TheTale of the Jumping Serpents of Bosnia (Revised 7-2008)
The Tale of the Jumping Serpents of Bosnia
Legend of the: Poskok (Vipera ammodytes)
A tale for all ages!
By Three Time Poet Laureate,
Dennis L. Siluk, Ed.D.
Awarded the National Prize of Peru, “Antena Regional”: The best writer for 2006 for promoting culture (in Poetry & Prose)
A Few Illustrations by the Author (in Poetic Prose)
Copyright © by Dennis L. Siluk
The Tale of the Jumping Snakes of Bosnia
Legend of the: Poskok (Vipera ammodytes)
Recent Awards of:
Dennis L. Siluk
Awarded the Prize Excellence: The Poet & Writer of 2006 by
Corporacion de Prensa Autonoma (of the Mantaro Valley of Peru)
Awarded the National Prize of Peru, "Antena Regional": The best of 2006 for promoting culture
Poet Laureate of San Jeronimo de Tunan, Peru (2005); and the
Mantaro Valley (8-2007) (Awarded the (Gold) Grand Cross of the City (2006))
Lic. Dennis L. Siluk, awarded a medal of merit, and diploma from the Journalist College of Peru, in August of 2007, for his international attainment
On November 26, 2007, Lic. Dennis L. Siluk was nominated, Poet Laureate of Cerro de Pasco and received recognition as an Illustrious Visitor of the City of Cerro de Pasco, and Huayllay
“Union” Mathematic School (Huancayo, Peru), Honor to the Merit to: Lic. (Ed.D.) Dennis Lee Siluk, (Awarded) Poet and Writer Excellence 2007, for contributing to the culture and regional identity, Huancayo. December 1, 2007, Signed: Pedro Guillen, Director
The Sociologist School of Peru, Central Region granted to
Dr. Dennis Lee Siluk, Writer Laureate for his professional contribution in the social interaction of the towns and rescue of their identity. Huancayo December 6, 2007 —Lic. Juan Condori –Senior Member of the Sociologist School
The Association of Broadcaster of the Central Region, of Peru, nominated Dr. Dennis Lee Siluk Honorary Member for his works done on the Central Region of Peru; in addition, the Mayor of Huancayo, Freddy Arana Velarde, gave Dr. Siluk, ‘Reconocimiento de Honor,’ and ‘Personaje Ilustre…’ status (December, 2007).
El Instituto Cultural Peruano Norteamericano Región Centro otorga el presente: “Diploma de Honor”, Al Dr. Dennis Lee Siluk por su valiosa contribución a la difusión de los valores culturales andinos. Huancayo – Peru, diciembre 28, of 2007Directora de Cultura Diana V. Casas R. and Alfonso Velit Núñez
Presidente del Consejo Directivo
For: Rosa (my wife), Elsie T. Siluk (my mother),
and Ximena Herrera. (my Godchild)
Father Manuel Rodriguez of Lima (T.V. Evangelist) & Dennis meet
for the second time during a visitation, And Prayer meeting in San
Juan de Mira Flores, Lima. 6/2008
Poet and storyteller Garrison Keillor, and Poet and storyteller Dennis Siluk
meet at the World Theatre in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA 2/ 2005
Of Olden Times
(Advance to the story)
It was before the first noble monarch ruled Bosnia (and Herzegovina), Ban Kulin (1180 AD)—during what was known as Medieval Bosnia (958-1463) this story takes place; a time when cold snowy winters plagued this mountainous land with bluish-purple, violent crosswinds coming from the Adriatic by way of the Mediterranean Sea, when the lands had hellish terrain for its people to crossover, such as the Dinaric Alps, and the beautiful Drina River, which flows endlessly through villages and towns, in Eastern Bosnia, surrounded by hills and mountains, and the Neretva River, which flows in the south into the Adriatic: here the Dinarides provide shelter to the old ruins of fortresses that dot this mountainous landscape, at this point is where our story begins, and ends.
Some folks have said, the old Man, Mr. Goose, came down from Mount Zlatibor, after visiting a village area known as Sirogojno, perhaps he was doing business in that area before he came to King Mon’s Kingdom, no one knows for sure, but here he was a stranger surrounded by the Dinaric Alps, and the Adriatic sea to the south, and the woodlands in Eastern Bosnia, which was heavily forested along the river Drina, in-between all this was a kingdom ruling by the old Feudalism system; we know he passed through Gorazed, the folks of that village saw him, said he seemed shackled on some idea, paid them little attention, “Keep away from us,” the country folks yelped outside of the town, others asked, “What you aiming to do around here?” it was as if this old ugly man knew something they didn’t know. They say, blackbirds followed him, stretched out their wings, and swung, stooped and shuttered as he walked by, swaggering in the Bosnian sun…
Intro
Along the coast of the Adriatic Sea lives what now is called the “poskok,’ better known as the ‘Jumping Serpent’. These creatures are some five-feet long and to my understanding can jump some three feet in the air and leap some five-feet in any direction they wish, simply by aiming at whatever, wherever. But this didn’t happen by chance, this really and truly happened by necessity. And this is the tale you are about to hear, the ‘why,’ of it, how it came about. And to be quite honest, you will be the first to hear of it. It entails also Mr. Goose whom you have already been introduced to, slightly introduced to I should say.
The poskok has a macabre-hissing tone to its dynamic language, a hissing that bellows out fear, and out of fear and inborn aggressiveness, its impulses create a neurological reaction that makes it leap and jump. Again, the why of this will come out in the tale. But it is always prudent to know the background of things, and so I am equipped to share it with you. In addition to its poisonous bite, it has quite the temper, and at times it can look no different than a log or branch sitting by a tree, or alongside a lane or road, or within a dense forest laying next to rocks and decaying wood. And let us add to its natural abode in this narrative background: it prefers—if given a choice, the natural background of trunks of trees—to live amongst.
And now come and join me for my tale of tales, and think naught that there isn’t a feather of truth in this tale, for it would be ill-advised to think otherwise…:
The Poskok:
Once upon a time, several hundred years ago, or thereabouts, there were a multitude of snakes along the coast of the Adriatic Sea, and within the mountainous area thereof, in a land now called Bosnia. They grew the length of the men of those far-off days, in that far-off land. These snakes ((Poskok) (Vipera ammodytes)) were a reddish-brown in color and for the most part, quite clever; that is to say, a brainy kind of breed of a snake, with sharp fangs, which were quite poisonous; these snakes also being rather aggressive for the most part.
Along with living in the trunks of trees, in lack of a better home, and accommodations, and liking the sun, these snakes slept on the side of the roads to a high extent, where often times they chummed with one another—(figuratively speaking that is); looking like dried up old branches, logs and so forth— especially in the fall season (autumn)—laying over one another like little lions. But as winter came around, back into the trunks and holes of trees they’d find themselves. And when they’d see a passerby, especially during the long hot summers, they’d play possum [dead], and when a female—in particular, would be carrying water to the nearby village or to her country residence, and if they’d walk by them, they’d twist their bodies slowly and positioning themselves just right—after that, quicker than you could say ‘help’ they’d have their fangs, in one’s leg. And the water being fresh would feed, and quench, their thirst. It should be noted, because of their aggressive temperament, even on the best of days—the best of their days, it would be hard for them not to do their dirty deeds; they seemed to be simply born with an aggressive nature (character and personality).
—Well, this went on for quite a spell, yes, for the longest time, and one day, one sunlight hour, after hearing—year after year of hearing—people’s complaints (and I can add: criticisms, protests, moans and grumbles), the King of the area announced that whoever could rid the region of these nasty and evil serpents, he’d reward them by allowing them to marry his beautiful and youthful daughter. Ah yes, it was indeed a luring reward, and all within the kingdom’s province, wished they had such courage, if not skill, or perhaps even a spell to subdue these creatures with—to do this task, to receive this reward. But none came forward.
Fine, all is fare in love and war, so they say, thus, Mr. Goose, an old man from Croatia, whom I’ve introduced you to a while ago [eighty-two years old at the time], went to the little mountainous kingdom and spoke with King Mon about his reward to be, should he clear the land of these creepy-crawling type creatures that infested every nook, tree and, oh well, let’s just say, the whole landscape, would he be allowed to take—without question, his daughter, the princess.
Said the King, with a skeptical eye,
“It would take an army I fear to wipe these hills and mountains and the coastline of these aggressive, antagonistic evil doers that have taken, killed, eaten, over a thousand-lives, a thousand lives I say, from my kingdom, my kingdom’s past of which it has been some forty-years, to now; yes, yes without a doubt, how can one man expect to do this, it is beyond me? (plus the old king didn’t like his integrity questions, which the old man implied might be less than what he proclaimed.”
