The Man Who Spoke Snakish (38 page)

Then I saw a human figure off in the distance. I went closer to him out of curiosity, hoping to meet someone I knew. This man certainly was familiar. Elder Johannes was tottering along the narrow road, a stick in his hand and a tattered cloak on his back.

“Hello, Elder,” I said, stepping out of the darkness. “Isn’t it nice to meet again after such a long while?”

Johannes gazed at me and clutched his stick with both hands, to protect himself from me with it. But I had no thought of
attacking him. My hatred had abated and at that moment I felt only pleasure that I had met a person whom I could ask about the mysterious disappearance of the village.

“Don’t wave your stick about,” I said. “I haven’t come to kill you. Tell me what’s happened to the village! Were you struck by a fire? Where are all the houses?”

“Damned spawn of hell!” growled Elder Johannes. “Now you come and ask where the houses are! Yes, our village burned to the ground, and it’s your fault!”

“I didn’t put your eaves to the torch,” I protested.

“Our village burned to the ground because of unprecedented wickedness, and that wickedness was committed by you,” replied Johannes. “With your flying accomplice you killed the holy bishop himself, and for that evil murder we had to pay. The noble knights came and set our village on fire, because the murder of a holy man is a horrible sin. You’ll burn in hell for this! I tried to explain to the esteemed knights that we had not raised our hand against the holy father, that it would never occur to us to commit such a terrible murder. I explained that the bishop had been attacked by a savage, a werewolf whose dwelling place is the thick forest and who had previously bitten to death my unhappy daughter and the son in the flesh of a noble knightly lord. But the gentlemen said that it was all the same to them which boor had committed the crime. They said that we were all only brutes and savages, with no culture and no respect. They said they didn’t have time to make the distinction which of us was Christian and which wasn’t, so in any case we could all bear responsibility for the brutality of our countrymen. Then they set fire to our village and rode away on the backs of their thoroughbreds.”

“Why didn’t you resist and kill them?” I asked.

“Because we are Christians!” declared Johannes, and raised his hand to heaven, as was always his habit when he was in full spate and starting to shout. “We are not wild animals like you, and we know how to behave in the new world. In the end the noble knightly gentlemen were right; the killing of the bishop is the most terrible murder and someone had to be punished for it. If we started to rebel and attack the knightly lords, we would only be confirming their opinion that we do not belong in the ranks of civilized peoples. Therefore we took the just punishment with Christian humility, and we will build a new village. Just today I went to the castle to request permission for one, and the noble knight was good enough to give us a new chance to prove ourselves. We will rise from the ashes and one day we will stand proudly beside the other modern nations and will be precisely as good.”

I had been hearing this talk all the time I was living with Magdaleena; they all talked this kind of rubbish.

“Very nice. Carry on building a new village and become a cultured people,” I said. “Be modern and pray to your new God. I sincerely wish you success. Farewell!”

I wanted to go, but Johannes was just getting into his stride and didn’t want to stop talking so soon.

“Don’t mock, you Satan!” he screeched. “Where are you going now? Into the dark forest, to bow down before your abominable sprites and pray for the forces of hell to torment us!”

“My dear man,” I said, exasperated. “I promise you I won’t bow down in the dark forest before any sprite or pray for anything.”

“Faithless!” screamed Johannes.

“That’s true,” I replied. “I’m not ashamed of that name.”

“Murderer!”

“That’s not a lie either. But the same could be said of you, old man. Do you remember how you set fire to all the adders? By the way, what’s become of Peetrus, who put my friend onto an ants’ nest? I hope he was burned up when the iron men punished you.”

“Peetrus is the pride of our village!” declared Johannes. “It was he who discovered the dead bodies of the holy bishop and his companions and quickly called the knightly lords to strike at the house and visit punishment. As a mark of thanks he was made a servant of a knight. Just a few days ago he left these parts with his master, on a trip to the holy land, to do battle with the heathens. This is a great honor for our whole people; Peetrus is the first one of us to go so far. Along with the great and powerful peoples, our boy is now making his contribution to creating a new world.”

