venom | saneh sangsuk by marcel barang

venom SANEH SANGSUK

venom TRANSLATED FROM THE THAI BY MARCEL BARANG

VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

The afternoon was coming to an end. The light was softening, and the dark-red sheen of the sun was fading. The sky was a deep dome of crystal, clear and vast. Thin shreds of clouds on the horizon to the west took on wondrous hues under the last sunrays. Their everchanging shapes enticed the imagination. He sat still, looking at those clouds as if in a trance. He saw them as tangled mountains, as thick jungle, as a solitary tree whose branches had been shorn bare by storms, as hillocks in the shape of a woman lying on her side. He had never told the secrets in his imagination to anyone, not even to the gang of close friends who were out grazing their cows and busy playing with pinwheels made out of rushes. He looked at his own cows grazing along with the cows of his friends. As his gaze swept over them, he was counting. The eight of them were still there. He it was who had given each cow its name. His father and mother had left him at liberty to do so, and he had chosen each name after much careful thought. The first four had names that had to do with nature: Field and River and Forest and Mountain. It sounded like a VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

nursery rhyme, too. The next two had names of gems: Diamond and Pearl. And when his father had bought another two calves last year, he hadn’t been long in coming up with Silver and Gold. Diamond and Pearl and Silver and Gold: it sounded like a nursery rhyme, too. Every time his father and mother were told of the name of a cow, they smiled and approved without reservation, then set about using the name. One evening his father said, Well now, Field and River, it’s time for you two to stay in the cowshed, so you know where you belong. One evening his mother said, Silver and Gold, it’s time you behaved like mature cows; I’ll have you plough the rice field. His father and mother were pleased that their cows had nice-sounding, well-matched names, and he was happy to please his father and mother. He was very close to his eight cows. If he hadn’t been the one to give them their names, then for sure he wouldn’t feel as attached to them as he did. He was their friend and he was their Lord of Life as well, and they acknowledged that much to him. He loved all of his cows. He was extremely careful not to show prejudice or bias. Come bedding season, his father used Field and River to harrow the rice field. His mother used Forest and Mountain to harrow the rice field. He used Diamond and Pearl to harrow the rice field, with Silver and Gold in reserve in case one pair of cows got too tired, or was badly hurt by the yoke. But he tried his utmost to love his cows equally; he didn’t pay attention to Silver and Gold only. After the VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

day’s harrowing was done, he bathed them all carefully and gave each of them a sheaf of green grass. He’d like his father and mother to buy one more cow or, even better, another two. He spent much of his spare time thinking up suitable names for them. He was ten years old last February, just after he finished with primary school. His friends in the village, boys and girls alike, called him the Cripple. When he was still going to school, his classmates called him the Cripple. Some grownups in the village also called him the Cripple. That was because his right arm, from the shoulder down, was stiff and atrophied. He couldn’t fold his crooked elbow. All of his fingers were rigid and useless; they stuck out like rods, couldn’t be splayed out or bunched into a fist. His right shoulder looked caved in, shapeless and thin. But his left arm rippled with muscles. His left fingers were long, thick, tapered and deft. His left shoulder was strong and powerfully built. He was always ready to fight with boys his own size or even slightly bigger than him. And he always fought to the finish, even though he had the use of one arm only. Song Wat took great pleasure in calling him the Cripple, that damn Cripple, or that fucking Cripple, with utmost hate and contempt. He was happy constantly reminding himself and others in the village of the child’s impairment. Song Wat was a medium. He was a man of about fifty, short, brawny and very darkskinned. Formerly, he was plain Wat by name, but one VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

day five years ago he had told everyone in the village that the spirit of the Sacred Mother who protected the village intended to use him as her medium and that he was the only person able to invite the spirit of the Sacred Mother to enter his body at any time. Many people in the village and the neighbouring villages believed him. And so it was that Master Wat became Song Wat, Wat the Anointed, just like that, and he grew steadily more prosperous without having to break his back in the rice field or raise cows or pigs any longer. When he was inhabited by the spirit, he wore a white, old-fashioned loincloth tied round his legs, a white long-sleeved shirt, a white shawl round his shoulder and a red flower over his ear. He spoke with the smooth, mellifluous voice of a woman, using quaint, ancient turns of phrase that were hard to figure out. His whole attitude too changed into that of a woman, and he could even dance with a peculiar, dainty grace. It was an impressive and credible act. Song Wat thus was someone who had power and influence in the village, and power and influence he was always ready to use. Around the village were strips of fallow land which were open to all, but Song Wat had taken them over on his own authority, fenced them off and planted them with trees, in the hope of becoming their owner eventually. The childâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s father said this was selfish and objected publicly but Song Wat stubbornly stayed on the land so that if the land officials ever issued title deeds, he could claim the plots by right of use. VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

Being the medium of the spirit protecting the village made the people respect and fear him, but the crippled child’s father did not believe that Wat was the medium of the Sacred Mother. His father always said, That fellow Wat is only good to deceive fools. That was the reason why Song Wat didn’t like his father and mother and by the same token didn’t like him either. Furthermore, Song Wat had taken to hating him the day he had given his son a black eye (he had thrown a mighty punch heedless of the fact that the fellow was much bigger than him – Heck, shouldn’t have come ’n’ bullied him in the first place). Song Wat always said that disparaging the medium of the Sacred Mother was like disparaging the Sacred Mother herself, and them that did would be brought to reckoning sooner or later. Song Wat said that if the boy had fallen from that palm tree and broken his right arm and lost the use of it year before last, it was because the invisible hand of the Sacred Mother had pushed him. Two years earlier, when he was eight and still in the third form, he had gone with his cows in the fields and found a sugar palm tree whose berries were just right for his mother to preserve. It was a young tree about six metres high, without any bamboo steps up its trunk. He decided to climb it. He took his knife out of his waist and put it between his teeth, wiped the caked mud of the rainy season off his feet on a clump of wet grass on the ground and shinnied up until he almost reached the VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

