Chapter 5 — Crocodile
And thus begins Chapter Five.
Now, children.
Snakes.
That was the quest.
Not zoo.
Not animals.
Not education.
Snakes.
The council opens the map.
Do you know where the snakes are?
No.
Did Bro?
Also apparently no.
Excellent.
So we walked.
Direction?
Vibes.
Children.
A navigation system with an appalling safety record
and tremendous confidence.
We picked a direction
and proceeded.
And for a while
animals.
The council leans forward.
What animals?
I cannot tell you.
Silence.
You were in a zoo.
Yes.
Surely you remember
No.
Children.
Tunnel vision.
Severe.
Every enclosure contained one of two possible categories.
Snake.
Or
not snake.
The council nods.
A sophisticated taxonomy.
We would approach something.
Look.
Animal.
Not snake.
Continue.
Bro would suddenly point.
“Oh, that’s a snake.”
I would look.
No.
Not snake.
Or perhaps I would spot something long in the distance.
Snake?
No.
Branch.
Not snake.
Next.
Children.
There could have been an extraordinarily rare endangered creature standing three metres away,
performing a dance never before documented by science,
and my brain would have classified it as:
NOT SNAKE.
The council sighs.
Such was the strength of the quest marker.
Bro appeared similarly afflicted.
Neither of us cared about the other exhibits anymore.
We had selected reptile.
Specifically snake.
Until snake occurred,
the zoo was merely producing obstacles.
Now.
Could we have asked someone?
The council immediately nods.
Yes.
Absolutely.
There were staff.
Visitors.
Families.
Sober adults.
Humans capable of saying:
“Snake enclosure is that way.”
Children.
Asking for directions is a sober man’s tool.
The council pauses.
Explain.
When stoned,
logic develops additional layers.
Unnecessary layers.
Suspicious layers.
Every perfectly ordinary person becomes potentially
something else.
That man sweeping the path?
Undercover narcotics agent.
That elderly uncle with his family?
Deep cover.
That woman buying water?
Probably running surveillance.
The child holding a balloon?
Informant.
The council stares.
You believed the zoo was conducting a sting operation specifically for two random high people?
Not intellectually.
Emotionally.
Important distinction.
Children.
Paranoia does not require evidence.
Evidence would only slow it down.
So:
ask directions?
No.
Because perhaps the person we ask will look into our eyes.
The red.
The vacant philosophy glow.
And then
sirens.
The council closes the Help Desk.
Very well.
Signs?
Ah.
Signs.
Children.
We had forgotten those existed.
Not:
We found a Malayalam sign and failed to read it.
No.
That would require remembering that signs were tools.
We had moved beyond that stage.
Our brains simply did not produce:
Perhaps signage has been installed for this exact purpose.
The council gestures at several imaginary arrows.
Nothing?
Nothing.
Maybe Bro could read Malayalam.
Who knows?
Perhaps she was born three streets away.
Perhaps she could read every sign perfectly.
We never established this.
Because once again
government information unnecessary.
The council nods.
So we walked.
Snake?
No.
Snake?
No.
Snake?
No.
Until
clue.
The council becomes attentive.
A reptile.
Large.
Low.
Armoured.
Mouth shaped like a biological warning.
Crocodile.
Or
alligator.
The council pauses.
Which?
Children.
I do not know.
To this day,
I possess an embarrassingly weak understanding of the crocodile alligator distinction.
I know they are
different.
Probably.
Somehow.
One has a different snout?
Teeth?
Geography?
Attitude?
The council opens a biology textbook.
Close it.
Not relevant.
The animal before us belonged to the broad scientific category of:
Large Murder Lizard.
The council accepts this reluctantly.
But more importantly
reptile.
Children.
A clue.
If there are crocodiles here
or alligators
then perhaps the zoo has grouped reptiles together.
And if reptiles are grouped together
snakes.
The council lights up.
QUEST DIRECTION ACQUIRED.
Exactly.
Forget signs.
Forget maps.
Forget staff.
We had discovered biological navigation.
Follow the crocodiles.
The council pauses.
That is not how
It was now.
Children.
We approached the enclosure.
And naturally,
the snake quest immediately stopped.
Because
look at that thing.
Huge.
Still.
Ancient.
A creature that looks like evolution completed the design several million years ago,
stared at it,
and said:
Good enough.
No updates required.
The council nods.
We stood there.
Watched.
Unknown duration.
Again.
Because time inside the zoo had become decorative.
One crocodile
or alligator
lay apart from the others.
Bro pointed.
“See that one?”
Yes.
“He’s the alpha.”
The council pauses.
Do crocodiles have alphas?
I asked exactly that.
“I don’t think crocodiles have alphas.”
Bro considered.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Children.
Neither scientist possessed sufficient peer reviewed evidence.
Then
new question.
Wait.
Are these crocodiles?
Or alligators?
The council groans.
And suddenly the animals themselves became secondary to taxonomy.
“What even is the difference?”
One of us asked.
“Maybe the nose.”
“Which one has which nose?”
“No idea.”
“Do they live in different places?”
“Probably.”
The council attempts to intervene.
Then came the truly important scientific inquiry.
Can crocodiles and alligators mate?
Silence.
Children.
This was now research.
The council objects.
No research was conducted.
Correct.
Speculation.
Extensive speculation.
Could they?
Would they?
Have they?
Would the offspring be called
No.
The council slams the table.
We do not need to name hypothetical crocodile alligator children.
Fine.
But naturally,
backstories followed.
One animal became alpha despite possible absence of alpha social structures.
Another became the bitter older rival.
One was clearly plotting.
Another had retired.
Children.
The stillness of crocodilians is dangerous for stoned observers.
