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Mr. Joe Caswell is a not
too old, not too young
man, easy to smile, easy
to laugh, quick to anger.
Mr. Joe Caswell is a
consumer and dismisser of
most things, especially
people.
Mr. Joe Caswell believes
that the end justifies the
end and the means is an
opportunity that defines
his life in the present.
He doesn't remember his past and can't envision the future.
On this day, Mr. Joe
Caswell is lost. He finds
himself on a lonely desert
road with an over-heated
car, an empty gas tank, no
traffic after hours of
waiting, and a blank
horizon in all directions.
Mr. Joe Caswell, the epitome of a self-made, self-found man, is lost.
At 3pm sitting in his
white silk suit and
sweating in the shade of
his car with no drink, no
water, no breeze, he sees
a small dust cloud moving
close to the sand off the
road. It's headed
straight toward him.
Through his dry eye-lashes
and drowsy eyes, he
watches it carefully. As
the dust begins to clear,
it's occupant begins
to appear. It is a
sidewinder rattlesnake
moving in its acrobatic
circus-freak style and
moving rather quickly.
Straight toward him. This
serpent is known to be
relentless. And Mr. Joe
Caswell is known to be
relentless. He pulls
himself up, takes off his
jacket, waves it like a
warning flag, shouting,
jumping and sweating.
Everything is extremely
hot. The snake keeps
coming.
He reaches under the
driver's seat in his
car, yanks out a paper
bag, removes a pistol, a
revolver. He turns and
fires at the snake. He
misses. He fires five
more. The snakes keeps
coming. The gun is empty,
he has no more bullets, he
yells and throws the gun
at the creature. The snake
stops six feet in front of
him and stares at him the
way snakes always seem to
stare at you when you
stare at them. Then this
multi-S-shaped reptile
does the unexpected: it
turns from its sidewinding
to face him head on and
begins to rise up, up
until it's six feet
tall and revealing itself
as a cobra snake, a large,
hooded, menacing king
cobra, six feet away, six
feet tall.
Mr. Joe Caswell is having a hallucination.
He takes a step to the
right. The snake coils and
leans to its left. A step
to the left, the snake
coils and leans to its
right. An attempted step
forward, the snake coils
and leans forward.
He looks over his shoulder
at the open car door and
thinks: I can dive into
the car and close the
door. I can hide until it
goes away.
To his unexpected
astonishment, the snake
says: No, you can't
move fast enough. You
can't escape.
Mr. Joe Caswell is having an astonishing hallucination.
The snake says: You're
in my garden, you're
in my desert, there's
no escape.
He thinks: It's the heat and no water. It's a heat stroke.
The snake says: No, it's the end of your road. It's the rest of your life.
He thinks: I got to get
back to Vegas. It's
the heat. For crissakes, I
got to shake off this
crazy nightmare, back to
my home, back to my
friends. I got to...
The snake says: You
can't go back. You
have no home, no friends.
All that's waiting for
you are the people
you've conned, the men
you've ripped off, the
girls you've slapped
around, the cops.
He thinks: I bought and
sold the cops in Vegas for
years. Suckers, all
suckers. I never ripped
off nobody who didn't
want to be ripped off. I
never slapped a girl who
didn't want to be
slapped.
He sits down. The snake doesn't move.
He thinks: I gotta shake this off. I need to get it together.
The snake says: What do you need?
He thinks: I need gas, I need that air-con.
The snake says: The tank is full, try it.
He jumps into the car.
Turns the key. It starts,
the air-con starts with
it. He presses himself
against the vents and
breathes in the relief of
the cold air.
The snake says: What else do you need?
He thinks: I need something to drink, I need water, no, I need scotch.
A pile of bottles of
scotch appears outside the
car. He pushes himself out
of the car, grabs a bottle
and with a loud laugh,
drinks.
The snake says: What else do you need?
He thinks: I need a gun, I need bullets.
A pile of guns and boxes
of bullets appear next to
him. He grabs one and
fires it at the snake. He
misses. He grabs another
and fires it. He misses
again.
He thinks, he says: Wait a
minute, wait a minute...
this all in my head, none
of this is real.
The snake says: Oh
it's real, as real as
it's going to be. What
else do you need?
He says: Okay, okay, (laughing) I need a girl.
A woman appears in front
of him, tall,
bleached-blonde,
skin-tight dress. He grabs
her, puts his arms around
her. She puts her arms
around him. After a
moment, he glares over her
shoulder at the snake.
Then he yells, grabs her,
shoves her into the car,
slams the door shut, puts
the car into gear and
crushes down on the gas
pedal. The engine revs and
roars but the car
doesn't move. He does
this over and over again.
Finally, he lunges back
out of the car and faces
the snake.
He says: (loudly) I got to go home!
The snake says: You are
home, this is home, this
is the only home
you'll ever have.
He says: (plaintively) I got to go home.
The snake says: Wherever
you've been, wherever
you are, you've always
made it your home.
He says: That's right.
The snake says: Then you always throw it away for another one.
He says: That's right.
The snake says: Well... this is the last other one. Make yourself at home.
He takes a long drink from
a bottle, reaches into his
pocket and takes out a
pair of dice. He shakes
them hard, blows on his
hand and throws them down.
They come up with one spot
on each cube...
“snake eyes”.
He snickers a hissing
smile, picks up a gun,
narrows his eyes, turns
and lunges at the snake.
The snake doesn't move.
Mr. Joe Caswell was a not
too old, not too young
man, easy to smile, easy
to laugh, quick to anger.
A dismisser of most
things, especially people.
He believed that the end justifies the end.
Mr. Joe Caswell.
They
found him lying
spread-eagled on his back
next to his car. His coat
and a revolver lying on
the other side of the
road. He was burnt red and
shriveled. The police who
found him called it, heat
prostration.
The serpent called it, home.
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