The band of teenagers employed by the local administrator started their work the night before and by morning they had hit all the villages and before noon they had hit all the hamlets and new farming settlements.
They were now on their way back home to the seat of the local administrator's office. They were covered in dust from walking the roads and were jesting with one another, happy they were done with their task, looking forward to their meagre pay.
The loud chatter on the road drifted into the house of the headman of the village who was currently dozing at his table, in his study, in his house. The voices carried into his dream and he shifted and was having a troubled sleep. He had fallen asleep writing a lenghty letter to the other headmen of nearby villages, canvassing for solidarity against the notice from the local administrator.
The band of teenagers passed the tree where they had slapped the postbill and one of them noticed that it was missing. They were four in total and the band comprised of two boys and two girls.
'Where is the bill we put up here?'
'Did we put it up there?'
'I am sure we did and it is not there.'
The girl who noticed it went over to the pye tree. She rubbed her hand over an area of the surface that looked like it had glue. She then put her nose to it. The others were watching her.
'Stop being weird. That's not the tree we put it.' A boy said.
'Quit your yammering. I smelled the pitch and look there is pieces of the bill here.'
'So, someone ripped it off?'
'Come and take a look for yourself. Don't kill me with questions'
They stood around the tree and deliberated and decided that the postbill was, as a matter of fact, torn off the tree before the pitch glue had enough time to take. They were now worried. Their voices were now lowered from when they were gallivanting through the streets of the village.
'Peet, what should be do now?'
'Maybe it was the headman that removed it.'
'That makes no sense.'
'Maybe he did not want someone to destroy it. You know how kids can be.' Peet replied.
'It is not impossible.'
'Is there still more glue?'
'We have a handful of posts left but no glue. And if I remember correctly we put up two in this village.'
'Yes. Before we passed the market to here.'
They all went there to check and did not fnd it and began to be worried that the work they spent all night and morning doing had been undone everywhere. But they quickly calmed down as they had still spotted the ones in the other villages they had passed though.
'That does not mean someone is not going around peeling them off.'
'True.'
'I have some nails here. We can pin up a few.'
'Let us do that.'
The loud banging of a nail into a tree with a solid rock caused such loud booms that goats and chickens and lizards and squirrels all gathered around, on the floor, on rooftops, on fences, and watched. But even with this degree of noise right beside the headman's house, the headman's nap was undisturbed.
The band of teenagers finished and went on their way. They saw the postbills they had put up in a nearby hamlet and were relieved. When they saw it in another village they became merry and resumed their loud chatter.
The day was cool as rainclouds gathered in the sky.
The boy saw the blue tongue as the hook stick whacked into the floor. The snake dodged it and it sprang towards the old man's legs.
The old man brought the stick sideways and hit the snake on the head and it coiled towards the palm tree. It hit and fell on the ground and it slithered like a crackling splinter of wood. It closed its mouth and they could no longer see it. But the leaves rustled and the old man was upon it and he beat the grasses with his hook stick.
The boy was still on the floor, watching dumbfoundedly. His cutlass was on the grass beside him but he was too engrossed in watching the old man hunt the snake that he forgot himself and remained frozen in his fear.
The hook stick broke with a loud snap and the old man jumped backwards and then he let a scream loose. He raised up his leg but the camouflaged bluetongue snake dropped from his skin and slithered away amongst the grass quickly. The leaves only rustled and the boy and the old man did not see it go.
The old man sat on the floor and ripped his shirt by the hem and fashioned it into strips. The boy was up and he stood there, not knowing how he could be of help. The old man kept ripping his shirt until he had several strips of cloth.
He asked the boy to come over, keeping his voice cool and steady.
'Use these to tie here.' He clapped his hand a handspan above the ankle of his right leg and pointed with his other hand. 'Tie it properly and use all your strength. The poison must not go up.'
The boy came and crouched and grabbed the strips of the shirt. The old man snapped at him to be fast. Sweat gathered on his face and bare chest.
The boy's hands shook. He was scared of messing it up. He was scared of tying it and then the venom still finding its way up. Up was where it would do the most damage. He knew that much. He started tying it but the strips of cloth fell from his hand.
The old man slapped him hard across the face.
'The snake is not coming back after it has tasted my blood. It has gone to hide. It is tired. If you don't focus we will be in trouble.'
The boy's face stung and all of a sudden he wanted to urinate. He felt tears forming on his eyes but he closed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. His ears were ringing. The old man was saying something.
'Pick them up.' The old man said.
The boy did.
'First tie them together.'
The boy did.
'Tie it into a noose like for putting on a goat's leg.'
The boy took some time but he did it. The old man was encouraging him. The old man raised his bitten leg while still holding it tightly with his large calloused hands and spoke.
'Slip the noose in.'
The boy did.
'Pull on it.'
'Use your strength.'
'Tighter.'
'Don't worry just pull it tighter.'
The boy pulled it so tight he was scared of snapping the rope made of strips of cloth, but it held. The old man winced and bit down his agony and closed his eyes. The boy did not need further instruction. He wound the rest of the rope around the leg just above the ankle and tied it.
'Good. You have done well. Sit down here. Catch your breath.'
Drops of blood welled out of the man's ankle in four places, for each fang of the bluetongued snake. It was blood turning blue from the venom of the snake. The old man was now sweating profusely, he finally opened his eyes and he grabbed the boy's arm by the wrist.
'You have to find the snake and kill it. Or else there would be trouble.'
'I don't understand.'
'The snake is dangerous and it's venom is potent.'
'I can suck it out.'
'You will be foolish and you will die once it touches your tongue.'
The old man slid over to the palm tree and rested his back and took a long breath before talking again.
'You will find the snake under that bush and it will be resting. This is the only time you have to kill it. You must kill it. You have no choice. Don't be scared. It has no fight in it any more. Do you hear me?'
'I cannot do it.'
'You can do it.' The old man said it through his teeth and his breathing grew ragged.
The boy stood up from the grassy floor and looked around himself.
He saw the handle of the old man's cutlass in the air, where the cutlass was wedged to the tree.
He saw spatters of blood on the floor and a smudged trail leading into the thicker bushes.
He saw his own cutlass on the floor and he went and picked it up.
The old man's chest went up and down and ragged breaths escaped through his mouth.
The boy forced himself to recall when he had been bitten when he was younger. He also had dotted scars on the back of his hand. The old man had killed that snake too. He cut the head and defanged it but that was all the boy could remember. Even if he killed the snake he did not know how to make the antidote.
The boy turned towards the bushes and could not take that step. He looked at the pins of blood on the old man's ankle and the clothes keeping the venom from going up his body. The bluetongue snake hissed amongst the bushes.