Chapter 8 — Snake
And thus begins Chapter Eight.
Now, children.
There we stood.
Before the snake house.
Quest marker reached.
Biological navigation vindicated.
Vibes
once again
proven superior to conventional systems.
The council refuses to endorse this conclusion.
Irrelevant.
Bro and I looked at the building.
Then at each other.
Sufficiently high.
Very pleased.
No.
More than pleased.
Ecstatic.
Children.
We had hunted this place.
Not efficiently.
Not intelligently.
But emotionally?
Pilgrimage.
Fish had led to evolution.
Evolution had led to reptiles.
Reptiles had led to crocodiles.
Crocodiles had led to tortoise.
Tortoise had led to dragon.
Dragon had led to
this.
The Promised Land.
The Snake House.
Bro nodded.
I nodded.
No words necessary.
We began walking toward it.
Destiny awaited.
And then
we walked behind it.
The council freezes.
What?
Behind it.
Children.
We had one final preparation to make.
Joint.
The council sighs.
But you were already high.
Correct.
The high was not fading.
This was not maintenance.
This was
enhancement.
The council looks concerned.
Why?
Because snakes deserved our full intellectual capacity.
Which,
under the circumstances,
meant reducing our actual intellectual capacity significantly.
The council stares.
Maximum high brain.
Maximum philosophy.
Maximum backstory.
Maximum cinema.
Children.
You do not enter the culmination of a reptilian pilgrimage at medium settings.
Ultra graphics.
Everything enabled.
So Bro and I temporarily disappeared from public zoological society.
Then
returned.
The council chooses not to inspect the intermission.
Wise.
And now?
Ready.
We entered.
Children.
Hallway.
Long hallway.
Very long.
Not some enormous open habitat.
Not jungle simulation.
Not winding cave.
Just
corridor.
And on both sides
glass.
Behind the glass?
Snakes.
The council rises.
SNAKES.
Many.
Enough.
More than enough.
Quest justified.
Pilgrimage
worthy.
Children.
We had spent what felt like half a geological age wandering through the zoo looking for snakes
and finally
snake abundance.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Every few steps
another serpent.
The council opens the quest log.
SNAKE QUEST:
COMPLETE.
But completion did not mean leaving.
No.
Now came
inspection.
First glance right.
Snake.
Hanging from an artificial branch.
Curled around it.
Body draped in that impossible snake way where gravity appears to be merely advisory.
Bro stopped.
I stopped.
Backstory
immediate.
Why is he up there?
Watching.
Waiting.
Bro suggested something.
I disagreed.
Perhaps hunter.
Perhaps philosopher.
Perhaps criminal exiled from ground society.
The council sighs.
Within seconds,
the snake possessed motive.
Then another.
Curled tightly on the floor.
Coil.
Perfect spiral.
Children.
Different personality.
Clearly defensive.
Or sleeping.
Or plotting.
Or simply cold.
Facts remained unavailable because once again
the information boards were decorative.
The council gestures toward them.
No.
We had our own research department.
Then
left.
Green.
Plants.
Branches.
Leaves.
We looked.
No snake.
The council pauses.
Empty enclosure?
Impossible.
Surely snake.
We leaned.
Looked harder.
Nothing.
Then
Bro saw it.
Or I did.
Doesn’t matter.
“There.”
Children.
Snake.
Green.
Perfectly buried inside green.
Not buried physically.
Visually.
Camouflage so effective that once you saw it,
you immediately wondered how you had not seen it.
The council nods.
And then came the question.
How did it know?
Silence.
The council looks at Nuo.
Know what?
To be green.
Children.
Think about it.
Somewhere,
at some point,
the first member of this species had to arrive at:
Green.
Excellent choice.
Maximum camouflage.
Who told it?
The council pinches the bridge of its nose.
Evolution.
Yes,
yes,
we had discussed this.
But emotionally?
Imagine being the first green snake.
All your ancestors perhaps doing snake colours incorrectly.
Then
you.
Green.
Suddenly
invisible.
The council objects.
