Mister Snake by Lai Ho
Original (原作) Published in 1930
Mister Snake is a well-known guy in these parts. He makes his living by catching water birds, and, even though this occupation does not require much in terms of start-up funds, it is not for everyone. It can even be dangerous at times.
One must steel oneself when standing at the edge of a deserted, wild lake in the middle of the night. Even though one is relatively well-educated, it is hard to leave behind the fear of ghosts and spirits. We keep this in even our grown up hearts. But Mister Snake, holding his torch and with a chest full of courage, was unafraid. He felt that fire gods have given him power over the night–really the ability to light up the outlines of any nearby spirit. So with his torch in his hand, no matter how dark the world was to get, he would be unafraid. But even though light can be borrowed to dispel the amorphous fears stemming from the dark, there are still great dangers in the world. One must not allow themselves to lose their vigilance. Precautions must be taken, especially against snakes.
When hunting water birds, one mustn’t forget snakes. The old saying goes: centipedes, frogs, and snakes are the three enemies. Snakes’ great enemy is the centipede, centipedes scare away the water birds, and water birds are a lovely treat for snakes. So snakes must do what they can to thwart any invasion of centipedes. They often create a buffer zone for the water birds. They keep the mouth of their liars open, ready to pounce. A bird-hunting man must understand this relationship, and must prepare for snakes. One needs snakebite medicine, gimmicks for avoiding them, and must pass on this knowledge to the next batch of hunters. And this is where Mister Snake made his name.
When Mister Snake went off to catch water birds, he always loved to do it in the dead of night, when others are afraid to leave their homes. He dragged his bamboo trap in one hand and clutched his torch in the other. He went to the wild places others avoided. Relying on only a few centimeters of light emitted by his torch, he went about his regular business.
Black clouds hang low, the wild breeze blusters, swiping over the still water. In the depths of night, only the shadow of an odd tree appears, looking like an outline of a ghost. The call of the heron then another, sighing like a tired soul. Even the flickering flash of a shooting star looks like a high up ghost. This is where he found himself, gripping his torch, listening for the call of the water birds. Based on the pitch of the call, he could tell if it is male or female. He can replicate the crow of a searching male, or even the water itself.
He gave the call of an interested female, attracting the nearby males. They flitted into his bamboo trap. Suddenly, he picked up the slightest rustle of a snake. Spurred on by a fit of compassion, he scared the birds out to save them, then rushed out and snatched one back. He placed it in the bamboo trap. Though the bird was destined to die by the end of the night, it would not die from venom coursing through its body. Mister Snake would never admit it, but he belongs in the annals of great philanthropists. But, in the end, is there any difference between a bird dying from the bite of a snake or in service of Mister Snake making a bit of money?
Since he has some tricks up his sleeve, his daily life is not filled with sorrow. Even though he might only catch one bird a night–he catches good ones. At the price point he can pull for his birds, just one or two lavish meals could put food on the table and clothe his family. He dresses well, and does not present himself as other hunters might. This is one reason he has the moniker “Mister”.
Mister Snake, as a respected and well-known man, has a respected and well-known story. Should we consider him lucky or doomed? It is difficult to judge, but it’s best to hear the story ourselves.
His neighbor was a farmer, who had been bit by a snake. The neighbor turned to western medical methods, but it only got worse. Seeing this, other neighbors suggested he go find Mister Snake. Mister Snake came at once, and sat with the neighbor, holding his hand. Almost instantly, the swelling started to go down.
In Mister Snake’s reckoning, he had done nothing wrong. When someone is bit by a snake, even though he might not necessarily die, pain is inevitable. Relieving a bit of pain is, perhaps not on its own a good thing, but is certainly not a sin. Little did he know that he had violated a holy law.
Law! Oh my god! When did humans create this beloved little concept? The law is good for it protects the privileges of the powerful. With laws the rich have no need to fear robbers, and the poor can comfortably accept dying of starvation. Laws are inviolable. So those who break the law become violations themselves. They deserve to be punished! Jail time for misdemeanors and death for the more serious stuff! It must always be done this way, or the law may lose its bite. If it loses its bite those that depend on the law to protect their (ill) gotten gains will starve. So it has never been relaxed. If any freedom to go beyond any law is permitted, it brings the whole corpus of the law into question. So we have sacred laws. The laws of gods do not go beyond those which men create, but instead bind them together. Everything in everyday life must be encompassed by the law.
