kaos

mechanism that would make the creature’s jaws appear to move while a black tongue
controlled by horse-hairs flickered in and out. Unlike the serpents of the natural world
this monster’s eyes were hidden by inscrutable and sleepy lids, perhaps to dodge the
problem of realistic eyeballs in an age where glass had only limited availability. The
crowning glory was its hair, long golden tresses spilling down, conveniently masking
the ambiguous point at which this ersatz cranium joined with the real snake, drowsing
head tucked under Alexander’s arm. The dim light in the room no doubt greatly improved
this curious illusion, possibly abetted by whatever other ritualistic showman’s tricks the
seasoned conman had decided to employ in order to enhance the sheer disorienting
weirdness of the atmosphere.
The audience, having run their fingertips across the warm dry scales and watched
the coiled length shift and move, were by this time assured of the god’s authenticity.
The prophet Alexander was now, as they say, ready to rock. To a hushed auditorium the
creature swayed mesmerically, then, opening its artificial lips, it spoke:
“Glycon am I, the grandson of Zeus, bright beacon to mortals!”
This celestial Charlie McCarthy act, predictably, brought the house down. Alexander
had established himself with one swift, ingenious sleight-of-hand as the Grand Poobah
of a cult that would propel him into a position of enormous influence extending from
the Black Sea to the Adriatic, and which would survive him by a century.
So, after that it was down to business, with Alexander’s Rag-time Oracle and Patent-
Medicine Show. No, he wasn’t selling Snake-oil (that would have been uncouth);
Alexander’s cure-all was an ointment of bear’s grease. He swore by it. So do we (in fact,
we’re often heard to exclaim: “Oh, bear’s grease!”). And as for the oracles …
Well, working on the notion that things must be better the more they cost, Alexander
(or Al, as we like to think of him, especially when we think of other lying books that
have the same word in their titles) naturally charged four times as much as any other
oracle centre in the vicinity. And the fatheads bought it, big-time. Some oracles were
given vocally, by Glycon himself; others were given overnight, after Al had had the
chance to “steam open the envelopes” containing the questions; some were given to no
one in particular, answering questions that had never been asked (always a marvellous
trick if you can get away with it). And some were in “Scythian”. Now, Alexander couldn’t
speak Scythian any more than we can, but that was okay. No one else in Abonoteichus
could speak it either, so when folks heard Al babbling “foreign”, they were mightily
impressed. Yes sir.
So that’s how the serpent fits into things. Now for the Moon.
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