crown. He knew no fear, the notion of danger didn’t even enter his mind: higher palm trees than this he had climbed. The top of the tree was a cluster of dry palm midribs that still clung, blocking his ascent. He couldn’t climb any higher to pick the berries unless he got those midribs out of the way. So, he used his left hand to clasp the trunk, with both his feet taking the weight of his body on either side of the trunk, and he used his right hand to pull at the dry midrib right above his head. The whole trunk was covered with slippery green mould. The midrib he pulled with all his strength came loose easier and faster than he thought, and this made him lose his balance. He was telling himself, Heck, this messy stuff’s coming off real easy. Even before he had thought this through, he had slipped and was falling along with the midrib. Fright made him yell. His knife fell out of his mouth. The right side of his body slammed into the ground. There was the unmistakable sound of a bone in his arm breaking, along with a searing pain and a gut-wrenching spasm. He lay prone on the ground, jaws clenched, and remained lying thus until the sun had left the land. His cows (he had only six then) wouldn’t go back to the cowshed even though it was getting dark. They came and gathered round him and stood looking at him, lowing, nudging him gently with their muzzles, licking his body and his face with their raspy slobbering tongues, snorting in distress, until the evening star shone and his father came and found him VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

breathing feebly on the ground, his body covered in mud, his right arm stiff and disjointed, but even so his jaws still clenched tight and his eyes dry. The hospital was too far, as was the monastery of Father Ring, the famed bonesetter. He had to drink a decoction of buabok leaves for a whole month to nurse his contusions, and from that day, his right arm was a dud. That was what made everyone call him the Cripple. That was what made Song Wat always say that that accident had happened because his father did not show respect to the medium of the Sacred Mother, and not a few folk thought Song Wat’s opinion was correct, and he was respected and feared all the more. But his father and mother never called him the Cripple, neither did Granny Phlapphlueng, the midwife, nor Reverend Father Thian, the abbot of the village monastery, and he always thought of all four of them with gratitude. His parents had given him birth and were raising him. Granny Phlapphlueng had delivered him and cut his umbilical cord. Reverend Father Thian had thought up a name for him. His father had said: Son, how would you like to ride a bicycle? I’ll teach you. He had nodded in agreement and had trained himself on his father’s big bike, which was so darn high, almost higher than his own head even, and there was that iron bar in the middle, too. He had had to squeeze himself under the bar, put his feet on the pedals and hold the handlebar with his left hand and his worthless right VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

arm. It was a very trying way of learning to ride a bike, but he was able to cycle wherever he pleased eventually, though he had learned to ride a bicycle for his father’s sake rather than his own. When the rainy season came, his father told him as if he were a grownup: Which plot do you think we should plough to begin with? His mother would always consult him about all kinds of problems as well. His mother had said: My Forest and my Mountain have just about had it. Tomorrow I’ll take Silver and Gold to plough instead: what do you think? His mother had held his left hand to teach him how to write all over again, putting up with his tantrums as he struggled once more with his ABCs. His mother had said: Come on, you can do it. Before long, you’ll write faster ’n’ better than the other kids. Granny Phlapphlueng had said: Come here, little ’un, and let me see your willy. And she had grabbed him in her arms and taken off his trousers to look at his willy and said: Some of you ain’t quite as should be, but your willy’s got nothing wrong with it and I’m sure it’ll grow into a super-duper willy in due time. He had been embarrassed. He was embarrassed every time Granny Phlapphlueng acted with him and spoke with him like that, but he fully understood she wished him well and wanted to boost his self-confidence. Reverend Father Thian took special interest in him. Reverend Father Thian had said: So you’re already helping your parents plough the fields, hey? Had said: Well, well, young fellow, so you can ride a bicycle now, hey? Had said: So you can write with your left hand VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

now, hey? Come and show me how you copy this magic spell for good health into this copybook for me. His father and mother and Granny Phlapphlueng and Reverend Father Thian never called him the Cripple and were always kind to him and always tried to be patient when he made blunders. So, he loved them very much. He did try to love the others as well, but he found that he still loved the people who were nice to him more than he did the others. He found that he hated Song Wat and found that Song Wat hated him just as much. This made him unhappy. On the night of Loi Krathong, he went out to float his krathong on the canal behind his house at the landing under the big tamarind tree. He brought his krathong to his forehead, hands joined in worship, and asked the Mother of the Waters for forgiveness and even asked her for a few favours. He asked for his father and mother to have plenty of rice to harvest and sell the rice at a good price, asked for Granny Phlapphlueng who was about to leave the village to live with her grandchild in a neighbouring hamlet not to move right away, asked for Reverend Father Thian who was rather poorly due to his old age to recover his strength and good health and live for a long time to come, and finally asked for himself not to feel any hate for Song Wat any longer and for Song Wat not to hate him. After that, he lit the stick of incense and the candle in the krathong and placed the krathong on the water and watched it until it had disappeared in the flow of the brimming canal. A few VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

days after Loi Krathong, he asked Reverend Father Thian when the latter came by his house on his morning alms round, Revâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;rend, the other night, for Loi Krathong, I asked the Mother of the Waters for a few favours. I was wondering: all those wishes we make, are they ever granted? Reverend Father Thian did not answer right away but instead asked: What was it you wished for? When he had told him which favours he had asked, Reverend Father Thian smiled and said, All your wishes will come true. All of them. The light was dimming steadily. Over the horizon to the west there was a glowering of purple tinged with red. The clouds kept changing form. The wind still blew strongly. He looked at the bare spread of golden brown fields that stretched as far as the eye could reach, with bushy groves and palm trees of murky-looking green scattered here and there. He looked at the cart track, at the monastery and the village in the distance. All of it was a familiar sight to him. He looked at his cows, counting them. All there, as usual. His friends had stopped running about with pinwheels and instead had gathered in a circle to play sepak-takroh, kicking around an old, much-battered rattan ball with much bawdy shouting. Another day at the end of the barren hot season was about to end. He stretched himself lazily, stood up, took four or five rice straws in his hand, and walked to the pool nearby. It was a stretch of water in open country, very large VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

and very long, deep and ancient. It had been dug since time out of mind to hold water for the rice fields. It was a public utility but these days Song Wat had taken it over as a matter of course. All four sides were thickly planted with trees big and small and garlanded with creepers. In the pool, the water level was way down and the water was covered with morning glory and other aquatic plants. On the northern side there was a shrine to the Sacred Mother of the village, built in wood, looking like a minute traditional Thai house. In the shrine there was an image carved in wood in the form of a young woman sitting with legs to one side and wearing a wraparound skirt covering her down to her feet, with a shawl slung across the shoulder. Even though the face of the image was beautiful, it looked heartless and dour. In front of the image were an incense holder and a candlestick and a flowerpot full of dry flowers. Actually there was already a shrine to the Sacred Mother to the north of the village but Song Wat had claimed that the Sacred Mother had told him she wanted a new shrine, so he had set one up by this pool, and he had taken the opportunity to plant banana trees and coconut trees on one part of the eastern bank to show that he was in charge. The child with the crippled arm turned towards the line of bamboo by the pool near the shrine. The cool air coming from the water and from the trees along the rim of the pool was like an invitation, and the closer one got VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

