An Infidel in Paradise

T
he snake is lying on the front porch like a present or a warning, blood pooled at its throat, glistening against the blackness of its leathery skin. The guard shot it at daybreak, execution-style. I’m glad it’s dead – better it than me – but I can’t bring myself to step over it. I imagine it suddenly arching up, its ghost fangs sinking into me. Not for the first time, it occurs to me that I shouldn’t be here. I don’t belong.

“Emma, we’re late! What are you standing there for?” Mandy, my eight-year-old sister, has almost squeezed past me before she notices the snake. “Is that it?” she whispers.

Mandy is the master of stupid questions. Mom told us about the snake at breakfast, a twelve-foot cobra sunning itself on our own front path.

I don’t bother answering. Together we contemplate the snake blocking our way. It’s fatter than I expected.
What has it been eating
? Our front yard is a small rectangle of scorched grass with one spindly tree. It’s
hard to imagine a cute little nest of field mice. One large rat is more likely. Or several, with long yellow teeth. And superior hunting abilities. And a taste for human flesh.

Mandy clutches my hand. No doubt she’s had the same thought. “It’s gross,” she says. “Throw it away.”

Right, like I’m going to touch it.

“
You
throw it away.” I try to sound nonchalant. “You’re not scared, are you?” She increases her death grip on my hand. I think I hear bones cracking.

“Are you sure it’s dead?”

“I don’t know. Only one way to find out.”

“No way!” She snatches away her hand, shrinking back like I might wrestle her to the snake.
Drama queen
.

“Daddy would have liked to see it,” she says, a few steps behind me now.

I wince as her words slice into me. Taking a deep breath, I quickly hop over the snake. “So, are you coming, or what?”

Just then, our brother, Vince, appears in the doorway, his lanky frame towering over Mandy. He puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“That’s the snake,” Mandy tells him, as if he couldn’t work that one out.

“Really? Wow!” Vince always humors Mandy. It’s irritating yet impressive at the same time. You have to admire his patience. “A real live cobra in our own front yard. How cool is that?”

It is so
not
cool, but I know what he’s thinking. It’s
the First Day. Another new school, another new country. It’s not like we don’t have enough to worry about.

“It’s not cool. It’s scary!” says Mandy.

“But exciting!” Vince thinks if he says something often enough, he can make it true. For weeks after Dad left, Vince insisted it was only temporary. “Pakistan is going to be great. How many countries do you think we could live in where we could get this close to a real cobra without leaving the house?”

“That’s right, Mandy,” I chime in. “Who needs movies, shopping, restaurants, and friends when we’ve got this kind of entertainment?”

Vince gives me a look, but I’m busy trimming my nails with my teeth. I’m down to the cuticles now. They’re starting to bleed.

“I wish we could show it to Daddy,” says Mandy.

Vince’s jaw tightens. He takes Mandy’s hand and flashes her a totally fake smile. “You can tell him about it the next time he calls.”

“But who’s going to take my First Day of School photo? Daddy always takes my First Day of School photo. It’s our tradition.”

“Maybe we’ll have to start some new traditions.” Vince is trying his best, but Mandy’s no pushover. I give him a sympathetic smile, but he’s too focused on Mandy to notice.

“I don’t want new traditions,” she whines.

“Come on, Chipmunk.” It’s Dad’s name for her. Vince has recently started using it every time Mandy
corners him. It’ll stop working eventually, but for now she lets him take her hand and help her awkwardly over the snake.

“I could have used some help,” he says quietly, pausing beside me.

“To lie to her?” I challenge, but I know he’s right. If we’re going to survive this day, much less this country, we have to help each other.

“You used to be a lot more fun,” he says, which obliterates my remorse.

I round on him angrily. “I used to be able to walk to the mall, grab a pizza with my friends, catch the latest movie, shop in stores that actually sold clothes from this century, and walk home for a poolside chat with our loving father. A lot of things used to be more fun.”

My chest is heaving as I wait for him to deny the truth of what I’ve said, but he’s looking over my head toward the van. We should all be in it by now. I know he’s wishing he didn’t get into this, and he’s not the only one. I don’t want to be angry at Vince. He’s just trying to make the best of a bad situation. But since the night Dad dropped his bombshell, I feel like my skin has become this fragile membrane, barely containing the anger that seethes beneath. It doesn’t take much to pierce its surface, and then I lash out at the nearest victim. I’m always sorry afterward, but for those few seconds that I let the anger take over, the relief is exhilarating. Since Dad’s departure, it’s the closest I ever come to feeling good.

“That was Manila,” he says finally. “We’re in Islamabad now. You need to deal with it. It’s not like it’s our first move.”

“It’s our first one without Dad.” I want to take back the words the second they escape. I’ve promised myself I won’t miss him. He chose not to be with us. He’s not worth my regrets.

“I want Daddy,” whimpers Mandy.

“Do you see what you did?” demands Vince, meeting my eyes for the first time. I look away. Vince doesn’t say anything more about it as he pushes past me and leads Mandy away, fast-talking about the joys of living at Terrorist Central.

I stand alone on the walkway for a few minutes, staring at nothing. I can hear the voices of the other embassy kids greeting my siblings and the sound of a door sliding open as they load into the van. There are four other kids on this compound, all of them too young to be of interest.