He didn’t expect he would have enemies, but a watchful eye turned one up; a worthy adversary indeed. What was surprising was: it was a snake.

He had been in the dark about its existence, but the enemy must already have been at work for at least six months. One day Mwange chanced to notice, while putting the chickens inside the coop for the night, two eggs that lay abandoned there. He closed the coop, thinking he’d take them out the next day, but the eggs had disappeared by then. He asked Emily if she knew anything about them. She told him that she had gone nowhere near the coop. He asked the people in the adjoining huts and they knew nothing either. After four market days, the pilfering happened again. The ground had become wet from a slight drizzle, and there were marks on the ground from something having slithered by. He knew at once that the disappearance of the eggs had been the work of a snake. He decided he had to get rid of the intruder somehow.

Killing or even ensnaring snakes was not an activity he particularly enjoyed. For that matter, neither was rearing hens. Mere chance had drawn him to them. He was a scholar, having been educated in a Christian school some 30 miles from Nairobi. This was a matter of pride for him, as was having secured a senior certificate, second division, from that school. He knew that the job he did hardly matched his education and intelligence. He had walked in and out of companies, certificate in hand. He had exaggerated his capabilities as if he were dangling carrots in front of horses, and yet the horses didn’t jump. No one had recognised his worth, and he had ended up measuring out milk in a depot.

The work went smoothly for some time. He began early each morning and rarely took a break, standing all the while. He received the milk, which started arriving at six in the morning, measured it and filled huge tubs with it. There were long queues of old people, young girls and boys. Even as he attended to one queue, another line formed on the other side. He had to take care of both the queues at the same time. It was then that Mwange got an opportunity to exercise his “senior certificate, second division” brains. Emily Akiniyi inspired him to do it. She would be there to fetch milk early in the morning, tall and well-built, with a child on her hip. Her swaying gait did something to his heart. Any way she did her hair, she looked attractive: whether it was plaited, or left open, whether pushed to the back or front, tied up into a knot on top of her head or made into umpteen braids, it looked beautiful. It was her beauty that had prompted him to steal.

Mwange was not especially known for his honesty. He had played football while at school and had maintained his physique. He was adept at scoring goals; his secret was that he made as many goals with his hands as he did with his legs. He was liberal with the milk he measured out to Emily, giving her two litres instead of one. He was generous in this way with milk that did not belong to him and, one day, he was caught in the act and dismissed.

That was an appropriate time to think of a change in profession. The idea of having a chicken farm occurred to him. Neither did he know the ABCs of running a chicken farm, nor were the chickens unduly anxious to be raised by him. He also knew that it was not a job for a “senior certificate, second division awardee”. Yet, he got into the project, for he expected it to make him independent, not answerable to anyone, and he could keep the money he made for himself and make progress towards prosperity. There was also another reason. Emily had told him that if he moved to the village and set up a farm, she would move in with him. It was true that, in his enthusiasm to be near Emily, he had perhaps not been very prudent.

Njoroge, who worked for him, knew the rudiments of chicken farming. Together he and Mwange worked hard, fed the birds, gave them water, spread sawdust inside their coops, swept and cleaned, did all kinds of backbreaking jobs. If you are having an affair with a woman, and she lives on the other side of the river, how can you not learn to swim? Six months went by without a hitch, until the snake’s visit. It seemed a clever snake; however close you had the wire mesh pulled together, it made successful entries into the coop. Its arrivals and departures were indeed mysteries. Mwange and the old man toiled endlessly, all for the sake, it seemed, of feeding the snake. The snake grew fat and acquired an enviable shiny skin. It nourished itself with frequent meals of eggs and, occasionally, choice cuts of chicken, when it felt it needed protein supplements.

The fever tree, with its yellow, shiny bark, grew in marshy places. Mwange broke one branch from the tree to face the enemy. The pole was sturdy, easy to handle and pliable, and he knew he could not find a better weapon to fight the snake. He kept the weapon by his bedside. He practiced different fencing attacks, waving it quixotically in the air. He stroked it, he caressed it and kept it in such good humour that the stick was always ready to fight for his cause.