“I hope those heathens flay his skin,” I said. “Good night now, old man. I hope you will get chain mail before you die too; you’ve earned it in every way.”

“I’m hardly likely to get such an honor,” replied Johannes, yet from his tone I felt that he was pleased by my words. His voice became solemn. “Go on then, boy, and carry on living in your dark past like some primeval animal, a tail still growing out of your backside. I’m going the other way, and as long as I breathe, I shall strive toward the light and a new, better world!”

“Go then,” I responded. “And so that the way is easier for you …”

I pulled out my knife and stabbed the village elder in the backside.

“There!” I said, laughing, for honestly, there wasn’t an ounce of hate in that blow. I had done it simply from a sudden whim.
“Now you needn’t fear that you’ve got a tail on you. Now march away in peace; now you’re really a modern person!”

“Werewolf!” screamed Johannes, holding his hand over his bleeding backside. “Murderer! Hell is your place. That is where you’ll burn! You killed me! I’ll bleed to death!”

“Does cutting off your tail really seem so bad?” I exclaimed. “A modern person doesn’t need one. Don’t scream horribly now, like some savage! What must the noble knights think of you if you can’t behave like a civilized person? Now don’t look back at all; keep looking forward! You still have your nose to sniff the wind. What more do you need? Farewell, village elder, and good luck!”

I ran off, suppressing my laughter, but I could hear Johannes’s dreadful screaming for a long time afterward.

he prank with Johannes’s arse put me in a good mood. I strolled along homeward, humming an old Primate song, but the events of that night had not ended yet.

Somebody was calling me in Snakish. At first I thought it was some adder that had escaped incineration. I hissed back, looking for snakes, but instead I saw Meeme, who, as always, loomed out from among the tussocks.

His existence had completely slipped my mind. So, my sister and I were not the last humans! There was also Meeme, although calling him human seemed a bit of an exaggeration. He had lost his last outlines, and when I stepped closer, I couldn’t tell exactly where his body ended and the moss began. The darkness that prevailed in the forest was partly to blame for this, but Meeme really did appear to have dissolved into nature. He was like a melted snowdrift. The same moss that grew under and alongside him also grew on him. Besides, he seemed not to have moved from the spot for a long time, because he was covered by a thick layer of autumn leaves. His face was as dark as the soil
and cracked in places, and his eyes glistened at me from that carapace like dewdrops.

“You’re still alive,” said Meeme, and his voice sounded muffled, as if from underground, and it was hard to understand his words; they seemed to have collapsed in his mouth. “I didn’t dare to hope that I’d see you again.”

“So you wanted to see me?” I asked, anticipating when Meeme would raise his inseparable wineskin to his lips, take a sip, and choke a cough. I thought that might clear his throat a little, so it would be easier for me to understand what he said. But Meeme didn’t drink, and to tell the truth I couldn’t have said whether he even had hands or whether they’d rotted away so he’d have nothing to hold his wine vessel with.

“I don’t care,” he said. “I thought you should still be alive after all, and you’d turn up before I finally disintegrate, so I want to tell you something. Not that it’s important; no, it’s all senseless. But that’s the way.”

“What did you want to tell me?” I asked.

“About the Frog of the North,” said Meeme.

This was unexpected. I crouched down by Meeme and immediately sensed traces of that rotting stench that emanated from his decomposing body. I shrank away in disgust and Meeme grinned, noticing this, with his moldy mouth.