Sickness is a part of life, so it too is intertwined with the law. So from one point of view, a doctor who doesn’t save a life but takes payment is no better than a thief. So there is a need for a special code of laws.
The western-trained doctor who treated the snake bite was required by law to report the case to the Monopoly Bureau. Based on this report, they discovered Mr. Snake’s crime, because he was not a doctor recognized by the law.
These people eat their fill of delicious food every day. They pay close to attention to their hygiene. And even if their lives are also tedious, they find avenues for their creative outputs. The search for–or even create–crimes to prosecute the average person for. This is how they deal with the age of boredom while staying faithful to the facts.
Mister Snake’s kindness in their estimation, was a form of evil. Those without the proper medical qualifications acting rashly to treat others is no small matter. They had no choice but to send him to the holding cell.
They also heard that the people had plenty of secret remedies for snake bites. This case made them believe there might be something to these remedies, but the staying power of the law cannot disappear simply because a single life is saved. Mister Snake’s transgression is already a matter of fact. So the neighbor he saved, and Mister Snake’s family, and people from all over the town, brought offerings to the gods. They spoke of laws. They went to the authorities and asked for Mister Snake’s release. And he was. They spoke eloquently in his defense. Since the Bureau wanted to coerce Mister Snake into revealing the secret formula, the authorities felt it was acceptable to bend the law slightly—that way, even if criticized, they would have a defense. The people maintained that he didn’t have any secret recipes, and that Mister Snake was an honest man. This all made the Monopoly Bureau very angry.
They did not believe what the people told them.
“Everyone stands in front of us,” they said, “and tells lies.” It was all true. It’s just that they were able to use their scientific theories to pursue lines of thinking and confuse the people. The reason Mister Snake’s answer didn’t match their conclusion is simply that they were making things up out of thin air. These kinds of dishonest people are always quick to admonish others. Admonish! Other than knocking other people around, what course of action did they have? In the twentieth century is knocking others around more effective than any other scientific method?1 The modern enlightened scientist does not dream sufficiently to invent. Sure, Mister Snake has some regrets, but could anyone actually call him a dishonest man? But from then on, Mr. Snake’s fame spread far and wide, reaching hundreds of li in every direction.
Since Mister Snake was well-known, there were plenty of people coming to him every day for help with their snake bites. But after his troubles, he was more than a bit apprehensive about doling out more medical care. But the helpless always cling tightly to any chance to save their lives, and have difficulty concerning themselves with the concerns of others.
And since Mister Snake had to start turning down appointments, the people believed in the efficacy of his secret methods even more. Simple meetings were now schemed for. The clandestine aspect of things became second nature to him. As the saying goes, “whatever he touched turned to gold,” and people seeking medical treatment came in a steady stream, leaving him no time to go sell waterfowl, Though his life became fuller and busier than ever, everyone noticed that he never invited others over for feasts anymore.
Time passed. He seemed unsettled. Since his medical practice had to go on in secret, it had lost its flavor of legality, so he was always on edge. But he wasn’t found out again. One reason was that his treatments really worked, and so his patients were willing to keep it a secret–now that it was one. But there were other reasons, which are harder to prove yet still important. Those responsible for carrying out the law are, after all, honest public servants who receive some benefit either from the existence of the law, or from the act enforcing it. Mister Snake’s secret medical practice did not, in fact, threaten those benefits–threaten the ability to profit. Even if his formula was to lead to a patient’s death, it would be someone else’s life that is lost.
One afternoon, the rain came down in a thick drizzle. Mister Snake sat out front of a shop, eating his lunch.
This shop was just off the main road which had, on one side, a small pond full of fish. Wild grasses sprung up on the bank of the pond. On the other side of the main road stood a mango tree, its fruiting branches hung over both the water and a small melon patch, the ripe melons swelling to the point that they dipped into the pond. This shop was pushed up against a bamboo thatch, with plenty of trees around it, which cast dapples of shade on the stones below, which are currently being used as seats. When the farmers come into town, they sit on these rocks and enjoy the shade and talk endlessly, burning up time with their words. It could be said that this shop is their social club.