In a way, it would seem the king was giving up, had a loss of hope, despair, but he nonetheless, kept the reward posted throughout his kingdom, and assured his word was as good as gold, he was a king, but also a man of honor, what he said he meant, did, without question; he had integrity, and he implied he should not be questioned on this matter to Mr. Goose.
The Snake Killer of Bosnia
Mr. Goose, the Snake Eater
Said the old man (to the king), an old man who had an odd looking hunchback and legs that looked more animalistic than human with mammalian hairs sticking out all over the place, meaning, in all the openings of his pants, where threads were loose and dangling, likewise his shirt, which had holes in it, and on his face and arms; also inside his ears looked like a bird’s nest with all its hair, and his nose had hair sticking out of it, like thin short spaghetti; in addition, he had a wide mouth, that went almost from one ear to the other; a long pointed skull (tapering towards the back), and that is to say, a very long slant it had to it, with a brow that receded back to his prickly looking hair; and quite thin it was also, and a smirk on his face, that showed he had secrets, secrets beyond our imagination perhaps, and a thin, slim, small mustache, which blended into the rest of his hairy face, and a thin bone structure, big eyes and feet, everything patchy and hairy; his fingers and toes, they were as if claws from a hawk. He also had small ears and short legs for his torso, which was longer; in a way, everything above his shoulders looked similar to a goat almost, in human form. Plus his skin was thick like rawhide.
His receptors protected him from the toxic venoms of the snakes, embodied into his nervous system. Also, it should be added here, his agility and cunning, allowed him to capture snakes with little effort, and he was in his own way, witty and intelligent.
But here, here he stood, the old carnivorous gentleman, smiling with a long pause, and then simply said
(Ah! but said it keenly and sharply to the King :)
“I will take your daughter for my reward, as you promised afterward, should I accomplish the mission of course, but if you want to know how I shall do this feat, it will cost you your kingdom.”
The King
[How insolent thought the king] With a stiff upper lip, and eyebrow reaching into the air, the short and old stubby king, with his curly locks of golden hair dangling over his ears, and long golden beard, stood up in front of the beggar type looking man, who had a deep-set of eyes, big, yes big and confident eyes, that had a small and thin bridge separating them from what was called his nose but looked more like a reptilian type snout with simply two air holes—poked into his upper face, with only a small arch and slits to inhale though.
Said he, the King, said he with scorn on his cheekbones, stiff bones, perturbing bones—even through his fat:
“So be it, you will have my daughter, not my kingdom, should you achieve this task, this mission, and should you not, I advise you, you old coot, to be gone from these hills—far gone, for I will surely have you stripped and beaten to your last gulp of air, should you not accomplish this, simply for your absurd audacity to think so highly of yourself in front of me, and question my intention if not integrity.”
Ah yes, the king was feeling his oats indeed, sharp was his words, and weighty was his heart.
Inside the Castle Grounds
—There was no more to be said, the old man now had turned around and with his shifty looking dark eyes, ebony-eyes that resembled a rat’s intensity, he walked out and through the door, as strangely as he had walked in, almost silently, not looking any which way but straight.
Upon the door opening up, and the king still sitting at his grand throne, two soldiers came in with a huge eight-foot (poskok) snake to show the king their good deed, their catch of the day. They had its mouth tied shut with a rope, and carried it on a long heavy rounded polo. It must have weighed two-hundred pounds or more. As the two soldiers walked past the old man, the king started to stand up to get a good look at the snake, a closer look, a more deliberate kind of look—in the process, the serpent got a look at the old man’s eyes—it was the hiss from the mouth (the old man’s mouth), yes the mouth most certainly, like thunder erupting it was, or possibly like the sound from a volcano, the snake started hissing back, and struggling wildly, its back, head, mouth and through the whole length of the snake, all stiffened—a firm kind of restlessness engulfed the serpent; the closer the old man got to the snake, the more it hissed, stiffened and jumped as if out of some kind of uncontrollable neurological reaction—involuntary reaction.
As the old man now walked next to the snake, almost eye to eye, and shoulder to shoulder, although the snake did not have shoulders, but it did have sides, it, the poskok, was about to fly off that pole out of pure fright, right out of the two soldier’s mitts, trying to get free, trying to escape the old man’s presence. Matter of fact, the viper was so frantic, frenzied, hysterical the snake even started to eat the rope it was bound and tied securely with.
When the soldiers witnessed this, they dropped the pole, along with the bound snake onto the marble floor within the King’s throne room, as the King looked on, on towards the snake and the old man with one glance, a glance he had given the snake, and just one little glance towards the old man, he, the King noticed the fleeting look from the old man had frightened the snake, it was him indeed, thought the king, hence, he knew this man was extraordinary, and although he wanted to, he hesitated in mind and soul to stop this potential marriage right now and then, for he had no other recourses left, the old man was it—who else was there, should he not make the deal, in consequence, there’d be no kingdom to rule in time. And the princess need only wait, time would do the old man in, and she’d be free to remarry again.
As soon as the old man was out of the throne room, out beyond its door: out of sight, the snake regained its weakened composure back to its former self-controlled, pose—it had prior to seeing this old and deformed gentleman of sorts; tranquility, or call it peace, whatever, calm was restored.
For that reason, and beyond, that is, for five-years to follow, the deal was sealed; and now the old man would walk slowly up and down the paths, lanes, roads of the valley and mountains kingdom—to and fro daily; looking in every tree trunk and nook, walking the coast of the Adriatic, and combing miles and miles of forest land, areas within the vicinity of the King’s domain, wiping out all the snakes that he could find: he ate them, like an animal eating flesh, ripped them apart like a rat to a hen. It had come to a point, as it was said, that the area had over 10,000 snakes at one time, it had come to the point, at this juncture, that, that number was being dwindled down quickly.
Secretive Sounds
(The First Summer)
When he, the snake eater appeared in the land, especially within the vicinity of the kingdom, he brought with him his own secret affairs, as this one, which he was pursuing as quiet and secretive as the devil himself might do, and with devious hidden turns, and he made no concessions.
Mr. Goose, the snake eater, was quite the odd looking character also: un-winking, slightly bowlegged, eyes green as the forest in full bloom but stagnate as still water, his quest with vitality and vigor the first full summer.
The vipers, snakes, the poskok of Bosnia, were quiet now beneath the summer’s stars (the first summer for Mr. Goose, the snake eater, he had joyfully and with haste scrambled up the snakes of the land with his presence forcing them to hide or face termination, by way of a choppy death, and now they, the snakes, talked secretive, with minimal sounds, so as not to be detected by him), and beneath the summer’s moon, they gashed vaguely across the dark land of Bosnia, in fear of the old snake killer when night came, when they did not reach their nooks and logs they lived in, they found themselves slumbering beside the roadsides, and dark wood patches of the landscape, hoping not to be seen or heard by this snake eater, for even at night he crept through the denser growth of the forests, lowered his head, snorted into and murmured into the heavily oxidized air, as if into some invisible water, trying to get a sniff of the snakes. Had he heard even a whimper, with hope, this snarling impossible to hear beast of a man, if indeed he was a man, blundered out of his dark foliage like a wild beast to capture just one more viper, thus, disturbing the exquisite sad days they already lived in, to bring about extinction of their kind. In one summer alone, the first summer, the vipers went from ten-thousand to eight-thousand in number.
Seven Poskoks and the Old Man
(Year Two)
Mr. Goose, was an undomesticated kind of, someone, quick as a rabbit, and deadlier than a rattlesnake, and quiet as a dove; and I know you folks reading this, are somewhat aware of this, but I felt it needed repeating for this sketch where the old man, sees his seven prey, for as swift and keen as he be, he was no magical worker, he had to work hard at what he did, and what you are reading is what he did, and therefore we must give him some credit, if not recognition for his efforts, I mean, he is, or was not the most likable someone, anyone had ever met.
“Hmph,” he grunted looking at seven snakes, poskoks, -- in the thick of the woods, “I’ll eat you all, eat you like an axe grinder, like a feed chopper, if I can get to you”! He murmured.
For he was witnessing at this moment, several snakes rolling about on their bellies in the grass and leaves further up, in the woods, mischievously, playing with one another. His head, jerked into position, to size the situation up, his head shaped like a cast-iron, iron, teeth in a flashing arc ready to sweep and chop the snakes, but for the moment he needed to put them into a helpless position, to entangle their inevitable death, he knew they were not as quick and cunning as he, and being young, even more so.
He quietly snuck closer to his prey, his quarry to be, like a hammer his jaws tightened up, half turned, he grabbed one snake before any of them knew what happened, and looked for the next, while grinding away on the first one he just grabbed, his nostrils trembling for more of the tasty poskok meet; uneven, his eating emitted a digging sound.
He stomped his hoof like feet, stomped them like a bull into the soil, his neck thrust outward as to make room to swallow the meat, under his sunburned skin.