“Stinks, eh?” he asked. “Stinks! I myself don’t notice anything anymore, but I know I don’t actually exist. I have rotted away. For a few months I haven’t moved from here; I haven’t eaten or drunk. I don’t even remember the taste of wine anymore, and if anyone poured it into my mouth, it would soak into the ground like rain, because I don’t have a back any longer. I can feel plants sprouting inside me; in the spring they’ll grow right
through me like shrubs, and the goats will eat them without noticing a dead human lying under their hooves. I can’t feel my arms or legs anymore. My head has still held out, because it’s as hard as rock, but if you’d come a few days later, I wouldn’t have been able to speak. I wouldn’t have been sad, because what I have to say isn’t that important. You see I was a watchman. And before dying the watchmen have to choose a successor. As you understand, that isn’t hard for me to do; apart from you, there’s no one. You don’t have to go to the trouble if you don’t want to. The Frog of the North can get by without you. I haven’t been to see him for years. But still I thought that if I should happen to meet you again, I’d tell you, and see what you’re doing. It’s all the same to me.”

“How will I find the Frog of the North?” I asked, excited.

“You remember that ring I once gave you?” asked Meeme. “Yes, of course you remember. You came to ask me about it, but then I didn’t have a reason to give you an answer. The watchman is only allowed to reveal his secret before his death. Actually I shouldn’t have given you that key either, because you were still a child and you might have lost it, but that didn’t concern me. All this was senseless anyway. Everything had come to an end long ago and it made no difference whether I was the last watchman or if anyone else came after me. This is only the death rattle and after that comes silence anyway, and the Frog of the North will sleep his own eternal sleep in complete isolation. Maybe I even hoped that you would lose the key; then this foolishness would end sooner. Tell me, have you lost your key?”

“I don’t think so. I haven’t seen that ring for a long time, but it must still be in Mother’s shack. I’m sure I’ll find it. How is it used?”

“It’s not to do with the ring. That is only a useless trinket, pulled off the finger of some foreigner who was killed. But around the ring was a pouch—thin and so light that the slightest wind could carry it away. The ring was put in that bag as a weight, to keep the bag in place. Do you still have that pouch?”

“Yes, definitely,” I assured him. “What is it about the pouch?”

“It was made from the skin of the Frog of the North,” replied Meeme. “Once every ten thousand years the Frog of the North sheds his skin; he has already done it countless times and will go on doing it. From that skin the watchman must cut out a tiny piece, which he presents to his successor. That is the key. It will lead you to the Frog of the North.”

“How?”

“You have to eat that skin. After that everything happens by itself.”

“I’ll search for that pouch this very night,” I promised. “More than anything in this world I’ve wanted to see the Frog of the North and now it will be possible.”

“Don’t forget that he will never see you. He’s asleep and there’s nothing that would wake him. It’s a useless, silly task that you’re taking on, and I’d recommend you rather to throw that bit of skin in the fire and give up the whole thing. I had to tell you, but you don’t have to obey me.”

“But I want to see him!”

“Then off you go. Be happy, and give my greetings to that being. You’ll have the happiness of dying with his help.”

He closed his eyes. That was the last time I saw him alive, because I rushed straight to my mother’s hovel to look for the ring and the pouch, and when several days later I happened upon that place again, Meeme was no longer speaking. His face had
crumbled away, and there was nothing left of him but a soggy substance, a puddle among the bushes that you could hop over if you didn’t want to get your feet wet.

I hurried homeward and found my own dwelling, silent and cool. It was long since anyone had lit a fire in the inglenook, and the smell of roast meat, which had never left the walls of our home, and that always made your mouth water as soon as you stepped over the threshold, had now vanished. Although I had thought that seeing my home again could not move me, I felt something catching in my throat as I looked at that dark and empty room. But for the moment I was still too occupied by my wish to find the Frog of the North, so there was no time for giving in to sad memories. I started rummaging in chests and drawers, and after a few moments the ring and its pouch were in my hands.