the more one seemed to enter an abode of peace and quiet. There was but the rustle of leaves in the wind, the rasping of bamboo stems against one another, the crackle of bamboo leaves underfoot. The ground was thickly covered with dry bamboo leaves. A dead tamarind tree, with a trunk it would take two men to girdle, lay bare and rotting at full length on this spread of dry leaves. The crippled child sat down on the trunk of that fallen tree and looked at the shrine for a while. In the old days, he and his friends were always hanging around this pool, to fish, catch shrimps, or pick wild mangoes they munched on the spot. But since Song Wat had come and set up a shrine there, the pool had become the property of the Sacred Mother, as had the animals in its water and the trees around it â&#x20AC;&#x201C; or so the medium claimed. The shrine itself was something secretive, with a malevolent aura of danger. Neither he nor his friends nor even the village people felt like venturing near it any longer unless it was truly necessary. With the rice stalks in his left hand, the crippled child began to make puppets. He used his right arm to prop one up, and his feet and his mouth to help on occasion. There were six puppets altogether, crude approximations of human figures, yet each the epitome of creativity. That one was a hermit, that one, a king, those two, princes, and those two, clowns, Gabby and Oldie. The puppets of the hermit, the king and the two princes were anything but realistic. But those of Gabby and VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

Oldie he knew he had done well. These two clowns were ordinary folk; they weren’t like characters in a fairy tale. Gabby’s face and haircut made him look like a cow; Oldie’s face made you think of a crocodile. He was thinking he’d play shadow puppet theatre. He took his games seriously, no matter what they were. He always put all of his heart into them. He loved to watch shadow plays. When a shadow-play company came by this or any of the surrounding villages, he never missed a show. He’d climb to the back of the stage and watch the work of the puppeteer and the musicians. He was always thrilled to see the puppet master as he sat crosslegged in the dazzling light, skin oozing sweat, both hands jerking the puppets, mouth singing lines of poetry or speaking lines of dialogue. He remembered a great many lines and songs and gags from a great many shows. He dreamt he’d be a master puppeteer of the shadow theatre when he was a grown-up even though he only had the use of a single arm. So now, he sat with his back to the sun, whose lowered rim touched the horizon. The sun would be his storm lantern. The emptiness in front of him would be his screen. He propped the puppet of the hermit against the fork of a branch of the dead tamarind tree and got ready to perform the ceremony of homage to the teacher. There was no one to see him perform but that didn’t bother him. He knew well that his friends listlessly kicking the takroh ball in a circle would eventually come over to VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

watch his performance. It was always like that every time he played shadow puppets. They all watched him with admiration mixed with jealousy. In this instance, none of them was a match to him, because one day he’d be the most famous crippled master puppeteer whose performances full of magic would compel thousands of spectators to stay rooted to the spot from dusk to dawn. Without further ado, he broke into the song of homage to the teachers with a resounding and clear voice. With joined hands and a clear mind I bow to the learned masters So full of cant they’ve lost their marbles I humbly bow to the Undertaker A great pal of supernal spirits And to the Plagiarist— After a couple dozen lines, he looked up. His friends had come. Seven altogether. They all had swarthy skin, wore shabby, darned dark clothes, went barefoot. They all wore large-brimmed straw hats and held staffs. Sitting or standing in front of him, they all listened eagerly. Some tried to remember every one of his words and every one of his gestures. Some had once come to ask him to write down the lines he had sung so that they too could memorize and sing them, but he wouldn’t do it. These were things he’d have the use of for a long time to come, things that had been hard for him to learn. Some had asked him to repeat his performance, but he wouldn’t yield. In his friends’ eyes, he could see the VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

craving for entertainment. Kids always have a soft spot for silly limericks. So, he went on with a few more lines. But this was only the homage to the teachers and although it went on and on, that’d have to do. So, without further ado he tackled the overture. He sang heartily in rhythm with the pipe and drum he heard only in his imagination. He sang so loud his cows turned round to watch. He had yet to mention the two princes who were the heroes of the story but the puppets of the two princes were ready and eager to come out and strut their stuff. He had yet to mention Gabby and Oldie but the puppets of the two clowns were ready and eager to come out and strut their stuff. Both Gabby and Oldie were itching at the mouth to spill out wisecracks, but soon after they came out and showed some fancy footwork, the sun would have set. It was time to take the cows back to the cowshed. He wouldn’t play any longer even if his friends pressed him to. No way. Maybe he wouldn’t play tomorrow night either. He’d play only when he felt like playing. Right now he could see himself in the future more clearly than ever, a young man with brown skin and dark, sharp good looks sitting on the stage of a shadow theatre, sweat streaming down under the glare of a storm lantern, manipulating his puppets made out of leather cut from cowhide, breathing life into them, and down there in the stalls thousands of people ready to laugh and cry along with the scenes he would create, VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

and high on the screen would be his name, the famous master puppeteer. That was the future. He cleared his throat a little and went on with the lines, which told of the wonders of the great city where the story took place. And it was then, from the depths of her burrow hidden under the huge rotting dead tamarind tree lying there, that an incensed female cobra thrust up her neck. Her body was as big as a full-grown man’s thigh. Her back was pitch black, her belly white with breaks of grey. Dusk was nigh by now. She had waited a long time to come out of her burrow in order to look for food, but the various sounds above her nest – of feet stomping the earth, of bodies moving, of laughter, of lines being sung – wouldn’t ever die down. She had slyly raised her head for a look around several times already, her forked tongue darting in and out. Those young of man, all of them dangerous and craven, all with their hands clasped over bamboo staffs – as luck had it, they hadn’t brought their dogs along –: those were the foes snakes always tried to shun. But even in flight, she had to show dignity: she always slithered slow and sassy, displaying the grace of evil in every inch of her body through the fluid flow of her progress. She had absolute faith in her fangs and in the venom in them. The parts around here were hers. Her burrow and the area above her burrow she guarded with zealous care. On that rotting tamarind tree trunk, she would climb and stretch to take a breath of air on some nights. The intrusion of these young of VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