Then with a yelp, he said, “Let’s get going!” to the other six snakes, trying to move closer to grab another, but they started to roll over one another to get away, to get to the rear of the others, so they would not be selected, becoming the next victim.
He grabbed one more poskok, as the others, five others fled into the deeper part of the cool dark forest, for a refuge.
The Old man, cursed them from afar, stood on his hoof-like feet, like a cow’s, which separated into three flat like toes, square almost, and he transferred onto another path for a fair assumption and deliberation of the situation; thereafter, he plunged madly into his dugout, he was living in, sank back against the dirt wall, he looked into a mirror at his teeth, they were like wire cutters, yellowish wire cutters, his eyes rolling with anger, for allowing the other five to get away; but youthful snakes were of a more tender texture in eating, a more delightful dinner than a tough old snake, and so he simply justified the kill, marked it off as: what do you expect when eating a rich steak compared to dog meat, you lose interest in other things around you, perhaps like he did: because in his younger days, he could have grabbed all seven of them within a matter of a minute.
(Yes, he was disappointed in himself, although he prided himself that at his age, he shot like an arrow at those youthful snakes, and got two out of seven, which he had eaten them in a wild-eyed frenzy, then had allowed them to scramble their way to live another day, and perhaps only one more day.)
Night in the Dugout
That night, beneath a gibbous moon, the old man was now huddled in his dugout, in a corner of his one room, shadows, with phantom shapes rushed by the moon, he saw them from the corner of his hollow, lingering they were, until morning, thus, but one overlooking his dugout remained…and soon, in the morning Mr. Goose would rise to find the last of the haunting shadows had betaken its ghostly shape away into the mist of the dense woods, and here was no sound in the woods, save an acorn dropping off a tree, or an abrupt thudding he could hear by way of a down wind. The old man yawned like a huge wild cat, dreamy like, in anticipation for a new feast.
Infamous Hero
“Who are you looking for Mister?” Someone asked, and another said, “That’s the old snake eater!”
“Is he really?” said the first voice, “He sure is,” repeated the other.
Continuously the old man moved forward away from the country folks and their farms, and fields, back onto the dirt roads looking for the snakes, and occasionally back into the woods.
Princess in the Window
Meanwhile, during this second year of the Snake Eater’s task, the princess, unaltered by her potential marriage to the old man, nevertheless, as the days got closer towards the end of the second year, she did think about her losing her freedom after hearing about the good job Mr. Goose was doing; and the more she heard this good news, the more and longer she sat placidly on the sill in her bedroom window, looking down the lane he’d have to come up someday to get his reward, her hand in marriage, whereupon, he’d have to crossover the rampart, and into the courtyard. Then after a short while she’d again forget her fate and obligation that would follow—should he accomplish his mission, and pass her days doing what princesses normally do.
Came fall (or autumn)
In the fall, each fall of the following years, the old man worked even harder on looking for these troublesome snakes. The leaves, the abundance of leaves on the uncountable number of trees within this kingdom habitat, in the forest that grew along side the roads, that ran though the upper and bottom lands of the region (and near the castle-kingdom), these leaves, millions of leaves when they turned yellow, orange and red, fell from the trees, then they dried, and crackled and snapped under the heavy bellies of the snakes as they moved and the old man heard them, listened for them attentively. This really was his harvest time he learned; the fall season was his most prosperous time of the year. Along with listening, he checked under the logs themselves, the snakes almost blending into those logs and branches, blending into the landscape in general; for the common eye, not telling the difference between log, and snake at a quick glance, so he took his time in his search, shrewd he was, and he knew he needed to be, and he’d even tell the snakes, which irritated them,
“You can come with me now willingly, or by force later (laughing with his diabolic hiss).”
When the old man caught a snake, he was like a machine cutting firewood, an ax in automatic motion, chopping it apart, and gobbling it up, with his razor sharp teeth, as one would a good steak.
Yes, oh yes, indeed, there were only ten snakes left, almost genocide had taken place in this little kingdom, and these ten got together, and by way of necessity, inevitable you might say, started learning how to jump, and leap. They’d gathered by the waters, the lakes, the rivers, wherever they could and watched the frogs as they moved about, leaped, hurled, dive, then even watched the toads jump, lunge, and drop, all and any creature that skipped, hoped or jumped, they examined, watched closely, then by instinct, and need for continued existence, within a years time had learned how to leap some three feet in the air, and some five to seven feet in any direction—straight forward that is. As a result it was their way of escape from this flesh-eating human animal of sorts: the old man.
Along with this new acquired skill, and with the new younger generation being born, the elders tried to explain to them the value of learning, the jumps, and leaps, and the sounds they make in the fall leaves, and when spring came they got excited to play, but they learned as long as the old man was alive, it was not safe. And even in the winter they needed to be shrewd and conscientious where they went, they’d leave a trail in the snow, they were told, and this was not wise, the old man would follow it. In essence, they needed to be shrewder than the old man, if they wanted to survive, stay alive.
The elder snakes even reinforced the fact the new younger snakes needed to be wicked to the point not to let neither their minds or bodies decay in the winter, so they were swift in spring and summer, and light on their bellies; by and by, they absorbed all such learning.
—Four years had now gone by, and the old man was now eighty-six years old. His heart was tired, failing, and he wanted more than anything to leave a legacy behind—his legacy that is, but had one more year to keep the land free of these evil serpents, should he fail, he’d lose the beautiful bright-eyed young princess: and in his mind, this could not be tolerated, as the old expression goes, he’d lose ‘the goat and the rope,’ so careful he needed to be, astute, perceptive he needed to be, but this time with the king more so than the snakes.
As time passed, the old man found these ten snakes, all in different locations (not knowing of course they had offspring hidden away): some in trees, others alongside of the road playing dead, and others by the great waters of the sea, he’d go to grab them, and before he could touch them, they’d jump, leap right through his hands, right out of his fingers. The old man, you could see on his face a flavor of worried triumph.
Several leaps and the serpents were gone, out of sight. Well, this bothered the old man to extremes, but he knew if he kept the snakes hidden, and busy, he’d still get his reward, or could if he was deceptive enough, a little bit perhaps misleading. And play, consequently, as if nothing had happened—he’d continue to take part in this game, and the king would be no wiser; the end result, the old man kept walking the mountain paths—as all the villagers knew, as all the villagers saw him do, day after day after day—and word got back to the king all the roads were clean and clear of the snakes.
Yet, in checking out the trees, and road sides, he occasionally found a snake or two, but it again would leap out of his presence to safety (and again I say, no one had seen snakes for a long time now, no one that is but the old man, so the king was any the wiser to his charade). And slowly but surely the old man saw the number of snakes started to increase, but they were simply baby snakes, and the mothers kept them hidden from him for the most part, and he wanted to keep it that way, until after he received his reward that is; for he knew himself, his reflexes were not as they were a few years ago, and each year lacking more and more in the impulse reaction area; anyhow, slow they were, and with the leaping, it was impossible to catch them now; yet again, I must stress, in fear they’d become extinct all over again, they hid when they could, and jumped when they had to, or leaped to safety or some hidden area, should they become aware the old man was around.
And so again, I repeat, no one had seen them, and the snakes knew the old man was aging, and would not live forever, in consequence, if only they could out last him, out wait him—in many cases this is the only way to deal with such a menace as the old man, so the snakes concluded, and so they would out wait him. And in between now and his death, they hissed with laughter on finding a way to out smart the Old man. But as the old saying goes and the snakes did not know this saying, ‘He who laughs last, laughs longest.’
And now, the fifth-year had come and passed, the old man, had completed his task, his mission—and so, the old man went to the king to claim his reward. There in the throne room, he, Mr. Goose, stood in front of the king, telling him of his endeavors.
For the first time the princess burned with curiosity, eager to hear what the old man had to say. She leaned forward so she could see through a crack in the curtains in the throne room. At first her thoughts were thin at best, then thinking he could have accomplished the mission, she listened even closer, more attentive, her eyes closed upon hearing he did, and as the old man stared at the moving curtains, he mumbled:
“And for the love making, let’s hurry on with the wedding.”
He, Mr. Goose, was by no means, couth about the matter, rather quite blunt.
The King looking quite dreadful at his parting of his daughter gave her to the old man nonetheless— called over from behind the curtains, with not much to say, and brought forth a great celebration. The lovely twenty-year old princess was adorned with all kinds of flowers, and jewels and riches beyond imagination. And the party went on and on all night.
Surprisingly, during this time the king noticed that he, the old man had only eyes for the princess, his daughter, not the riches she possessed. Somehow that seemed to dignify the whole matter much more, in an ugly kind of way, that is. As the bride danced with the groom, all the young bucks looked on with disgust and envy, perhaps a little more envy than disgust. The princess although in dismay, said nothing, not a word to disgrace her father’s will, like a good daughter, she kissed her husband and bid good evening to the guests, as they went into their room to consummate the marriage.