Impatiently I shook the ring out of its precious skin and it rolled with a clink onto the floor like useless rubbish. I studied the pouch, stroked it with my fingers, and came to the threshold to inspect the skin of the Frog of the North better in the moonlight. The little strip of skin was really thin; if you raised it to your eyes, the moon shone clearly through it. I was so excited that it was hard to breathe. I folded the piece of skin into a tiny square and put it in my mouth. I didn’t even have to swallow it; the skin of the Frog of the North seemed to dissolve on my tongue. I held my breath and waited to see what would happen to me next. I wouldn’t have been surprised if my body had suddenly caught fire, or if I had grown all at once to the height of the highest trees in the forest. But nothing happened to me.
I was still standing on the threshold of my old home with the moon shining on me, but I knew where the Frog of the North was sleeping.

That knowledge did not come to me as an unexpected blow and did not invade my brain as a flash of lightning. It simply seemed to occur to me—like something you have long ago forgotten and quite by chance comes back to your mind. It was roughly: Oh yes, how could I have forgotten such a simple thing in the meantime? I had been seeking the Frog of the North throughout the forest, but his hiding place was so easy to discover! It almost wasn’t a hiding place at all; after eating the piece of skin it appeared to me that anyone could easily stumble on the Frog of the North; he was right here. Throughout my life I had been walking past the mouth of the cave beyond which he was sleeping his eternal sleep, and I had never thought to step inside.

I closed the door of my own home behind me and stepped in from the opening that yawned right opposite my old shack—which I had nevertheless never paid heed to before. A wide passage led me straight ahead, slowly descending into the depths of the earth. A light glimmered ahead of me. It was warm and gentle and didn’t become too bright or dazzling even as I approached it. The Frog of the North was glowing like a smoldering fire.

Now I saw him. He really did exist, this famous Frog of the North of whom I’d heard so much and whom I’d longed to meet ever since I was a child. He was even bigger and more splendid than I had ever been able to imagine, majestic and awe-inspiring. I made a circuit around him, excited and happy. I was finally here! I hadn’t dared to hope that I would after all one day see the Frog of the North: even Uncle Vootele had said he
had disappeared forever and would never rise again. No human being was supposed to ever get to see him again, yet I had seen him all the same.

The Frog of the North was lying on his stomach, the great wings on his back neatly folded together, his eyes closed. His enormous claws had sunk into the soft sand. The Frog of the North was asleep, and his sleep was peaceful and deep. This was not an aged creature, dozing through its last days toward death, too feeble and tired to move its heavy eyelids. No, the Frog of the North was large and strong; he still had plenty of life force in him, and one could only imagine what he might still be capable of, if any power could wake him up.

But there was no such power. Thousands of Snakish words uttered in unison might have driven him to mysterious dreams, but only I, his last watchman, his last guardian, still existed. Everyone else had found some more interesting activity; they were already living in a new world, where the Frog of the North was only a figure of ancient legends that grandmothers told in the evenings by their spinning wheels.

I crouched beside the Frog of the North and stroked him, patted his strong yet so smooth skin. He was very warm, and when I pressed my back against him, I felt pleasure. I had a good and certain feeling when I leaned against this sleeping giant. I knew that I could even climb up on his back; it wouldn’t disturb the sleep of the Frog of the North. Nothing in this world could disturb or kill him. He was eternal—he was and he remained—yet at the same time he was separated from final dissolution by an extremely fragile thread, and that thread was myself. The world had turned away from him, betrayed and forgotten him, left the powerful Frog of the North in a vacuum. I was his only
companion. After me he would have to disappear, because that of which no one knows anything, and which no one has ever seen, actually no longer exists. He was the living dead.

Yet how differently everything could have gone! I didn’t feel anger but helpless sadness when I thought of how simple it would have been for us to fight and win, if we had not in a wave of madness abandoned Snakish. For centuries that power had served us, hovering as a menacing yet protective storm cloud over our heads. This had been our secret weapon, which no one else was able to use or knew how to. Now we too were among the others, and the Frog of the North simply slept and slept and no one called on him.

But the world changes, some things fall into oblivion, some rise to the surface. The time for Snakish has passed; one day this new world with its gods and iron men will be forgotten, and something new will be invented.

I leaned against the Frog of the North and closed my eyes. I felt good here; I didn’t intend to ever leave here again.