The Little Snake

by A.L. Kennedy

He also, because he thought he should, sent quite pleasant dreams to Paul – ones where Paul was a famous footballer, or a beautiful giraffe, or a tree filled with parakeets. (Lanmo could taste that Paul loved football, giraffes and parakeets.) And the snake sent some smaller dreams about mice and biscuits and tickles to Shade. (Cats’ dreams have to be small, because they need to fit inside catnaps, which are short.)

It seemed strange to the snake that so many humans would use so many ingenious machines and so many ingenious excuses and so many ingenious methods to rush each other out of the world, when all of them must leave their lives in any case. They should fly kites, he thought. They should play with cats and eat ice cream and bake bread and dance with each other and sing and they should marry each other and perhaps make intelligent children who understand things, or adopt children who are orphans and have nobody for them in the world. But he knew that he could not change the humans against their will and that the humans could only choose to change themselves and so he must leave them to be lost in their own ways.

This seemed so strange and yet so wonderful that neither of our human friends could move, but Shade simply capered over the threshold of the house and lay in a patch of sun on the living-room floor, as if he had always lived in this house. He was a sensible cat.

The snake spoke again to Mary, in his softest and gentlest voice. ‘I never save lives.’ And these were the saddest words he had ever tasted. ‘You are wrong.’ Mary shook her head and smiled. ‘You saved us.’

The snake kissed her cheek and sighed. ‘Ah, Mary. You are my best friend. You are my only friend in all the world.’ At this, the friends nodded and were silent.

And the snake she called Lanmo waited in the grass for her to come and meet him. But when she stood and took a step, he cried out, ‘No. No, Mary. You must remember that when you take very tiny steps the garden will grow and grow. Take only the very tiniest steps.’ But then she took another step and he called out, ‘No. No, Mary. You must take much smaller steps than that.’ But then she took another step and he called out, ‘No. No, Mary. You must remember that if you take no more steps then the garden will go on for ever and ever and will not end and nothing will end, not any more, not ever. Please.’ And that was the first time the snake had said please. ‘Please.’ And that was the second time. ‘Please.’ And that was the last time the snake ever said please. And what happened next I cannot tell you. No one can make me.

And it may be that Mary and Lanmo are waiting with each other in the garden to this day. I know they both would have liked that.