The Man Who Spoke Snakish (28 page)

Ints had also wriggled up to me, and was nosing against Hiie’s pallid cheek. For the first time in my life I saw a snake crying.

Beside Hiie lay her mother, recognizable only from her clothes; her entire face was torn away by the wolf’s teeth. And yet she was still alive, and even spoke: “A fire from the grove wood,” she murmured. “I was afraid it would go this way. Misery! The sprites won’t ever forgive it!”

“Shut up!” I shouted, completely losing my self-control.

“The sprites! The sprites!” repeated the lump of blood that had once been a human face. “They’ll pay you back!”

“Your husband is the one who brings us misery, even in death,” I yelled. “He drove the wolves mad! He turned them deaf!” Mall spoke no more. She was dead.

I was so enraged, so desperate, that I kicked her corpse. Then I grasped Hiie by the waist and bellowed. I shook her so that her broken neck lolled to one side and the wound gaped at me to its full depth. I kissed Hiie, grabbed her with such force that if she had still felt anything, she would certainly have screamed with pain. Oh how I wanted her to scream! I squeezed her so hard that I must have broken her ribs, but I didn’t care. I was
completely crazed, and only when Mõmmi, using all his bear’s strength, pulled me aside did I leave Hiie’s corpse in peace.

Yes, she was dead.

“How terrible! How terrible!” repeated my mother, who was also spread-eagled on the ground, as if she were a third corpse, weeping uncontrollably.

I felt sick. My nostrils were again invaded by that old familiar stench of decay, nauseating me. Supporting myself on a wine vat, I vomited. Undigested bits of meat mixed with red wine gushed onto the moss.

To this day I remember in detail what I did in those moments after Hiie’s death.

After vomiting I walked several times around the still-burning bonfire. I wasn’t thinking anything, just concentrating on breathing. I had the feeling that if I didn’t, I would forget to inhale and choke. No one spoke to me; no one dared to stop me.

Then I went and cut the legs and the tail off the dead wolf, doing it with a strange numbness as if I were carrying out some tedious but necessary task. When the legs and tail were cut off, I left them there, threw away the knife, and marched into the forest.

I just walked and walked, heedless of the direction. Owls were hooting; some goats and hares ran across my path. I broke a path through the densest thicket, not feeling the scratching of the branches and twigs. I didn’t have a single thought in my head. It was as if I were seeing myself from somewhere afar, up in the treetops, seeing a tiny human, struggling along alone in a dark forest.

Then suddenly it came to me—Hiie! I turned around immediately, as if I had only just received the news of her death, and rushed back the way I had come.

The fire was still smoldering and all the wedding guests were still there. Hiie had been lifted up alongside her mother, and squatting beside her was the louse.

It was nestling against Hiie’s shoulder, and suddenly I had the ghastly thought that the louse was sucking blood from her wound.

“What’s it doing?” I screamed, and rushed closer to scare the louse away with a kick.

“He’s not doing anything; he’s dead,” said Ints. I crouched down and touched the great insect. Ints was telling the truth: the louse was completely stiff and its tiny legs were curled up helplessly.

“He came straight after you left,” said Ints, crawling up by my feet. “He ran here, pressed himself against Hiie, and died.”

“We saw from the tree how the wolf was attacking her,” Pirre said now. I hadn’t noticed him at first. The Primates were sitting in the shade of a tree; they had been walking on two legs again and were now massaging their cramp-stricken toes. “We came straight here and the louse ran ahead of us. He loved Hiie very much. Let him lie there beside her.”

“Let him lie,” I repeated, and then I blacked out.

was ill for several months. I simply had no desire to get well; it was so good to remain in feverish unconsciousness, without any thoughts, any memories. Dreams came and went, but if there was anything bad or alarming in them, it didn’t remain in my mind and quickly dissolved into new dreams. I liked to keep my eyes closed and the colorful apparitions, without name or clear form, swam around in my head in a kind of luminous haze, as if warning me not to wake. Even when I felt that someone—probably Mother—was spooning broth into my mouth, I didn’t want to return to the real world. My pharynx was working, but my brain remained hidden like a child, crouching in the forest in the shade of branches that reach the ground, hearing the call to come home but not coming, not letting itself get caught and pulled indoors. Being there in the forest under the branches was best, I sensed; indoors, only anxiety and oppression awaited me. I hovered in the middle of a nonexistent space, like a bird that has emerged on the other side of the clouds and is now suddenly separated from everything earthly.