Because when an animal does nothing,
your brain fills the silence.
That one is not resting.
He is contemplating betrayal.
That one is not sunning itself.
She is remembering the war.
The council watches an animal lying motionless.
It has not moved for twenty minutes.
Exactly.
Trauma.
And so
reptile philosophy.
Different from fish philosophy.
Fish had been wonder.
Colour.
Movement.
Tiny relationships unfolding rapidly behind glass.
This?
Curiosity.
These things looked ancient.
Heavy.
Like dinosaurs had filed paperwork to remain employed.
The council approves that description.
Eventually
next enclosure.
Another giant lizard.
Different species?
Probably.
Crocodile?
Alligator?
Maybe something else within the murder lizard family?
Children.
Unknown.
The Archive refuses to assign species based on my zoological incompetence.
What I remember:
long snout.
Very long.
A reptile apparently designed by someone who grabbed the front of a normal lizard
and stretched.
The council nods.
Excellent scientific observation.
We stared.
More questions.
More stories.
More theories possessing absolutely no academic value.
And through all of this
snakes remained somewhere ahead.
We believed.
Because the reptile trail had begun.
Follow the crocodiles.
Eventually they would deliver us to serpents.
Children.
This was faith.
Then
something changed.
The council looks at Nuo.
The high.
Ah.
Yes.
It began fading.
Not suddenly.
Just the slow return of ordinary sharpness.
The zoo became slightly less magical.
The murder lizards became slightly more like animals in enclosures
and slightly less like ancient political dynasties.
The Philosophy Meter dropped.
I felt it.
Bro felt it too.
There is a particular mutual recognition between two people who have spent an hour operating at the same altitude
when both begin descending.
The council nods.
And me?
I accepted fate.
Children.
This was home turf.
Trivandrum.
My city.
I do not casually walk around carrying joints in my pocket here.
The council raises an eyebrow toward earlier events.
Today?
You had arrived after smoking one.
Correct.
But spare inventory?
No.
Nothing.
So I thought:
Fine.
The high had served its purpose.
Fish had received philosophy.
Crocodiles had received social hierarchy.
Life continues.
Then Bro
legend.
The council turns.
She reached into her pocket.
Produced a cigarette box.
Opened it.
Inside
joints.
Plural.
Children.
Many.
My face?
Beam.
The council laughs.
Bro chuckled.
No words needed.
The ancient fellowship had deepened.
We found somewhere out of the main flow of people,
behind an old looking public bathroom.
Was the bathroom abandoned?
Perhaps.
Was it still functional?
The smell strongly argued
yes.
The council recoils.
And somehow,
in our stoned reasoning,
that became reassuring.
Children.
I will spare you the strategic theory.
It was not a good theory.
But Story Nuo and Bro apparently considered unpleasant bathroom atmosphere an acceptable companion to privacy.
The council refuses further analysis.
Wise.
We disappeared briefly.
Then returned.
The Philosophy Meter
restored.
The council sighs.
Of course.
Sufficiently stoned again,
we re entered the reptile trail.
Children.
Look at the structure of this afternoon.
I had entered the zoo alone.
Ignored the official route.
Found an aquarium.
Met a woman whose name I still did not know.
We became Bros.
Forgot how directions worked.
Invented evolutionary history.
Declared snakes the new objective.
Ignored every animal that was not snake.
Found crocodiles.
Used crocodiles as navigation infrastructure.
Assigned them social hierarchies.
Debated interspecies romance.
And when our altered state began fading,
Bro apparently opened a cigarette box containing reinforcements.
The council examines the plan.
Professional?
No.
Effective at preserving the day’s tone?
Undeniably.
And once again
no formal friendship agreement.
No:
Here, have one.
No emotional speech.
Just the quiet understanding of two Bros engaged in important zoological work.
The council smiles.
The government still uninvolved.
Precisely.
We returned to the path.
The giant reptiles waited.
Or perhaps they had not moved at all.
Likely.
Children.
We resumed the quest.
Snakes.
Somewhere.
Maybe close.
Maybe far.
No idea.
But now we had a system.
Crocodiles lead to reptiles.
Reptiles lead to snakes.
Therefore
follow crocodiles.
The council hesitates.
This sounds mathematically unsound.
So did using a bucket as a helmet.
That worked.
The council withdraws the objection.
And so we continued.
Two strangers.
Two Bros.
No government names.
No map.
No readable directions.
No willingness to ask sober humans for help.
Just reptilian breadcrumbs
and an absolute conviction that somewhere ahead
snake.
The zoo around us existed in full.
Animals.
Families.
Paths.
Trees.
Signs we continued not to remember.
But our world had narrowed again.
Not snake.
Not snake.
Crocodile.
Closer.
Another crocodile.
Surely closer.
Children.
Whether this logic had any relationship with the actual layout of Trivandrum Zoo?
We would find out.
Or not.
Either way
we followed the crocodiles.
Thus concludes Chapter Five.
The Vibes Navigation System.
The Tunnel Vision.
The Entire Zoological Classification Of Not Snake.
The Undercover Narcotic Agent Paranoia.
The Forgotten Existence Of Signs.
The Crocodile.
Or Alligator.
The Question Of Which Is Which.
The Alleged Alpha.
The Highly Unqualified Reptile Philosophy.
The Giant Long Snouted Lizard.
The Fading High.
The Cigarette Box Of Salvation.
And The Renewed Snake Quest.
Children.
We could have asked someone where the snakes were.
We did not.
We could have read a sign.
We forgot signs existed.
Instead,
we found crocodiles
and decided
reptiles.
Snakes must be close.
The council looks toward the next enclosure.
Scientific basis?
Minimal.
Confidence?
Absolute.
And so
we followed the crocodiles.
