The Man Who Spoke Snakish (23 page)

By evening we still hadn’t got far, and we spent the night in the boat, amid the splashing of the waves, and the gurgling caused by the seals rising to the surface and then sinking to the depths of the sea. In the morning we woke early and I tried to work out where we had got to. On the horizon appeared something dark, which apparently was a shore. I put the oars in the water and started to row, but the boat didn’t move from the spot.

“We’re stuck on some seaweed,” said Hiie.

I looked into the water and saw that the boat was surrounded by a strange gray substance that looked exactly like a furry skin grown onto the sea. I stretched out my hand to try to scrape it off the side of the boat and discovered to my surprise that this peculiar skin consisted of long hairs, each of which was about the thickness of a hay stalk and extended who knows where.

“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” I declared. “And even Uncle Vootele didn’t tell me that hairs can grow in the sea. You might almost think we were on the back of some animal.”

“We’re not on its back; we’re in its beard,” replied Hiie. “Look behind you. We’re on a fish’s beard, but it doesn’t seem to be a fierce one.”

I turned around quickly and saw an unprecedented scene. At a distance of several tens of boat lengths, amid the lapping waves, was the most extravagant creature you could imagine. It was a fish, but as big as a mountain, and evidently terribly old, for the whole sea was full of its long gray whiskers. Its greenish scales had over the years been covered by thousands of shells and other marine detritus, its huge fins dangled limply like the wings of some enormous bat, and its very old and very tired eyes looked at us fiercely, and yet also curiously. We stared back, and then this strange creature opened its mouth and hissed in clear Snakish, though mixed with several other unrecognizable words, apparently so ancient that nothing but a fish would understand them: “Good morning, humans! Where are you going to?”

“To Saaremaa,” I replied.

The fish blew away the whiskers that were floating into its mouth.

“It’s right in front of you,” he said. “You should be there by noon, though I wouldn’t dare to say that very certainly, because I’ve never seen humans in such a small boat before. Last time I came to the surface, three warships passed me, each one with at least forty rowers, and that time it seemed funny to me, for in previous years there were also many more of those ships. And now only one tiny boat and two humans. Well, well, what’s to be done. So it must be arranged that way that you are the humans who see me for the last time, and who I see for the last time.”

“Why the last time?” asked Hiie.

“Because this is the last time I come from the sea bottom for fresh air. I have come to the surface once every hundred years, but I can’t be bothered anymore. I’ve become old. Even today I thought a long time whether it was worth dragging myself out of my own comfortable lair and swimming here, but then I decided to let this be the last time. My beard has grown so long that it isn’t easy to carry it with me; it gets full of water and becomes a heavy burden even for me. But I did it anyway. Yes, the sea has been emptied. Where are all those humans who once used to speed around in ships? Is there some epidemic among you?”

I didn’t start explaining to the fish that many of us had moved to the villages, were growing rye, and no longer went in ships to distant lands like our forefathers. Yet still the iron men’s ships were moving about, and in ever-greater numbers. I asked the fish whether he had seen them.

“The iron men?” wondered the fish. “No, I haven’t encountered them. What a shame, I would have liked to see them, because I won’t be coming above the water anymore. Might they be passing by here today? I don’t have much time. I have to swim back soon to my cave, but maybe I’ll be lucky? What are they like?”

“Rather like humans, but with an iron coating,” I said. The fish plashed in astonishment.

“Never heard of it, never seen it,” he murmured. “I’ve been to the surface too rarely and many things have passed me by. Yet it seemed to me that every hundred years it’s best to get a little air. Everything was always just like the last time. The sea was full of warships and the Frog of the North was flying in the sky.”

“Have you seen the Frog of the North?” I shouted.

“Of course, many times!” replied the fish. “And not only seen, sometimes he’s landed on my back, to rest from flying. He was big and strong, but at that time I was even stronger and I could carry him without much effort. By now it would be beyond my powers. That’s not important, for I haven’t seen the Frog of the North for a long time. Do you know where he went?”

“He’s asleep,” I said. “And no one knows where.”

The fish exhaled approvingly.

“That’s right too. Sleep, rest, that’s good. I’ll soon be going to rest too; I’ll dive right down to the bottom, I’ll sink into my burrow, and I won’t come out again. My beard will cover me and I can doze in peace. A long, long sleep. I can feel how good it will be.”

He closed his old eyes and slowly moved his fins.

“I suppose I’ll go now,” he said then, opening his eyes. “I’ll have to go without seeing the iron men, but never mind. In my life I’ve seen so much: things to think about as I lie on the seafloor. To tell the truth I’m not especially interested in those men of iron. What do I lose if I don’t see them? Nothing. If you do meet them, tell them that the great fish Ahteneumion has gone down to the bottom. I won’t see them and they won’t even see me, and for them it’s the bigger loss.”

