On sunny days geckos bask on the back steps, positioned at the corners of the stairs with their prehistoric snouts raised in salutation to the sun. Geckos are very small and pose no threat, but their skittery movements unnerve me. Initially I hated them, I tried to spook them to scare them off, I would rush at them, arms out and waggling and making frightening noises, but they merely stared at me as if perhaps I needed help. Over time we developed a truce.
All was well in my animal kingdom until one day, as I peaceably day-dreamed at my computer; absentmindedly sipping from ice water with key lime juice when a flash caught my attention. Snapping me from my woolgathering I saw a baby gecko peering out from behind a stack on my desk. He was tiny and translucently pale, and it appeared he was smiling the smile of a supplicant, like he was imploring me to help. Of course I wanted to help, plus I wanted him out of the house, the thought of him springing over me as I slept gave me the creeps. Remembering how my friend Nalim had tackled the innocent owlet of some weeks past, I dashed for a towel. The miniature reptile stayed crouched beside the stack, those trusting eyes staring at me. Tossing the towel I pictured great mariners loosening seines and hauling in catch. Picking up an edge I peaked beneath to find nothing. No baby gecko. I shook out the towel but he was gone, never to be seen again.
Perhaps I befriended some of these geckos, but it was hard to be sure, plus it seemed I never saw the same beast twice. One afternoon the birds began chirping hotly so I skipped to a window to see and was affronted with the dreadful sight of an oily length of blackness slithering through the grass. I didn’t trust my eyes until the grotesque spectacle recurred. Now a walk in the garden is fraught, every rustling steeped with possibilities of the monster looping up a limb and garroting a major artery, or fanging me with venom.
Today I was surprised to see a tidy pile of dog poo, black and shiny and pretzeled beneath a green and wicker garden chair stationed beside the back steps. Then, shockingly, from the top of the slimy heap I saw an inky flickering tongue shoot out. The crafty snake was hiding from view of the sun-tanning lizards, my friends. Were I a naturalist I would have coolly observed, instead I freaked out. All of me quivering I slammed closed the rattling screen door. Geckos bound away in all directions and Snakey oozed into the grass, diminishing to a tip that remained upright, like a middle finger.
I wonder if I should drag the hammock indoors, line it up alongside the bed in the living room? As my friend Nalim said, “Even Eden has its snake so you must be in Paradise!”