Passersby stop to listen, trying to discern what they are hearing and why a random person in their midst has decided to serenade them. Whenever someone bursts into song in public, there is a moment of hesitation. Her voice was weak and off-key, but I recognized the melody. Run? Dance? What was it Meg had suggested?īefore I could decide, Meg began to sing. “You’re worried about me! I’m about to die!” “Oh!” I laughed as the realization struck me. They moved sluggishly in the frigid water, or perhaps they were just awestruck to be in my presence-cheerful, charismatic, charming old Whatever-my-name-was!-but they did seem to be hissing a lot. Hundreds of vipers swirled around me, displaying their cute little mouths with their sharp little fangs. But Meg stood at the mouth of the tunnel, not really in the snakes’ territory. Much like yales, they can be aggressive when their territory is invaded. However, it did occur to me why Megan/Peg/Meg might be nervous. The Ants’ Nest? I remembered singing with the Rat Pack and A Flock of Seagulls, but the Ants’ Nest? I didn’t recall ever being part of such a group. “Sing that song you did in the ants’ nest!” she pleaded. The legends don’t normally mention that he drove the snakes out of Ireland with his hideous version of “Te Deum.”) (Nice guy, by the way terrible singing voice. Who was this girl Meg, anyway? She had apparently confused me with Saint Patrick. When I sang, my audiences always came closer. Meg tiptoed from foot to foot as if she wasn’t crazy about this idea. Many of the snakes swarmed toward Meg, nosing around her shoes as if deciding whether to join her on the ledge. (Oh, I get it! That’s why they were called cottonmouths!) They swished back and forth, their cute little heads gliding just above the surface, their white mouths open. I must have agitated the snakes in my wake. I was halfway across the lake, up to my waist in reptilian noodle soup, but I turned and looked back at the girl standing at the mouth of the tunnel. No words could have stopped me more effectively. “But if we go into that water, won’t the snakes kill us?” That’s where we’ll receive our prophecy.” “Oh, but you see, we need to get to that little island in the center. “Apollo…you’d need a zillion honey cakes for that many snakes.”
Covering the island and the surface of the water was a writhing sheet of serpents, like spaghetti left too long in boiling water. Above us, the domed ceiling bristled with stalactites like black chandeliers. A lake covered the entire area, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, except for a small island of rock in the center. You have some, you said?”Īs I’d suspected, the tunnel widened into a large chamber. “Anyway, the snakes should be right up ahead! That’s why we need honey cakes. “Well, yes, I suppose it’s like that,” I said. Was that correct? I didn’t think the monster and I had ever been on a first-name basis.
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