This idea seemed amusing to the old fish; he moved his tail and looked us in the eye.

“Just think, they’re always traveling around in their ships, these iron men of yours, but they can’t even guess that somewhere on the bottom of the sea I’m sleeping under my beard,” he said, bursting out laughing again. “They think there are only little fish and jellyfish and other rubbish like that in the sea,
whatever is floating on the surface, but they can never know that I’m there too. Poor fools!”

Again he blew away the whiskers that floated into his mouth.

“Good-bye, I’m going now,” he said. “You were the last humans I saw and who met me. You know who Ahteneumion is and what he is doing. Others don’t. You are now the wisest people on earth. The last ones to see me. Farewell!”

The next moment the great fish dived. The water started to ripple and the boat almost capsized. The whiskers surged around us and I was afraid that they would drag us with the fish into the depths, where we, together with all our knowledge, would bleach away in Ahteneumion’s embrace. But it all turned out well: the beard vanished with its owner into the depths, the sea became calm, and we were alone.

“So now here we sit, the two wisest people on earth,” said Hiie. “The last ones to see the great fish.”

“It bothers me—to be the last of everything,” I replied. “In my family I’m the last man, the last boy in the forest. Now I’m also the last to see the giant fish. How does it happen that I’m always the last?”

“For me you’re the first,” said Hiie, kissing me, and after a little while, when we’d got dressed again, I rowed onward.

Actually I was of course also the last for her, but I didn’t know that then.

was pretty tired when we finally got to Saaremaa, and it immediately occurred to me that Grandfather hadn’t given us any clues about where to find Möigas the Sage. As always, here too I had the help of Snakish. I only needed to hiss a couple of times for a nice fat adder, head raised, to come crawling from among the junipers.

“I have to say I’m pretty surprised,” he said after the usual greetings and polite expressions. “I did see you landing, but it didn’t even occur to me that you might understand Snakish. Nowadays that is sadly very rare. All sorts of people come to the island, but there’s no talking to any of them; they might as well all be dumb and just babble incomprehensibly. So, in all honesty, I was quite amazed when I heard you calling. Things may be bad here with us, and yet there are still educated people in other places.”

“Things are no better in other places,” I replied. “I was actually looking for Möigas the Sage of the Wind. Do you know where he lives?”

“I do indeed,” said the adder. “Follow me. I’ll lead you to him.”

Möigas didn’t live far away. His shack was on the seashore and was surrounded by juniper bushes. The adder wished us a good day and wriggled off.

I knocked on the door. It opened, and looking back at me was—a monk! I certainly hadn’t expected that. I took a few steps back, as if I’d encountered a wasp’s nest.

“Are you Möigas, the Sage of the Wind?” asked Hiie, who was also amazed to see a monk and took me by the hand.

“No, dear girl, I’m only his unworthy son,” replied the monk in a thin voice, as if milk were being sucked from his mouth. He was still a young man, but hairless and, stranger still, also without eyebrows, so that his face resembled a bird’s egg. Behind the monk’s back some grumbling was heard, and out of the shack climbed a stunted old man with a long red beard, braided into hundreds of little plaits. This had to be Möigas.

“Here stands my esteemed father,” said the monk, putting his hand on the red-bearded old man’s shoulder. “Daddy, these people have come to see you.”

“Yes, I can see that myself,” muttered Möigas. “What can I do for you?”

“Are you Christians?” asked the monk, before we had time to reply. “Do you like Jesus Christ?”

“Be quiet, Röks!” snapped Möigas. “Don’t embarrass me!”

“Daddy, I’ve told you my name isn’t Röks anymore,” chirped the monk, making a kindly face, as if the utterance of every word were an extreme pleasure. “It’s not a proper name; no one in the Christian world has it. My name is Taaniel. I’ve told you that a hundred times, dear father. Brother Taaniel, that’s what the other reverend brothers in the monastery call me.”

I was reminded of Pärtel and I became very sorry for the old Sage of the Wind, because to lose a friend is unpleasant, but to lose a son is far worse. Möigas seemed to have read my thoughts; he looked at me sadly and said, “My son has gone to waste. Forgive me. It must be because he lost his mother early. I wasn’t able to bring him up properly. But what am I going to do. He’s my own child; I can’t abandon him just because he has become—ugh, it’s horrible to even say it—a monk.”

“Daddy, you’ve brought me up very well,” said the monk. “I’ll be grateful to you till my dying day that you sired me and tenderly looked after me.”

“What do you know about siring, you wretch?” sighed old Möigas. “You haven’t even got balls!”

“Nobody has in our monastery; it’s the fashion nowadays,” replied Taaniel the monk. “Thanks to that, we can sing the praises of God in a high voice. Daddy, I’ve invited you to come and listen. Why haven’t you? You’d certainly be proud to listen to your son singing with the reverend brothers.”

