Before going to sleep I searched online for more information about my father’s snake. I learned that Daboia is the name of the genus to which the five poisonous snakes of India belong. In Hindi the word means “that which lies hidden and lurking in the darkness.” I thought of his lover in Beijing. I then began investigating the risks of living with these animals. I discovered that their venom contains neurotoxins that block respiration; their victims die of asphyxiation. A single bite can be lethal if the correct antidote is not administered immediately. What was Dad, whom I’d always thought of as a rather cowardly man, doing with one of these creatures in his study? Placing this threat a few feet from his family, barely separated from us by delicate glass, was like activating a time bomb. Hadn’t it been enough to endanger us with his Chinese romance? Mom was right. We had to get rid of the creature. But how? At that point I hadn’t the faintest idea. I was going over it in my mind all night and I came up with a few options. The first—the most humane—was to release it in the park a few blocks from the house. Then I realized that it might bite me when I tried to pick it up, whether I meant to hurt it or free it, and I didn’t want some child finding it behind a bush or on the wooden handrail. Another risk, though less probable, was that Mom would find out and accuse me of betraying her. I then thought of poisoning it. It was the cheapest and easiest way. The only danger was that my father would find out and blame me forever. I decided to risk it. The next day after school I went to a gardening store and asked how I could kill a snake I had spotted in my yard. They recommended a substance, apparently very effective, and I took some home with me. I hid it in the top shelf of my dresser, waiting for the right time to go up to the pagoda.