着周围看，小小的信子在快速地一伸一缩。
“天哪，这是一条蛇。”卡梅伦夫人说。
“别犯傻了，老婆子，你难道不晓得爱尔兰没有蛇吗？人人都知道。”她丈夫说，放下勺子，“是什么东西，鲍比？”
尽管大个子比利在家在外都像个暴君，但他对儿子的学识还是有点敬佩的，儿子在学校里学习成绩很好，知道不少奇闻趣事。男孩透过他那猫头鹰般的眼镜看着那条蛇。
“肯定是一条无脚蜥，爸爸，”他说，“上学期别人弄了几条到学校里在上生物课时解剖用，是从海对面搞来的。”
“我看不像是蠕虫。”他父亲说。
“无脚蜥不是蠕虫，”鲍比说，“它是种没有脚的蜥蜴。”
“那为什么人们还管它叫蠕虫？”他那不轻信的父亲如此追问道。
“我不知道。”鲍比说。
“那你他妈上学是去干什么的？”
“它会咬人吗？”卡梅伦夫人害怕地问。
“根本不会咬人，”鲍比说，“它是无害的。”
“弄死它，”卡梅伦说，“扔到垃圾箱里去。”
他儿子从桌旁站起来，脱下一只拖鞋，像拿苍蝇拍似的握在手中。他光着脚向角落走去，这时候，他父亲改变了主意。大个子比利抬起头来，脸上露出得意的微笑。
“等一等，别动，鲍比，”他说，“我有个主意。老婆，给我拿个罐子来。”
“什么样的罐子？”卡梅伦太太问。
“我怎么知道你有什么样的罐子？有盖子的罐子就行了。”
卡梅伦夫人叹了一口气，绕过那条蛇，打开了碗柜。她审视着里面满满当当的瓶瓶罐罐。
“有一个果酱罐，里面装着干豆子。”她说。
“把豆子放到别的地方去，把罐子给我。”大个子比利命令道。她把罐子递给了他。
“你要干什么，爸爸？”鲍比问。
“我们工地上有个黑鬼，一个异教徒，他来自一个多蛇的国度。我打算跟他开个玩笑，一个小小的玩笑。把微波炉手套递给我，珍妮。”
“你不必带手套，”鲍比说，“它不会咬你的。”
“我不想碰那个肮脏的东西。”卡梅伦说。
“它不脏，”鲍比说，“它是很干净的生物。”
“你这个傻瓜，小子，你被学校里教的那点东西弄傻了。《圣经》里不是说，'汝必须用肚子爬行，以土为生……'哦，何止吃土呀。我不想用手碰它。”
珍妮把微波炉手套递给她父亲，大个子比利·卡梅伦左手拿着开了盖儿的果酱罐子，右手戴着手套，站到蝰蛇跟前。他的右手慢慢伸下去，快到地面时，快速地一抓。但小蛇的动作更快，它那微小的利齿下意识地刺进了手套填料内部的掌心处。卡梅伦没有注意到，因为他的视线被他自己的手挡住了。转眼间，他就把蛇抓进了果酱罐里，然后盖上了盖子。透过玻璃，他们看到它在里面疯狂地扭动着。
“我讨厌这些东西，不管它是不是有害，”卡梅伦夫人说，“谢谢你，快把它弄出去吧。”
“这就弄出去，”她丈夫说，“我都快要迟到了。”
他把果酱罐放进肩包，里面已经装好了饭盒，他又把烟斗和烟叶袋装到外套的右口袋里，再把包和衣服都放进汽车里。抵达车站广场时，他已经迟到了五分钟。他惊异地发现那个印度学生目不转睛地盯着他。
我看他以后是不会这样看我了，在他们朝南驶向纽敦纳兹和康默的路上，大个子比利心里想道。
到半晌午时，工地上其他人都知道了大个子比利的秘密玩笑，但都忍着不让那个“黑鬼”知道。当然不会让他知道——既然可以确定这条无脚蜥蜴完全无害，那么他们也认为这只是个小小的恶作剧。只有拉姆·拉尔蒙在鼓里，他埋头干活，私下里又在担心和忧虑。