Emily cannot be said to have shared Mwange’s devotion to his pole. Her two-year-old had taken to running away outside the house to play, and she was forever scared that the snake might harm her baby. Yet, she didn’t like Mwange venturing out stealthily at night, torch in one hand, fever tree stick in the other, as if to invite the snake for a confrontation. The very thought that some harm might come to him if he accidentally stepped on the snake in the dark made her cringe with fear. Mwange was not one to heed her words. Saving his birds was not the issue now – his determination to kill the snake was, and this was the only thing that mattered. And to think he had never once seen his archenemy, the snake! Not that the snake had any wish to confront its benefactor either. Mwange only saw the snake’s trails in the dirt and a far smaller number of eggs.

By chance, the two enemies came face to face one day. It was Joseph who first sighted the reptile. He shouted to Mwange. Perhaps the snake had gotten tired of idling away its time, not going on active hunts, only lazily feeding on the eggs and being satisfied with what it got. It had come out slowly to bask in the warmth of the morning sun. Just because it got its meals for free, that didn’t mean it shouldn’t also have a siesta afterwards. For a moment, Mwange stood admiring the slitherer. How svelte it was, how nonchalant, as if to say, “Let us settle our differences tomorrow…” Mwange rushed into his house and came out with the fever tree stick held high above his head. He waved it like a Masai warrior. The snake understood that Mwange’s intentions were anything but honourable. It lifted up its hood up, hissing. Its beady eyes shone. They looked rather big for its small head. It stuck out its red forked tongue and tested the air. It spread its hood and displayed its true form. Then, prompted by some unknown considerations, it shrank and slipped into a pile of bricks. By ignoring him, it had failed to give the respect due to an enemy who was its equal.

Mwange had committed a grievous mistake. His behaviour towards the snake had been rather uncivilized. It was unarmed, and here he was swinging his stick and madly running around the brick-pile. Meanwhile, the snake unhurriedly slithered out from another side, went among the cactus bushes and disappeared. The reason for Mwange’s frenzied running was because he thought the snake might be a spitting cobra. One needed special skill to beat a spitting cobra. It targeted the victim’s eyes and spat its venom from a distance of about ten feet. The poison could make one blind. So he was hoping to hit it on its tail end. Later, he realized that it was not a spitting cobra. Thus, the first day of the war had ended with Mwange having been completely routed.

This turn of events made the snake happy. It stayed away, minding its own business. However, it considered the interruption a violation of the contract it had formed with the hens. So it bided its time to take revenge. The next day, Mwange found that the snake had eaten another egg and spat out the shell. He did not have to pull his hair out anymore, wondering how many eggs had been stolen. The snake came now and again, as if to mark attendance, and left a clear count of the eggs it had pilfered by spitting out the shells. Mwange increased his efforts to nab the snake.

He did not fall asleep until very late that night. His thoughts were all about the reptile. In that small room, where even air was refused entry, he lay on the cot, covered with a cow’s hide. By his side was Emily. Even in the darkness he could see her breasts rise and fall with regularity. A scent of warm air came from her side. The odour, which was characteristic of those who ate sukuma wiki every day, was a little more marked in her than in others. It roused him. He groped in the dark. It took him some time to find the knot of her leso and tug at it. She groaned, “Wacha, wacha,” and turned over to accommodate him. Her hand fell by chance on his thigh. That was what he liked in her. She never refused him. She would lovingly scold him, saying, “The generous woman is always pregnant,” but never said no to his advances.

They planned to get married when her son turned four. Emily wanted a grand wedding. She wanted to wear a white dress, a veil, long silk gloves, and walk like an angel down the aisle to bridal music. She delighted in imagining her son leading the procession with a bouquet in his hand. She had saved a respectable amount of money. If Mwange could also save a little, they could have the wedding. It seemed that the snake was not going to let it happen.

A spark of lightning flashed in Mwange’s mind. The snake was fourteen feet long. How swift it was, and with such big eyeballs! Was it not the satiny-smooth black mamba? That snake could climb trees. It climbed trees and entered houses from their roofs. What was the use of sealing holes in doors and net screens? Once again, he went out with his torch, fully armed. That snake was definitely the biggest challenge of his life. He had tried all the tricks he knew. He had cut down all the stooping branches; he had poured kerosene all around the trees. He tarred the trees, nailed tin on them. He left the lights burning right through the night. He put into operation all the ruses his “senior certificate, second division” brain could think of. The snake continued to elude him; it appeared to know all the tricks. Mwange had tried various ruses and was now tired.

Would a man who had a porcupine ever look for something to scratch his back? Mwange was a man who had been doing just that – he had forgotten the existence of Joseph, his neighbour. Joseph knew all about snakes. Mwange finally decided to try Joseph’s method.

