The Russian Snake Charmer
Ivan was the clown of the construction crew.
Though he’d been in America for over two decades, he still spoke English with a heavy Russian accent, and his unique cadence and pronunciations were probably what made his jokes, and just about everything he said, that much funnier…
One of the older guys on the crew used to compare Ivan to the comedian Yakov Smirnoff, and one of the younger guys used to say Ivan sounded like Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Another guy used to call him “Dracula.”
But the Russian took the ribbing in stride. He never got angry or offended. If anything, any laugh he got would encourage him. The man genuinely seemed to take joy in amusing others.
Not only would Ivan crack jokes, usually dirty jokes, but he also had a strangely endearing tic of shouting out curse words. Often at random, like he had Tourette’s. Hearing his Russian-accented cries of “motherfucker” (pronounced as “mutterfucka’’) ringing out, daily, around construction sites, brought a smile to everyone’s face…
It could be that Ivan was in a persistently happy and goofy mood due to his drinking. Like many Russians, the man enjoyed his vodka. Though he was never stumbling, slurring, vomiting, Charles Bukowski type drunk. Nah, he was more just tipsy, and always with a faint whiff of vodka on his breath.
That being said, the man was no slouch. Ivan was adept at pacing his drinking throughout the day and remaining functional and productive on the job. An important trait when it comes to construction work. In the mornings, he’d always clock in on time, and always kept his thermos of vodka at an arm’s length distance.
According to his next-door neighbor, the Dominican, Jorge, Ivan would never hit the sauce too hard- until the evening — when he’d finish off whatever was left of that day’s bottle of vodka. Jorge said that Ivan passed out, nightly, on the couch, while watching reruns of Married with Children.
(Allegedly Ivan learned to speak English by watching reruns of Married with Children, and in staccato bursts of broken English he’d quote Al Bundy, as well as Dostoyevsky, around construction sites.)
But despite his nightly boozing, Ivan never once showed up to work with any visible hangover, and he worked just as hard as anyone on the crew and was liked and respected by all.
His work ethic was what earned him his respect. But it was certainly his sense of humor that made him so well-liked. An inveterate joker, Ivan always had a smile stamped on his face. And the distinguished-looking, stout, spunky man just looked jolly, with his tomato red, permanently sunburned skin, and chubby cheeks that glowed like polished apples.
As for Ivan’s background, not much was known. No one knew why or how he came to America. There were rumors that he’d been in the KGB, that he’d escaped from a Russian jail, that he was in a circus, that he was once a journeyman cage fighter, and that as a child Ivan wrestled bear cubs, like Khabib Nurmagomedov.
(Although Kentucky Karl said how everyone in Russia “fucking wrestles bears and shit.”)
Jorge said Ivan had been married to a tall, obese woman, the lady about a head taller than Ivan, the woman the size of a refrigerator, and that one day she’d up and disappeared, and that Ivan never spoke of her. This, inevitably, prompted some to suspect Ivan had murdered her.
Jumpy Jim averred Ivan had probably poisoned her, because “that’s how Russians usually kill people,” but Black Ted said he bet Ivan strangled and buried “the bitch” somewhere out next to Jimmy Hoffa…
But really, almost nothing was clearly known of Ivan’s past. The most he’d confided to anyone was what he said to Jorge, who’d jokingly asked why Ivan was so happy. Ivan, with a smile playing out over his lips, replied, in a sharp tone, that, “Nobody smile (sic) in Russia.”
Ivan, though, he was smiling all the time. And yelling “mutterfucka” and pulling silly pranks, doing goofy voices. Normally no one could figure out what the voices were supposed to be, impressions or what, but they sounded so ridiculous, in his Russian accent, so pretty much whatever he said had everyone in stitches, kept the minutes moving, the atmosphere light, kept everyone’s spirits up. Especially on those hot, dog days of summer.
Ivan’s humor, on every construction site, was beloved by all and was always a perfect panacea to the drudgery of manual labor.
The day of the snake started like any other summer day. It was hot as hell out. A steamy haze. The air heavy as a hot compress. Just walking around felt like swimming through lava. The heat index must have been about 125F. It was the type of thick hellish heat that makes one’s sweat just stick to ’em like a plaster. Like the sweat has nowhere to go. Like even the sweat is sweating. Like every inch of your skin is slick and dripping as if it were covered in warm candle wax.
But by afternoon, after a quick thundershower, it’d cooled down some. And the guys were moving steel beams when a shrill scream exploded into the air, someone screaming bloody murder. Everyone dropped their equipment, slowly backed away. Jaws dropped. Then the guys formed a semicircle, and inside the circle was a two-foot snake. A dark green scaly serpent. A biblically evil creature, all cold-blooded and slithering and hissing, all menacingly flicking out its forked tongue…
No one really knew what to do. Except Ivan. Smiling, from ear to ear, as always, he sauntered right up to the snake. With a glitter of calm in his steely blue eyes, Ivan told everyone not to worry, because the snake “is no poison (sic).”
Then, just as casually as yanking the chain to a lawnmower, Ivan knelt to his haunches, and scooped the snake up into his right hand and rose to his feet, dangled the snake in the air, like a puppet on a string, and then he snorted and laughed, uproariously.
The construction crew gasped. Some excoriated him. Others begged him to unhand the reptile. But Ivan was unmoved. He just smiled, wide as a toothpaste ad, as sunshine flashed on his teeth. Then he declared that everyone should see him do this trick…
And with that, he threw his head back, yawned open his lips, pressed his eyes shut, and held the snake over his mouth, like a cherry on a stem. Then he lowered the snake into his mouth, and the snake (which was eerily calm throughout) peacefully slid its head into Ivan’s open throat and dipped down further, pushing in, like a dipstick into an oil pan.
There were oohs and ahs from the onlookers. One guy, a mulletheaded redneck type, retched and stomped off in dismay.
But then everyone silenced when Ivan started to convulse, almost like an epileptic.
Shaking, Ivan’s eyes remained shut, and he dropped again to his knees, then wrenched the snake from out of his throat and released it. And with that, Ivan’s face clouded over, and he collapsed, in a heap, falling to the ground, where he lay frozen as a block of ice, flat on his back.
(Though, somehow, the snake still remained calm. The serpent Zen as a monk as it slithered off into a hole in the ground nearby.)
Ivan, however, remained motionless on the ground. Then it appeared as if his chest was rapidly lifting and falling. Then it appeared as if he weren’t breathing at all…
Curse words and panicked yells rang out. The semicircle inched closer, closed in around Ivan, though no one seemed sure what to do. One guy, who’d been filming the entire incident on his phone, kept his phone trained on Ivan and stepped forward, zoomed in on the Russian’s frozen face.
Jorge, his frown deepening, his bushy black brows knitted in a puzzled tangle, grabbed a two-by-four, and paced cautiously, closer to Ivan, and poked, gently, at the Russian, searching for signs of life. Another one of the guys broke into tears.
But as soon as Jorge poked at Ivan a second time, the rubicund Russian’s eyes burst wide open, big as boulders, and he sprung to his feet, howling and laughing hysterically.
His laughter drowning out a chorus of groans, Ivan then pointed at everyone and slapped at his knees in amusement.
Then, wheezing hard, almost as if he had emphysema, he tottered over to his thermos, twisted it open, and chuckled once more. Then he triumphantly yelled out “mutterfucka!” before gulping down a big swig of vodka.
