The Man Who Spoke Snakish (27 page)

“Those are the sprites,” I said to Hiie, showing her the alarmed centipedes and other insects that were running headlong into the grass in search of new nesting places.

“They’ve bored out the insides of the trees so empty and gnawed them so soft that we won’t be able to get a proper bonfire here. The deer will remain uncooked if we make a fire only from the sacred grove. We’ll have to bring more good dry wood. These linden trees will only hiss and fume.”

We piled up the rubbish that was left of the grove’s trees into one big stack, and looked for dried branches, which burned well and weren’t sacred at all. I had hoped that the razing of the grove would bring forth Ülgas too, to try and defend his nest from us, giving me the chance to have at him once more with my knife, properly this time, so that a third attack wouldn’t be necessary. The Sage of the Grove didn’t show himself, however, but must have been suffering somewhere, nursing his hacked cheek—or hoping that the sprites would make him whole. Maybe he was even stalking us somewhere in the bushes, rustling indignantly in the grass like the other beetles whose home had been the old grove. In any case, no one tried to obstruct us.

By evening all the trees in the grove had been chopped down and the pyre was ready. There was no point in killing a deer before the morning, so now Hiie and I could rest. We had planned to go and visit Ints, as we had promised that morning, but suddenly I saw Meeme. He had appeared just as quietly as always, supporting himself against a tree and sipping on his wineskin. Seeing that we had spotted him, he beckoned to us lazily.

“Tell me, how do you always manage to creep up without anyone hearing?” I challenged him. “You lie around here, you lie around there, and yet I’ve never seen you coming. What’s the trick of it?”

Meeme giggled.

“You have Snakish words in your mouth and you’re terribly smart for your age, but you don’t know everything, and you can’t either,” he smirked. “Yes, understand it or not, how does old Meeme move around so quietly from one place to another so that even your sharp ear doesn’t hear him?”

“I can’t be bothered to work it out,” I said. “It doesn’t matter to me. By the way, I’m getting married tomorrow. You’re invited to the wedding.”

“I’m here already,” replied Meeme. “The last wedding here in the forest will be a thing to watch. It’s as if, just before dying, someone was polishing the stumps of their old teeth to a shine, as if it mattered whether you burn on the funeral pyre with clean or dirty fangs. If there is anyone left to set it alight, that is.”

He burst into laughter, coughed, and spat phlegm down his front.

“Again the last!” I chuckled bitterly. “The last wedding in the forest! For me this wedding is the first, the only one, and the most important, and for Hiie too. We don’t intend to die or be laid out on a pyre. For you it might be fine to be weak and facing death, if you decide to carry on that endless wheezing. If you got married, it would really be ridiculous; there’s really no point in you polishing the stumps of your teeth to a shine.”

“Ahhaa, how spiteful!” smirked Meeme into his beard, taking a swig on his wineskin. “Bridegroom! Navel of the world!”

“By the way, I promise you that when you do die, I will build a proper pyre for you and set it alight with my own hands,” I added, to bring the subject to a close.

“No, on the contrary!” shrieked Meeme, raising a warning paw, whose nails had grown enormously long and crooked like old pine roots. “You must promise not to build me a funeral pyre. I want to rot away right where I peg out. You can see that I’ve already made a start on it, and you mustn’t interfere with your good heart and your sympathy. Burning is for great warriors and important people; folk like me should quietly rot away like acorns fallen on the ground.”

“All right then, be an acorn,” I said, quite bored. “I don’t care. I’m getting married tomorrow and have more to think about than death and decay; those are your problems. It would be nice if you didn’t prattle on all the time about those things tomorrow at the feast. A wedding is supposed to be fun.”

“Are you offering wine?” asked Meeme.

“Wine is the iron men’s drink,” I replied. “It’s not the custom in the forest to drink it.”

“Don’t talk such rubbish, boy!” screamed Meeme. “You come to me talking about customs. Just now you were razing the grove to the ground; even though in a couple of years that shit would have collapsed all on its own. So don’t come playing the ancient prophet with me! The end is at hand, and there’s no point holding back on the good stuff. So what are you going to offer your guests?”

“We wanted to roast a deer,” said Hiie.