The Princess
It was early evening and the moon that had been hidden behind clouds, emerged with a warm wind blowing through the castle bedroom window, and the old man now was about to seek his pleasures. There was the sound of music in the bedroom, blown under the bedroom doorway; it gently branched out, throughout the room—black shadows, raced to and fro, from corner to corner in the bedroom.
Heretofore, the love-making had tired the old man to where he was dosing off and on, starting to even snore, his arms underneath the back of his head, lying on his back, eyes closed, save, a little look at his new youthful, and beautiful bride, and wife, off and on, and more off than on as the night went on.
As the extraordinary evening went forward, the old man fell to sleep, and in the morn, the princess tried to wake her new husband up for breakfast, only to find him, lifeless, dead, deceased, departed. She was mortified, and yet relieved, she called quickly to her father, and he called for doctor and the guards. Word had gotten out quickly that the princess’ husband had heart-failure, and she would be in mourning. But the serpents in the area were refreshed by the news, and came out bravely, back onto the pathways, and around the trees and coastal areas with their young ones, almost as if to have a fiesta.
The king now seeing this new resurrection of the snakes didn’t know what to do, but it was not half as bad as it was five-years past, and figured he’d look for another man of same qualities, and tried to find the Goose family to no avail. Then, finding out his daughter was pregnant, he got thinking, possibly, just probably, whatever the qualities the old man had inside his genes, they might be in his blood line, thus, in his grandson to be [hoping it would be a boy].
“Awe,” he said with glowing and ghastly eyes, “sure,” he said to his daughter, “should she give birth to a son, he will be the tempest for the snakes.” (The king thinking, ‘All is fair in love and war.’)
The King’s Castle
And so the king and his kingdom all waited for the birth of the child.
—And then it happened, the ninth-month, third day, in the early morn, the sun had just risen: all waited outside the doorway to hear the baby’s cry, but there was no cry, yet a baby was born (with a loud hiss!). As the doctor looked at the child, he was flabbergasted; the child was horrifying to look at; hence, in all regards, in all the days of the doctor’s life, in every corner of his world, he had never seen such an hideous looking child; deformed, long thin hanging nose, bug-eyed creature; he was simply stunned, astonished, amazed, at its appearance he just shook his head, nodded his head back and forth as if to grab onto some sanity: it looked like a ferret, yet it had human form to it. It seemed the lobes to his brain extended outward, that is to say, pushed the skull like rubber to form an impression on his head, which had no hair. His eyes took up, one third of his face.
Thereof, the doctor remembered what the old man had looked like: comparing child to father—or perhaps using some imagination, comparing child to when the father was a child or might have been a child, or perhaps what he didn’t see of the father he imagined, and as a result, made his own comparisons; and now thinking of the king, he pondered on what to do, for the king and the kingdom.
He didn’t show the child to anyone, not a soul (although he told the king), and ordered all to stay away, that it had the plague; and needed to get the child out of the castle before an epidemic occurred; the king concurring, like-minded with everything he said. And during the late night took the child out of the kingdom, telling all concerned, the child could be contagious (which it did not have of course any such disease), should it touch anyone, it would only kill them only to look at it—figuratively speaking again. But who could understand such ugliness, and perhaps the princess would wanted to keep it. And so the doctor left the castle.
Soft were the dark shadows as he walked down the lane, into the forest, into the tall grass, stealthily past barns and houses and farms, and roads.
He, the doctor who cared now for the child, called the child ‘Mon-goose’, taking the king’s name and the father’s. And left it in the woods—neither one, never to returning to the castle; hence, the Mongoose was named and born.
In time the old snakes had died out, all but one, and the young snakes had now forgotten those trying years with the snake eater, the grim sights of him searching and stacking their parents. All this had been forgotten, until one day, one of the snakes, that elder snake, I just mentioned, perhaps the only one left of the bygone generation that lived through those trying days of Mr. Goose, saw a man, he looked like the old man Mr. Goose, resembled him, but more youthful, and the old snake said out loud (and other snakes nearby heard him, stiffened their bodies in horror),
“The snake eater is back!” or so he said, and all the other snakes wondered, questioned him, if he really saw what he thought he saw, and the old snake just prayed it was an illusion. And said not a word, if anything, he was hoping it was an automatic reaction, perhaps to post traumatic stress.
The Child Born
End of the Tale
Note by the author: a mongoose is a flesh eating animal, looking much like a ferret. It eats snakes, and snakes know when one is present by instinct.
Note: written 12/18/02 © by Dennis L. Siluk [at Barnes and Noble, Roseville, Minnesota, in the deli]; around, 8/2003 this story was picked up and used by the Croatian Education System in Europe. Now revised for descriptiveness, and reedited 1/2006 (put on a number of sites on the internet throughout the years (between 2004 & 2008; in July, 2008, it was reedited and rewritten from 2750 words to 4350); first time in book form. A Great Story for kids and on many their internet programs.
Apolinario Fermin Mayta, Poet, and Journalist;
With Mayor of Huancayo, and Poet Laureate,
Dr. Dennis L. Siluk (11/ 2007), receiving
Award for his Cultural Poetic Writings.
Back of Book
Visit my web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com/ you can also order the books directly by/on:
http://www.amazon.com/ http://www.bn.com/ http://www.scifan.com/ http://www.netstoreusa.com/ along with any of your notable book dealers. Other web sites you can see Siluk’s work at: http://www.eldritchdark.com/; www.swft/writings.html; http://www.abe.com/; http://www.alibris.com/; http://www.freearticles.com/
Books by the Author
Out of Print
The Other Door, Volume I [1981]
The Tale of Willie the Humpback Whale [1982]
Two Modern Short Stories of Immigrant Life [1984]
The Safe Child/the Unsafe Child [1985]
Presently In Print
The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon
Angelic Renegades & Raphaim Giants
Tales of the Tiamat [trilogy]
And other selected books
Tiamat, Mother of Demon I
Gwyllion, Daughter of the Tiamat II
Revenge of the Tiamat III
Mantic ore: Day of the Beast
Chasing the Sun
[Travels of D.L Siluk]
Islam, In Search of Satan’s Rib
The Addiction Books of D.L. Siluk:
A Path to Sobriety
A Path to Relapse Prevention
Aftercare: Chemical Dependency Recovery
Autobiographical
A Romance in Augsburg I
Romancing San Francisco II
Where the Birds Don’t Sing III
Stay Down, Old Abram IV
Romance:
Perhaps it’s Love
(Minnesota to Seattle)
Cold Kindness
(Dieburg, Germany)
The Suspense short stories of D.L. Siluk:
Death on Demand
[Seven Suspenseful Short Stories]
Dracula’s Ghost
[And other peculiar stories]
The Mumbler [psychological]
After Eve [a prehistoric adventure]
The Poetry of D.L. Siluk:
The Other Door (Poems- Volume I, 1981)
Sirens [Poems-Volume II, 2003]
The Macabre Poems [Poems-Volume III, 2004]
Last Autumn and Winter [Minnesota poems, 2006]
Spell of the Andes [2005]
Peruvian Poems [2005]
Poetic Images Out of Peru [And other poems, 2006]
The Magic of the Avelinos
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, book One; 2006)
The Road to Unishcoto
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, Book Two, 2007)
The Poetry of Stone Forest (Cerro de Pasco, 2007)
Cradled with the Devil (and Josh, in: Poor Black)
The Tale of the Jumping Serpents of Bosnia (Poetic Prose)
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“Along the coast of the Adriatic Sea lives what now is called the “poskok,’ better known as the ‘Jumping Serpent’. These creatures are some five-feet long and to my understanding can jump some three feet in the air and leap some five-feet in any direction they wish, simply by aiming at whatever, wherever. But this didn’t happen by chance, this really and truly happened by necessity. And this is the tale you are about to hear, the ‘why,’ of it, how it came about. And to be quite honest, you will be the first to hear of it.” (Page one: Intro)
“The Tale of the Jumping Serpents of Bosnia,” was written in 12/18/02 © by Dennis L. Siluk [at Barnes and Noble, Roseville, Minnesota, in the deli]; around, 8/2003 this story was picked up and used by the Croatian Education System in Europe. Next, it was picked up by several internet sites between 2004 and 2006. This is the first time in print, and with its extended content, the longer version, which in 2006, the author reedited, and in July of 2008, rewrote parts of it, extended in description, details, and for explanatory reasons, making it a better read.
Dennis L. Siluk, Ed.D., is the author of 37-books, several in English and Spanish, eleven in Poetry. This is his seventh book on myths, tales, and the supernatural. He lives with his wife Rosa, in Minnesota and Peru; he presently is working on, “Old Josh…” and “Cradled by the Devil.”
