The Man Who Spoke Snakish (9 page)

A little before midnight Uncle Vootele and I set out on our way. I felt completely secure with him, and no longer feared Ülgas at all. What could he do to me, with Uncle Vootele defending me? Let him sacrifice his own long nose to the sprite, if he wanted to spill some blood!

It was dark by the lake and the water glistened dimly. Even now in the middle of summer, the lake seemed to be covered with a strange black ice, and you could easily believe that underneath lived a bloodthirsty sprite. I felt a little uneasy and would have liked to hold Uncle Vootele by the hand, but I was too ashamed, because I saw myself as a big boy now. So I just stood close enough to Uncle to smell the consolation of his scent.

“Ülgas!” cried Uncle. “Are you here?”

“Yes, I am here,” the sage’s voice resounded. “Very good that you came with the boy, Vootele. You will help me with the sacrifice and keep the wolves’ legs bound. You must have heard what a terrible desecration your nephew committed.”

“I did indeed,” said Uncle. “But I’m afraid I won’t manage to keep anyone’s legs bound if I have to keep scratching my own; there are so many mosquitoes here! We haven’t brought the wolves with us. You must understand, Ülgas, that killing them is not the wisest idea. What use will you get from it?”

“You haven’t brought the wolves with you?” repeated the sage, as I saw him emerge from the bushes, a long knife in his hand. “What is that supposed to mean? I need to sacrifice the wolves to placate the lake-sprite, for otherwise he will flood the whole forest.”

“How will he do that? How can this little lake bury a whole forest under itself?”

“How do you know how big the lake is?” shouted Ülgas. “What you see with your own foolish eyes is only the roof of the lake-sprite’s castle! The depths of the earth are full of water, of which he is the master! If we don’t allay his wrath, he will raise all that water to the surface, and then even the highest spruce trees will be drowned!”

“Do you actually believe what you’re saying? Ülgas, I understand that there are old customs and habits and that our people have always liked to believe that lakes and rivers are not merely large pools and streams but the same kinds of living beings as we are. And that in order to appreciate and imagine it better, all these sprites have been invented, which are supposed to live in the depths of the water. It’s a beautiful legend.”

“Invented!” thundered Ülgas. “Legend! What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what is reality,” replied Uncle. “Yes, it might be more exciting and pleasant to walk through the forest if you imagine that living inside each tree is a little tree-spirit, and that the Forest-Mother takes care of the whole forest. And yes, that stops children from simply breaking branches and damaging trees out of mischief. But we mustn’t be silly about these old stories and start cutting up wolves with a knife just because some animal swam in some forest lake. What is the lake for, if not for swimming and drinking? Goats and deer lap at this water every day!”

“Goats and deer are under the potection of the Forest-Mother, and the Forest-Mother has an agreement with the lake-sprite.”

“That’s just another beautiful legend to be told to children in the evenings. Have you, Ülgas, changed back into a child, to be telling me these things with a straight face?”

“I am the Sage of the Grove!” shouted Ülgas. “You’re a child yourself, Vootele, just as much a child as your nephew, who arrogantly disturbs the peace of the sacred lake and knows nothing of the old customs. I have heard that you are teaching him Snakish, but you should also teach him how to respect the sprites and the sacred grove. Obviously you don’t have enough knowledge yourself for that—and no wonder, because I see you very rarely bringing sacrifices to the grove! You think that Snakish words are the only source of wisdom, but you forget that Snakish has no effect on sprites!”

“That is true,” agreed Uncle. “For otherwise I would certainly have been able to converse with them.”

“Don’t mock me! You are just showing your own ignorance. Only a sage may talk to the sprites—one who knows the most secret arts. I am the mediator between men and sprites, and when I say that all your wolves must be sacrificed to placate the lake-sprite, it is your business to obey. So go and bring the wolves here!”

“Be reasonable, Ülgas! You know that I’m not that stupid.”