“Bah! I’m not talking about food. I’m thirsty, not hungry! Do you want to wash the bit of roast meat down with springwater
like the animals? Think about wine, boy. It lifts the spirits! Or are you planning to chew fly agaric? I’ve tried both things, not just a little either, and believe me wine is better! It’s the only good thing you can get from the village. I’m not recommending you bring bread into the forest. Let the hares nibble on that. But wine was their good invention. Listen to me, boy. I know what I’m talking about!”

Hiie and I looked at each other. After all—why not? In the course of a few days everything had been turned inside out. I had razed the sacred grove to the ground and cut half of the sage’s face off. Nothing was as it had been. So what if another joist in the old life was sent toppling? Really, why couldn’t we drink wine? The forest was empty; we didn’t have to reckon with anybody else’s opinion. We didn’t intend to live like villagers, cutting straws with a scythe in the field and going to the monastery to listen to the singing of castrated monks, but nor did we plan to hang tooth and nail to ancient habits. Hiie and I wanted to live our own way, freely, exactly as we liked, a good way.

“What does that wine taste like?” I asked Meeme.

“Try it!”

I took the skin and had a swig. The wine was surprisingly sweet and tickled the throat pleasantly. It really was delicious, quite different to bread and porridge. What a surprise that those odd foreigners could think up something so good. I took another sip.

“Getting to like it?” smirked Meeme. “What did I tell you? It does the trick.”

“Where can you get it?” I asked, handing the wine back.

“Go to the edge of the big road and look for some iron man or monk passing; they always have a wineskin with them,” said
Meeme. “Then knock him down and the wine is yours. If you’re lucky you can get a whole vat.”

A desire to kill was rising in my stomach and getting my mind throbbing. I was already imagining those iron heads rolling in the dust of the highway.

“I’m thinking of wine,” I told Hiie. “This will be the first wedding in the forest—remember that, Meeme, the first, not the last—where a drink from over the seas is drunk along with good old venison.”

“If that’s the word you like, then why not use it. First or last, there’s no difference.”

e spent the night with the adders, but in the morning we arranged a division of labor. Hiie had to kill a deer, but we entrusted the cooking of it to my mother. It was the only option. Mother would have been fatally offended otherwise. She never let anyone else roast meat, and if Salme or I tried to help her, she only took that to mean mistrust, and sometimes even started crying. “Ah, so the food I make isn’t good enough for you?”

So it was natural that Mother would be preparing the wedding roast.

We told her that Hiie would procure the deer; Mother nodded at this and said she would bring two goats and about ten hares in that case.

“No, Mother, we were thinking of roasting only one deer,” we explained.

“Are you joking?” exclaimed Mother. “This is a wedding! One deer is not enough. There definitely has to be goat and hare as well.”

“Mother, there’s no need for such a large feast!” I tried to convince her. “Why so much? Who will eat it?”

“They might not eat it, but the table has to be laid plentifully,” maintained Mother. “Of course it’s another matter if you don’t like the food I make …”

Her eyes were growing damp again.

“No, no!” we said. “We like it very much! Go on then. Cook the goats and hares as well as the deer. Do just as you like!”

Mother was satisfied. She rolled up her sleeves and started flaying and chopping.

I set off to get the wine, and Ints came with me.

“I’d like to get some fresh air,” she said. “Sitting at home with the children wears me out terribly.”

“So where are you leaving your children?” I asked.

“The children are coming with me, of course,” replied Ints. “They need some recreation too. They’ve never seen a single iron man or monk, and they’re very excited. Just a couple of days ago I was telling them how we killed that monk, and how the slowworm retrieved the ring from his stomach; the children found that very funny. Do you remember that story?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I said. “Come on then; maybe I’ll be needing your fangs.”

We set off for the edge of the highway, where the monks and iron men always rode by, and lay in wait. The little adders chased each other and frolicked among the crowberry plants.

Finally a lone rider wearing chain mail came into view.

“Is that a suitable one?” asked Ints.

“I can’t see if he’s carrying a wineskin,” I said, peering more closely at the iron man with a peculiar kind of pleasure that I had only recently learned to feel. “But let’s knock him down anyway.”

When the iron man had come right up to us, I gave a long hiss. The horse understood these words immediately and reared
on its hind legs, whinnying. The iron man toppled out of his saddle and fell on his back on the road.

The next moment I was upon him, and struck off his head with my knife, giving a loud roar.

“There!” I screamed. “That’s what they used to do in the days of the Frog of the North!”