This game of hide-and-seek lasted a long time and I would gladly have made my illness permanent. But it couldn’t be helped: my body betrayed my hiding place, someone’s strong arms pulled me out from under the spruce branches, and although I kept my eyes tightly closed as before, as if hoping that would make me invisible, the world and its sounds and colors gradually began to encroach on me. From time to time I found myself staring at the ceiling; turning my head I saw Mother, tending the fire and boiling something in a pot. Sometimes I also saw Salme and her bear, sitting at the table and gnawing on venison bones with a crunch. I tried to swoon away again, to escape, but the fever had receded; it had slipped away from me like a warm animal skin, and without it I felt naked, cold, and terrible. For days on end I had to listen to Mother’s and Salme’s conversations, mostly revolving around Mõmmi’s activities, occasionally diverging to the state of my health, and floating me on a wave of upsetting sympathy. I tried to seek a way out of sleep, but that was a miserable substitute for the splendid state of unconsciousness that had protected and soothed me for several months. Ordinary sleep now seemed too brief to me; it was merely like a little puddle into which I could at best dip my head, whereas I longed for a deep lake of dark water, into which to dive, and stay.

Morning arrived over and over again; Mother started clattering and preparing food. Soon Salme and Mõmmi would arrive too, and I knew that the moment was not far off when they would all gather by my bed, look at me tenderly with pity in their eyes, and ask, “Well, dear Leemet, how do you feel?” I didn’t answer them, not because I couldn’t, but because I feared the intoxicating joy that my first words after a long illness would excite in them. I feared that if they started clapping with excitement and
congratulating me on my recovery I would resist, leap out of bed, and bite them; yes, I believed I was capable even of that. So I simply closed my eyes whenever they gathered to look at me again, drank the hot broth obediently, and listened to them sadly sighing. I felt Mother stroking my head. It annoyed me; I wanted them to move out of the shack and leave me in peace. At the same time the head stroking made me tearful, which irritated me even more; that was why I yearned to get back to my long sickness, where there were no tears, there was no anger, no pain, only silence and drowsing on the border between life and death.

Finally I understood that I could no longer stand the constant chatter that surrounded me day in, day out. There was only one way out of this: I had to get to my feet. Then I could escape from the shack if I wished, spend a day somewhere in the forest, far from all the botherers, and return home only at night, if at all. I assumed that I was well enough by now; only the fear of the burst of joy that would follow my getting out of bed kept me back a couple more days, but then I took courage.

One morning I pushed the animal skins aside with a rapid movement, sat up in bed, and said to Mother: “Mother, listen to me! I am well, but you mustn’t say anything to me, not a single word. I’m getting dressed, eating, and going out. I don’t want to hear a single shout; I don’t want to see a single tear. I want silence. Do you understand, Mother? Don’t say anything.”

Mother nodded dumbly and looked at me with round eyes. She had covered her mouth with her hand and her eyes glistened, so that I understood: she could control her voice, but not her tears. This worried me; I wanted to get dressed as quickly as possible and escape from home at once. Getting dressed wasn’t easy at all. I was still very weak and clumsy—and driven wild by the
knowledge that now Mother certainly was weeping. I didn’t look at her, just grabbed a bit of cold roast goat from the table and rushed out of the door.

The sun dazzled me. I shaded my eyes with my hand and stumbled deep into the forest, into the shade of the trees. I was seeking a lonely spot where no one ever went, somewhere I could throw myself down and see out the day until the evening. I was very pleased that I still had the courage to get out of the house. I really couldn’t stand the discussions about whether Mõmmi had worms in his stomach or not, and if so how to get rid of them. Of course I did understand that life in the forest goes on, and that worms in the stomach are the most burning issue for some people and animals, but this chatter was driving me mad.

It was not easy to find a lonely spot; everywhere there was some bird hopping or hare jumping, and this confused me. I kept moving forward, until I reached the edge of the forest. There I saw some village girls.

Magdaleena was not among them I soon established. Actually I should have gone away, for the village girls were undoubtedly more befuddling than any titmouse or hare, and they weren’t appropriate for a man seeking solitude. But I stayed there, getting down on my stomach among the bushes, watching the girls.

They had brought some sheep with them, and now were intending to let them stay and eat grass in the meadow at the forest’s edge.

“But what happens if a wolf comes?” asked one girl.

“There’s a medicine against that,” answered another. “Don’t you remember what Elder Johannes taught us? You have to take that belt that you wear to church and draw a line with it around the pasture. A wolf won’t be able to cross that sacred line, because Jesus won’t let it.”

“Do you have a belt like that?” asked the first.

“Of course, I always think before I leave home,” said the other girl, glibly. She undid a long colorful band from around her smock and began tracing an invisible ring through the meadow around the sheep. The first girl followed her friend’s action with reverence.

“Next time I’ll bring my belt with me,” she promised. “Just think how simple it is to fight off wolves! Jesus can do everything.”

“Yeah,” agreed the second girl, who had completed the protective circle and was now tying her belt back on. “This is the foreigners’ wisdom; life is much simpler if you know it.”

They set off, carefree in the certain knowledge that the sheep were protected from all danger.

Naturally a wolf was soon on the scene. Strangely, the sight of it did not excite any feelings in me, although it was the first wolf I’d encountered since that evening. I had no desire to kill it or pour out my wrath on it in any way. Actually there was no hatred in me, only indifference. What could this wolf do to me? Attack me? I wasn’t even sure that I could be bothered to defend myself.