Legend of the: Poskok (Vipera ammodytes)
A tale for all ages!
By Three Time Poet Laureate,
Dennis L. Siluk, Ed.D.
Awarded the National Prize of Peru, “Antena Regional”: The best writer for 2006 for promoting culture (in Poetry & Prose)
A Few Illustrations by the Author (in Poetic Prose)
Copyright © by Dennis L. Siluk
The Tale of the Jumping Snakes of Bosnia
Legend of the: Poskok (Vipera ammodytes)
Recent Awards of:
Dennis L. Siluk
Awarded the Prize Excellence: The Poet & Writer of 2006 by
Corporacion de Prensa Autonoma (of the Mantaro Valley of Peru)
Awarded the National Prize of Peru, "Antena Regional": The best of 2006 for promoting culture
Poet Laureate of San Jeronimo de Tunan, Peru (2005); and the
Mantaro Valley (8-2007) (Awarded the (Gold) Grand Cross of the City (2006))
Lic. Dennis L. Siluk, awarded a medal of merit, and diploma from the Journalist College of Peru, in August of 2007, for his international attainment
On November 26, 2007, Lic. Dennis L. Siluk was nominated, Poet Laureate of Cerro de Pasco and received recognition as an Illustrious Visitor of the City of Cerro de Pasco, and Huayllay
“Union” Mathematic School (Huancayo, Peru), Honor to the Merit to: Lic. (Ed.D.) Dennis Lee Siluk, (Awarded) Poet and Writer Excellence 2007, for contributing to the culture and regional identity, Huancayo. December 1, 2007, Signed: Pedro Guillen, Director
The Sociologist School of Peru, Central Region granted to
Dr. Dennis Lee Siluk, Writer Laureate for his professional contribution in the social interaction of the towns and rescue of their identity. Huancayo December 6, 2007 —Lic. Juan Condori –Senior Member of the Sociologist School
The Association of Broadcaster of the Central Region, of Peru, nominated Dr. Dennis Lee Siluk Honorary Member for his works done on the Central Region of Peru; in addition, the Mayor of Huancayo, Freddy Arana Velarde, gave Dr. Siluk, ‘Reconocimiento de Honor,’ and ‘Personaje Ilustre…’ status (December, 2007).
El Instituto Cultural Peruano Norteamericano Región Centro otorga el presente: “Diploma de Honor”, Al Dr. Dennis Lee Siluk por su valiosa contribución a la difusión de los valores culturales andinos. Huancayo – Peru, diciembre 28, of 2007Directora de Cultura Diana V. Casas R. and Alfonso Velit Núñez
Presidente del Consejo Directivo
For: Rosa (my wife), Elsie T. Siluk (my mother),
and Ximena Herrera. (my Godchild)
Father Manuel Rodriguez of Lima (T.V. Evangelist) & Dennis meet
for the second time during a visitation, And Prayer meeting in San
Juan de Mira Flores, Lima. 6/2008
Poet and storyteller Garrison Keillor, and Poet and storyteller Dennis Siluk
meet at the World Theatre in St. Paul, Minnesota, USA 2/ 2005
Of Olden Times
(Advance to the story)
It was before the first noble monarch ruled Bosnia (and Herzegovina), Ban Kulin (1180 AD)—during what was known as Medieval Bosnia (958-1463) this story takes place; a time when cold snowy winters plagued this mountainous land with bluish-purple, violent crosswinds coming from the Adriatic by way of the Mediterranean Sea, when the lands had hellish terrain for its people to crossover, such as the Dinaric Alps, and the beautiful Drina River, which flows endlessly through villages and towns, in Eastern Bosnia, surrounded by hills and mountains, and the Neretva River, which flows in the south into the Adriatic: here the Dinarides provide shelter to the old ruins of fortresses that dot this mountainous landscape, at this point is where our story begins, and ends.
Some folks have said, the old Man, Mr. Goose, came down from Mount Zlatibor, after visiting a village area known as Sirogojno, perhaps he was doing business in that area before he came to King Mon’s Kingdom, no one knows for sure, but here he was a stranger surrounded by the Dinaric Alps, and the Adriatic sea to the south, and the woodlands in Eastern Bosnia, which was heavily forested along the river Drina, in-between all this was a kingdom ruling by the old Feudalism system; we know he passed through Gorazed, the folks of that village saw him, said he seemed shackled on some idea, paid them little attention, “Keep away from us,” the country folks yelped outside of the town, others asked, “What you aiming to do around here?” it was as if this old ugly man knew something they didn’t know. They say, blackbirds followed him, stretched out their wings, and swung, stooped and shuttered as he walked by, swaggering in the Bosnian sun…
Intro
Along the coast of the Adriatic Sea lives what now is called the “poskok,’ better known as the ‘Jumping Serpent’. These creatures are some five-feet long and to my understanding can jump some three feet in the air and leap some five-feet in any direction they wish, simply by aiming at whatever, wherever. But this didn’t happen by chance, this really and truly happened by necessity. And this is the tale you are about to hear, the ‘why,’ of it, how it came about. And to be quite honest, you will be the first to hear of it. It entails also Mr. Goose whom you have already been introduced to, slightly introduced to I should say.
The poskok has a macabre-hissing tone to its dynamic language, a hissing that bellows out fear, and out of fear and inborn aggressiveness, its impulses create a neurological reaction that makes it leap and jump. Again, the why of this will come out in the tale. But it is always prudent to know the background of things, and so I am equipped to share it with you. In addition to its poisonous bite, it has quite the temper, and at times it can look no different than a log or branch sitting by a tree, or alongside a lane or road, or within a dense forest laying next to rocks and decaying wood. And let us add to its natural abode in this narrative background: it prefers—if given a choice, the natural background of trunks of trees—to live amongst.
And now come and join me for my tale of tales, and think naught that there isn’t a feather of truth in this tale, for it would be ill-advised to think otherwise…:
The Poskok:
Once upon a time, several hundred years ago, or thereabouts, there were a multitude of snakes along the coast of the Adriatic Sea, and within the mountainous area thereof, in a land now called Bosnia. They grew the length of the men of those far-off days, in that far-off land. These snakes ((Poskok) (Vipera ammodytes)) were a reddish-brown in color and for the most part, quite clever; that is to say, a brainy kind of breed of a snake, with sharp fangs, which were quite poisonous; these snakes also being rather aggressive for the most part.
Along with living in the trunks of trees, in lack of a better home, and accommodations, and liking the sun, these snakes slept on the side of the roads to a high extent, where often times they chummed with one another—(figuratively speaking that is); looking like dried up old branches, logs and so forth— especially in the fall season (autumn)—laying over one another like little lions. But as winter came around, back into the trunks and holes of trees they’d find themselves. And when they’d see a passerby, especially during the long hot summers, they’d play possum [dead], and when a female—in particular, would be carrying water to the nearby village or to her country residence, and if they’d walk by them, they’d twist their bodies slowly and positioning themselves just right—after that, quicker than you could say ‘help’ they’d have their fangs, in one’s leg. And the water being fresh would feed, and quench, their thirst. It should be noted, because of their aggressive temperament, even on the best of days—the best of their days, it would be hard for them not to do their dirty deeds; they seemed to be simply born with an aggressive nature (character and personality).
—Well, this went on for quite a spell, yes, for the longest time, and one day, one sunlight hour, after hearing—year after year of hearing—people’s complaints (and I can add: criticisms, protests, moans and grumbles), the King of the area announced that whoever could rid the region of these nasty and evil serpents, he’d reward them by allowing them to marry his beautiful and youthful daughter. Ah yes, it was indeed a luring reward, and all within the kingdom’s province, wished they had such courage, if not skill, or perhaps even a spell to subdue these creatures with—to do this task, to receive this reward. But none came forward.
Fine, all is fare in love and war, so they say, thus, Mr. Goose, an old man from Croatia, whom I’ve introduced you to a while ago [eighty-two years old at the time], went to the little mountainous kingdom and spoke with King Mon about his reward to be, should he clear the land of these creepy-crawling type creatures that infested every nook, tree and, oh well, let’s just say, the whole landscape, would he be allowed to take—without question, his daughter, the princess.
Said the King, with a skeptical eye,
“It would take an army I fear to wipe these hills and mountains and the coastline of these aggressive, antagonistic evil doers that have taken, killed, eaten, over a thousand-lives, a thousand lives I say, from my kingdom, my kingdom’s past of which it has been some forty-years, to now; yes, yes without a doubt, how can one man expect to do this, it is beyond me? (plus the old king didn’t like his integrity questions, which the old man implied might be less than what he proclaimed.”
In a way, it would seem the king was giving up, had a loss of hope, despair, but he nonetheless, kept the reward posted throughout his kingdom, and assured his word was as good as gold, he was a king, but also a man of honor, what he said he meant, did, without question; he had integrity, and he implied he should not be questioned on this matter to Mr. Goose.
