Gerald Durrell (21 page)

SNAKES AND SUNBIRDS

AT Bakebe I
found that John had obtained permission to live in a huge native hut that had
once done duty as a Public Works Department store. It was a three-sided
structure, light and airy, perched on top of a hill above the village. This
vantage-point gave us a magnificent view over an endless, undulating sea of
forest, to the French Cameroon borders and beyond. Every conceivable shade of
green seemed to have been used in the composition of this picture, with here
and there a bombax tree glowing like a great bonfire, its branches full of
scarlet flowers and sunbirds. There were feathery, delicate trees in pale
green; thick-set oak-like trees with deep olive leaves; tall, spreading,
aristocratic trees, whose pale silver trunks stretched up elegantly several
hundred feet from the ground, and whose slender branches negligently supported
a mass of shimmering yellow-green leaves, as well as the deep green, untidy
bundles of orchids and tree ferns that clung to its bark. Curious hills rose
from the forest on all sides, hills shaped as perfect isosceles triangles, as
square as bricks, or ridged and humped as the back of an old crocodile, and each
one covered to its summit with the shaggy cloak of forest. In the early
morning, looking out from under our hilltop, the forest would be invisible
under the blanket of white mist; as the sun rose this dispersed, twisting and
coiling in great columns up to the blue sky, so that it seemed as though the
whole forest was on fire. Soon the mist would only cling round the curiously
shaped hills, so that they looked like islands in a sea of milk.

Bakebe, I soon
found, was a good place for reptiles. Half a mile away was a deep broad river,
and every so often a small boy would appear with a baby Broad-fronted Crocodile
dangling from a noose of grass. On arrival I had had a pool constructed for the
crocodiles, and I found very soon that I was forced to enlarge it. Every week I
had a count of the inmates of the pool, as I had a shrewd suspicion that unless
I did this I might be buying the same reptiles over and over again. These
counts were exciting affairs which generally ended in the animal staff having
bandaged fingers. It is astonishing how hard even a six-inch crocodile can bite
when it puts its mind to it. Needless to say the staff did not look upon this
duty with any enthusiasm: they considered it a most dangerous occupation, and
always tried to shirk it if they could.

One day the
staff had been more dilatory than usual over their duties and so, more as a
punishment than anything, I told them to go and count the crocodiles. Presently
I heard a loud wail, followed by a crashing sound and a splash. Hurrying out I found
chaos reigning at the pool: Daniel, in climbing the fence, had slipped and
fallen against it, and the entire side, not having been designed to withstand
this sort of treatment, had given way. Daniel had then completed the
destruction by rolling into the pool, and thus scaring some forty baby saurians
out of the water, up on to the bank, and so out of the broken fence. When I
arrived the ground was covered with crocodiles. They scuttled in all directions
with great speed and agility, their mouths open threateningly. The Africans,
who were unshod, were also moving with speed and agility. I yelled for
reinforcements, and the household staff rushed from the kitchen to join in the
chase, and they were followed by the bird staff from the house. In times of crisis
such as this, everyone, no matter what his station or job, was called upon to
lend a hand. Well in the rear, upholding the Englishman’s traditional
reputation for calmness, came John, in his normal slow and unhurried manner. By
the time he arrived on the scene most of the reptiles had taken cover in the
surrounding undergrowth. Peering round he could only see one or two crocodiles
in sight, and so naturally wanted to know what all the shouting and fuss was
for.

“I thought all
the crocs had escaped,” he said aggrievedly. “That’s why I came down.”

As if in answer,
five crocodiles appeared out of the grass and converged about his feet. John
looked at them broodingly for a minute, unaffected by the cries of alarm from
the bird staff, and then he bent down and, picking one carefully up by the
tail, he waved it at me.

“Here’s one, old
boy,” he called.

“Don’t hold it
like that, John,” I called, “it will turn . . .”

Acting as if
under instructions the tiny reptile curved itself up and fastened its jaws on John’s
finger. To his credit let it be said that not a sound escaped him; he shook the
reptile free, not without some effort, and backed away from the battle area.

“I don’t think I
will join in after all, if you don’t mind,” he said, sucking his fingers, “ I
am supposed to be a bird man.” He retired to the hut and fastened an enormous
bandage round his finger, while the rest of us spent a hot and painful hour
rounding up the remaining crocodiles, and mending the fence.

This incident
was the beginning of a whole row of irritating episodes in John’s life, all of
which involved reptiles. He insisted that all these episodes took place at my
instigation: before my return from Eshobi, he said, he had led a happy and
reptile-free existence. As soon as I appeared on the scene the reptile world,
so to speak, converged on him. John was not afraid of snakes, but he treated
them with caution and respect and, while able to appreciate their beauty from
afar, he did not want them on too intimate a footing with him. And so the fact
that, for a short time, reptiles in general and snakes in particular seemed to
find him irresistible, was a source of considerable annoyance to him. Not long
after the escape of the crocodiles John’s finger was healing nicely, and the
second episode occurred.

