As I passed the bed I stepped on something warm, resilient, and rather smooth.
It was not quite like hard rubber, and I had the sensation that it was alive. I also heard it move.
I switched on the light and looked at the floor by the bed. Whatever I had stepped on was gone.
I tapped on Jem’s door. “What,” he said. “How does a snake feel?”
“Sort of rough. Cold. Dusty. Why?” “I think there’s one under my bed. Can you come look?”
“Are you bein‘ funny?” Jem opened the door. He was in his pajama bottoms.
I noticed not without satisfaction that the mark of my knuckles was still on his mouth.
When he saw I meant what I said, he said, “If you think I’m gonna put my face down to a snake
you’ve got another think comin’. Hold on a minute.” He went to the kitchen and fetched the broom.
“You better get up on the bed,” he said. “You reckon it’s really one?” I asked. This was an occasion.
Our houses had no cellars; they were built on stone blocks a few feet above the ground,
and the entry of reptiles was not unknown but was not commonplace.
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