The Man Who Spoke Snakish (34 page)

“What are you talking about?” asked Johannes uneasily. “When did Death visit my house?”

“In the night, of course!” I sneered, sobbing. “Death comes at night and asks, ‘Knock-knock, is Elder Johannes at home?’ But he isn’t. So where is he? The elder is cooking adders in the forest! He has much work to do; his God has chosen him for it! But Death doesn’t want to go home with empty hands; he wants to fill his mouth with something! There’s no Johannes, no Leemet. But Magdaleena and Toomas are at home! Oh how nice! A beautiful girl, a little boy! How tasty! The sprites and the dogs of the grove also want to eat! God is busy gobbling up the adders that Johannes is cooking for him; well then, the
sprites and the dogs can taste human flesh. All these beings are so hungry! They have such big bellies they’re never filled!”

The last words I absolutely roared, rolling on the ground as if I were on hot coals. The villagers stood around me in astonishment, not knowing what to do. Johannes was trembling.

“Have you …” he stammered. “Have you done harm to my child?”

“Not I!” I bellowed. “It was the dogs of the grove, the sprites and the other gods! They drink blood. Not I! I only know Snakish, nothing else, and I’m the last one who does. The very last. For there aren’t even snakes anymore!”

I burst into laughter, and the next moment I tried to bite the leg of the man standing nearest to me. The man leapt aside in alarm.

“Don’t be afraid, you bastard! My teeth aren’t venomous; you won’t die of them!”

“He’s gone mad,” said Johannes, his face pale. “Let’s take him with us and go quickly to the village. I’m very worried about Magdaleena.”

“Too late, you old idiot, too late!” I brayed in a truly demented way, smashing my head against the ground. “Too late!”

“Faster!” screamed Johannes, tearing at his beard. “Faster!”

hen I now think back to that night, the only feeling that prevails in me is a slight embarrassment at my own wild behavior. So much needless shouting and desperation! After the wolf bit Hiie to death, I should have been used to all those close to me being lost. The people and animals that I cared about were disappearing like fish that had swum too close to the surface; a single flash of the fin and they were no longer visible. One by one they were diving to a place I couldn’t follow. That is, of course, I could have followed them, just as it is possible to fling yourself into the sea to try to catch a fish, but you never will. One day I will follow all my dear ones, but although we’re heading in the same direction, we will never meet again. So great is the sea and so tiny are we.

Today I can think about it completely calmly. I’m not happy to recall the memory of losing Magdaleena and little Toomas, Ints and the other adders, and my mother all on the same night. But that was how it had to go, for the death of a rotten tree is always rapid: one violent shake and over it goes. Its broad
canopy, which for many years rose up in its place in the forest, has suddenly vanished. For a while there is a space in the forest cover, but soon the space is filled by new growth, as if nothing had happened.

I no longer feel bitter that I have no one to whom I can pass on the Snakish words. On the contrary, I feel a gloating pleasure. Let them live without Snakish, those future generations of humans, whom I will never see, nor would I want to! Stupid, poor little insects, I don’t envy them. Of course they don’t know what they’re missing by not knowing Snakish—but I do. I know much more besides, but my foolish successors will never be able to know those things.

Such a thought gives me pleasure. I try to imagine just such a new world as I lie for hours in my cave—a world without Snakish. Sometimes I laugh to myself, because that future seems so ridiculous to me; it’s a world in which I have no place. Strange and unpleasant.

I am not bitter about the past. For me it is already too far away. The people whom I knew and loved then have by now become just pictures on the wall of Pirre and Rääk’s cave. I look at them but I don’t feel anything.

That early morning when I was carried up to the village I was far from such peace of mind. I snarled and shrieked like a wolf cub and cursed everyone I saw, until one scruffy villager gave me such a bludgeon across the chops that some of my teeth flew out. Then I fell quiet and only spat blood, but the rage boiled within me as before, and I felt no pain, in either my smashed mouth or my limbs being cut to ribbons by cords.

My screams, however, were as nothing beside the roaring that broke out when the gang of snake incinerators finally reached Johannes’s house and could behold all the work and effort that Ülgas the Sage had that night committed indoors. Elder Johannes ran up to me, shook me, and screamed, “You killed them! You bit them to death! You’re a werewolf. I’ve known it all along!”