I was just
leaving the hut one day to go and examine some traps I had set, when a man
arrived with a wicker fish-trap full of water-snakes. Now these snakes, I was
fairly sure, were non-poisonous. Even if venomous they would only be mildly so.
As I was in a hurry I purchased the creatures and pushed them into an empty
kerosene tin and placed a plank on top, meaning to attend to them on my return.
When I got back that evening I found that the carpenter had removed the plank
to convert it into a cage, and all the water-snakes had disappeared. As this
had happened in the open I presumed that the reptiles had dashed back to the
forest, so, beyond lecturing the carpenter on carelessness, I did nothing. Half
an hour later John was doing some moving in the bird section, and on lifting up
a large and heavy cage was startled to find five fat water-snakes coiled up
beneath it. Unfortunately, in his surprise, he let fall one end of the cage,
which landed on his instep. There followed a hectic chase, during which John
had to move most of his bird-cages as the reptiles slid from one to the other
with great rapidity. John was not amused, and his short soliloquy on the
reptile kingdom (in which he included me) was a joy to listen to.

A few days later
a panting boy rushed up from the village and informed me that there was a snake
in a banana tree, and would I go and catch it. It so happened that the entire
staff was out on various errands, and so John was the only one to whom I could
appeal for help. Very reluctantly he left his bird feeding and accompanied me
down the hill-side. At the village we found a crowd of about fifty people round
a banana tree which grew at the back of one of the huts, and with much shouting
they pointed out the snake to us. It was coiled in and out of a very large
bunch of bananas at the top of the tree, and it surveyed us with a glittering
eye. John asked me if it was poisonous, and I replied that, so far as I could
see, it was a tree viper of sorts, and probably quite poisonous enough to make
things interesting should it bite anyone. John retreated as far as the crowds
would let him, and asked how I proposed to capture it. As far as I could see
the best way was to cut down the bunch of bananas with the snake inside, and so
we carefully ringed the area in which the fruit would fall, with the smallest
mesh net we possessed, and I stationed John on the outside of this, armed with
a stick to repel the snake should it try to get away. Then I borrowed a machete
off a bystander, and asked the crowd if the owner of the tree would mind my
cutting down the unripe fruit. Several voices assured me that he would not mind
at all, and it was only later, when the real owner turned up, that I found out
he objected very strongly and to the tune of several shillings. However, I
approached the tree swinging my machete in a professional manner. The crowd had
now increased considerably, and we were surrounded by a solid wedge of humanity
all anxious to watch the white man’s snake-catching methods. When I discovered
that I could not reach the bananas to cut the stem, they were all greatly
amused.

“I shall have to
cut the whole tree down,” I said to John.

“All right,” he
replied, “only wish we could get rid of this crowd. If the damn thing makes a
run for it someone will get bitten.”

“Don’t worry,” I
said soothingly, “if it does make a run for it they’ll get out of the way
quickly enough.”

I started to
hack at the trunk of the tree. Now, the stem of a banana tree is deceptive: it
looks quite solid, but in reality it is soft and fibrous and juicy, and very
easily cut. This I did not know, so it was with considerable surprise that I
felt the blade of the machete go right through the trunk at my second swipe,
and the whole tree crashed earthwards. That it should fall exactly where John
was standing was pure bad luck. With an agility of which I would not have
thought him capable, he leapt to one side, and the tree missed him. The bunch
of bananas was broken off by the fall and rolled and bounced its way across the
ground to his feet, and the snake fell from it, wiggling angrily. The crowd, as
I had predicted, faded away, and John was left facing the angry snake with
nothing between them but a length of flimsy net. Apparently I had misjudged the
size of the snake, for he proceeded to wiggle through the net with the greatest
of ease, and then, before John could do anything to prevent it, it slithered
between his legs and off into the undergrowth. It was useless to search for him
in that thick mass of bushes, so I started to disentangle the net from the
wreck of the banana tree. John watched me malevolently.

“I have
decided,” he said at last, “that I am not cut out for this snake-charming
stuff. In future you can catch all snakes yourself.”

“But they seem
to like you,” I pointed out, “you fascinate them. Now, if we could only hang
some nets round your legs, all the snakes rushing to get close to you would
become entangled. You ought to be flattered, it’s not everyone that has this
magnetic attraction for reptiles.”

“Thank you,”
said John witheringly, “your suggestion about the nets, though I’ve no doubt
it’s very sound, would, I feel, hamper my movements somewhat; I am quite happy
exercising a fascination over birds, without enlarging my repertoire to include
reptiles.” Then he stalked up the hill and left me to interview the owner of
the banana tree who had just arrived.

The last affair
came three days later. A voluble hunter arrived carrying a small basket in
which nestled a fat and beautiful Gaboon Viper. The skin of these plump,
squat-looking snakes is covered with the most intricate and colourful pattern,
and having purchased it, I carried it in for John to admire. The reptile had
recently shed his skin, so the colours glowed with life, a lovely patchwork of
pink, red, fawn, silver, and chocolate. John admired it, but implored me to
keep it safely locked up.

“It’s deadly,
isn’t it, old boy?”he asked.

“Yes, very
deadly.”

“Well, for
goodness’ sake keep it in its cage . . . remember the water-snakes. We don’t
want a repetition of that.”

“Don’t worry,
I’m having a special cage built for it.”

So the special
cage was built, and the sluggish and deadly viper placed reverently inside. All
would have been well if it had not been for the thunderstorm. This broke with
unusual force just as I was having my bath and, remembering that the reptile
cages were piled out in the open, I yelled to the animal staff to bring them
in. If the cages got damp the wood warped, and it is surprising how small a
crack a snake can squeeze through if it wants to. The cages were rushed inside
and piled up near the monkeys. This proved my undoing.