I kicked the iron man I had cut down, and he flew into the bushes with a clatter.

“Splendid!” shouted Ints, and her children hissed with pleasure, coming over to nose around the dead iron man. “Where did you learn that?”

“It came by itself,” I said. “A lineage from my grandfather.”

I was still panting excitedly. If someone had told me at that moment that I had to go to the wedding immediately and give up lurking by the roadside, I would have refused. Now I truly understood Grandfather’s words: in a time of war, a woman must wait. At that moment I would not give up my war for any price. I wanted to experience again that feeling that overcame me when an enemy’s head bounces and clatters along the road. And in any case, we still didn’t have any wine.

I dragged the dead iron man in among the trees and threw myself down right there to await a new victim.

“Coming,” said Ints after a little while, having much keener hearing than I had. “And it’s a cart, not a rider.”

I soon saw that she was right. We were incredibly lucky. Along the road came two bullocks, pulling behind them a cart with two monks and two vats of wine in it.

“That’s the wine for my wedding going by,” I told Ints. “It couldn’t have gone better.”

Ints curled up into a ring.

“I think you can begin this yourself,” she said. “I’m not going to intervene at all you’re so nimble. Children, come out of Uncle’s way! Later, you can look at the monks later!”

“But then they won’t have their heads on anymore,” said one little adder.

“What’s the difference? Come out of the way!”

It all went as smoothly as the previous time. On hearing the Snakish words, the bullocks’ eyes bulged; they suddenly became overanimated and pulled the cart straight into the forest. With a yell the monks rolled off into the bushes with their vats and I did what I wanted with them.

“That’s all,” said Ints with a yawn. “Children, let’s go home and eat now.”

By evening the preparations were made and the wedding feast could begin. The bonfire made of stacked trees was blazing and an enormous amount of meat was cooking on it. The vats of wine were in place, and Meeme was resting between them, one of Grandfather’s skull cups in his hand. He was already completely drunk, but still helping himself to more and more of the tipple that trickled from the barrel.

“Try some,” I told my mother, offering her some wine.

“I don’t dare to drink it! I’ve never put such stuff in my mouth before. Leemet, don’t you drink it either. I’m watching; you’re just like your father. He liked those village foods too. I never understood what he saw in them. Now look at you too!”

“Mother, the villagers don’t drink wine. They aren’t given it; they’re taught to be content with porridge and a bit of bread. Wine is drunk by the iron men and the monks.”

“That makes it worse!” said Mother, wringing her hands. “No, no, I’m not touching it! Leemet, you’d be better eating some hare. Just look at this beautiful well-cooked shank!”

“Yes, I will,” I replied. “But you try some wine. One drop!”

“Why are you tempting me?” sighed Mother, screwing her eyes tight and swallowing one little swig from the cup. She smacked her lips and screwed up her nose.

“Not as bad as porridge, but not good either. They think up all sorts of silly things. What’s wrong with springwater and wolf’s milk then?”

“Let me have a taste too,” begged Mõmmi.

At first Mother and Salme had assured me that the sick bear definitely wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding, since his backside was hurting him dreadfully. Salme had even thought that she better stay at home and look after the ailing Mõmmi.

“He can’t walk at all; he just lies around,” she had said bitterly. “I’m so sorry for him! That beautiful brown fur. It was that fur that I fell in love with about him! Now it’s all burned and horrible.”

“Only in one place,” I consoled her. “And it’s sure to grow back.”

Hiie and I went to Mõmmi’s bed and nodded at him.

“Sorry you can’t come,” said Hiie. “We’re getting a goat for you too.”

“Why can’t I come?” exclaimed Mõmmi, sitting straight up. “I want to go to the wedding too!”

“You can’t, darling, but never mind,” said Salme, comforting him. “I’ll stay at home with you so you don’t get bored.”

“No, Salme, that’s not a good idea,” said Mõmmi decisively, getting out of bed. “How can you stay at home when your brother’s getting married? You have to go, and I’m coming too.”

“Oh, but you can’t! It’s painful for you to walk!”

“Of course it’s painful,” agreed the bear, taking a couple of limping steps. “But if you support me, I think I can do it anyway.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course! Now listen, Salme, what’s the point in having to bring me food home from the wedding, if I can go there myself and eat right there?”

And so Mõmmi, panting and groaning, lumbered up to the bonfire. Now he sat down contentedly under a tree and wolfed down the meat.