“Bring the wolves here!” yelled the sage. I began to fear for my uncle. Ülgas had a long knife in his hand, and he looked crazed enough to try it out on Uncle. It was very possible that his lust for sacrifice had so boiled his blood that he simply had to leap at somebody’s throat. But Uncle Vootele didn’t seem afraid of the sage.

“Ülgas, there are very few of us left in this forest. We are the last, and very possibly even some of us will move to the village. Sooner or later our time will end, and all of your sprites will be forgotten. So is there any sense in poisoning these few years we have left to us with silly madness? Ülgas, I’m afraid that you are the last Sage of the Grove, and after your death no one will remember that there lives in this lake a sprite, and if the villagers come around here picking berries, they will swim contentedly here, and their brats will piss in your sacred water.”

“How dare you!” roared Ülgas. “It’s just because of people like you that our life in the forest has become so miserable! A hundred years ago the grove wasn’t large enough to accommodate all of the people who came to pay their respects, and the sacrificial stones were flowing with warm blood, shed for the honor of the sprites and the Forest-Mother. In those days nobody would have dared to speak to a sage in the way you do, railing against him and making a mockery of his commands. Now I know why your nephew holds
nothing sacred and associates with the Primates. He learned it all from you! Why don’t you just move to the village, to be with the misfits, your own kind? That’s where you belong!”

“I don’t want to go to the village,” replied Uncle calmly. “I like the forest; it’s my home. I just don’t like you, Ülgas, but luckily the forest is big and we don’t often meet.”

“But if you’re a true Estonian, you must visit the sacred grove!” jeered Ülgas. “There you’ll meet me whether you like me or not!”

“That’s why I don’t go there anymore,” said Uncle. There’s nothing of interest there. And if you want to regard me as a false Estonian in that case, then I don’t care. It’s all the same to me.”

“The sprites will punish you,” warned Ülgas.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Ülgas!” laughed Uncle. “You know yourself that that’s rubbish. Or if you don’t, you must really be feebleminded. Good night!”

He turned to go.

“Are you going to bring the wolves?” shouted Ülgas.

“I can’t be bothered debating with you anymore. I’m going home. If you have to kill some wolves tonight, why not hunt some in the forest? There are enough untamed animals wandering about there. Good hunting!”

“They are no use! I need that boy’s wolves, because he insulted the sprite. You must bring them!”

“I won’t. Go home, Ülgas, and drink some tea to calm yourself down.”

“Then I’ll take your blood!” growled the sage in a terrible voice, flinging himself upon Uncle. But Uncle was quicker, and dodged him. The next moment Ülgas screeched piercingly and dropped the knife, for Uncle had sunk his teeth into his arm and spat a little piece of bloody flesh onto the grass.

“You got what you wanted,” he hissed, and at that moment I didn’t recognize my calm and gentle uncle, for a wild red fire burned in his eyes, and the lines of his face were contorted with a terrible rage. “A pity that I haven’t inherited my father’s fangs, for then you would not see tomorrow. Keep away from me, Ülgas, and leave the boy alone too, if you don’t want me to tear you into little pieces!”

Ülgas did not reply; he had sunk to the grass, wailing as he stroked his arm and staring at Uncle Vootele in terror.

Some time passed in silence. The fire in Uncle’s eyes was slowly extinguished. He went to the lakeshore and washed his mouth clean of the sage’s blood.

“Go and rest for a couple of days in your own grove, then come back here, and you’ll see that the lake is still lapping in the same spot, and everything is nice and peaceful,” he said soothingly. “This lake has never risen above its shores. Don’t panic about the sprites! They won’t even make your feet wet, unless you go for a dip yourself.”

Ülgas did not respond in any way. We left him moping by the lake and set off for home. Uncle Vootele didn’t say a word, seemingly a bit embarrassed in front of me. I had really never seen him lose his self-control like that before. It was as if a wolf had awoken within him. But I felt proud of him. What an uncle he was! The Sage of the Grove had collapsed before his rage like a rotten tree stump.

