Cobra Clutch

I had felt nauseous for days, unable to bring myself to eat. Then one morning, fever and hunger struck at once. There was still some stuffed cabbage in the fridge, but reaching it felt like a true mission.

The others were still asleep; the room was dark, the closed door blocking the hallway light. I pictured myself sneaking out, reaching into the fridge, and sitting cross-legged to eat. The cabbage would be fine cold – it wouldn’t sting the canker sores on my gums.

I could already taste the first bite, with plenty of sour cream, when it hit me – I hadn’t moved a muscle. Heat pulsed through me; my eyes stung, mouth parched. Trying to pull myself together, I kept thinking it would be easier if the TV were on. Just enough light to help. But someone had turned it off.

Every night until dawn, I’d been watching it. After midnight, only one channel kept broadcasting – wrestling. It was better than nothing. At least the outrageous sequences kept me distracted. One move in particular caught my attention, but I could never remember its name.

I gathered my strength, sat up – and immediately fell from the bed. Maybe I even blacked out for a moment. Everything ached, most of all my belly. I tried to crawl on all fours toward the fridge, but collapsed. I heard the others stirring and whispering my name. I couldn’t answer. Somewhere, a doorbell rang, and then the door burst open, flooding the room with harsh white light. It blinded me.

When I opened my eyes, it was dark again. I lay on my back, head sunk into the pillow, a soft blanket covering me. The stomach pain was gone, but the hunger remained. I resolved once more to get up. Having learned from before, I leaned forward slowly, gently stretched out my legs, and gripped the edge of the bed to lift myself upright. I tiptoed toward where the door should be. The room was filled with the peaceful breathing of others, steady and calm – yet somehow, it still felt unfamiliar.

Photo credits: Savanah Prose (on WordPress)

Strangely, the hallway was pitch black. I crept forward hesitantly, arms outstretched to guide me. Suddenly something lightly touched my ankle. I yanked my foot back and froze. I wanted to scream, but the others would wake. My eardrums throbbed. I sensed the kitchen was at the end of the hall. I took a deep breath. Then I touched something solid. Relief. The kitchen door. I stepped across the imagined threshold. A few steps later, I noticed streaks of light. I exhaled. I felt safe again. As I got closer to the source, I made out the shape of an old blind. Its slats had shifted; light spilled through the gaps.

I was in the kitchen – but I didn’t recognize it. An old sideboard, a shaky dining table, and modern kitchen appliances: built-in stove and dishwasher. I craved water before I could even think of food. I opened the dishwasher to grab a clean glass, but at first glance it looked empty. Then I heard it – something sliding across the top rack. It sounded heavy; the whole frame shook. I slammed the dishwasher shut. I hoped I’d blocked its way, but the sounds told me it had already made it into the oven. Just a few steps from the room where my family lay sleeping.

I didn’t dare move, though I should have warned them. My ears rang; pain flared in my stomach again. Somehow, I found my way back into the room. Someone had turned on the TV. There was no sound, but I knew it was wrestling. My family was awake now, chatting cheerfully. I began to scream in panic – the snake is here, be careful! But it was as if they didn’t hear me at all.

I slammed the door shut, but the snake slithered across the threshold, vanishing beneath the beds. I rushed to mine, climbed onto it, hoping I’d be faster. Three beds lined the wall on the right. Mine was in the middle, with my husband on one side and my younger daughter on the other. Across from us, at a right angle, were my mother, father, and older daughter. On the middle wall loomed a huge, wooden-framed window. I heard a slow, swelling hiss from my mother’s bed. With it, the reptile emerged. A king cobra. Long, thick, cylindrical body uncoiling sluggishly across the floor. It faced my mother, flared its hood, assumed its striking stance. The scales stretched tight across the hood and shimmered wildly.

But it didn’t attack. My mother smiled. Her eyes sparkled with admiration. She watched it with the same wonder children show when they edge closer to something strange. Then she beckoned to my father – told him to come see, to touch the snake.

Gently, she said, so it wouldn’t be hurt. 

My father reached beneath the hood. He handled it with care, lifted it high like a laughing infant. Then my mother asked me if I’d like to hold it, just for a while. Her voice sounded exactly like mine when I encouraged her after my daughters’ births.

I extended my left arm to my father, as if in a trance. My loved ones gathered around me. I took the creature from him. I held it. Even through my sweaty palm, I felt its taut, powerful body. It held itself tall, straight, steady. With my right hand, I supported my left wrist to make it easier. On the neck’s underside was a perfect pattern of bluish scales. I had never imagined this moment could be real.

In my gut, I knew it would bite. I would die in front of my family.

The snake’s head dropped forward. Its needle-fangs gleamed. A searing pain tore through me. Not in my arm, but deep in my belly. At that very moment, the blind crashed down from the window with a roar. White light flooded the room. I closed my eyes.

I was in bed again. My temples pounded. I could only squint. It was daylight; no one was asleep. I heard whispering. They knew what had happened. They had seen me lose my child. Their eyes flicked toward me with concern. I tried to wave, but when I moved, a sharp stab pierced my navel. I gasped. The whispering stopped. Someone pressed the nurse call button. Soon the sound of wooden clogs echoed in the hallway. Closer. A woman in a white coat sat on the edge of my bed. She took my hand and did something. The stabbing pain began to fade. My headache, too, eased. I opened my mouth slightly, then closed it again. There was no point in forcing anything.

Photo Credits – OpenArt

The nurse went over to the others, said something, and their conversation grew easy and relaxed. I couldn’t join in, but it reassured me to know they were at peace. Someone turned on the TV. They flipped through channels for a while, then stopped. I recognized the show by the sounds.

The commentator was explaining the moves. My strength slowly returned. The TV voices grew louder. I opened my eyes a little wider. Two men were fighting. The attacker slipped behind his opponent, wrapped one arm around his neck and shoulder, locking the hold with the other. Suddenly the name flashed into my mind.

Cobra Clutch.

They all turned toward me. So I had spoken aloud. I thought of the stuffed cabbage. I would try a third time. 

I would never have a son. 

I drew up my knees and, using my heel, slowly pushed myself into a half-seated position.

Feautered Image Source: Regan Dsouza