Mister Snake peered out through the drizzle lost in thought. He looked at the blue-gray paddy leaves, the yellowing millet losing itself in the thin raindrops. He thought of the approaching harvest and smiled with no one around to see it. He packed his pipe and lit it, taking in a big breath and expelling a cloud of smoke which trembled its way into dissipation. Mister Snake seemed to be drifting off to the heavens, following his wisp of smoke. His eyes were nearly closed, revealing only a sliver of the whites of his eyes. His mouth was slightly open, and a thread of saliva hung from the corner of his lips, dangling as if it would never break. The pipe had slipped out from between his lips. A rooster decided that it was daybreak and flapping its wings called out its garbled song. Some oxen rested below a nearby tree, their sleep betrayed by the gentle rise and fall of their bellies. A white egret, looking almost like a domesticated bird in a cage, stood on the cow’s jaw, stretching its neck to peck at the cud clinging to the cow’s mouth. The fish in the pond, seemingly more alive after the rain, occasionally leapt out of the water with a splash. The children were still stuck in school–not a sound of commotion could be heard.
The farmers were busy with their various tasks and the shop was relatively empty. Mister Snake dozed a bit. And the rain continued to drizzle.
Ring, ring, ring. The bell suddenly chirped, breaking the still air. A commotion followed, forcing Mister Snake to blink his eyes open. With a yawn, he noticed a man hopping out of a cart and entering the shop. Mister Snake saw at once that the man’s face was full of a certain vitality. Mister Snake’s face, in turn, coldened because this man was not here because of a snake bite. Out of politeness he stood up and greeted the man, who nearly stomped over one of the roaming roosters. The man greeted Mister Snake and told him to sit down. This was not a patient. This was one of the few well-known western doctors in the area.
“Where’s the patient?” Mister Snake asked.
“I’m not looking for treatment. The other western doctors told me to come check you out. I feel very lucky to meet you face to face.”
“Oh come off it.” Mister Snake said with some nervousness. “What is it that I can help you with?”
“You don’t have to look so worried. Your secret recipe. Can you share it with me please?”
“Ha ha!” Mister Snake smiled. “Secret recipe! I’ve said this a thousand times yet no one believes me: there is no secret recipe!”
“I know you’re not one to talk business. But some important people want this recipe. The doctors told me.”
“This is nothing to get worked up about then. You’re a smart guy, and I certainly qualify as an elder. You can believe me.” Mister Snake said.
“That’s right! Mister Snake isn’t a ông-lo̍k-á2 —he’s an honest guy!” The cart driver, who was crouching nearby, interjected.
The rain started to let up and the western slanting sunlight poured light onto their faces. The pond rippled with leftover drops of rain. The nearby farmers saw that Mister Snake was talking with a western doctor and worried that something bad had happened. A few of them circled around the shop’s doors, trying to eavesdrop. All they heard was the tailend of something the cart drivers said to each other:
“I heard that last time he was offered 204 yuan for it. And not just 204…a promise not to compete with him while he was still alive.”
“Two hundred and four yuan? You could add 600 more and he still won’t accept it.”
They stopped talking and listened as Mister Snake said: “We mortals do not understand what makes something different, what makes something precious. That which is common becomes not rare. If it can be bought then it loses its value. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but if you do not concern yourself with the people, you’ll become nothing but a profiteer, and if you allow yourself to become too carefree, you might be accused of setting up an altar to wait for the sick.”
“Ha ha!” The western doctor laughed and said, “You speak well about the things you do. But it’s hard for a doer of things to guarantee others will speak well of him.”
“So to these classes of men, it is necessary to go beyond the law. Mister Snake said, You undertake incredibly ordinary tasks, and only then will they begin to understand the strangeness in front of them. Do not teach them. Do not instruct. Only by carrying out the ordinary services. You cannot hand them consciousness. Wait for them to cry out in epiphany, otherwise you have nothing to hang your hat on.”
“Ha! I agree with what you’re saying, but c’mon: facts are facts. Your magical elixir works. Shouldn’t you turn to someone who can confirm how it works?”
