No Comebacks

'There's a darkie we have at work. A heathen man. He comes from a land with a lot of snakes in it. I have in mind to have some fun with him. A wee joke, like. Pass me that oven glove Jenny.'

'You'll not need a glove,' said Bobby. 'He can't bite you.'

'I'm not touching the dirty thing,' said Cameron.

'He's not dirty,' said Bobby. 'They're very clean creatures.'

'You 're a fool, boy, for all your school learning. Does the Good Book not say: "On thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat..."? Aye, and more than dust, no doubt. I '11 not touch him with me hand.'

Jenny passed her father the oven glove. Open jamjar in his left hand, right hand protected by the glove, Big Billie Cameron stood over the viper. Slowly his right hand descended. When it dropped, it was fast; but the small snake was faster. Its tiny fangs went harmlessly into the padding of the glove at the centre of the palm. Cameron did not notice, for the act was masked from his view by his own hands. In a trice the snake was inside the jamjar and the lid was on. Through the glass they watched it wriggle furiously.

'I hate them, harmless or not,' said Mrs Cameron. 'I'll thank you to get it out of the house.'

'I'll be doing that right now,' said her husband, 'for I'm late as it is.'

He slipped the jamjar into his shoulder bag, already containing his lunch box, stuffed his pipe and pouch into the right-hand pocket of his jacket and took both out to the car. He arrived at the station yard fives minutes late and was surprised to find the Indian student staring at him fixedly.

'I suppose he wouldn't have the second sight,' thought Big Billie as they trundled south to Newtownards and Comber.

By mid-morning all the gang had been let into Big Billie's secret joke on pain of a thumping if they let on to 'the darkie'. There was no chance of that; assured that the slowworm was perfectly harmless, they too thought it a good leg-pull. Only Ram Lai worked on in ignorance, consumed by his private thoughts and worries.

At the lunch break he should have suspected something. The tension was palpable. The men sat in a circle around the fire as usual, but the conversation was stilted and had he not been so preoccupied he would have noticed the half-concealed grins and the looks darted in his direction. He did not notice. He placed his own lunch box between his knees and opened it. Coiled between the sandwiches and the apple, head back to strike, was the viper.

The Indian's scream echoed across the clearing, just ahead of the roar of laughter from the labourers. Simultaneously with the scream, the lunch box flew high in the air as he threw it away from himself with all his strength. All the contents of the box flew in a score of directions, landing in the long grass, the broom and gorse all around them.

Ram Lai was on his feet, shouting. The gangers rolled helplessly in their mirth, Big Billie most of all. He had not had such a laugh in months.

'It's a snake,' screamed Ram Lai, 'a poisonous snake. Get out of here, all of you. It's deadly.'

The laughter redoubled; the men could not contain themselves. The reaction of the joke's victim surpassed all their expectations.

'Please, believe me. It's a snake, a deadly snake.'

Big Billie's face was suffused. He wiped tears from his eyes, seated across the clearing from Ram Lai, who was standing looking wildly round.

'You ignorant darkie,' he gasped, 'don't you know? There are no snakes in Ireland. Understand? There aren't any.'

His sides ached with laughing and he leaned back in the grass, his hands behind him to support him. He failed to notice the two pricks, like tiny thorns, that went into the vein on the inside of the right wrist.

The joke was over and the hungry men tucked into their lunches. Harkishan Ram Lai reluctantly took his seat, constantly glancing round him, a mug of steaming tea held ready, eating only with his left hand, staying clear of the long grass. After lunch they returned to work. The old distillery was almost down, the mountains of rubble and savable timbers lying dusty under the August sun.

At half past three Big Billie Cameron stood up from his work, rested on his pick and passed a hand across his forehead. He licked at a slight swelling on the inside of his wrist, then started work again. Five minutes later he straightened up again.

'I'm not feeling so good,' he told Patterson, who was next to him. 'I'm going to take a spell in the shade.'

He sat under a tree for a while and then held his head in his hands. At a quarter past four, still clutching his splitting head, he gave one convulsion and toppled sideways. It was several minutes before Tommy Burns noticed him. He walked across and called to Patterson.

'Big Billie's sick,' he called. 'He won't answer me.'

The gang broke and came over to the tree in whose shade the foreman lay. His sightless eyes were staring at the grass a few inches from his face. Patterson bent over him. He had been long enough in the labouring business to have seen a few dead ones.

'Ram,' he said, 'you have medical training. What do you think?'

Ram Lai did not need to make an examination, but he did. When he straightened up he said nothing, but Patterson understood.

'Stay here all of you,' he said, taking command. 'I'm going to phone an ambulance and call McQueen.' He set off down the track to the main road.

The ambulan