Andrus Kivirähk - The Man Who Spoke Snakish

It was a bleak autumn, perhaps the bleakest in my life, because although I had lived through even sadder times and experienced much more horrible events, back then I hadn’t yet grown that thick carapace over my heart that makes all misfortunes more bearable. To put it in Snakish terms, I hadn’t yet moulted my skin, as I did several times later in life, changing into a harder covering, until my skin could withstand all but a few sensations. By now, probably nothing can penetrate it. I’m wearing a coat of stone.

With the forest seeming almost extinct I spent a lot of time at home. Nothing had changed there. Mother would spend whole days in front of the fire, roasting monstrous amounts of deer and goat. She was in a good mood because she liked her children to sit at home all day eating meat instead of wandering in the forest and turning up at the table only in the evening. I ate more than ever before, and I got fat, which pleased Mother very much. She was even more overjoyed at how Salme became nicely buxom, not least because it proved that her cooking skill hadn’t declined and the roasted haunches of venison were going down well.

Salme was also often at home that autumn. She had been used to going out in the evenings and coming back late at night; she claimed that she’d been watching the sunset. That was an obvious lie, because at that time of the year the sun set early, and you might rather say you were watching the moon rise. But one day she no longer went out, and sat sadly at the table instead, and I guessed immediately what was wrong: the bears had gone into hibernation.

In fact we were also used to snoozing through the winter. Usually in early autumn a giant amount of meat was collected, and with the forest covered in snow we stayed at home, slumbering, stirring ourselves to eat only once a day. That is what all the wiser creatures of the forest do — snakes, humans, and bears, as well as some smaller animals. In winter there was no sense in roaming around and wading through the snow; it was much smarter to conserve your strength and use the dark days for proper rest. The wolves were released into the forest to forage for their own food, and they enjoyed their winter freedom to the full, killing goats and deer, as well as village people who in their alien way didn’t sleep in the winter. Since they didn’t understand Snakish, they were easy prey for our wolves.

That year, too, we were prepared to hibernate in the usual way, when one evening Ints crawled into our place and said, “Father said to ask you whether you’d like to hibernate with us this winter. He’d be very pleased if you came.”

This was an unexpected offer, because the snakes had always hibernated on their own, in large underground caves, and I had never heard of a human spending the winter with them. But apparently there were so few humans left in the forest that the adders thought it was possible to take them in. All the more so because apart from us no one else was going there. Ülgas and Tambet would never have moved in with snakes, because snakes showed no respect for the sprites who were so vital to them. And the adders would not tolerate conjuring or spell casting or any other noise, which Ülgas would insist on.

Uncle Vootele was at our place that evening and he took it on himself to accept.

“We’d be glad to come,” he said. “It’s a great honor for us.”

We moved in with the adders a couple of days later. The first snowflakes were falling from the sky, and it was high time to set up winter quarters. Mother wanted to bring with us a large supply of venison, but the adders sent to escort us said that wasn’t necessary.

“We have plenty to eat there,” they explained. “Keep that meat for the spring; there’s no sense in hauling those hunks of flesh with you.”

I was excited. Although I had often visited the adders, I had never seen the caves where they slept in the winter. And it was wonderful to spend a whole winter with Ints, to doze beside him, and occasionally chat to each other in whispers about our dreams, until we got exhausted again and fell back to sleep. It was only Hiie that I felt sorry for, having to stay aboveground and be satisfied with spending the winter only in her mother’s and father’s company. There was nothing I could do about that; it wasn’t possible for me to bring Hiie along to join the adders.

We trudged through the forest behind two rather vulgar snakes — Mother, Salme, Uncle Vootele, and I — and then descended for a while down a gently sloping passage, until we reached a large warm hall, which was completely dark. But it was a pleasant darkness, soft and caressing. Our eyes got accustomed surprisingly quickly and soon I could see a large number of snakes, who were prettily coiled up — and in the middle of the hall stood a gigantic white stone.

Apparently it was because of that stone that I was able to see so well in the dark. The stone didn’t actually radiate light directly, but it was so pale that the dimness became transparent around it.

“What is that stone?” I asked Ints, who crawled up to me and swished his tail in greeting.

“That is our food stone,” replied Ints. “We lick it in the winter and fill our stomachs. The stone is ancient and never gets smaller. Try it once with your tongue; it’s very good!”

I stepped up to the stone and licked it. The stone was as sweet as honey and I carried on licking until I felt my stomach was terribly full. I felt I had eaten a whole deer.

“Now you won’t want to eat for several days,” said Ints. “That’s how we live in the winter here. We lick the stone, then doze for a couple of days, then we lick again. It’s quiet and warm here and sleep comes quickly.”

We settled down inside and I must admit that I only had to lie down to be overcome with delicious exhaustion. I stretched out like a fox and fell straight to sleep.

I have only the most blissful memories of that winter. Dreams floated around me, and didn’t fly away even when I half-consciously stumbled over to the white stone to get some sustenance, my eyes closed and my body weak from the pleasure of sleep. In the cozy darkness hundreds of adders were snuffling quietly in their sleep; somewhere in their midst were my mother, sister, and uncle. Everything was peaceful, everything good. Pärtel and the emigrants to the village seemed to be just shadows, forgotten as fast as the mind happened to stray to them, and I thought only of how good it is to sleep.

I swam in sleep; its waves rolled over me. I could even feel sleep; it was as soft as moss and crumbled between your fingers like sand. Sleep was all around me; it filled every groove and hole. It was at once both warm and refreshing, enfolding me like a caressing and cooling gust of wind. I had never slept so well as that winter in the adders’ cave, and never since then have I felt such pleasure in sleep, even though I often came to hibernate with the snakes. Those times were just a repetition of the enjoyment; that winter, though, being completely buried in sleep was new and especially thrilling.

I lost my sense of time and didn’t know whether I’d slept a long or a short time, but at one moment I woke up. At first I thought I simply had an empty stomach, and I crawled on all fours over to the stone, licked it, and wanted to fall back to sleep. But unexpectedly I was no longer sleepy. The sweet pleasure had vanished; I no longer sank into dreams headfirst like a stone thrown into a lake. My leg started to itch, then my ear, and finally I felt I could not lie down a moment longer, and I quickly stood up.

The adders around me were curled around each other, slumbering, and a little way away I saw Mother and Salme, also asleep. But Uncle Vootele was awake. He was sitting, scratching the beard that had grown half as long again in the winter and fixed his eyes on me.