The Rodriguez Affair (1970) by James Pattinson Page B

which reminded him of his host: Gomara himself had something reptilian in him, and his eyes were as hard and cold as the eyes of a snake.
    “To be perfectly honest‚” Cade said, “they make me sick.”
    “Is that so?” Gomara sounded surprised. “Yet to me they are irresistibly fascinating.” He pointed his finger. “There, you see that one? That is a whipsnake from India. You can see how it got its name.”
    “Venomous?”
    “Oh, yes, very deadly. As also is that annulated snake which is one of our native breeds. And of course the viper there.”
    “Did you make this collection?” Cade asked.
    “No; it was here when I came. The original owner is dead. I am told that he got drunk one day and fell into the snake pit. Most unfortunate.”
    “Yes.”
    “There is an old man who looks after the snakes; his name is Andres. Do you mind pressing that button over there?”
    It was a bell-push in the wall. Cade put his thumb on the button, then released it. A few seconds later a man came in, not by the door by which Cade had entered but by another at the far end of the room.
    He was a black man and very tall—six and a half feet at least, though he stooped a little. His head was bald and shining, and he had a white beard and a wide flat nose. His arms were long, hanging loosely at his sides, and he was so thin Cade almost expected to hear his bones rattling as he walked. He was wearing a white shirt,white cotton trousers and rawhide boots. He stopped when he reached Gomara’s chair and stood there, saying nothing.
    “I have been telling Señor Cade that you are the one who looks after the snakes, Andres. Señor Cade says that snakes make him sick.”
    Andres said nothing, but he looked at Cade for a moment, then down into the pit.
    “They do not make you sick, do they, Andres?”
    “No, señor,” Andres said. He had a high, thin voice like a very old recording.
    “Show Señor Cade how easy it is to handle snakes when you know the way,” Gomara said.
    Without a word Andres lowered himself over the edge of the concrete and stepped into the pit With a movement surprisingly rapid in one so old he stooped and picked up a snake, gripping it just below the head. The snake was about three feet long and its body was covered with shining brown spots like splashes of paint. He carried it to the edge of the pit and held it out towards Cade. Cade involuntarily stepped back from that sinister head with its dripping fangs, its darting tongue and its bright cold eyes.
    Gomara laughed. “Do not be afraid. The snake is quite harmless while Andres holds it.”
    “Does he ever get bitten?”
    “You heard the question, Andres. Do the snakes ever bite you?”
    Andres grinned; there were no teeth in his mouth. “Me, señor? Why would they do that?” He held the snake close to his lips and kissed it. He put the head in his mouth, then drew it out slowly. “They are myfriends, my children.” He put the snake down and it wriggled away.
    “You may go now, Andres,” Gomara said.
    Andres climbed out of the pit and left the room.
    “A remarkable old man,” Gomara said. “He has a way with snakes. I should not advise anyone else to step down into that pit.”
    “Perhaps no one else would want to do so.”
    “Do you intend to write about what you have seen here?”
    “Do you wish me to?”
    “I think you would be very ill-advised to do anything of the kind,” Gomara said. “I do not think there is anything here that would be of interest to your readers.”
    “Perhaps you are right.”
    “I know I am right.” There could have been a hint of a threat in Gomara’s whispering voice and in the cold snake’s eyes. “Leave it, Señor Cade. Leave it alone. And now forgive me if I do not see you to the door. You can, I think, find your own way out.”
    He touched the lever on the chair and the motor whined. The chair turned and rolled smoothly away down the room. Cade walked to the door and opened it. He was glad to get out of