“Not all snakes are venomous, but it’s only the venomous snakes that bite people. Let me ask you this, if a hundred people with snake bites come to me, and I treat all of them, a dozen might be expected to die. But they never do. I’m not trying to be disrespectful, but I’m fairly confident that my formula works.” Mister Snake humbly said.
“This also makes sense,” the doctor said, “But…”
“Really?” An onlooker interjected, “You guys threw him away for a year, demanded that he spill the beans, but yet he never did. You think you’ll convince him that way? Hilarious!”
“Ha!” The western doctor smiled.
“Ha!” Mister Snake looked around apologetically at the onlookers, “Everyone can’t do every job. What are you guys doing? Watching us?” Turning to the doctor, “Take a load off. Have some tea.”
Mister Snake started to stir a cup for him, but the western doctor stood up, expressing his dissatisfaction.
“The tea is steeped! Come drink.” The shopowner said.
“Come, take a seat.” Mister Snake said, wiping off a chair.
The building was cool. They were seated facing the sun. The western doctor donned a foreign-looking coat.
After they drank their tea, the two knew there was no way to politely carry on their conversation. They sat in silence until the western doctor blurted out:
“Mister Snake! So no matter what, you won’t give up your formula?”
“Heh, you’re the expert. I’m the one headed first for death. I wouldn’t dare lie to you. There is no secret formula.” Mister Snake said.
“Is that so? Well, you’re also somewhat of an expert so let’s drop the formalities. If you willingly give up your formula, then no one is going to have to come and take it from you. Do you understand? If you hand it over, we can help you with the patent process. You can be like the guys who developed Arsphenamine. You know that the whole world uses it now, right? It’s an antibiotic. And any time it gets developed, the inventors make money. Why? Because they own the patent rights. It’s their prize for all their hard work. Hand it over and we can help you do just that.” The western doctor said.
“I’ve said this enough. I’ve lived this long and I don’t want my words to be in vain. You know what I know. You know that if you are bit by a certain snake, then your time is limited. You know that the strong venom from these snakes is cloudy and dark. You know that the size of the wound doesn’t matter and you know that if the venom gets into someone’s belly, as soon as it flares up, that person doesn’t have much time to live. You know that they will go to the hospital, but it will be too late by then. Because of this, those who come to me are the ones who are bitten by less venomous snakes, bitten by those snakes we call “yang” with the clear venom. These bites leave large wounds and the person knows immediately they need treatment. What need is there for a secret formula in these cases?” Mister Snake asked, earnestly and politely.
“I understand. Anyone who practices medicine understands this. But your formula has the efficiency of a magic elixir. It’s the stuff of legends.”
“Everybody talks, but few understand what they say.” Mister Snake said.
“This is true, too, of your magic formula. It’s shrouded in mystery.” The western doctor said with a smile.
By this time others had come to see Mister Snake and the doctor said that he had best be going. Mister Snake got up and grabbed what looked like a mashed mound of grass and wrapped it in taro leaves. He handed the package to the doctor and said, “You can take this for testing. Do you think I would lie to you?”
The doctor wanted to test the package that Mister Snake had given him, and, having a friend involved in pharmaceuticals who was looking for new materials, he sent it off.
Time is constrained by the demands of work and becomes quite short indeed. We don’t do half of the things we set out to do. The years that once laid out before us have all passed.
The materials had still not been tested when Mister Snake died. were unclear. Everyone felt a big loss, and sighed at the thought of the lost elixir that he took with him when he left this earth. Some of the elders, speaking out of sorrowful faces, said:
“This secret came to us from the ancients, and now it is lost. It rode off on the clouds and it will not come back. We, those with souls, are better at flight than even today’s aircraft, for when we go… we really go. Mister Snake is dead! How many will die from snakebites now?”
It’s said that when you have something magic that works, it’s best not to try to understand why it works. Is this true? Young people have their doubts and the older ones, too, stand sighing and shaking their heads.
While people were mourning the death of Mister Snake, the western doctor received a letter from his pharmaceutical friend. It read, in part:
“…The full results of the test are attached below. I hope, my friend, that in the future you are more discerning in the materials you choose to send to me. Not only did I waste a good bit of money, but I wasted over a year going through the packet. Other than some elderberries, there are no other active ingredients to be found…”