Andrus Kivirähk - The Man Who Spoke Snakish

“Good morning!” he said. “Time to get up.”

“Is it spring already?” I asked incredulously. It seemed to me that we had arrived here in the cave only yesterday.

“Who would know that in this darkness?” answered Uncle. “But let’s go and look. I believe it’s beautiful weather outside.”

“But the others are still asleep,” I said.

“Let them sleep,” replied Uncle. “We can be the first to see the new spring.”

We climbed out of the cave and, for the first moment, were dazzled by the bright light. The sun, which we had not seen for so long, shimmered through the treetops at us. We kept our eyes shut for a while, and only later did we dare to peep out through our eyelashes.

It really was spring. Here and there was still some snow, but you could see the first flowers by the forest and the air smelled of freshly fallen rain. We gulped down the fresh air and rubbed our faces with the last of the snow; it was so good after a long sleep underground. The last of the sleepiness vanished from our bodies and I felt that I didn’t want to sleep again for several years; the fresh spring air in my lungs for a long time made me feel so alive.

“Let’s go and walk around a bit,” said Uncle. “Our legs have withered away after lying around so long.”

It was very exciting to see the forest again after the winter months I’d spent in the snakes’ cave. Here and there was a tree half-broken under the weight of snow, and in the bushes you could find traces of wolves’ meals — the strong bones of deer, the more delicate skeletons of goats. The forest was familiar, but at the same time a little different, and the change was fascinating and arousing, like a girl’s new hairstyle. The forest was like an adder that had moulted. The tempering carpet of snow had given it a youthful flush; the first spring rain had washed it clean.

“Shall we go and eat a little?” suggested Uncle. “We’ve been licking the sugar-stone all winter; now we’d like something a bit more substantial. How would a cold haunch of venison do? I wouldn’t say no!”

I agreed enthusiastically. The sugar-stone, which had filled our stomachs so well up to now, suddenly seemed mushy, and my mouth started to water when I imagined a properly dry-cured piece of meat, tough and good tasting between the teeth.

We went to Uncle Vootele’s place. Under his shack he had a deep cellar, where he kept his store of food, and there was a decent stack of venison left from the autumn. Uncle Vootele opened the hatch and we climbed down inside.

“If you don’t mind, I think we’ll eat right here,” said Uncle. “Then I don’t have to worry about setting the table. We’ll eat simply, like men. You take that shank, I’ll take this one, and let’s get on with it.”

I sank my teeth into the shank and with great pleasure tore off tasty pieces of meat, which cleared away the last remnants of the snakes’ sugar-stone from my mouth, and with that, the winter was over for me. Everything was again as before: I was awake, eating meat, and had a whole long year ahead of me. At that moment I was extremely pleased with my life. I had everything I needed — Uncle beside me, a hunk of venison in my hand, and the Snakish words in my mouth. I felt strong and vigorous.

It was at that moment that Uncle started coughing.

He had a bone picked half clean in his hand; he picked at it in a frenzy, and his face turned so red that the skin of it seemed to be ripped off, revealing raw flesh. He was choking wildly, his cough turned into a croak and a horrible rattle. He threw the bone from his hand and tried to beat his own back with his fist.

Only now did I realize that something was stuck in his throat, apparently a piece of meat not chewed small enough, or a little bone. I rushed to Uncle’s aid, pounded on his shoulder blade, but now he was making even more horrifying sounds, whimpering, wheezing, and finally fell on his belly, his eyes bulging and his mouth agape.

He fell silent. He was dead.

Of course I didn’t realize this immediately. I shook my uncle, turned him onto his back, beat on his belly, even put my hand between his jaws and groped around, hoping to find the piece that had lodged in his throat and pull the meat out, to save my uncle, wake him up again, do something to make that horrible expression leave his face, something to make him get up, spit, and start chatting to me again, as he did before, as he had always done.

But I didn’t find anything in Uncle’s mouth apart from a swollen tongue, and then I decided to drag him out of the cellar, into the fresh air, so that Uncle could recover in the spring wind and not die.

Uncle was big and heavy; I was slender and weak. It was terribly difficult to haul him out of the cellar, but I tried anyway, pulling as hard as I could, snuffling profusely but not crying — which is strange, but evidently I was in such a state that I still hoped to save Uncle and had no time to fall into despair. I had to get him out of the cellar, because outside there was fresh air, there were snakes, there was my mother — yet none of them could help my precious uncle.

Pushing from below and hauling from above, I managed to get Uncle halfway up the ladder, and I whispered to myself under my breath, “Just a little more!” The tip of my tongue was hanging out from my great effort, my hair covered with sweat from the exertion and the terrible fear. I climbed past Uncle, seized him with one arm, clutching the side of the hatch with the other, and tried to pull. The next moment I plunged with Uncle’s corpse back into the cellar, the hatch fell onto the hole, the light vanished, and I realized, with a shooting pain that made me yelp, that I had broken my arm.

It was a dreadful pain; I lay for a while in the middle of the pitch-darkness, whimpering and weeping on the ground. Then I started to scream: I yelled for help with all my might until my voice broke and I was barely able to croak, needles prodding my torn throat. Then I wept again, realizing that no one could hear me, for Uncle and I were the first to wake; the snakes were still asleep, so were Mother and Salme, and a long time would pass before they would wake and come looking for me.

I didn’t dare move, because my broken arm was burning with pain, and in the end I fell asleep from exhaustion and despair. When I awoke, I no longer knew if it was day or night, since in the darkness of the cellar I couldn’t see even my own finger, and I had no idea how long I’d been asleep.

My arm was still hurting, but I understood that it would do me no good to lie motionless like that, and so cautiously got to my knees, supporting the damaged arm delicately with the other. It was an awful pain, but I took no notice of it, and began slowly moving forward on my knees, until I bumped into the wall. Then I turned around and went to the other side, and came across a mass that was lying on the floor.

At first I thought it was Uncle, and I got a fright, because I was now reconciled to the fact that my uncle was dead. Stumbling over a human corpse in a dark space is not the most pleasant experience. It was strange that Uncle, whom I loved so much, had now changed into something frightening; I saw in front of me his face swollen from suffocation, his bulging eyes and wide open mouth, his grinning teeth, and the darkness multiplied the intensity of my memory. Cold shivers ran up my back when I thought that that corpse with its gaping jaws was lying right here and maybe staring through the darkness right at me now with its glassy eyes. I swiftly jumped aside when the mass touched my knees, and whimpered as a shooting pain ran through my arm.

Then I recalled that somewhere on the cellar floor had lain a large dried haunch of venison. I pulled myself together and stretched out my good arm to find out what it was. I was terribly afraid, because I had to stretch it out in the darkness, and my fingers could very easily find themselves between my dead uncle’s teeth. But I was lucky: it was a piece of venison. I ate it; there was a great deal of meat, and I knew that at least for now I wasn’t threatened with starvation.