I took my uncle by the hand. He squeezed my palm tenderly. Striding homeward through the nocturnal forest, I felt safe.

he next day we heard many interesting things. My friend Pärtel came and told me that Ülgas had explained at great length to his parents how my uncle Vootele had, because of his stubbornness and pride, almost drowned the whole forest. The lake-sprite had been enraged when he was deprived of the wolves’ blood he required. He had emerged from the lake in the shape of a black bull, raising the waters of the lake at his heels, rumbling and threatening like some gigantic subterranean cloud crawling out of its lair. But then Ülgas had demonstrated his true heroism and astounding wisdom. Thanks to some miraculous tricks, he had managed to pacify the sprite after all by throwing a thousand weasels into the lake, in place of the wolves’ blood. Thus the sprite was appeased and, at least for the moment, the forest spared from terrible danger.

I told Uncle Vootele the story I’d heard from Pärtel, and my uncle said that now Ülgas had proved that he was a complete liar and a phony.

“Up to now you could still think that he is just a simpleminded man who really does believe in fairies and is afraid of
offending them, but this story of the black bull and the thousand weasels is obviously nonsense. Where would he find a thousand weasels at night? Not even with the strongest Snakish words could you summon up so many. He made up this story to explain away why the lake is still in place. Now he can brag that he saved the forest. I tell you I won’t be going to the grove anymore. And there’s nothing for you there either.”

I agreed completely with my uncle, not least because after what happened on the lakeshore that night I feared Ülgas like fire. I still had a fixed image of him roaring at my uncle on the shore. I wouldn’t just avoid the grove; I would keep out of Ülgas’s way completely from now on. And since I spent most of my time with Ints, who, like all adders, kept his distance from humans and could even tell exactly who it was approaching, it wasn’t hard for me to avoid the Sage of the Grove.

One day the three of us—Ints, Pärtel, and I—were together in the forest, when the adder suddenly stopped and listened, saying, “Someone’s coming.”

“Ülgas?” I asked, getting quickly to my feet to walk away.

“No, Tambet.”

That didn’t change things. Tambet was just as unwelcome as the sage. He had never liked me, but after the incident with the louse Tambet actually hated me. Ülgas must have told him the whole story, and quite naturally he did not have a good word to say about either me or Uncle Vootele. I had met Tambet once since then, and it was horrible. I was with my mother, and when Tambet saw me, his whole body trembled; he gesticulated and screamed, “You wretched brat! I knew it—everyone born in the village is rotten inside!”

“Don’t scream at my son!” bawled Mother. She was not at all afraid of Tambet and liked to tell the story about how Tambet had once made a pass at her many years ago. The young Tambet had wanted to make an impression on my young mother, so had climbed up a spruce tree and brought down several combs of wild bees’ honey. Then he called on my mother, but was ashamed to be carrying the honey in front of everyone, so he popped the combs inside his jacket, against his stomach. Having reached my mother’s place he wanted to proudly hand over the delicacy, but oh dear—the honey had become warm and started to melt, it had stuck to the hairs of the young man’s stomach and dripped down, so it wasn’t possible to take it out from under his coat. Young Tambet’s face went red and he tried to sit in such a way that no one would notice how uncomfortable he was, but my fanged grandfather noticed him squirming and bawled out: “What have you got there? Show me!” And when Tambet stammered something in response, Grandfather grabbed him by the collar and ripped the jacket open, revealing Tambet’s tummy and his willy all covered in honey. It was hilarious, said Mother, when Tambet tried to clean off the honey clinging to his lower body, puffing and panting, driven mad with shame. Finally they invited a bear in to lick Tambet clean, but when he saw what part of his body he actually had to lick, he refused, saying that he was a male. At this point in the story she usually stopped, laughing so much that she fell to the floor, and when I asked her later what became of Tambet and his honey-flavored willy, Mother just waved her hand and replied, “Well, he must have got it off himself somehow; he can’t still have honey on it. But then, I haven’t had the opportunity to look.”

