Читать книгу How to Be Eaten by a Lion - Michael Johnson - Страница 9

Vengeance

They later called it nyoka—serpent—

a mamba no one had seen the equal of.

They skewered it with rebar and watched it writhe.

They began with delicious nonchalance,

laying bets on who would deliver the coup de grâce.

With slingshots and bearing balls

the boys inched up the tail break by bruise,

aiming short to spark and shrapnel in the gravel.

They loved quartz smoke like some vital ingredient

in the bread of vengeance.

Elders squatted, whittling blowgun arrows,

imploring everyone to not hasten this gift,

not cheat them of their rightful portion.

That is how he found them, the pastor.

He glared about, daring anyone

to question his compassion,

as he gripped the rebar, a piece he knew stolen,

and angered more, unplanted it

and bent as if to pick up the limp body

when it struck. Men beat it to pieces.

His hand burned, he said. He sank to his knees

while they ran for the campus nurse.

That was how he died, with his snake,

a creature who spoke the only language it knew.