man made her raving mad. The nine eggs in her nest made her unafraid of anything at all and ready to risk her very life. Showing herself thus was a proclamation of war in itself, and from the very depths of her instinct, she was eager to wage total war. She was ready to strike. In the twinkling of an eye, she raised her body to the utmost, displaying for all to see the full four metres of her length. She swayed and spread her hood. The might of every particle of her was boiling over, her threatening hiss loud as a song of death. She heard the young of man scattering every which way in a jumble of shouts. She heard the herd of cows scampering at breakneck speed, ears pricked, tails upturned, eyes white. Of the young of man now only one was left before her, the very one sitting on the tamarind tree trunk above the entrance to her burrow, the very one who was responsible for the din that had gone on until a moment ago. This was the target the snake had chosen from the first. It was a misshapen human offspring with an atrophied right arm, all the fingers of his right hand stretched out, his right shoulder slumped and frail. Six straw puppets lay in a heap by his feet. When the snake raised itself again, the young of man sprang erect too, staring wide-eyed, mouth agape full of the din of deafening silence. He was too stupefied to scream or scram. He had been totally taken by his game. The warning shouts of the other young of man had come to him as if in a dream. Flee, Cripple, flee! But the body of the little man in front of the VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

big snake had frozen stiff and wouldn’t budge. The snake was beside itself with fury. It raised its body even higher. Its head pulled to the rear like a bow tensed to the utmost. Its mouth opened, revealing shiny curved fangs. Gusts of wind blew ceaselessly. The bottom part of the sun had sunk under the horizon. Some lonely calf was calling its mother. A red kite glided high in the air and uttered a shrill cry of hunger as it turned to wing back to its secluded eyrie. The eagle’s cry wasn’t over when the snake struck with all its might. Merely at arm’s length, the crippled child only saw something rushing at his face. He was only aware that the snake was about to bite him. He shut his eyes tight as he threw himself backward. His awareness was total. Then he thought pain, death, pain, death, fear and it’s over. All of it was just words without sounds and he saw himself thrashing about on the skin of the boundless fields under starlight, writhing in the throes of the venom, and dead, a ghost guarding the fields in torment. The wind would blow over him without him being aware of it any longer. And he thought further, Father, Mother, Granny Phlapphlueng, Reverend Father Thian, our rice field, our cows, and he saw everything that was in his thoughts. He remembered even in the second of death the name of each of his cows and irrepressible sadness and longing rose in him. But without realizing it, he had raised his left arm, fingers spread out, and come into contact with the neck of the VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

snake as it was striking down. He felt as if his whole hand were being torn away. The arm on that side shook and went numb all the way to the shoulder. He managed to grab a hold as the snakeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s fangs came within a hairâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s breadth of his neck. The collision was so violent that he staggered and lost his balance, tripped on a dead branch of the tamarind tree which snapped, and fell. He crashed headlong into a knot of the fallen tree trunk. The snake, its target missed, its neck caught in a vice-like grip, immediately uncoiled its body and in the twinkling of an eye wrapped itself around his left arm, around his trunk and right arm as one, and around both his legs. But his left arm was still free and he clutched the neck of the snake tightly, pushing its head away from him. His fierce resistance made the snake mad with wrath. It coiled itself even tighter. Its mouth was wide open in a sneer of fangs, its neck shook fiercely to get free, but the crippled child clenched his fist even harder. Despite its plight, the snake was still trying to strike. It tried to bite his arm and almost managed to bury its fangs into his shoulder. As the child increased the strength of his grip, the snake increased the tightness of its coils. The bodies of the giant snake and of the child with the crippled arm rolled every which way on the ground in a scattering of dry leaves. Small bushes snapped and crackled, crushed under them. The child with the crippled arm knew only that no matter what happened he would never allow his left hand to let go of the neck of the snake. VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

The snake too knew only that it had to strike its foe just once or, if it failed to do so, rally all of its strength to crush its prey to death. During the tussle, the head of the snake was inches away from his face, so close it must smell his breath, so tightly entwined it must be hearing his heart pounding while he saw the cobra at close quarters. Its fetid smell was overpowering, making him feel even more scared and panicky. Its squeezing was starting to make it difficult for him to breathe and gave rise to a dull ache that spread throughout his body. The weird coldness of its neck and the slippery smoothness of its repulsive scales made his heart beat strongly and erratically. He was fully aware that there was no one to help him, so he didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t think of calling out for help. He struggled, trying to get up, because lying on the ground like this put him at a disadvantage. Even though the snake increased its pressure, he managed to sit up on his knees, and by pressing the neck of the snake against the trunk of the tamarind tree he managed to push himself erect. Every pore of his body dripped with sweat. He did not know yet that he was wounded above his right eyebrow and at the mouth, which had happened when he had knocked against that knot in the tree trunk. He only had a smell of blood in his nostrils. He spit. He couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t see the colour of it, but the smell and taste told him it was blood. He blinked. Sweat flooded his eyes, making them itchy and blurry. VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

The sky was boundless and empty. The horizon to the west was still a dark red, though the sun had disappeared. His eight cows werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t willing yet to go back home to their litter. They still stood hesitatingly, blurred shadows in the darkening fields. The other little cow herders had tried to drive them back to their cowshed but they werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t willing, perhaps because of Field, the leader of the herd, who was stubborn, so that the others proved stubborn too. They worried about him. They knew something unusual had happened to him. Past sunset as it was, it was time for him to lead them back to the cowshed and they were waiting for him. They were all lowing moo moo moo. He counted his cows out of habit. They were still all there. That gave him heart. He set about walking with staggering steps towards his cattle. The giant snake coiled around him made it impossible for him to walk normally. The sky was getting darker by the minute. The gusts of wind were getting stronger. The evening star was already out, a faint white blob in the sky to the west. All eight cows pressed against one another in a tight cluster, still lowing moo moo moo, calling him who was their Lord of Life. He walked towards them, getting closer, getting closer still. All eight cows had their ears pricked up, their eyes wide open, their tails upturned. He did not think his cows could help him. He thought only that at this time of night his cows should be back in the cowshed. He thought he had to take them back to the VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

cowshed, even though the snake wouldn’t let him be. Got a little closer. The eight cows were snorting nervously, turning their heads this way and that, but when they could see him clearly, they couldn’t remember him. That wasn’t the shape or smell of him they were used to and all eight of them expected, so they took flight running for dear life away from him, in the direction of the village. He stood stock-still looking at his cattle running away into the thickening darkness of dusk. He hesitated for a while. He should go and see his father and mother. He was well aware that now his father and mother were not at home, but at the monastery, sawing wood for Reverend Father Thian who had undertaken to have an old cell repaired next to the burial grounds. His father and mother had gone to help saw wood for Reverend Father Thian for several days now and would always go back home very late at night or sometimes both stay the night in the temple hall. His father and mother may be able to help him. Reverend Father Thian also may be able to help him. He had not thought yet how they could help him. He worried about home. He worried about his cows. But whom should he go to see first, his father and mother or Reverend Father Thian? From where he stood, the monastery was much nearer than his house. So, he started plodding along the cart track, each step a lumbering, painful, slow process, in the direction of the monastery. VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