Obviously, with memories like that, Mother didn’t regard Tambet with any reverence. She got angry when anyone shouted at her son, and she responded just as loudly: “Go and kill your own wolves if you want to! You have too many of them anyway. Do you swim in their milk, or what? Go and donate them to Ülgas. Then you both can chop them up, if you like. And by the way, you’re wearing your daughter out, having to look after your beasts like some little slave! You should be ashamed. Look at how small and weak she is!”

“Leave my daughter alone!” shouted Tambet.

“And you leave my son alone! You’re always chastising him for being born in the village! Is that his fault? A person can’t choose where he comes from. And as far as where you’re born is concerned, look, you were born in the forest, and look how you turned out!”

“How did I turn out then?”

“You’re a half-wit.”

“Shut your face, you old bear’s whore!” roared Tambet. This was the worst insult that could be leveled at my mother, and even I, hearing it, had a feeling that I’d fallen headfirst into a fire. Those words were scorching.

At first my mother caught her breath; then she started a strange sputtering, as if something had got up her nose. She gripped my hand.

“Let’s go, Leemet,” she said. “I like living in the forest very much, but maybe we ought to really move to the village like the others. Only the stupidest filthy sort is left in the forest.”

She spat at Tambet, who stood, his back erect, his head covered with long gray hair down to his neck, obviously convinced that he had worthily defended the forest and its ancient ways,
and sent the disgusting traitors packing. And that time we really did flee, my mother and I, and I intended to leave anytime Tambet turned up somewhere on the horizon. That man aroused the same horror in me as Ülgas the Sage did.

So Pärtel and I slipped into the bushes, with Ints at our heels. Crouching in the shrubbery we saw Tambet passing, and we were ready to come out when Ints said, “Someone else is coming.”

It was Tambet’s daughter, Hiie. Evidently she was going somewhere with her father, but of course Tambet didn’t care if his daughter could keep up with him. He marched proudly ahead while Hiie scampered along far behind. We weren’t afraid of Hiie, so we came out of the bushes and greeted her.

Hiie was pleased to see us; she seldom had a chance to play with other children. She looked hesitantly in the direction where Tambet had vanished, but he was no longer visible. Of course she should have rushed after her father, but the temptation to stay awhile with us was too great.

We sat down in a clearing and chatted. Pärtel and Ints talked away while Hiie listened and watched, her face happy and lively, as if she were a just-hatched butterfly, emerging from its cocoon and looking excitedly at the colorful world. Though of course no one can see a butterfly’s face; it’s too tiny. Hiie was also small, very thin, and with a somehow pitiful bearing, and there was nothing we could really talk about with her. We had our own jokes that we laughed at, and our own plans that we discussed, but Hiie didn’t mind that there was a lot she didn’t understand. She was like a starving person who is offered unfamiliar food and gobbles it up gratefully. Hiie was simply delighted to hear someone else’s voice apart from her father and mother, and the wolves, whose howling she must have been really weary of.

Finally there was a pause in our chatting, and it occurred to me that we could after all ask Hiie something, if only to keep the talk going.

“Well, what’s new with you?” I ventured.

Hiie took my question very seriously. She even started frowning as she tried to recall what was actually new. The girl was obviously in trouble. So far it had been we who spoke; now it was her turn, and she didn’t want to be any worse than us, but simply nothing came into her head. Undoubtedly Hiie’s life was dreadfully monotonous. Her face turned white with the strain, and she must have been swallowing back tears, as children do when faced with shame at their own incompetence in front of others, but finally something did come to mind and she cried in a small voice: “Mummy and I are going twig-whisking in the moonlight tonight!”

This was an unexpectedly interesting piece of news. I hadn’t hoped for anything of the kind. Hiie smiled happily, because in her own estimation she had just learned the fine art of conversation.

