Lord of the Mountain by Ronald Kidd

Author:Ronald Kidd
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Albert Whitman & Company
Published: 2018-11-05T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

“Beelzebub!” Daddy thundered. “He’s gone!”

There was a low murmur at the back of the tent, and it grew louder. Someone screamed.

I looked back. Arnie was walking up the aisle like a bride on her wedding day. The snake coiled around his arm, up and over his shoulder. It rattled wildly and peered across the tent, its tongue flicking.

As for Arnie, he was blazing. I had no doubt that if I touched his cheek, I’d get burned. He grinned like a madman.

“No!” shrieked Mama.

She tried to push past me and reach him, but I held her back.

“Be careful,” I told her. “Don’t startle the snake.”

The people had backed away, giving Arnie plenty of room, but Daddy had no such hesitation. He strode down the aisle, coat flapping as if in a holy wind. He and Arnie stopped and faced each other—tall and short, father and son, crazy and crazier.

Beelzebub hissed and rattled.

Daddy held out his hand. “Give him to me, Son.”

“He’s mine,” said Arnie, with a little lilt in his voice.

Drops appeared on Daddy’s brow, squeezed right out of his pores. “He’s not yours or mine, Son. He belongs to Satan.”

Arnie stuck out his chin. “I can handle him.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Daddy.

“I am,” said Arnie.

Maybe they would have worked it out. We’ll never know, because at that moment, right next to Arnie, a baby let out a holler. Beelzebub shook his head, I swear, the way I’d seen people do when they’re startled by a loud noise.

Then he struck.

He bit Arnie’s hand and latched on. Arnie shrieked and slumped to the ground. Daddy kneeled down, grabbed the snake, and yanked him off. Beelzebub slithered into the crowd.

There was a moment of silence as people realized what had happened. Then the place exploded. People jumped on their chairs or sprinted for the exits. It was a mob scene, right there in Daddy’s church.

I once read in Popular Mechanics about a woman, just a tiny thing, who lifted a car off her child. They said she got her power from something called adrenaline. Maybe Mama had adrenaline, because suddenly there she was, picking up Arnie and draping him over her shoulder like a dish towel. She grabbed me by the arm, then raced down the aisle and out the back, with me stumbling along behind. She didn’t stop until we were inside our house, where she slammed the door and locked it tight. I called the hospital, while she laid Arnie down on the couch.

A minute later Daddy pounded on the door. I let him in, and he hurried over to the couch. By that time Arnie was looking bad. His hand was puffed up, his skin was clammy white, and he said it felt like a red-hot sword was stabbing him. Every few minutes he would double up and vomit—on his shirt, on the couch, on Mama. She didn’t care. She just knelt there next to him, stroking his forehead and praying.

“Will he be all right?” moaned Daddy.

“Shut up,” said Mama.

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