When he entered the precincts of the monastery, seven or eight temple dogs gathered in the grounds of the chapel set out barking and rushed out in a pack, surrounded him, growling and baring their fangs. He didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t pay attention. He didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t quicken or slow down his pace. His eyes stared absently straight ahead. The dogs stopped barking as soon as they had a good look at the mass of him and the giant snake, and started to whimper instead, ears flapped, tails between their legs, each rooted to the spot, eyeing the others. When he had walked past a few steps, one dog began to howl nonstop and the others set about howling in turn as if they were seeing ghosts. The pigeons cooing throatily under the eaves of the chapel and the cornices below the roof of the temple hall suddenly broke into a ruckus and took to flying helter-skelter, warning one another of the strange happening that might mean danger. He looked at the row of cells in the darkness, looked at the clusters of trees tall and small, looked at the bullet-wood trees lining one side of the temple pool and looked at the shrines. There was no one at all. He heard a murmur of prayers from afar. He decided to walk up to the temple grounds. The whole place was pitch black. The only light came from the chapel. There the faint glow of candles brought forth some radiance. Scented incense smoke came floating by. There Reverend Father Thian, four elder monks and two novices were reciting the evening prayers in a low drone. He stopped to watch as VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

if caught in a dream. Reverend Father Thian might be able to help him one way or another, but since he was busy praying like that, to go and disturb him would be unseemly behaviour. It’d be a sin. If the reverend and the other monks and the novices saw him in this condition, what would happen? They’d yell, their hair would stand on end, they’d lose their heads and take to their heels every which way. If that did happen, the religious ceremonial would be desecrated and he, who would be the cause of the desecration, would bear the misfortune attached to it. So, he decided not to go and disturb Reverend Father Thian and decided not to wait either. He left the temple grounds, walked past the bell tower, turned left before coming to the bridge over the canal in front of the monastery and walked along the dried-out canal. Big trees lined both sides of the canal. He walked on, turned to go and see his father and mother who were sawing wood on an open space near the burial grounds. He heard the sound of sawing from a long way off. He saw his father and mother from a distance thanks to the light of a paraffin lamp hung on a branch of a big banyan tree. His father and mother – a couple of villagers all taken up by the tough task in front of them. His father wore ample black trousers knotted tightly at the waist, but no shirt. His brown, sturdy body shone with sweat. His mother wore a long black wraparound skirt and a long-sleeved black shirt. She was as strong as a VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

man in his prime. Her skirt and shirt were drenched with sweat also. His father and mother stood on either side of a big log and were helping each other saw that log, alternatively pulling and pushing the saw. The barking of the pack of dogs on the landing of the chapel could still be heard, plaintive and chilling. The light of the paraffin lamp revealed the tortured shapes of roots of the banyan tree as fantastic shadows and revealed the closest mortuaries and graves as well. The mortuaries were brick-and-mortar structures standing in rows. Some had sealed lids up front, which meant that there were coffins within. Some were empty; only a deep shadow could be seen inside. Behind the rows of mortuaries at some distance were old graves whose bodies had yet to be dug up for cremation; almost all were bodies of poor people: the bodies of the wealthy were kept in the mortuaries. Over each grave, there was a wooden stake with a small board across bearing the name of the dead. There wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t one of these stakes over the graves that wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t bent and twisted. Even though there was the grating of the saw eating into the wood, the cooing of the pigeons under the eaves of the chapel, the baying of the dogs coming from the chapel landing and the faint scansion of the monks at prayer, what reigned over the area was a deep, thick, unnatural silence. The unfortunate child walked towards his father and mother. He tried to shout out, Dad! Mom! But the words wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t come out. His father and mother were still busy sawing the log. He VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

walked a little closer still. His sweat was still running down. The blood from his wounds was still running down. His eyes were wide open to the point of popping out, his hair stood on end. The giant snake was still coiled tightly around him and his left hand still clutched the neck of the snake firmly. It was in this fashion that he appeared in the light of the paraffin lamp in front of his father and mother. His mother was the one to see him first. She didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t say anything. She just started, her hand stopped at once and pointed at him. This made his father stop too and look up in the direction his mother was indicating. He jumped, raised both hands in the air in a gesture he had never seen before, and when his mother scared out of her wits took to her heels in the direction of the monastery, his father darted after her. The big saw was still stuck into the log, its handles still swinging slowly as if it too were terrified. He walked through the burial grounds and through the fields to rejoin the cart track, heading for the village. He was amazed with himself for not being in the least afraid as he went past the mortuaries and the graves. Ordinarily he would never set foot anywhere near here, even in broad daylight. The dogs still barked and howled confusedly. The cooing of the pigeons was still heard. But he plodded painfully across the burial grounds without giving a damn. What he was facing at present was much more frightening than all the ghosts and ghouls put together. VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

His father and mother must have rushed panicstricken to see Reverend Father Thian in the chapel. By now they must be sitting gasping for air, with sweat all over their bodies and faces and sawdust all over their limbs, telling what they had just witnessed with stunned, halting voices, harming the sacred atmosphere of the chapel for good. This was unseemly behaviour. That was sinful. The prayers would be interrupted and tonight his father and mother would stay at the monastery as they had before. His father and mother probably thought that by now he was at home, going through his routine, putting the cows in the cowshed, bringing them pails of water and armfuls of dry litter, and then cooking the rice and making some simple dish. After dinner, heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d lie down and listen to the radio or go out for a stroll in the village, have four or five rounds of draughts with his friends, go back home, take a shower and go to bed. He himself right now could see himself going through these motions. He went on walking until he reached the cart track. Between the monastery and the village there were but rice fields with copses and shaggy hillocks over a distance of about three kilometres. It was a night without moon. The cart track was a blurred white under starlight. Blood still came out of the wound in his mouth and he had to spit now and then, and blood still came out of the wound above his right eyebrow. The wounds were more serious than he thought. The blood would stop if his VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