I handed him a beakerful of wine; Mõmmi swallowed it in one gulp, and licked his nose with his long pink tongue.

“I like it!” he declared. “Pass me another one.”

When he had drunk a second beakerful, he hiccupped slightly, gave me a sly look, and ran with great agility behind Salme’s back.

“Peek-a-boo!” he cried, covering Salme’s eyes with his paws. “Who am I?”

Guessing wasn’t particularly hard, for the only one at the wedding with bear’s paws was Mõmmi.

“Mõmmi!” cried Salme. “Why are you walking around? You’ll hurt your wound! I was just about to bring you a new haunch of venison.”

“I don’t want to eat any more,” announced Mõmmi grandly. “And there’s no damage to my wound, I’ve been licking it with my tongue. Don’t you know that a bear’s tongue contains nine medicines? Wait, sweetie, and I’ll show you!”

He drew his tongue far out of his mouth and licked Salme’s face.

“Mõmmi, what are you doing?” tittered Salme. “People are looking!”

“You’re as sweet as honey,” cooed Mõmmi. “Let’s dance!”

“But your bottom, Mõmmi! You were hobbling just now!”

“That was this morning, but now it’s evening! In the morning I was hobbling; in the evening I turn somersaults. That’s the kind of bear I am!” bragged Mõmmi, trying to roll over on his head, but he fell down and lay on the ground on his back, laughing, his four paws in the air.

“Mõmmi!” begged Salme. “What’s come over you? What are you raving about?”

“Let’s dance, Salme. Let’s dance!” said the bear, getting up and starting to lope around heavily, occasionally bowing and twisting his body around. He was mumbling some strange bear song and appeared to be overjoyed.

“Mother, look at what Mõmmi’s doing!” whispered Salme. “Shameful!”

“Why shameful?” laughed Mother, who had started clapping to the rhythm of Mõmmi’s song. “It’s just nice. It’s fun! You’re supposed to have fun at weddings. Go and dance with your husband!”

“I won’t!” declared Salme, scowling at her spouse as he staggered around her.

Hiie’s mother was also at the wedding. She kept a little apart from the others, looking timidly at the blazing linden trees and the bear tramping out his dance.

“Mother, come and eat!” called Hiie.

“I don’t want to,” said Mall, and in her again was the strict woman who had brought her child up so sternly with Tambet. “Meat cooked on wood from the grove would stick in my
throat. And that disgusting foreign drink is quite out of place here. Maybe I’m old and I’ve seen out my days, but I’m sorry, daughter, all this is insulting to me. I have my principles.”

“It doesn’t matter what wood the meat is cooked on, as long as it gets juicy enough,” said Hiie. “And if any drink tastes sweet to us, there’s no reason to refuse it. Mother, I grew up in a home that was so full up with principles that I didn’t have room to breathe. I hate principles. I only want what’s good for me. I want to be happy!”

She grabbed me by the neck, kissed me, and dragged me to where Mõmmi was reeling around.

“Let’s dance too!” said Hiie.

She pushed me away from her, stretched out her arms, and writhed in the red glow of the bonfire. Just at that moment a large wolf leapt in between us and sank its teeth into Hiie’s neck.

I yelled as if I had been bitten myself. I heard Ints and the other snakes hissing piercingly. I struck the wolf with my knife, but in my panic wasn’t able to kill the animal, only cutting a long wound in its neck. The wolf let go of Hiie and turned toward me, enraged with pain. Just then her mother rushed toward Hiie and the wolf sank its jaws into her face, so that blood spurted between its teeth. I lashed out at the wolf with my knife once again, but it didn’t fall; a second wound merely appeared on its back, forming a red cross with the first slash. Then a roar was heard from Mõmmi; the bear’s paw came down and the wolf’s backbone broke with a sickening crack.

All this happened in a mere moment.

I bent over Hiie. She was unconscious, her neck was broken, and blood was bubbling out of it.

“Ints!” I screamed. “Can’t you do something? Stop the blood! Isn’t there a Snakish word that could do that?”

“There’s no such word,” said Ints’s father, the snake-king, who had crawled up beside me. “Nobody can stop the flow of blood, the same as with a river. We aren’t able to save Hiie. Look at the moss; it’s thick with blood. Most of her life has already left her, and the little that is left will soon flow out too. I’m terribly sorry, Leemet.”