吃中饭时，他本该感到怀疑，他周围的气氛明显很紧张。虽然大家与平时一样，围坐在火堆旁，但谈话有些不自然。要不是心事重重，他本该注意到其他人脸上那种似笑非笑的样子和朝他看过来的眼光，但他没有注意到。他把饭盒放在膝头上，打开了盖子。盘曲在三明治和苹果之间，倏地回头发起袭击的，正是那条蝰蛇。
印度人的尖叫响彻空地的上空，紧接着是工人们的哄然大笑。他边叫边全力将饭盒抛向空中。食物向各处飞散，纷纷落入周围茂盛的蒿草、金雀花和荆棘丛中。
拉姆·拉尔边喊边跳起来。大家直笑得在地上打滚，其中笑得最厉害的是大个子比利。他已经有好几个月没有这么开心地笑过了。
“那是蛇，”拉姆·拉尔尖叫道，“是毒蛇。快跑开！大家都快跑！它会杀人！”
笑声变得更响亮了，工人们简直难以自控。玩笑对象的反应超乎他们的预料。
“请相信我。这是蛇，是一条致命的毒蛇。”
大个子比利笑得满脸通红。他擦去笑出来的泪花，坐到拉姆·拉尔对面的空地上。印度人站在那里，发疯般地扫视着四周。
“你这个无知的黑鬼，”大个子比利喘着气说，“难道你不知道爱尔兰是没有蛇的吗？一条也没有。”
他肚子都笑疼了，于是向后仰倒在草地上，用双手支撑着身体。他没有注意到两根荆棘般细小的刺，已扎入他右腕内侧的血管里。
玩笑开完了，饥肠辘辘的人们大口吃起午饭。哈尔基尚·拉姆·拉尔勉强坐下来，却还一直在环顾四周。他右手端着一杯热气腾腾的茶水，只用左手吃饭，并远离那些长得高高的青草。午饭后，他们继续干活。古老的酒厂即将被拆倒，一堆堆瓦砾和可用的木料都盖满尘土，沐浴在八月的阳光下。
下午三点半，大个子比利·卡梅伦停下工作，站了起来。他拄着鹤嘴锄，抹了一下额头，然后他用舌头舔了舔手腕内侧的微小肿块，接着又干了起来。五分钟后，他又站直了身子。
“我感到不太舒服，”他告诉身旁的帕特森，“我去树荫里休息一下。”
他在一棵树下坐了一会儿，然后用双手捧住头。他一直这样紧紧地抱着剧痛欲裂的脑袋。四点一刻时，他突然抽搐了一下，倒向一边。几分钟后，汤米·伯恩斯才注意到他。他走了过去，呼喊帕特森。
“大个子比利病了，”他叫道，“他不答我话了。”
大家都停下手中的活，聚集到工头躺着的树荫下。他那无神的眼睛凝视着咫尺之遥的青草。帕特森俯下身去。他已经干了多年的体力活，见过几次在工地上死人的事。
“拉姆，”他说，“你是学医的。你看是怎么回事？”
拉姆·拉尔用不着检查，但他还是做了。他站直身子的时候，什么也没说，但帕特森明白了。
“你们都待在这里，”他指挥大家，“我去打电话叫救护车，再通知麦奎因。”他顺着土路向大路走去。
半小时后，救护车先到了。车子沿着土路倒车进来，两个人把卡梅伦抬到一副担架上。他们把他送到纽敦纳兹总医院，那是最近的急救医疗点。在那里，医生宣布该病人已经死亡。又过了三十分钟，万分忧虑的麦奎因赶到了。
由于死因不明，必须进行尸检。尸体被转运到纽敦纳兹市立停尸所，在那里由负责北康郡地区的法医病理学家进行尸体解剖。那天是星期二。到晚上时，法医的尸检报告就已经送往位于贝尔法斯特北康郡地区的验尸官办公室了。
报告没有特别提及什么。死者为一个四十一岁的男子，身材高大、健壮。他的体表有多处轻微划伤和挫伤，多位于手掌和腕部，都是干粗活造成的，与死因无关。无疑，死亡是由大面积脑溢血所引起的，脑溢血则很可能是在高温下劳累过度所致。
有了这份报告，一般说来，验尸官不用安排审讯，就可以向班戈的民政部门签发因自然原因致死的死亡证书了。但是，有些事情是哈尔基尚·拉姆·拉尔所不知道的。