wounds were tended, but now a mixture of sweat and blood entered into his eyes and ran down his face. The weight of the snake seemed to increase. Its slipperiness seemed to increase. Above all, the foul odour coming out of its body seemed to increase and made him feel giddy. How old could it be? Fifty? Eighty? A hundred years old? Did it have a mate? How old would its mate be? Fifty? Eighty? A hundred? How big would its mate be? Bigger? Smaller? Or about the same size? What did it feed out of usually? Young birds? Frogs? Toads? Mice? Fish? Hares? Other snakes? Had it already killed people? How many? Would it eat him as well once it had bitten him? Or would it just slither away? This wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t idle fear. He looked at its mouth, at its jaw. If it opened it in full, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d be able to swallow him slowly, starting with his head and slowly grinding his body and swallowing it whole. One day close to dusk in the cold season, when he was six years old, beside his henhouse, he had seen with his own eyes, and had gone on watching in silence and in wonder as he shook nervously, a cobra not much bigger than his index finger do something almost impossible by opening his jaw to the utmost and trying to swallow an egg. Therefore, this giant snake could well swallow him once it had bitten him. How did it feel to be swallowed alive? How strong was its venom? How did it really feel to be bitten by a snake? It must be terribly painful, the place around the bite must swell and its venom must make you feel VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

extremely drowsy. How many minutes does it take to die? Is it true what they say, that the older the cobra the less effective its venom? But even if its venom were not so strong, heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d never ever allow the snake to bite him. The darker it was, the farther away from people, the more blood came out of him, the more the snake seemed to be full of life and full of malice. For it, victory was within reach. His irregular heartbeats, his irregular gasps for breath, the heady, tantalizing smell of his blood made it even more excited, at once fierce and craving a prompt victory. While fording a sandy torrent with water up to his ankle, it constricted itself once again with all its strength, making him stagger almost to the point of falling. He felt as though his bones were being crushed under that tremendous pressure. He stiffened to resist it, trying to prize open his legs, forced his body to stay still, taking deep breaths. He wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t allow himself to fall no matter what. He knew very well that if he fell down, there was no way he would get up again. Before he could take another step forward, the snake contracted the upper part of its body again to free itself and be in a position to bite him. But he retaliated by squeezing its neck even more strongly and by further pulling its head away. The snake squeezed him mightily, more powerfully than ever before, and his heart almost stopped beating and he almost couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t breathe any longer. A bone in his back and his right elbow gave out a crushing sound almost at the same VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

time. His left arm was getting weaker by the minute. He clenched his teeth, staring wide-eyed, and he swore without uttering a word, You beast! You brute! You creature of hell! I’ll get you yet! But these swearwords made him feel weaker, because in reality, without realizing it, he was thinking of letting his left hand release the neck and accepting defeat. He found that not swearing was much better than swearing. He resumed his progress. His body was all crunched up and shrivelled under the weight and deadly grip of the snake. The giant snake squeezed him fiercely once more as they passed by the shrine of the Sacred Mother by the pool. It looked as though the cobra knew its nest was nearby, but he squeezed its neck with all his remaining strength. He felt that for the first time he had firmed up his grip to the point that his fingers could almost circle the whole neck and that bones were being crushed in his hand. But maybe this was mere wishful thinking. He was aware that the snake wasn’t dead yet because it still squeezed him tightly. Its tail, which now was wrapped around his left leg only, was still flailing about. He looked at its head, looked at the upper part of its body wrapped around his left arm, through his left armpit around his right shoulder, entrapping both his right shoulder and right arm against his chest in a quadruple coil with a fifth one around his waist, but that wasn’t the end of it: the lower part of its body passed between his legs to coil itself around his left leg to the level of his VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

calf. As most of the weight of the snake was on his left side, when he walked he kept lurching to the left along the cart track. He had to force himself to walk straight. The blood from the wound above his right eyebrow was still coming out and the rusty, tart taste of blood was in his mouth and in his nostrils. He spat. Even though he could see nothing, he knew he was spitting out saliva mixed with blood. The giant snake was very close to him. He had never thought he’d ever find himself that close with one. He had never had the least premonition, whether in reality or in a dream. Where was its heart? How was it he couldn’t feel its heart beating at all? What was the colour of its venom? White like milk or yellow like a topaz? What was his weight like? Fifty kilos? Sixty? Seventy? He had no idea, but he was certain the snake weighed more than he did. He had seen lots of snakes in his life of a country child but he had never encountered a snake this big. What he did not dare to ask himself was if this was an ordinary snake or the snake of the Sacred Mother of the village. It had appeared in front of the shrine, had it not? The thought made him feel weak at the knees, made him feel he was drowning into the sea of nothingness. The snake squeezed him once more, not so strongly this time, and that strength diminished, but for sure, it didn’t in any way let go of him. It was obvious that it wasn’t thinking of sparing the life of its foe. It was obvious that he acted by instinct and that if it could have VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

spoken, it would have talked back to him in his own words: You beast! You brute! You creature of hell! I’ll get you yet! And as he stepped forward once again ever so slowly and ever so painfully, strange and terrifying stories about snakes came to his mind (to tell the truth, he didn’t want to remember such stories at all; yet the fact was, he couldn’t forget them). It was his father who had told them to him, not to scare him, but so that he’d be careful in the presence of snakes. His father had told him that once, when he was still a youth of eighteen, one day during the cold season, while the water was receding in the rice fields, leaving all over puddles large and small in which huge fishes were trapped – one night of the cold season it was then that his father, as he was walking back from a folk drama performance at the temple, had heard an unusual sound, as if someone was scooping water out of his rice field, but it was already past midnight then and who the hell would be that diligent? The sound had come from one stretch of water in the copses near the old pool where Song Wat would later build the shrine to the Sacred Mother, that very one. His father had firmed up the curved-blade pike in his hand and had walked towards the sound with silent footsteps. What he had seen had made him hold his breath: a pitch-black cobra about four metres long had its neck wrapped around an overhanging branch by the side of the puddle, had its tail wrapped around another branch VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

on the other side of the puddle, and was swinging his body back and forth to scoop water out tirelessly in order to eat the fish left out at the bottom. His father had merely retraced his steps silently. The child with the crippled arm merely asked himself now if the big snake his father had found wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t the same as was coiled around him. His father had told him as well that at one time when he was twenty-one and he was conscripted in the military camp in town, he had to have a permission every Friday afternoon to go back to visit his grandmother who lived alone in the village and heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d leave the camp every Friday afternoon and cut across the fields through various villages and districts until he reached home shortly before dawn. For such trips, his father had no weapon other than a sharp curved-blade pike. One night among the copses in open country, he found himself unexpectedly confronting a cobra about two metres long. They were merely at the length of an arm from each other. The cobra had sprung up, swung its neck, spread its hood, then had started back its head a little and with the certainty of death, had struck. His father had swung his pike wildly. The blood of the snake had squirted his face and he had seen the headless snake twisting helplessly on the ground. He had stood watching the writhing body for a long time, scared stiff. It had been a damn close call. Out of curiosity, he had searched the area for the head of the snake, which had VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