The Snake Killer of Bosnia
Mr. Goose, the Snake Eater
Said the old man (to the king), an old man who had an odd looking hunchback and legs that looked more animalistic than human with mammalian hairs sticking out all over the place, meaning, in all the openings of his pants, where threads were loose and dangling, likewise his shirt, which had holes in it, and on his face and arms; also inside his ears looked like a bird’s nest with all its hair, and his nose had hair sticking out of it, like thin short spaghetti; in addition, he had a wide mouth, that went almost from one ear to the other; a long pointed skull (tapering towards the back), and that is to say, a very long slant it had to it, with a brow that receded back to his prickly looking hair; and quite thin it was also, and a smirk on his face, that showed he had secrets, secrets beyond our imagination perhaps, and a thin, slim, small mustache, which blended into the rest of his hairy face, and a thin bone structure, big eyes and feet, everything patchy and hairy; his fingers and toes, they were as if claws from a hawk. He also had small ears and short legs for his torso, which was longer; in a way, everything above his shoulders looked similar to a goat almost, in human form. Plus his skin was thick like rawhide.
His receptors protected him from the toxic venoms of the snakes, embodied into his nervous system. Also, it should be added here, his agility and cunning, allowed him to capture snakes with little effort, and he was in his own way, witty and intelligent.
But here, here he stood, the old carnivorous gentleman, smiling with a long pause, and then simply said
(Ah! but said it keenly and sharply to the King :)
“I will take your daughter for my reward, as you promised afterward, should I accomplish the mission of course, but if you want to know how I shall do this feat, it will cost you your kingdom.”
The King
[How insolent thought the king] With a stiff upper lip, and eyebrow reaching into the air, the short and old stubby king, with his curly locks of golden hair dangling over his ears, and long golden beard, stood up in front of the beggar type looking man, who had a deep-set of eyes, big, yes big and confident eyes, that had a small and thin bridge separating them from what was called his nose but looked more like a reptilian type snout with simply two air holes—poked into his upper face, with only a small arch and slits to inhale though.
Said he, the King, said he with scorn on his cheekbones, stiff bones, perturbing bones—even through his fat:
“So be it, you will have my daughter, not my kingdom, should you achieve this task, this mission, and should you not, I advise you, you old coot, to be gone from these hills—far gone, for I will surely have you stripped and beaten to your last gulp of air, should you not accomplish this, simply for your absurd audacity to think so highly of yourself in front of me, and question my intention if not integrity.”
Ah yes, the king was feeling his oats indeed, sharp was his words, and weighty was his heart.
Inside the Castle Grounds
—There was no more to be said, the old man now had turned around and with his shifty looking dark eyes, ebony-eyes that resembled a rat’s intensity, he walked out and through the door, as strangely as he had walked in, almost silently, not looking any which way but straight.
Upon the door opening up, and the king still sitting at his grand throne, two soldiers came in with a huge eight-foot (poskok) snake to show the king their good deed, their catch of the day. They had its mouth tied shut with a rope, and carried it on a long heavy rounded polo. It must have weighed two-hundred pounds or more. As the two soldiers walked past the old man, the king started to stand up to get a good look at the snake, a closer look, a more deliberate kind of look—in the process, the serpent got a look at the old man’s eyes—it was the hiss from the mouth (the old man’s mouth), yes the mouth most certainly, like thunder erupting it was, or possibly like the sound from a volcano, the snake started hissing back, and struggling wildly, its back, head, mouth and through the whole length of the snake, all stiffened—a firm kind of restlessness engulfed the serpent; the closer the old man got to the snake, the more it hissed, stiffened and jumped as if out of some kind of uncontrollable neurological reaction—involuntary reaction.
As the old man now walked next to the snake, almost eye to eye, and shoulder to shoulder, although the snake did not have shoulders, but it did have sides, it, the poskok, was about to fly off that pole out of pure fright, right out of the two soldier’s mitts, trying to get free, trying to escape the old man’s presence. Matter of fact, the viper was so frantic, frenzied, hysterical the snake even started to eat the rope it was bound and tied securely with.
When the soldiers witnessed this, they dropped the pole, along with the bound snake onto the marble floor within the King’s throne room, as the King looked on, on towards the snake and the old man with one glance, a glance he had given the snake, and just one little glance towards the old man, he, the King noticed the fleeting look from the old man had frightened the snake, it was him indeed, thought the king, hence, he knew this man was extraordinary, and although he wanted to, he hesitated in mind and soul to stop this potential marriage right now and then, for he had no other recourses left, the old man was it—who else was there, should he not make the deal, in consequence, there’d be no kingdom to rule in time. And the princess need only wait, time would do the old man in, and she’d be free to remarry again.
As soon as the old man was out of the throne room, out beyond its door: out of sight, the snake regained its weakened composure back to its former self-controlled, pose—it had prior to seeing this old and deformed gentleman of sorts; tranquility, or call it peace, whatever, calm was restored.
For that reason, and beyond, that is, for five-years to follow, the deal was sealed; and now the old man would walk slowly up and down the paths, lanes, roads of the valley and mountains kingdom—to and fro daily; looking in every tree trunk and nook, walking the coast of the Adriatic, and combing miles and miles of forest land, areas within the vicinity of the King’s domain, wiping out all the snakes that he could find: he ate them, like an animal eating flesh, ripped them apart like a rat to a hen. It had come to a point, as it was said, that the area had over 10,000 snakes at one time, it had come to the point, at this juncture, that, that number was being dwindled down quickly.
Secretive Sounds
(The First Summer)
When he, the snake eater appeared in the land, especially within the vicinity of the kingdom, he brought with him his own secret affairs, as this one, which he was pursuing as quiet and secretive as the devil himself might do, and with devious hidden turns, and he made no concessions.
Mr. Goose, the snake eater, was quite the odd looking character also: un-winking, slightly bowlegged, eyes green as the forest in full bloom but stagnate as still water, his quest with vitality and vigor the first full summer.
The vipers, snakes, the poskok of Bosnia, were quiet now beneath the summer’s stars (the first summer for Mr. Goose, the snake eater, he had joyfully and with haste scrambled up the snakes of the land with his presence forcing them to hide or face termination, by way of a choppy death, and now they, the snakes, talked secretive, with minimal sounds, so as not to be detected by him), and beneath the summer’s moon, they gashed vaguely across the dark land of Bosnia, in fear of the old snake killer when night came, when they did not reach their nooks and logs they lived in, they found themselves slumbering beside the roadsides, and dark wood patches of the landscape, hoping not to be seen or heard by this snake eater, for even at night he crept through the denser growth of the forests, lowered his head, snorted into and murmured into the heavily oxidized air, as if into some invisible water, trying to get a sniff of the snakes. Had he heard even a whimper, with hope, this snarling impossible to hear beast of a man, if indeed he was a man, blundered out of his dark foliage like a wild beast to capture just one more viper, thus, disturbing the exquisite sad days they already lived in, to bring about extinction of their kind. In one summer alone, the first summer, the vipers went from ten-thousand to eight-thousand in number.
Seven Poskoks and the Old Man
(Year Two)
Mr. Goose, was an undomesticated kind of, someone, quick as a rabbit, and deadlier than a rattlesnake, and quiet as a dove; and I know you folks reading this, are somewhat aware of this, but I felt it needed repeating for this sketch where the old man, sees his seven prey, for as swift and keen as he be, he was no magical worker, he had to work hard at what he did, and what you are reading is what he did, and therefore we must give him some credit, if not recognition for his efforts, I mean, he is, or was not the most likable someone, anyone had ever met.
“Hmph,” he grunted looking at seven snakes, poskoks, -- in the thick of the woods, “I’ll eat you all, eat you like an axe grinder, like a feed chopper, if I can get to you”! He murmured.
For he was witnessing at this moment, several snakes rolling about on their bellies in the grass and leaves further up, in the woods, mischievously, playing with one another. His head, jerked into position, to size the situation up, his head shaped like a cast-iron, iron, teeth in a flashing arc ready to sweep and chop the snakes, but for the moment he needed to put them into a helpless position, to entangle their inevitable death, he knew they were not as quick and cunning as he, and being young, even more so.
He quietly snuck closer to his prey, his quarry to be, like a hammer his jaws tightened up, half turned, he grabbed one snake before any of them knew what happened, and looked for the next, while grinding away on the first one he just grabbed, his nostrils trembling for more of the tasty poskok meet; uneven, his eating emitted a digging sound.
He stomped his hoof like feet, stomped them like a bull into the soil, his neck thrust outward as to make room to swallow the meat, under his sunburned skin.