大个子比利·卡梅伦曾经是非法的北爱志愿军班戈委员会的领导成员，这是个走强硬路线的新教徒准军事组织。在北爱尔兰死亡的任何人，无论多清白，都会被输入位于勒根的计算机系统中。电脑显示出他的背景，于是，勒根的某个人拿起电话，向卡斯尔雷的北爱尔兰皇家警察局报告了情况。
那里的人给贝尔法斯特的验尸官办公室打了电话，命令展开正式审理。在北爱尔兰，意外死亡不能只是报告，还必须有人见证。至少，对某些人来说必须这样。审理于星期三在班戈市政厅举行。对麦奎因来说，这意味着许多麻烦，因为税务局来参加了。强硬的北爱志愿军委员会也派来两个人，他们静静地坐在后排。死者的工友们大都坐在前面，离卡梅伦夫人只有几英尺远。
只有帕特森被要求作证。在验尸官的提示下，他把星期一的事情叙述了一遍。由于没有什么异议，其他工人一个都没被传唤，也没传唤拉姆·拉尔。验尸官大声宣读了法医病理学家的报告。事情已经够清楚了。读完后，他总结了一下，然后作出了结论。
“法医的报告相当明确。我们都听到了帕特森先生所说的午饭时的事件，以及死者对印度学生开的那个愚蠢的玩笑。看来卡梅伦先生似乎是太开心了，笑得近乎中风，随后在烈日下手拿镐锹从事繁重的体力劳动，导致大脑中的一条大血管破裂，造成了正像病理学家用医学术语所说的疾病——脑溢血。本庭对其遗孀及子女深表同情，同时认定威廉·卡梅伦先生是意外死亡。”
在市政厅外面的草坪上，麦奎因与他的工人们谈话。
“我要对你们说几句公道话，小伙子们，”他说，“这工作还是要干下去，但我不得不扣除税款和其他费用，我不能让税务局的人老盯着我不放。葬礼安排在明天，你们可以休息一天。想要继续干的，星期五来报到。”
拉姆·拉尔没去参加葬礼。当葬礼在班戈公墓地举行的时候，他打了一辆出租车返回康默。他让司机在路边等着，自己从那条土路上走过去。司机是班戈人，也听说了卡梅伦的死讯。
“到现场去致哀，是吗？”他问道。
“差不多吧。”拉姆·拉尔说。
“这是你们民族的习俗吗？”司机问道。
“可以这么说。”拉姆·拉尔说。
“哦，到现场致哀，与我们的墓边致哀相比，我也说不出哪个好、哪个不好。”司机说，他准备在等待的时候看报纸。
哈尔基尚·拉姆·拉尔沿土路来到那片空地上，站在曾经燃起篝火的地方。他打量着四周生长在沙土地上的蒿草和金雀花。
“蛇呀，蛇，”他朝着看不见的蝰蛇喊道，“啊，你这条毒蛇，听到我在叫你吗？我特地把你从遥远的拉杰普塔纳山区带过来，你已经完成了自己的使命，本该死掉的。假如一切都按照我的计划进行，那么应该由我来亲手弄死你，把你那肮脏的躯体扔到河里去。”
“你在听着吗，你这致命的毒物？那么你就听好了：你或许还能多活一阵子，但你终究还是会死的，万物都会死亡。而你会孤独地死去，不会有雌蛇来与你交配，因为爱尔兰没有蛇。”
这条锯鳞蝰蛇没有听到他的话，即使听到了，也没有任何表示。在拉姆·拉尔脚下温暖沙土中的一个深深的洞穴里，它正忙碌着，全身心地忙于自然界所赋予它的使命。
在蛇尾的底部有两块叠接着的鳞片，遮盖着它的生殖孔。蝰蛇的尾巴竖立着，身体以原始的节奏抽动。鳞片分开了，从它的生殖孔里，透明液囊一个接一个地被分娩出来，每个都有一英寸长，自出生伊始就像母亲那样能致人死命。这条母蛇把它的十几个蛇卵带到了这个世界上。
Notes:
Notes: