David R. Dudley

The Python's Wife

     There was a python who had, hethought, married quite well. His wife was a sturdy human withthick arms, a thick waist, and long auburn hair which she woreloosely up in back as she went about the work of keeping theirhouse. She made rather a uniform of her apron, and her face wasplain. But the python cared little for appearances, unless forhis own handsome skin of shining copper and black, and was wellsatisfied with wedded life. The best of it was the children.

     The python's wife produced themost wonderful children, in her own human image. They were plump,soft, and warm-blooded, and furthermore had no thick fur or sharpclaws and teeth, and the python quickly discovered that they madean excellent meal. When the python's wife bore her first son shewas horrified to see her husband seize the infant in his giganticcoils, squeeze the new life out of it, and slowly swallow it headfirst. Subsequently she had other sons and daughters, but theserpent ate them each time, praising his wife's noble womanhoodand culinary expertise.

     Needless to say, the python'swife was dismayed at her husband's habit of snacking on theirchildren. It struck her, quite reasonably, as a grave impedimentto the raising of a family. However much she pleaded with himto stop, though, he would not. He said he couldn't help himself,that it was his nature, and that she was a wonderful wife.

     The turning point in their marriagecame when the python's wife had twins. As usual, the snake gulpeddown the first baby when it came, then lay by the bed with hishead raised a few inches off the floor, smiling appreciativelyat the poor woman. Much to the serpent's surprise she was notfinished, and a few minutes later she bore a second child.

     "What a beautiful littlegirl," said the python. "But I'm afraid I'm stuffed.I have no appetite."

     "Then you won't eat her?"asked his wife hopefully.

     "Oh, I couldn't eat anotherbite."

     "Promise me you won't eatthis baby," demanded the woman.

     The python smiled indulgentlyand promised. Then, kissing his wife and daughter on their cheekswith the flickering, fork-tongued kiss of a python, he slitheredout onto the landing and downstairs to digest his meal.

     The python's wife was overjoyed.Cradling her child in her arms, she thought blissfully of thehappy days and years to come, watching her daughter grow, takingher for walks in the park and trips to the sea shore, readingbedtime stories to her, and on and on. For hours and days on endshe wove her rosy dreams, and, after waiting so long for the chanceto care for and pamper a child of her own, she didn't mind inthe slightest the soiled diapers, the colicky nights, and allthe myriad discomforts attendant upon the duties of parenthood.Her little darling girl was worth it all.

     But the poor woman's state ofhappy motherhood was not long lived. One afternoon several monthsafter her daughter was born, the python's wife was in the kitchenheating up some milk for the baby's bottle when a sudden, instinctivefear came over her. She ran upstairs as fast as she could to thebaby's room, and there by the empty crib she found her husbandwith a large bulge in his throat.

     "What have you done?"she cried.

     The python turned his head tolook at her with his most innocent expression, as though her tonehurt him very deeply.

     "You promised you wouldn't,"the woman wailed, helplessly clutching the hair above her ears.

     "It's been several months,"answered the python, "and I'd got my appetite back. Darling,you know how my appetite is, how ravenous I get, and how temptingthe plump, soft babies you make are to me. You understand, don'tyou? I couldn't help myself." He smiled winsomely and slidforward to give his wife a flickering kiss on the cheek.

     But as he approached she drewback her arm and smacked his fist-like head as hard as she could.He drew up short and reeled dizzily from the blow. He looked ather, astounded, and he would have blinked if snakes could blink.

     "You can make another baby,my dear," he stammered. "I'll try my best not to eatthe next one. You have my word."

     "No!" she said furiously."No more babies." And as she seemed to have closed thesubject for the time being, the python crawled sheepishly away.

     The python's wife shed not anothertear, but with a new and wild glint in her eyes went straightdownstairs to the kitchen and began to bake.

     It was the beginning of a longcampaign of baking. She started with cookies: sugar cookies, raisinoatmeal cookies, ginger snaps -- all kinds of cookies. She madecookies for days on end, and then she went on to cinnamon rollsand hot cross buns. At first the python didn't worry much aboutit. He knew that women had their little ways, and if it pleasedhis wife to go on a baking binge, he was content to let her. Butas the weeks wore on and she showed no sign of letting up, hebegan to grow uneasy. She spent all her time in the kitchen baking,hardly taking time out to sleep. The python sat anxiously in theliving room, his great coils heaped and wrapped over and aroundhis plush armchair, trying to read the newspaper but glancingnervously at the swinging door to the kitchen. Through that doorhis wife occasionally came like an explosion, so that he startedterribly and looked to see her carrying another tray or basketof pastries to some corner of the house. She had long since filledevery available space in the kitchen, and was now gradually fillingthe rest of the house with her creations, wherever room couldbe found. There were biscuits by the thousand in the bedrooms,croissants in the closets, and petits fours in the foyer. An armyof doughnuts occupied the guest room, while a growing populationof apple fritters, sticky buns, and brownies thronged the stairs.Each new wave of baked goods was preceded by a delicious smellwhich would have made anyone else's mouth water, but which onlymade the python nervous.

     Finally one day, when his slowdigestive system had entirely finished processing the most recentof his ill-fated progeny, the python summoned up enough courageto speak to his wife as she came bursting through the swingingdoor with two trays of hot, oven-fresh cupcakes.

     "My dear," he saidhesitantly, "how long are you going to carry on like this?"

     The woman showed no sign of havingheard him, but emptied the trays onto the sofa and strode backinto the kitchen as though she hadn't a moment to lose in herlabors there.

     "I'm hungry!" criedthe snake pathetically. "Why don't you make me another baby?"At which the door, which had hardly swung back into place fromthe kitchen, swung violently out into the living room, and thepython's wife came dashing forth with fire in her eyes and therumble of thunder in her voice.

     "Have a cupcake?" shesaid.

     "I...I don't eat cupcakes,"answered the python piteously.

     "Then perhaps a doughnut,or a danish?"

     "No, no! A baby! Make meone of your delicious babies!"

     "No more babies. No, sir,so sorry, sir, we're fresh out of babies." She cast one moreferocious glower at the serpent, then turned on her heel and marchedback into the kitchen to continue with her baking.

     The python sank into a dismalstupor, surveying the ocean of goodies which now flooded his house.For a while longer he begged her, each time she burst throughthe door, to make him another baby. But in reply she only lookeddaggers at him and offered him pastries. In the end, the pythongave up asking, and could only look forlornly at his wife as shehurried about her work. Besieged by baked goods, he wondered bitterlyat the stalemate into which his marriage had fallen.

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David R. Dudley studied art at Oberlin College and creative writing and American literature at Temple University. His writing has appeared in various periodicals, and his drawings will illustrate Kirsten Kingdon's forthcoming novel Summer at the End of the World. He lives in Berkeley, California with his wife and daughter.

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