“I don’t want to hear it or see it. I’d be ashamed of my own eyes!”

“Oh Daddy, what are you saying! What is there to be ashamed of; they do this all over the world. And our choir has many admirers, women cry when they listen to us, and even men wipe away tears, so light and beautiful are our voices.”

“Don’t make me sick!” said Möigas, turning toward us. “Forgive me, guests, that you have to see and hear such ugly things. What brings you here? Tell me! And you, Röks, be quiet and don’t interrupt!”

I quickly explained what we were seeking and who sent us. Tears came into old Möigas’s eyes.

“Ah, old Tolp is still alive!” sighed Möigas. “Well, not to be wondered at, he was always a tough guy. Oh, so now he’s taken it into his head to start flying! Why not, why not!”

“A human being can’t fly,” said the monk. “Only angels fly. And Jesus walked on water.”

“I told you, Röks, don’t interrupt!” barked Möigas. “And don’t talk rubbish! Why do you embarrass me in front of these nice young people? You’d be better off following their example. Look how good they are! They respect their grandfather and don’t go around with any iron men or monastic brothers. You see this young man, Leemet? He still has his balls. Haven’t you, Leemet?”

“I have,” I quickly replied.

“Hear that, Röks! Why do you have to be such a will-o’-the-wisp, flying wherever the wind blows?”

“Dear Daddy, to start with, I’m not Röks,” the monk began to slowly chirrup, his eyes half-closed, but old Möigas snapped at him to be silent.

“Why do you tell me all the time you’re not Röks! As far as I’m concerned you’re still Röks. I’m never going to start calling you Taaniel. Now sit down and shut your mouth: I have to go out and look for that windbag. And you, dear guests, wait a while. Take no notice of what my son says. He’s a bit half-witted, a disgrace to the whole family!”

With these words Möigas disappeared into his shed. Taaniel the monk settled down in a sunny spot, nodded amiably to us, and said, “Daddy’s very old now; his head can’t take in young people’s concerns anymore. What can you do; time has passed him by. What do young people think of Jesus in your neighborhood? I’m terribly fond of him. I have his picture over my bed.”

“I don’t know who Jesus is,” I said.

The monk made a noise of amazement that sounded like the shriek of a seagull.

“You don’t know who Jesus is?” he repeated and kneaded his hands, gazing at me kindly and sympathetically. “Baptized, are you?”

“No,” I replied.

“Really?” intoned the monk. “I thought that all young people these days are baptized. Baptism is cool; they pour water over your head. Without baptism they won’t take you into the monastery.”

“I don’t want to go into a monastery!” I declared, by now quite irritated. The monk reminded me of Magdaleena and of how we’d been to listen to the monks singing, and also that I was up to my ears in love with her. Now, sitting next to Hiie, it was somehow unpleasant to be reminded of it. I felt that the monk might suddenly say, “Ho, I saw you with a pretty girl behind our monastery wall!” What would Hiie do and say? I knew that such a thing wasn’t actually possible, that it was an entirely different monastery and other monks singing there, but the bad feeling remained. I was upset by these modern people who boasted all the time about their new customs and strange pets like this Jesus, whom I didn’t know anything about and didn’t want to either. I wasn’t interested in whose picture a monk kept by his bedside, and I said so, though not quite so abruptly.

The monk remained as gentle as before. “It’s silly to close your eyes to education,” was all he said, raising an instructive finger. “You simply won’t get on in today’s world if you don’t know about Jesus. You’ll have nothing to talk about to other people. All right, if music doesn’t interest you, then you don’t have to enter a monastery, and castration isn’t absolutely necessary. But
you can’t get to be a knight’s henchman either, if you aren’t baptized and you don’t know about Jesus!”

“Why should I have to be anyone’s henchman?” I asked. This was another horrible trait that united all these modern people—the desire to be someone’s servant.

“Well, but what do you want from life, anyway?” asked the monk. “You want to be a peasant, sowing and reaping? That is of course noble; Adam also sowed and reaped and cultivated the land by the sweat of his brow. Yes, those who have not been given any higher gifts of the spirit must be content to work the fields.”

“Who is this Adam?” Hiie now asked.

“Our forefather, the first human, whom God created out of the dust,” explained the monk. “Before that the land was empty and bare, but then God made everything in six days, and so it has been untouched until today.”

“That’s nonsense,” I said. “I’ve seen the Primates’ history, which over thousands and thousands of years they have drawn on the walls of their cave. There was no God and no Adam. And what does ‘untouched’ mean? So many things have disappeared forever. For instance the Frog of the North. For instance the great fish Ahteneumion, who rose to the surface of the water this morning for the last time and then dived to the bottom of the sea forever. Or Snakish words. Do you know those, Röks?”