That is not
Bro entertained the theory.
Therefore,
valid symposium.
Maybe snakes discussed it.
Maybe ancient snake council held a meeting.
“Children, leaves are green.”
“What if
we also green?”
Silence.
The council refuses further participation.
We moved on.
Next enclosure.
Large snake.
Very large.
Python.
Or anaconda.
The council prepares zoological clarification.
No.
Archive law.
I don’t know.
Children.
Both occupy the same broad category in my brain:
Very Big Snake That Could Potentially Swallow Nuo.
Good enough.
Bro looked at it.
Then offered an actual fact.
“They swallow prey alive.”
I looked at her.
Then snake.
Then back at her.
“Holy shit.
That’s terrifying.”
The council nods.
Finally,
a scientifically reasonable emotional response.
Imagine.
No chewing.
No polite preparation.
Just
whole.
Children.
I immediately began thinking about the experience from the prey’s perspective,
which was an unhelpful direction.
Dark.
Compression.
Snake.
No.
The council closes that mental file.
Terrifying.
Next.
Now.
Important.
We did not spend fifteen minutes at every enclosure.
Children.
Had we done that,
we might still be inside Trivandrum Zoo today.
The snake house contained enough animals that full philosophical treatment of each individual would have required residency.
Nor did we rush.
This was not
glance,
tick box,
next.
No.
We found a rhythm.
See.
Stop.
Admire.
Question.
Assign perhaps one deeply irresponsible theory.
Move.
The council nods.
Efficient philosophy.
Exactly.
A snake stretched across a branch.
Wawww.
Next.
One hidden under something.
Where is
oh.
There.
Wawww.
Next.
One curled into itself.
Backstory.
Next.
One moving slowly along glass.
Theory.
Next.
One almost completely still.
Perhaps dead?
No.
Probably sleeping.
Or meditating.
Children.
Snake after snake.
Theory after theory.
Backstory after backstory.
The hallway became cinema.
Every enclosure a different film.
No continuity required.
Though perhaps,
given enough time,
Bro and I would have connected them all into one dynastic serpent empire.
The council believes this strongly.
But then
the king.
Silence.
Children.
The King Cobra.
The one snake I can identify without consulting Discovery Channel memory,
Google,
Bro,
the government,
or vibes.
King Cobra.
Obvious.
Iconic.
The name carries weight.
The hood.
The posture.
The fact that every documentary presents it with music suggesting somebody important has entered court.
The council rises respectfully.
The king.
Bro and I stopped.
Of course we did.
Children.
If ordinary snakes received philosophy,
royalty required constitutional analysis.
First question:
Why is he king?
The council pauses.
Reasonable.
Who declared it?
Did the snakes vote?
Hereditary monarchy?
Military conquest?
Divine right?
Was there once a Cobra Republic
and this bastard overthrew parliament?
The council sighs.
Then:
Do other snakes obey him?
Children.
Important.
If you put a python beside a King Cobra,
does the python go:
Your Majesty.
Does a tiny green snake bow?
Do all cobras obey?
Or only other king cobras?
And if every individual of the species is called King Cobra
how many kings are there?
The council becomes alarmed.
That is an unstable monarchy.
Exactly.
Potential civil war.
Perhaps every King Cobra believes itself sovereign.
Maybe snake geopolitics are catastrophic.
Bro supplied counter theories.
I supplied more.
The cobra remained entirely uninvolved in constitutional debate.
Probably beneath him.
Then
another question.
If lion is king of the jungle
what is cobra king of?
Silence.
The council stops.
There.
Children.
Lion.
The word entered.
And immediately
quest marker.
The council hears the familiar chime.
LIONS.
Bro looked at me.
Or perhaps I looked at Bro.
The thought had arrived mutually enough that authorship does not matter.
We wanted lions.
Simple.
Snake quest
satisfied.
Next quest
lion.
Children.
Isn’t it fun?
Just doing what you want to do.
Not recklessly in every aspect of existence.
The council raises several fingers.
Don’t.
I mean here.