But the wolf didn’t come up to me; it was more interested in the sheep. Naturally it didn’t notice that the girl had waved a belt around; that strip of clothing probably hadn’t even left a scent. The wolf leapt on the neck of one sheep, brought the animal down, and dragged it off among the trees.

The sheep all bleated anxiously for a little while, then carried on eating the grass; then a second wolf came and carried off the next sheep. I didn’t care to look at this massacre any longer; there was no doubt that if the girls didn’t come back soon the wolves would polish them off. It might of course also happen that when the girls came back, they would also be eaten up, along with Jesus and the belt.

I suddenly found this idea very unpleasant. I didn’t want to see that; I had to prevent it! Let the wolves gobble up the sheep; I didn’t care. But the idea of another girl between those creatures’ jaws made my head spin with rage. So I stayed on the spot and looked on while the last of the sheep were slaughtered.

Some time passed before the girls came back. They didn’t come alone; with them were Elder Johannes and Magdaleena.

I crouched down as low as I could. I had not seen Magdaleena since the time when I walked home that evening in love with her; that seemed to have been in another life. After that had come the escape with Hiie, meeting Grandfather, and everything else—but that world had now vanished, cut from under me like Grandfather’s legs.

What had become of Grandfather, who had promised to fly in after us soon? Had something happened? Had he not been able to get the last essential bones?

At the same time I was dreaming of Grandfather on his distant island and thinking of Magdaleena, who was standing right here, so close to me that if I had stood up she would have seen me immediately. She had grown a little plumper, but was still wonderfully beautiful, and I felt to my own amazement that I still loved her.

I tried to ward off that feeling; it seemed obscene to me. I had come to the forest to seek solitude, to mourn in silence then melt into the moss like Meeme, for what could life be without Hiie, whom I had loved so much—but I caught one glimpse of Magdaleena and couldn’t take my eyes off her.

All these feelings that had seized me by the monastery as we listened to the monks’ singing, the desire to touch her, to sit in her presence, smell her, came roaring back like an unexpected cloudburst.

But—it also occurred to me—Grandfather did not lose his mind after he lost his legs; he started building wings. If things don’t go one way, you have to try another.

That train of thought seemed repulsive to me. My only consolation was that I could nonetheless acknowledge it.

And yet I yearned for Magdaleena. I liked her. In fact I was in love with her.

How repellent it all was! How good it would be to smolder in a fever, without a single thought, without a single doubt!

While I was at war with myself in the bushes, the girls and the village elder were dealing with the sheep. Or rather with their absence. The traces in the grass left no doubt that the sheep had fallen victim to wolves.

“But I drew a sacred ring around them with my belt,” wept one girl. “It was supposed to help!”

“It does help,” Johannes assured her. “But it protects only against ordinary wolves who are subject to God’s commands. In the case of a werewolf, a belt is no help; Satan helps it to jump over it.”

“Did a werewolf come here then?” screamed the other girl, shrieking with terror.

“There’s no other explanation for the sheep disappearing,” replied the village elder. “The church belt keeps all ordinary wild animals away; that wisdom has been known for centuries in Germany and in the holy city of Rome. Consequently it must have been a werewolf doing the mischief here.”

“Can’t Jesus do anything about it?” sobbed the second girl.

“Oh, he can!” said Johannes, consoling her. “But against a werewolf you need more effective weapons than a belt. I’ll have to consult with the holy monks and ask what they recommend
doing. There must surely be some prayer or relic to ward off that servant of Satan.”

“I’m afraid!” said the first girl. “Let’s go home!”

“Yes,” agreed Johannes. “A shame about the sheep; we don’t have any more of them in the village. But God will help us in time!”

They set off, and I stretched out to look at them leave, to see more of Magdaleena before she disappeared from view. But Magdaleena did not go to the village. She said something to her father, turned aside, and started going a different way. Then she slowed down her pace, looked around, as if wanting to make sure that her father and the other girls no longer saw her, and ran back to the edge of the forest. I thought she had lost something, but to my great surprise I heard Magdaleena quietly calling: “Leemet! Are you there? Leemet!”

I got up and stepped out of the bushes.

“Hello,” I said. “Did you see me?”

“No, but I knew you must be somewhere nearby,” replied Magdaleena, coming up to me and putting her hands on my shoulders. She looked into my eyes and smiled slyly. I felt her scent and it made me weak in the knees. I pulled Magdaleena to my breast and kissed her.

Magdaleena didn’t resist; I felt her licking my lips with her tongue.

“You killed the sheep!” she whispered.

I pushed her away in amazement. “What did you say?”

“Your lips don’t have the taste of blood, but I know it was you,” giggled Magdaleena, as if anticipating a lot of fun. “You know how to change into a werewolf. Who else does?”

“I told you, a human being can’t change into a wolf. That’s rubbish,” I explained. “They were quite ordinary wolves that ate up the sheep. I saw them myself.”