I was not surprised or enraged by these accusations; I had been anticipating them. I didn’t intend to answer Johannes at all, but since he wouldn’t leave me alone and kept on tugging at me, I mumbled through bloody lips: “Leave me alone, you idiot. I didn’t kill them. It was a mad old bugger like you, and if it satisfies you, then I’ve already torn out his entrails. He’s paid for his evils and one day you will too.”

“You or some other pagan from the forest, what does it matter?” bellowed Johannes. “You’re all werewolves! What’s wrong with you? What evil spell forces you to do such horrible things?”

“Never mind. Let’s toss him into the fire and burn him,” said Jaakop.

“We will, but what use is that to Magdaleena and her son, who was a little knight besides?” wailed Johannes. “No revenge will save them.”

“You’re right there, old man,” I said, thinking of Ülgas. I could have killed him a hundred times; it would be of no use to Magdaleena or Toomas. It was in every sense an unequal exchange: the life of a miserable mad sage counted for nothing to anyone; not a single man or beast mourned him. He should have been dead long ago, but instead he went around killing those who should have lived.

People came and wrung their hands, weeping to heaven. They were certainly wondering how all those gods and jesuses, on
whose help they counted and for whose protective support they had moved out of the forest, could now suddenly allow such a dreadful crime to happen. Especially on the same night when they had been so abundantly burning snakes in accordance with their God’s commands. I knew it wasn’t hard at all to find answers to their troubled questions. I had after all lived for years in the forest with Ülgas and remembered well the ease with which he explained everything to Tambet, using for that purpose the invented sprites and his own wily understanding. The villagers didn’t trouble themselves for long about it; thanks to Johannes they had an explanation.

Naturally I turned out to be the guilty party. God could not allow an unchristened pagan to live in the village, someone who was, moreover, a werewolf, and as a punishment for this he withdrew his protecting hand from Magdaleena. As for little Toomas, God did not punish him, but indeed blessed him. The little child of a foreign knight was simply so dear to God that he called him to him with all speed and sat him on his knee. The villagers were of course only too happy to believe that hogwash, just as the late Tambet had taken as pure gold everything that spilled from between the slovenly teeth of Ülgas. There was no longer any need to worry about this little child; he was in good hands. In fact they felt a secret pride that such a baby had been born right here, in a simple Estonian village. They spoke of a miracle, and they discussed whether the child’s old clothes might be used to keep foxes away from chickens.

Magdaleena was of course mourned, but everybody agreed that one must not stray from God’s commands and that my acceptance into the house was a great sin. Since I was conveniently
within reach, they all came, together and one by one, to spit on me, and piled up a tall heap of brushwood, on top of which they intended to roast me.

This pyre, however, reminded me of the bonfire at my wedding, which I had built myself from the remains of the grove. On that occasion my mother was cooking venison on it; now there was no more mother, and these dullards were unable to catch deer with their wretched spears—so they had nothing left to roast but me.

I wasn’t afraid of death—and why should I be, after all these gruesome events?—but I would have liked to carry on raging. At least I would have liked to do away with Elder Johannes for good, as well as my old friend Pärtel, whom I was now more inclined to call Peetrus. I would have liked to pour out my rage, to harry and plunder, and not to just be burnt to a crisp as a helpless lump on a pyre. But I was very tightly tied up, so that I couldn’t even move. Only my mouth was free, but just now Snakish was of no avail. It would have no effect on the obtuse minds of the villagers.

The men grabbed me and hauled me toward the pile of brushwood. I saw that Peetrus was holding one of my legs and I said, “Who could have guessed that one day you would throw Ints on an ants’ nest and me on a pyre?”

“What can be done,” replied Peetrus. “Everyone chooses their own fate. I invited you to the village long ago, but you came too late and you remained wild.”

“Do you really believe I’m a werewolf?” I asked, now in Snakish. “You know that werewolves don’t exist!”

For a while Peetrus didn’t answer, and I believed that he didn’t understand the Snakish words anymore.

“Today in the world they believe that they do exist,” he said suddenly, but in human language, not Snakish, as evidently his tongue, gone soft with village food, couldn’t pronounce it any longer. “All the new people believe it. Therefore so do I.”

