The Phrenology of the Snake

Knowing that the camp music coordinator was stamping out staccato beat of irritation in the waiting room, Director Artie Waldheim held up his hand to forestall the latest repetitive protestation from camp “Science Guy” Samuel Coburn.

“Okay, Sam, you’ve made some good points,” Waldheim shifted his attention to the other side of the room, where a woman seemed to blend into the green mural scenery. “Granola?” He implored.

The naturalist stirred. Up to this point, she had chosen not to speak as Coburn and three counselors had all weighed in. She regarded the subject of the debate, a little boy in Michelle’s tribe, who currently stood forlornly in the center of a ring of adults and teenager counselors whom, compared to him, also represented adult authority.

Ernest Grody had been a topic of debate long before that day; small for his age, heavily freckled, painfully shy, and eternally wearing the same tangerine-colored vest no matter what the weather or activity, he invited cruelty from bullies. The counselors instinctively extended him an extra measure of vigilance, although the bullies soon granted Ernest plenty of distance for the same reason that brought them there that day.

“It’s not that these are dangerous snakes.” Coburn cut in again, referring to the slowly undulating lumps in the tangerine vest pockets. “I saw him take out the one at the lunch table that scared the kids away. Black body, yellow stripes, round eyes and rounded head, it was unmistakably a ribbon snake.”

“Sam, please,” Waldheim pleaded. “I’d like to hear from everybody before we make a decision. Granola, go ahead.”

Granola considered the matter silently and purposefully, as slow and deliberate as the music coordinator in the waiting room wasn’t.

“I believe Ernest has a gift for dealing with these creatures that we will probably never understand. I recommend we encourage him to continue exploring his gift, provided that he is mindful of the other children’s safety.”

Hers was a minority opinion, but as soon as she stated it, Michelle and her co-counselor seemed swayed. Coburn was apoplectic.

“Artie, this is crazy. Look, I know I said the snake I saw wasn’t dangerous, but this boy is liable to pick up something deadly if he keeps this up. It’s not all garter snakes out there. I’m up for confiscating the snakes he has now and putting them in this aquarium.” Coburn brandished the plastic case for emphasis.

Waldheim considered the Science Guy’s assertions, and determined that as much as he detested him, he was inclined to agree with him on this matter. He could imagine the phone calls home from the children who had run out of the lunch room screaming that Ernest was feeding bugs to the snake head sticking out of his vest pocket. The fear of those phone calls – and the corresponding parent phone calls to his office right after – outweighed the memory of his predecessor’s instruction to “always listen to Granola.”

“Okay, young man… Ernest. Please give Mr. Coburn your snakes.”

Ernest reluctantly unzipped his right pocket and gently removed a black snake with yellow stripes – a ribbon snake, just as Coburn had said. It was languid until Coburn took it, then it wriggled madly. Coburn let it slip through his fingers and into the aquarium.

“Typical ribbon snake,” Coburn said, wiping his hand on his khaki shorts. “Secretions make it slippery and hard to hold. Give me the other one, young man.”

Ernest shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Coburn.”

“Boy, I can handle snakes. I’ve been handling more animals than you can imagine longer than your parents have been alive. Now hand it over.”

Ernest sighed and unzipped the left pocket, murmuring something under his breath that was probably intended to soothe the creature within. He drew it out and placed the coils in Coburn’s hand.

As Waldheim watched, Coburn’s face shifted into an expression of horror. A large blunt head rose up from the center of the coil and fixed a cold, slit-shaped eye on the Science Guy.

“Oh, dear.” Granola said, unheard through all the shrieking that followed. “I’d better get the anti-venom.”