gone missing in the bright moonlight. His hand still held the bloodied pike. With the dauntlessness of his age, he had searched all over the area in the moonlight. He wanted the head of the snake as a keepsake for that moment when it had almost cost him his life. He had looked for it for a long time and finally had had to change his mind and ruefully resume his travel. He had been walking for a while when he had felt that something was wrong. Something was stuck to the flap of the breast pocket of his military jacket, something cold and slimy that stank. He had pulled it off. It was the head of the cobra, its fangs dug inches from his throat. His father had told him also that, two years after he had got married, when he was only three months old, one evening in the rainy season he had gone to drain the seed plot. As he was returning home, he had found a cobra the size of his arm in an expanse of wild grass. It wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t a particularly big snake but it was very swift. His father had taken the first piece of wood he could lay his hand on and had given the snake a good whack right across its back. The piece of wood had broken and the cobra had slithered away and disappeared in the tall grass. His father had gone back home, had made a fire for the cows to keep the mosquitoes at bay, had eaten, taken a shower and gone to bed and forgotten about the snake entirely. In the middle of the night that night, his father had been stirred awake by the sound of something falling on the ground with a thud, and then VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

silence, and then that sound again. His father had looked at him who was fast asleep on his small cushion, had looked at his wife who lay on the other side of the mattress and was fast asleep as well, and had grabbed the torch and stealthily descended the front ladder towards the sound. He had switched on the torch and had found on the post supporting the corner of the house where the three of them slept a cobra the size of his arm. Its back bore signs of a beating and the wound and the scales were ample proofs that it was the very cobra he had whacked the previous evening. The snake was intent on slithering up the stilt to get revenge. It only had gone up a yard or so when it had fallen to the ground with that heavy thud, but then it had tried anew, heedless of the torchlight dousing it. That snake had slithered somehow from where it had been beaten and had followed him in pain, seething to pay back with its fangs his father’s beating. His father had said that what he had seen then had given him goose pimples all over. His father had said that the snake didn’t only want his life but that of his wife and that of his child too. His father had said that killing that cobra hadn’t been particularly difficult but that the fearful respect he had always held for snakes had become all the stronger. His father had told him too that cobras were at their most dangerous when they were mating. If he met cobras mating, he should flee right away. The cobras would be incensed, they’d stop mating at once and both VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

of them would go after whomever had intruded into their privacy. His father had added that once, when he was twenty-five, he had killed a cobra in an unusual and cruel manner. He had killed it because it had bitten a relative of his who was looking for bamboo shoots in a bamboo grove by a canal in open country and had set out to cut a shoot near the burrow of the snake, which had struck at his calf. The fellow had died instantly, the curved spade he used to cut the shoots still in his hand. That snake was a female. When his father had decided to kill it to avenge his relative, she had just laid an egg. His father had told his friends to make a big fire on the esplanade at the centre of the village and to make sure to keep it going. As for him, he had gone to the bamboo grove by the canal in open country with a spade in his hand. He had driven the snake out of its burrow by lighting a few dry leaves next to it, which had alarmed and maddened the female snake. She had fled from the nest yet had kept slithering nearby. His father had promptly used his spade to dig the burrow open, had grabbed the egg, had thrown the spade away and had started to run. It was robbery pure and simple. When she had seen her egg stolen under her nose as it were, the female snake had started in hot pursuit across the spread of freshly reaped fields in the shimmering haze of fierce sunlight. His father, though he was in his prime, had been racing for his life, the female cobra slithering, head raised, hot on his heels. The distance VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

between him and the cobra was getting shorter all the time. When he had seen it was so short it could be dangerous and he was getting weaker, he had taken off his hat and had thrown it away and had stopped for a rest. His father could stop to rest because the female snake had ceased being concerned with him for a short while and had turned aside to strike instead at the hat time and again before going back to slithering after him. His father had told him that that day he had had to get rid of things and stop to rest no less than three times. The first time he had thrown away his hat, the second time he had thrown away the long scarf he wore wrapped around his waist and the third time he had thrown away his black peasant shirt. Each time, after striking at the object fiercely, the female snake had resumed her chase. His father was out of breath and almost out of strength when he had run up to the fire that was roaring on the main village square and he had thrown the egg, which was glaring white and a little smaller than a chicken egg, into the fire and had watched with sweat-stung eyes the sight of the female cobra which had thrown itself fearlessly after the egg into the flames and had struggled and twitched and quivered until it had been turned into ashes. These stories sapped his strength and made him feel nervous. Both of his legs were weary, his left arm was weary, as were the palm and all five fingers of his left hand. His body seemed to have shortened and become VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

stooped under the weight of the snake. What would happen if he let go of his grip on the neck of the giant snake and let things take their course? At present, he was all bitterness and loathing. He wouldn’t be scared of that snake if he also had the use of his right arm. He’d be quite willing to grapple with it and he’d be able to squash it to bits. It wouldn’t be an easy victory perhaps, but he thought that if he had the full use of his body he’d win eventually. He tried to move his right arm. In his distress, he still had faith in a miracle. Nothing happened. His whole right arm, which was tightly pressed against his body, was still as stiff and devoid of strength as before. He was getting close to the village. He kept staggering along the cart track. It was a way he knew well. What time could it be by now? Seven? Seven thirty? Surely not quite eight o’clock. Any other day, by this time he’d have locked the cows in the cowshed, fetched water for them to drink, found dry straw for them to lie down on; as for him, he’d have eaten and showered and he’d be lying in bed listening idly to the radio, waiting for eight thirty, when the Kaeo Fa company would perform Julatreekhoon by Phanom Thian, which had come to an exciting episode, actually, and he’d go out for a stroll and on to some friend’s house for a few rounds of draughts — but tonight everything had changed. His house was at the outskirts of the village. He walked into its precincts and stopped and stood still VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