Inside a zoo.
No schedule.
No person telling us:
You’ve spent enough time with reptiles.
No itinerary requiring:
Next, deer enclosure.
No concern that we were experiencing exhibits in the wrong order.
We wanted fish.
Fish.
Then snakes.
Snakes.
Now lions.
Lions.
The council nods.
That was the whole navigation philosophy.
Interest appears.
Follow it.
When interest changes
turn.
Children.
No guilt.
No optimization.
No:
But we haven’t completed this section.
Who cares?
We had completed enough.
The snake house had delivered.
Fully.
There were snakes.
Many snakes.
Hidden snakes.
Large snakes.
Coiled snakes.
Branch snakes.
Green snakes.
Potential human swallowing snakes.
And finally
the king.
Our philosophical meter was full.
The quest marker had transformed.
SNAKES:
COMPLETE.
LIONS:
ACTIVE.
We walked toward the exit.
Long hallway behind us.
Glass walls retreating.
Serpents continuing their lives without realizing two stoned strangers had just assigned them monarchies,
romances,
evolutionary strategy meetings,
and personal tragedies.
The council nods.
They were fortunate to survive the narrative.
Outside
zoo again.
Air.
Paths.
People.
Bro beside me.
Still Bro.
Me beside her.
Also Bro.
Children.
We had now spent enough time together that conventional society might expect at least one proper introduction.
No.
Government remains excluded.
We had more important things.
Lions.
The council opens a new file.
QUEST:
Find lions.
LOCATION:
Unknown.
NAVIGATION:
Presumably vibes again.
METHOD SUCCESS RATE SO FAR:
Disturbingly high.
Exactly.
And for perhaps the first time,
I consciously enjoyed just
following whatever sounded fun next.
Not because I had arrived planning to Wander.
Not because I wanted material.
Not because there was some larger emotional weight demanding movement.
Children.
I was at the zoo.
There were animals.
I wanted to see one.
So I went looking.
Then wanted another.
So I changed direction.
Simple.
Almost childlike.
The council smiles.
Story Nuo’s terminology?
Lion.
Yes.
Keep the philosophy in its cage.
And so,
Bro and I stepped away from the snake house.
Completely satisfied.
No unfinished business with reptiles.
No need to see the king twice.
We had reached the Promised Land.
Paid respects.
Invented enough nonsense to permanently damage zoological academia.
Now
new destination.
The king of the jungle.
The council pauses.
Do lions actually live in jungles?
Children.
Do not ruin this before we even find them.
Fair.
Bro and I looked ahead.
Somewhere inside Trivandrum Zoo
lion.
We did not know where.
Naturally.
The council sighs.
Of course not.
Could we ask?
Potential undercover narcotics agents.
Could we read a sign?
The Archive has established our relationship with signage.
Map?
Please.
Then how
Vibes.
The council closes its eyes.
And perhaps,
if necessary,
biological navigation.
Find increasingly cat shaped animals.
Follow.
The council refuses.
We would figure it out.
We always had so far.
Children.
Snake quest complete.
Lion quest unlocked.
And off we went.
Thus concludes Chapter Eight.
The Pre Snake Enhancement Ritual.
The Long Hallway.
The First Snake.
The Camouflaged Green Snake.
The Question Of Who Told It To Be Green.
The Python Or Anaconda.
The Horrifying Swallowing Fact.
The Parade Of Serpents.
The King Cobra.
The Constitutional Crisis Of Snake Monarchy.
The Question:
If Lion Is King Of The Jungle,
What Is Cobra King Of?
And
The New Quest Marker.
Lions.
Children.
We had wanted snakes.
We found snakes.
Enough snakes.
Excellent snakes.
The pilgrimage had been justified.
Then the King Cobra made us think of kings.
Kings made us think of lions.
And just like that
the next objective existed.
The council updates the quest log.
SNAKES:
Complete.
LIONS:
Find.
Bro and I stepped out of the snake house.
No map.
No plan.
Fully satisfied.
And extremely excited to find a cat.