Twig-whisking by moonlight was an old custom. Once a year all the women and older girls—toddlers were not included—went late at night into the forest, climbed as high up a tree as they could, and whisked themselves with oak-leaf switches by the light of the moon. The moon had to be full, and the whisking continued until the moon went down. It was believed that this whisking gave the women vigor, and in a sense that was right, because those old women who could no longer climb trees, and thereby missed the whisking, did not live on much longer.

Men did not go whisking, and didn’t even know when the night of the full moon would be. The women never told them;
they slipped secretly out of their huts while the men were asleep. By the morning, when the men woke up, the women would already be at home, imbued with a kind of golden glow. How the women all knew exactly when it was the right night was something that not a single man knew.

Like any boys, Pärtel and I had dreamed of some day coming upon women whisking in the moonlight and seeing exactly how it was done. But we never managed to. I kept a watchful eye on Mother but it was no use. What is more, whisking by moonlight could take place in winter or summer, autumn or spring. In the evenings there was nothing to suggest that Mother had anything in mind, yet in the morning her face would be aglow as she roasted the haunch of venison, rejoicing at how fresh her body felt after a good sauna. In recent years Salme had joined Mother for the whisking, and yet I’d never woken at the right moment to follow them and see it for myself.

So it was clear why the news we heard from Hiie excited Pärtel and me. Tonight we had a chance to realize a long-held dream.

“Are you sure about it?” I asked Hiie.

“Yes!” replied the girl. “Mummy told me this morning.”

“Have you been twig-whisking before?” asked Pärtel.

“No,” answered Hiie, terribly excited that our conversation was going on so long.

She would have liked to answer dozens more questions and reveal all her secrets to us, if she had any. She was glad to sit with us and keep us company until winter if she could. But then her father’s voice resounded through the forest.

“Hiie!” shouted Tambet. “Where are you?”

“Daddy’s calling!” piped Hiie, and leapt up, a look of fear on her face. I felt so sorry for her at that moment! Life must
always have been terrifying with the stern Tambet. I promised myself that I would call in on the girl more often. Looking at Hiie somehow called to mind a little insect caught in a spider’s web, struggling helplessly. I would have liked to save her, but sadly Hiie was not caught in a web but in her own home. You cannot save a child from her father, however terrifying he is. We waved to Hiie, who likewise timidly gestured to us, and we ran back into the bushes. Tambet was approaching with long strides.

“Where did you get to?” he demanded.

“You were walking so fast I couldn’t keep up,” stammered Hiie. “Then you disappeared out of sight and I didn’t know where to go.”

“Don’t you know the forest paths then? Oh, these children today! In the old days no one got lost in the forest, no one at all!”

He grabbed Hiie by the hand.

“Come on now!”

And he marched off at such a pace that Hiie had to practically run along beside him.

Quite naturally Pärtel and I planned to go that night to look at the women whisking. We invited Ints along, but to our surprise the adder said that he’d seen women whisking themselves several times already and he wasn’t interested.

“Why didn’t you mention that before?” we retorted.

“I didn’t think it would interest you,” said the adder. “There’s nothing special about it—just naked women sitting on treetops hitting themselves with oak switches. I was crawling past under the trees and I didn’t really bother to look up.”

“You could have invited us, or warned us when the day was coming around again!”

“I didn’t even know you then. And even I can’t be sure exactly what day the women will climb the tree to whisk themselves. I saw them quite by accident. Adders see everything that goes on in the forest, but we don’t keep account of it. I don’t understand. Is this whisking really so thrilling?”

“Oh, it’s totally thrilling!” Pärtel and I assured him. We were excited by the opportunity of uncovering this jealously guarded secret. Might we be the first men to see women whisking on treetops? We knew of no one who could boast that. But aside from that it was a thrill to think about coming upon a big group of naked women. We were old enough to feel an interest in such things. For example, there was Salme with her friends. And Hiie—poor little thing—it obviously hadn’t occurred to her, in betraying the great secret to us, that she was giving us a chance to look at her naked. But maybe she wouldn’t have cared; she was just excited to be able to say something interesting to us.