“What are you talking about, Peetrus?” asked Jaakop, who was holding my other leg. He hadn’t understood my question.

“I’m saying that werewolves are horrible monsters,” shouted Peetrus. “Over you go!”

I flew into the heap of brushwood. The sun was shining on my face; I turned my face aside and saw my grandfather flying over the village buildings.

The first one he got hold of was Jaakop, who was just then preparing to light the pyre. Grandfather grabbed him by the head, heaved him into the sky with him, and sank his fangs into the man’s neck. Jaakop fell convulsing back to the ground and within a moment he was dead.

Then Grandfather grasped an ax tied to his belt and wielded it up and down several times. The villagers screamed and fled in horror in all directions.

“Are you dead, Leemet?” shouted Grandfather.

“No, Grandfather, I’m alive!” I shouted back. “Just tied up. Set me free!”

Grandfather hovered down to me. His wings were as wide as an eagle’s, and the human bones were woven together with miraculous skill. Grandfather stretched out his long nails and cut through the cords with them.

“When I saw you all bloody on the pyre, I thought you were dead and this was your funeral,” said Grandfather. “But now I understand that these rascals wanted to burn you alive. Come, boy, let’s do a little poisoning!”

He took a long knife from his belt and tossed it to me.

“Something for you to jab with,” he explained. “You don’t have proper teeth, poor child.”

He tilted back his head and howled, and then rushed to attack the villagers. I leapt down from the pile of brushwood, my heart full of joy. This was just what I had been longing for. Grandfather had arrived just at the right time. Merely holding a knife was driving me mad with excitement. I whooped with joy when I got to kill the same bulky peasant who had slapped my mouth earlier, and I rushed on to catch others.

The villagers didn’t put up resistance. They didn’t even try to fight; the arrival of my flying grandfather had caused such fear in them that they fled as fast as they could. We pursued them and ran them down in the tussocks, but while we were running after one of them, others were scurrying who knows where and it was no longer possible to find them. I searched everywhere for Elder Johannes and Peetrus, but they had vanished like a stick in water. Finally I stood panting, for all the village men had fled, and apart from Grandfather hanging in the air there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

“Not bad!” shouted Grandfather when he saw me stopping in bewilderment. “The best view is from up here. Be prepared. There are iron men riding this way!”

A moment later I could see them too. There were six iron men, in the middle of whom rode a fat man on an extremely fine horse and wearing clothes dripping with jewels, on his face a haughty, disdainful expression. This was undoubtedly some important lord, perhaps a bishop. I didn’t know. He couldn’t be the Pope at any rate, for Johannes had said that the Pope lived in the city of Rome. We weren’t very interested in who precisely
he was. I went and stood in the middle of the road, knife in my hand, while Grandfather flew in a great arc up behind the iron men. They hadn’t noticed him yet, and they hadn’t wanted to notice me either; they steered their horses straight in my direction as if I were mere air through which they could calmly ride. Evidently they were hoping that I would humbly step aside, but I didn’t, and I met the enraged gaze of the mighty lord. He had noticed me, screwed up his face angrily, and made a movement with his arm as if to wipe me out of the way like rubbish or a fly. One knight drew a sword from his belt.

Then I hissed—and the horses started to break their stride. Two knights fell right out of the saddle. The others managed to remain on their horses’ backs, but that was their misfortune, for then it was much simpler for Grandfather to strike them on the head with his ax. He came whirling and howling like that ancient bird whose picture I had seen in the Primates’ cave. Twice he struck with the ax, and two iron heads rolled along the ground. He turned right around, and set off again. Meanwhile, I stabbed to death the two knights who had tumbled from the saddle.

The only one left alive was that proud lord in his costly garb. His expression was no longer lofty or scornful at all; now he stared in sheer amazement at the extraordinary winged monster of whose existence he had never heard. This monster looked truly horrifying, with wings made of bones, as well as a long gray beard and two aged, blood-red eyes, sharp crooked claws like a bird’s, and unnaturally short legs, actually mere stumps. This must have been a ghastly, unearthly sight in everyone’s eyes but mine, for whom this monster was my earthly grandfather.