Mwange had enough love for Emily to last a whole year. But what he did not like about her was her childish stubbornness. The day she moved in, she had decreed that he could not walk naked in the house. That was something he did not find acceptable. But he kept his word and tried to follow her orders, at least when she was around. The other condition she laid down was even more cruel. Their kitchen had a platform – a very convenient one – that appeared to have been built exclusively to accommodate them. Whatever might be the urgency, she refused to come to join him on the kitchen platform. She was so adamant that he could do nothing but put up with her whims. Now she was scared to be in that house. Her fears were for her son. The black mamba was very poisonous. Its victim was sure to die just a few minutes after being bitten. She thought Mwange was not really serious about killing the snake. Mwange was not acting as fast as she wanted him to. This was the cause of her anger. The kitchen floor shook. Her eyes were half-closed like a flag at half-mast, a token of mourning. Her lips quivered. She had spread her legs like a pair of open scissors. Her hands were busy cutting the mrenda leaves. Mwange quickly put on her night robe with large flowers on it. He tiptoed to her and sat by her side. He caught her hand. She resisted him.

“My priceless woman, my sweet scent, please look at me. The water that is hot will cool in time. I shall certainly kill the snake one of these days. Just be a little patient,” Mwange pleaded.

“I want my son to live. I see him go to bed at night. My mind trembles when I think of whether I will see him alive in the morning. At least after the water has reached the ankles, shouldn’t one try to drain it out? Is such drama necessary to kill a mere snake? I have entrusted my son to the Almighty. I have spoken enough, I have no more words. My salutations to you, kabisa.” The words fell from her mouth, strong and sure like a judge’s hammer. Mwange stroked her ears. Just when she began to groan, he pulled and embraced her. Her shoulders were stiff and unyielding. Her upper lip was thick and tasty like nyama choma, fire-roasted meat. She wrinkled her nose and pretended to resist him. Then she realised she had been pushed to the point of no return. Mwange enjoyed her as if she were indeed the last morsel of a tasty meal.

Joseph’s idea was simple and economical. He simply suggested that Mwange buy four ping-pong balls and keep them together with the eggs. The plastic balls would look exactly like eggs. The snake would devour the balls. It was a foolproof method that the villagers always used. Joseph was confident that the snake would be duped. That night, Mwange had made a few visits to hunt the snake, so he slept late and got up only after the sun had fully come up. Emily had gone with her son to work. A chill wind blew. The jacaranda tree had covered the ground with its flowers and coloured the entire place violet. He went around his chicken farm. He thought he saw something different. He realised there were two balls less and his heart began to beat faster. He was excited and searched everywhere. He looked in all the probable places where the snake might have gone. He was not sure that the snake would be so easily deceived. He went past the fever tree to the place where the expanse of elephant grass began, and he saw the dead snake. It was completely and thoroughly dead and lay there, long, black and shining. Its small mouth was torn open. Blood had oozed out from a constant beating of its head to the ground. Ants crawled all over the reptile. Two balls could be seen bulging in its swollen neck. How long it looked! Its head was now crushed and the tail twitched slightly.

People from the neighbouring huts came to look at the snake. Seeing the tail move, every one of them took a hit at it. The children had a field day. They looked wide-eyed at Mwange and then began to sing.

Mwange is a great hero
The brave one who killed the snake…

Okelo came running from somewhere; no funeral procession was complete without him. He picked up the snake and wore it around his neck as a garland. Even then, its head and tail trailed on the ground. Okelo began doing a death dance, his arms spread out and knees half bent. The children followed him, beating on boxes, tins and cans, and the procession went round and round the huts.

The elders praised Mwange. Some spoke exaggeratedly of his cleverness. The snake, true to its nature, had come to feed on the eggs, gotten caught in a plot hatched against it, and now it dangled around Okelo’s neck and was being dragged along the ground in a most undignified manner.

The long body of the snake kept returning to Mwange’s mind. In the just war that was being fought between two equals, somehow wile and deceit had entered. What was so great about this victory? Failure might have given him mental peace. Mwange sat on his haunches outside his hut. He sat there for a long time. He was there even after Emily and her son had come back from work. Emily dropped her son to the ground and hurried to him. Her breasts shook like two evenly-sized papayas. He could not look straight into her face. He stood up. He threw away the strong, pliable fever tree stick. Mwange, the “senior certificate, second class” then entered the house, his head bowed.

(Translated from the Tamil by Padma Narayanan.)