Then with a yelp, he said, “Let’s get going!” to the other six snakes, trying to move closer to grab another, but they started to roll over one another to get away, to get to the rear of the others, so they would not be selected, becoming the next victim.
He grabbed one more poskok, as the others, five others fled into the deeper part of the cool dark forest, for a refuge.
The Old man, cursed them from afar, stood on his hoof-like feet, like a cow’s, which separated into three flat like toes, square almost, and he transferred onto another path for a fair assumption and deliberation of the situation; thereafter, he plunged madly into his dugout, he was living in, sank back against the dirt wall, he looked into a mirror at his teeth, they were like wire cutters, yellowish wire cutters, his eyes rolling with anger, for allowing the other five to get away; but youthful snakes were of a more tender texture in eating, a more delightful dinner than a tough old snake, and so he simply justified the kill, marked it off as: what do you expect when eating a rich steak compared to dog meat, you lose interest in other things around you, perhaps like he did: because in his younger days, he could have grabbed all seven of them within a matter of a minute.
(Yes, he was disappointed in himself, although he prided himself that at his age, he shot like an arrow at those youthful snakes, and got two out of seven, which he had eaten them in a wild-eyed frenzy, then had allowed them to scramble their way to live another day, and perhaps only one more day.)
Night in the Dugout
That night, beneath a gibbous moon, the old man was now huddled in his dugout, in a corner of his one room, shadows, with phantom shapes rushed by the moon, he saw them from the corner of his hollow, lingering they were, until morning, thus, but one overlooking his dugout remained…and soon, in the morning Mr. Goose would rise to find the last of the haunting shadows had betaken its ghostly shape away into the mist of the dense woods, and here was no sound in the woods, save an acorn dropping off a tree, or an abrupt thudding he could hear by way of a down wind. The old man yawned like a huge wild cat, dreamy like, in anticipation for a new feast.
Infamous Hero
“Who are you looking for Mister?” Someone asked, and another said, “That’s the old snake eater!”
“Is he really?” said the first voice, “He sure is,” repeated the other.
Continuously the old man moved forward away from the country folks and their farms, and fields, back onto the dirt roads looking for the snakes, and occasionally back into the woods.
Princess in the Window
Meanwhile, during this second year of the Snake Eater’s task, the princess, unaltered by her potential marriage to the old man, nevertheless, as the days got closer towards the end of the second year, she did think about her losing her freedom after hearing about the good job Mr. Goose was doing; and the more she heard this good news, the more and longer she sat placidly on the sill in her bedroom window, looking down the lane he’d have to come up someday to get his reward, her hand in marriage, whereupon, he’d have to crossover the rampart, and into the courtyard. Then after a short while she’d again forget her fate and obligation that would follow—should he accomplish his mission, and pass her days doing what princesses normally do.
Came fall (or autumn)
In the fall, each fall of the following years, the old man worked even harder on looking for these troublesome snakes. The leaves, the abundance of leaves on the uncountable number of trees within this kingdom habitat, in the forest that grew along side the roads, that ran though the upper and bottom lands of the region (and near the castle-kingdom), these leaves, millions of leaves when they turned yellow, orange and red, fell from the trees, then they dried, and crackled and snapped under the heavy bellies of the snakes as they moved and the old man heard them, listened for them attentively. This really was his harvest time he learned; the fall season was his most prosperous time of the year. Along with listening, he checked under the logs themselves, the snakes almost blending into those logs and branches, blending into the landscape in general; for the common eye, not telling the difference between log, and snake at a quick glance, so he took his time in his search, shrewd he was, and he knew he needed to be, and he’d even tell the snakes, which irritated them,
“You can come with me now willingly, or by force later (laughing with his diabolic hiss).”
When the old man caught a snake, he was like a machine cutting firewood, an ax in automatic motion, chopping it apart, and gobbling it up, with his razor sharp teeth, as one would a good steak.
Yes, oh yes, indeed, there were only ten snakes left, almost genocide had taken place in this little kingdom, and these ten got together, and by way of necessity, inevitable you might say, started learning how to jump, and leap. They’d gathered by the waters, the lakes, the rivers, wherever they could and watched the frogs as they moved about, leaped, hurled, dive, then even watched the toads jump, lunge, and drop, all and any creature that skipped, hoped or jumped, they examined, watched closely, then by instinct, and need for continued existence, within a years time had learned how to leap some three feet in the air, and some five to seven feet in any direction—straight forward that is. As a result it was their way of escape from this flesh-eating human animal of sorts: the old man.
Along with this new acquired skill, and with the new younger generation being born, the elders tried to explain to them the value of learning, the jumps, and leaps, and the sounds they make in the fall leaves, and when spring came they got excited to play, but they learned as long as the old man was alive, it was not safe. And even in the winter they needed to be shrewd and conscientious where they went, they’d leave a trail in the snow, they were told, and this was not wise, the old man would follow it. In essence, they needed to be shrewder than the old man, if they wanted to survive, stay alive.
The elder snakes even reinforced the fact the new younger snakes needed to be wicked to the point not to let neither their minds or bodies decay in the winter, so they were swift in spring and summer, and light on their bellies; by and by, they absorbed all such learning.
—Four years had now gone by, and the old man was now eighty-six years old. His heart was tired, failing, and he wanted more than anything to leave a legacy behind—his legacy that is, but had one more year to keep the land free of these evil serpents, should he fail, he’d lose the beautiful bright-eyed young princess: and in his mind, this could not be tolerated, as the old expression goes, he’d lose ‘the goat and the rope,’ so careful he needed to be, astute, perceptive he needed to be, but this time with the king more so than the snakes.
As time passed, the old man found these ten snakes, all in different locations (not knowing of course they had offspring hidden away): some in trees, others alongside of the road playing dead, and others by the great waters of the sea, he’d go to grab them, and before he could touch them, they’d jump, leap right through his hands, right out of his fingers. The old man, you could see on his face a flavor of worried triumph.
Several leaps and the serpents were gone, out of sight. Well, this bothered the old man to extremes, but he knew if he kept the snakes hidden, and busy, he’d still get his reward, or could if he was deceptive enough, a little bit perhaps misleading. And play, consequently, as if nothing had happened—he’d continue to take part in this game, and the king would be no wiser; the end result, the old man kept walking the mountain paths—as all the villagers knew, as all the villagers saw him do, day after day after day—and word got back to the king all the roads were clean and clear of the snakes.
Yet, in checking out the trees, and road sides, he occasionally found a snake or two, but it again would leap out of his presence to safety (and again I say, no one had seen snakes for a long time now, no one that is but the old man, so the king was any the wiser to his charade). And slowly but surely the old man saw the number of snakes started to increase, but they were simply baby snakes, and the mothers kept them hidden from him for the most part, and he wanted to keep it that way, until after he received his reward that is; for he knew himself, his reflexes were not as they were a few years ago, and each year lacking more and more in the impulse reaction area; anyhow, slow they were, and with the leaping, it was impossible to catch them now; yet again, I must stress, in fear they’d become extinct all over again, they hid when they could, and jumped when they had to, or leaped to safety or some hidden area, should they become aware the old man was around.
And so again, I repeat, no one had seen them, and the snakes knew the old man was aging, and would not live forever, in consequence, if only they could out last him, out wait him—in many cases this is the only way to deal with such a menace as the old man, so the snakes concluded, and so they would out wait him. And in between now and his death, they hissed with laughter on finding a way to out smart the Old man. But as the old saying goes and the snakes did not know this saying, ‘He who laughs last, laughs longest.’
And now, the fifth-year had come and passed, the old man, had completed his task, his mission—and so, the old man went to the king to claim his reward. There in the throne room, he, Mr. Goose, stood in front of the king, telling him of his endeavors.
For the first time the princess burned with curiosity, eager to hear what the old man had to say. She leaned forward so she could see through a crack in the curtains in the throne room. At first her thoughts were thin at best, then thinking he could have accomplished the mission, she listened even closer, more attentive, her eyes closed upon hearing he did, and as the old man stared at the moving curtains, he mumbled:
“And for the love making, let’s hurry on with the wedding.”
He, Mr. Goose, was by no means, couth about the matter, rather quite blunt.
The King looking quite dreadful at his parting of his daughter gave her to the old man nonetheless— called over from behind the curtains, with not much to say, and brought forth a great celebration. The lovely twenty-year old princess was adorned with all kinds of flowers, and jewels and riches beyond imagination. And the party went on and on all night.
Surprisingly, during this time the king noticed that he, the old man had only eyes for the princess, his daughter, not the riches she possessed. Somehow that seemed to dignify the whole matter much more, in an ugly kind of way, that is. As the bride danced with the groom, all the young bucks looked on with disgust and envy, perhaps a little more envy than disgust. The princess although in dismay, said nothing, not a word to disgrace her father’s will, like a good daughter, she kissed her husband and bid good evening to the guests, as they went into their room to consummate the marriage.