under the tamarind tree. His was an old Thai house with only one storey. The platform up there was dark, quiet and looked forlorn. Why had he come back home? Because he didn’t know where to go. Why had he returned to the village? Because he didn’t know where to go. Actually, he had his reasons. He had come back home because he worried about his cows. He had returned to the village because he hoped one villager or another would be able to help him, though he hadn’t even begun to think how. He walked straight to the cowshed, not trying to get too close, not trying to show himself, but merely skulking by the haystack. He counted. They were still all there. One of his friends must have led them back and given them water and fresh litter. In the cowshed, all the cows were at their usual place, each properly tethered. The door of the cowshed was closed. That took a weight off his mind. He took the track leading into the village. The whole village was dark and quiet. Some dogs barked when they saw him walking by, then fell silent. The gusts of wind were still strong. Hundreds of thousands of stars glittered in the sky. Blood was still running down from the wound above his right eyebrow, down his brow, his eye, the spread of his cheek, and found its way down his neck, but the fishy smell and taste of blood in his nostrils and mouth was gone. He saw torchlight and heard faint voices of people talking by the main pavilion in the village square. So he walked towards it. His friends VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

must have told everyone what had happened to him, and it was like he had thought. Almost the entire village was gathered there and people were consulting one another. Some said theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d go to the monastery to tell his parents the sad news. Some said theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d go out there in the fields and try to help him as much as they could if it wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t too late. On the vast esplanade under the big mango tree whose trunk it would take a man to girdle, near the large and very old Thai-style pavilion, there were men as well as women, elders as well as children, standing, sitting, squatting, gathered in haphazard groups. The torchlight revealed their faces and their eyes and some looked panicky, some worried, some gung-ho, some incredulous and some simply curious. In the hands of the men were weapons, knives for some, pikes for others, or else bamboo staffs. Some had pistols, some carbines. These people, as soon as they saw him emerging from the darkness together with the giant snake, began to jostle each other unwittingly. The din of chatter and shouts stopped all at once. When he walked closer, all retreated with shouts of wonder and fear. One man crouched and prostrated himself on the ground: Song Wat, of course. And since Song Wat was acting like this, many others did too. One of the people who crouched and prostrated themselves on the ground was none other than Granny Phlapphlueng. And when Song Wat said in a resounding and clear voice, Here it is, here is the sacred snake of the Sacred Mother of the village! The Sacred VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

Mother uses her snake to punish those who hold her in contempt, the child with the crippled arm saw that the people accepted that explanation and reacted accordingly. One of the people who accepted Song Wat’s explanation and reacted accordingly was Granny Phlapphlueng. His face full of sweat and blood, his wild, wide-opened, hard-staring eyes, his dishevelled hair sticking out like a crown of thorns, his body wrapped up in the coils of the giant snake made him totally unrecognisable. He stood still, a little bent forward and to the left. Above, the stars were glittering. From the southeast came ceaseless gusts of wind. On his left leg at the level of the calf, the tail end of the giant snake still swung slowly. A barn owl flew by with a long shrill cry before disappearing into the darkness. He didn’t say anything. He was unable to say he had come here to ask for help. He was unable to say he wanted to thank whomever it was who had goaded his cows back to the cowshed for him. The people there didn’t say anything either for quite a while. Finally, a middle-aged man, holding a rifle in his hand, walked dubiously up to him. His rifle was cocked and his finger was on the trigger. The man observed him and the snake at close quarters, from the front, from the left, from the back, from the right, inspecting them with dread. The other men did the same, but it was obvious that the gigantic size of the snake left them in a funk, and they began to consult one another once again (of VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

course, with some expressions showing pity as well). Can’t we possibly help each other grab the head of the snake and take hold of its tail to uncoil it and ease the squeeze? Can’t we possibly kill the snake outright by helping each other grab its head and cut off its neck with one strike of a sharp knife? But this would make the snake contract even more and the child could be stifled and die. Can’t we possibly kill the snake outright by helping each other grab its head then blow it off with a single bullet? But this would make the snake contract even more and the child could be stifled and die. There’s no time to waste. We must decide which method to use, and who will volunteer, who will try first. And most important, let’s not forget it’s a venomous snake. Then Song Wat stepped forward. He was in full control of himself. His manner was daring and confident. His voice was cool. Since he had become a medium, he knew very well that, whatever he did, what he did was always better than what others did, and whatever he said, what he said was always better than what others said. He knew very well that he was the spiritual leader of the village. Everybody knew he had power, and he knew it better than anybody else. When he spoke, everyone must listen. And now he was speaking, speaking slowly, speaking clearly, stressing each word: This is the snake of the Sacred Mother of this village. The wise and seasoned can see this at a glance. Something will happen to whoever lays his hand on this snake. This damn child has always held the VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

Sacred Mother in contempt, secretly and overtly, so that the Sacred Mother can no longer forgive him. The punishment he is receiving is nothing yet, you could say. Let the Sacred Mother handle this matter as she sees fit. This is my opinion. Out of respect for the Sacred Mother of our village, may no one hold contrary views. Song Wat walked up to him, closer than anyone else would dare. Song Wat looked deep into his eyes; he returned the look without compunction. In the eyes of the medium, the child with the crippled arm saw the grin of victory. He was the only one to know that it was the victory of a master deceiver. He knew now that his wish to the Mother of the Waters on the last Loi Krathong night that he might not hate Song Wat and that Song Wat might not hate him wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t going to be fulfilled as he had hoped, and in that instant all the particles of his being were drained of all strength. He turned his face the other way, staggered away ever so slowly. People crowded around him at a safe distance. Torchlight struck his stooped, twisted body and the pitch-black scales of the snake. He felt so exhausted he couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t carry on any longer. He knew there was no one left for him to rely on any longer. And in that very second, after he had uttered a long shrill cry, he let the grip of his left hand slip off the neck of the snake and heaved a sigh. He lowered his head as if he admitted defeat. The head of the snake fell off. Its whole body was VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK

devoid of any strength: it was dead. No one knew since when. When the people helped one another straighten it and uncoil it from the child, they did so easily. They were still awed by its gigantic size and their tongues were going nineteen to the dozen. But the child with the crippled arm paid no attention to anyone or to anything. His eyes were vacant. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he cried, sometimes he uttered to himself incomprehensible mumbles. He had irretrievably lost his mind as of the moment he had decided to admit defeat.

French trade and pocket | Portuguese | German | Thaiâ&#x20AC;?English

...among other editions

The author, on the cover of the 2007, revised edition of his 1994 masterwork, Ngao See Khao, The White Shadow VENOM | SANEH SANGSUK