“Snakish words are from Satan,” declared the monk, excited for the first time. “A human cannot know them. Satan created the snakes and gave them the power of speech, so as to tempt Eve, the first woman. They are all servants of Satan.”

“Now I can really see how stupid you are,” I said. “You yourself serve God and the iron men and some sort of Pope in Rome. But snakes are nobody’s servants. Nobody created them; they
existed in the most ancient times, back when neither humans nor even Primates lived in the forest. I do know what I’m talking about, because I know them well. I do know Snakish! I think that snakes would laugh out loud if they could hear your nonsense. You’ve simply been taught in the monastery a modern legend, but there are many legends in the world. Some are forgotten; new ones are invented to take their place.”

“Dear boy,” said the monk, having regained his former composure. “I don’t want to argue with you, because you haven’t been to school and you don’t know anything. Humankind has become wiser than you realize. I’m simply sorry that you don’t want to live like other young people. Even if you do speak Snakish words and they aren’t from Satan, well, what will you do with them in the wider world? Who will you speak them to? Nowadays young people are interested in Jesus. They talk about him a lot; he’s very successful.”

“He doesn’t interest me,” I said.

“A great pity,” replied the monk with a smile.

We were silent for a while. Hiie and I looked at the monk, but he seemed to be dozing in the sunshine. Suddenly he started singing in a high voice, so that Hiie and I were both startled.

Immediately Möigas the Sage rushed out of the shed and cried, “Be quiet! At once! Don’t shame me in front of the whole world!”

“Daddy, it’s just an innocent hymn, where I extol Jesus’s mercy and grace,” said the monk lazily. “How can this beautiful music shame you in any way? This hymn is making big waves in the world at the moment; it’s being sung at all the feasts.”

“But not under my roof! Not here! In the world they might go in for that sort of thing, but in my house we do things the right way!”

He gave Hiie and me a signal to follow him.

“I don’t have a single windbag ready at home,” he explained. “But never mind, we’ll soon pack the right winds together. Then it will be good for your grandfather to fly. Let him fly to visit me too.”

“Yes, let him come,” said the monk. “I’ll be glad to welcome your friend, Daddy, and I’ll pray for him.”

“No, better he doesn’t come,” said Möigas. “Tolp is a fierce man; he’ll knock you dead in his great rage.”

“Good, then I’ll die a martyr,” declared the monk. “And I’ll go straight to Heaven, where I can sit on the right hand of Jesus. To be a martyr is a great honor; books are written about you and your picture is put up in churches. Daddy, just think, your son a martyr!”

“That might very easily happen. If you don’t keep your mouth shut for once, I might do you some damage myself. Children, let’s go inside quickly! My son is driving me mad!”

We went with the sage into his shed. On its walls hung a huge number of fine, coarse, and even coarser ropes, all tied into large knots. Möigas started rummaging among them and chose about ten bundles of ropes.

“These are wind knots,” he explained. “On the side of each rope is one wind. I go in a boat to sea to catch them, like any other man fishing. But a wind is much harder to catch. It’s fast and slippery; you have to be enormously skillful to get it to run into your noose. Then quickly you tie it on and you can hang the wind on your wall until you need it. A wind is not a fish; it won’t go bad. It can hang on the wall for up to a hundred years, but if you let it open, it howls and pants, as if it had been caught only yesterday and is completely fresh. I have here quite
old winds, captured by my father, storms and tempests that you won’t find anywhere today. Here we have, still surviving, the first wind that I caught when I was still a little boy. It’s quite a weak summer breeze, the kind that brings a little nice coolness on a hot day. Look, the same here. A wind like this is quite easy to catch, but at that time I had a lot of bother with it. A little boy’s thing, with ten fingernails I had to keep hold of the other one, stopping the rope from getting tangled, but when I finally hung it up on the wall, it was a great feeling! Just as if I’d captured a whirlwind. In fact I’ve got a few of those, but I’m not sending them to your grandfather; they’re not good for flying. They were used in war: let one of these loose and it’d capsize the enemy’s ships or raze their villages to the ground. Worse than fire! Oh, I’ve got every kind of wind here: winter ones, which bring snow with them, and autumn ones, which blow the rain clouds in. These ones are spring winds: let one of these loose and soon you’ll be breathing light and fresh. There are following winds, which help sailors, and headwinds, to help you defend yourself against enemies. All kinds. I won’t be catching many more. I’m old already, and I probably can’t catch a really big storm, haven’t got the strength, and what will I do with these winds anyway? I wanted to make my son a wind-sage, but that good-for-nothing is not interested in my wind collection at all. So I’m happy to send a few winds to your grandfather; at least one person cares about them and knows how to use them. I chose ten winds; that should be enough.”