The Princess
It was early evening and the moon that had been hidden behind clouds, emerged with a warm wind blowing through the castle bedroom window, and the old man now was about to seek his pleasures. There was the sound of music in the bedroom, blown under the bedroom doorway; it gently branched out, throughout the room—black shadows, raced to and fro, from corner to corner in the bedroom.
Heretofore, the love-making had tired the old man to where he was dosing off and on, starting to even snore, his arms underneath the back of his head, lying on his back, eyes closed, save, a little look at his new youthful, and beautiful bride, and wife, off and on, and more off than on as the night went on.
As the extraordinary evening went forward, the old man fell to sleep, and in the morn, the princess tried to wake her new husband up for breakfast, only to find him, lifeless, dead, deceased, departed. She was mortified, and yet relieved, she called quickly to her father, and he called for doctor and the guards. Word had gotten out quickly that the princess’ husband had heart-failure, and she would be in mourning. But the serpents in the area were refreshed by the news, and came out bravely, back onto the pathways, and around the trees and coastal areas with their young ones, almost as if to have a fiesta.
The king now seeing this new resurrection of the snakes didn’t know what to do, but it was not half as bad as it was five-years past, and figured he’d look for another man of same qualities, and tried to find the Goose family to no avail. Then, finding out his daughter was pregnant, he got thinking, possibly, just probably, whatever the qualities the old man had inside his genes, they might be in his blood line, thus, in his grandson to be [hoping it would be a boy].
“Awe,” he said with glowing and ghastly eyes, “sure,” he said to his daughter, “should she give birth to a son, he will be the tempest for the snakes.” (The king thinking, ‘All is fair in love and war.’)
The King’s Castle
And so the king and his kingdom all waited for the birth of the child.
—And then it happened, the ninth-month, third day, in the early morn, the sun had just risen: all waited outside the doorway to hear the baby’s cry, but there was no cry, yet a baby was born (with a loud hiss!). As the doctor looked at the child, he was flabbergasted; the child was horrifying to look at; hence, in all regards, in all the days of the doctor’s life, in every corner of his world, he had never seen such an hideous looking child; deformed, long thin hanging nose, bug-eyed creature; he was simply stunned, astonished, amazed, at its appearance he just shook his head, nodded his head back and forth as if to grab onto some sanity: it looked like a ferret, yet it had human form to it. It seemed the lobes to his brain extended outward, that is to say, pushed the skull like rubber to form an impression on his head, which had no hair. His eyes took up, one third of his face.
Thereof, the doctor remembered what the old man had looked like: comparing child to father—or perhaps using some imagination, comparing child to when the father was a child or might have been a child, or perhaps what he didn’t see of the father he imagined, and as a result, made his own comparisons; and now thinking of the king, he pondered on what to do, for the king and the kingdom.
He didn’t show the child to anyone, not a soul (although he told the king), and ordered all to stay away, that it had the plague; and needed to get the child out of the castle before an epidemic occurred; the king concurring, like-minded with everything he said. And during the late night took the child out of the kingdom, telling all concerned, the child could be contagious (which it did not have of course any such disease), should it touch anyone, it would only kill them only to look at it—figuratively speaking again. But who could understand such ugliness, and perhaps the princess would wanted to keep it. And so the doctor left the castle.
Soft were the dark shadows as he walked down the lane, into the forest, into the tall grass, stealthily past barns and houses and farms, and roads.
He, the doctor who cared now for the child, called the child ‘Mon-goose’, taking the king’s name and the father’s. And left it in the woods—neither one, never to returning to the castle; hence, the Mongoose was named and born.
In time the old snakes had died out, all but one, and the young snakes had now forgotten those trying years with the snake eater, the grim sights of him searching and stacking their parents. All this had been forgotten, until one day, one of the snakes, that elder snake, I just mentioned, perhaps the only one left of the bygone generation that lived through those trying days of Mr. Goose, saw a man, he looked like the old man Mr. Goose, resembled him, but more youthful, and the old snake said out loud (and other snakes nearby heard him, stiffened their bodies in horror),
“The snake eater is back!” or so he said, and all the other snakes wondered, questioned him, if he really saw what he thought he saw, and the old snake just prayed it was an illusion. And said not a word, if anything, he was hoping it was an automatic reaction, perhaps to post traumatic stress.
The Child Born
End of the Tale
Note by the author: a mongoose is a flesh eating animal, looking much like a ferret. It eats snakes, and snakes know when one is present by instinct.
Note: written 12/18/02 © by Dennis L. Siluk [at Barnes and Noble, Roseville, Minnesota, in the deli]; around, 8/2003 this story was picked up and used by the Croatian Education System in Europe. Now revised for descriptiveness, and reedited 1/2006 (put on a number of sites on the internet throughout the years (between 2004 & 2008; in July, 2008, it was reedited and rewritten from 2750 words to 4350); first time in book form. A Great Story for kids and on many their internet programs.
Apolinario Fermin Mayta, Poet, and Journalist;
With Mayor of Huancayo, and Poet Laureate,
Dr. Dennis L. Siluk (11/ 2007), receiving
Award for his Cultural Poetic Writings.
Back of Book
Visit my web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com/ you can also order the books directly by/on:
http://www.amazon.com/ http://www.bn.com/ http://www.scifan.com/ http://www.netstoreusa.com/ along with any of your notable book dealers. Other web sites you can see Siluk’s work at: http://www.eldritchdark.com/; www.swft/writings.html; http://www.abe.com/; http://www.alibris.com/; http://www.freearticles.com/
Books by the Author
Out of Print
The Other Door, Volume I [1981]
The Tale of Willie the Humpback Whale [1982]
Two Modern Short Stories of Immigrant Life [1984]
The Safe Child/the Unsafe Child [1985]
Presently In Print
The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon
Angelic Renegades & Raphaim Giants
Tales of the Tiamat [trilogy]
And other selected books
Tiamat, Mother of Demon I
Gwyllion, Daughter of the Tiamat II
Revenge of the Tiamat III
Mantic ore: Day of the Beast
Chasing the Sun
[Travels of D.L Siluk]
Islam, In Search of Satan’s Rib
The Addiction Books of D.L. Siluk:
A Path to Sobriety
A Path to Relapse Prevention
Aftercare: Chemical Dependency Recovery
Autobiographical
A Romance in Augsburg I
Romancing San Francisco II
Where the Birds Don’t Sing III
Stay Down, Old Abram IV
Romance:
Perhaps it’s Love
(Minnesota to Seattle)
Cold Kindness
(Dieburg, Germany)
The Suspense short stories of D.L. Siluk:
Death on Demand
[Seven Suspenseful Short Stories]
Dracula’s Ghost
[And other peculiar stories]
The Mumbler [psychological]
After Eve [a prehistoric adventure]
The Poetry of D.L. Siluk:
The Other Door (Poems- Volume I, 1981)
Sirens [Poems-Volume II, 2003]
The Macabre Poems [Poems-Volume III, 2004]
Last Autumn and Winter [Minnesota poems, 2006]
Spell of the Andes [2005]
Peruvian Poems [2005]
Poetic Images Out of Peru [And other poems, 2006]
The Magic of the Avelinos
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, book One; 2006)
The Road to Unishcoto
(Poems on the Mantaro Valley, Book Two, 2007)
The Poetry of Stone Forest (Cerro de Pasco, 2007)
Cradled with the Devil (and Josh, in: Poor Black)
The Tale of the Jumping Serpents of Bosnia (Poetic Prose)
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“Along the coast of the Adriatic Sea lives what now is called the “poskok,’ better known as the ‘Jumping Serpent’. These creatures are some five-feet long and to my understanding can jump some three feet in the air and leap some five-feet in any direction they wish, simply by aiming at whatever, wherever. But this didn’t happen by chance, this really and truly happened by necessity. And this is the tale you are about to hear, the ‘why,’ of it, how it came about. And to be quite honest, you will be the first to hear of it.” (Page one: Intro)
“The Tale of the Jumping Serpents of Bosnia,” was written in 12/18/02 © by Dennis L. Siluk [at Barnes and Noble, Roseville, Minnesota, in the deli]; around, 8/2003 this story was picked up and used by the Croatian Education System in Europe. Next, it was picked up by several internet sites between 2004 and 2006. This is the first time in print, and with its extended content, the longer version, which in 2006, the author reedited, and in July of 2008, rewrote parts of it, extended in description, details, and for explanatory reasons, making it a better read.
Dennis L. Siluk, Ed.D., is the author of 37-books, several in English and Spanish, eleven in Poetry. This is his seventh book on myths, tales, and the supernatural. He lives with his wife Rosa, in Minnesota and Peru; he presently is working on, “Old Josh…” and “Cradled by the Devil.”
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