Andrus Kivirähk - The Man Who Spoke Snakish

She was now seventeen years old, still pale and thin, not beautiful, with downcast eyes and bony shoulders. But Mõmmi was trying to snare her all the same, for bears are not attracted to women’s appearance particularly; what excites them is their scent, but Hiie would run away every time she saw Mõmmi approaching. The bear got tired of it, and since there were no more young women in the forest, he moved to a new hunting ground — the village.

He didn’t have any luck there either. The village girls were desperately afraid of Mõmmi, and every time he appeared at the edge of the forest, they all threw down their rakes and sickles and rushed with piercing screams to their houses, slammed the doors shut, and peered out of the tiny windows to see whether the ghastly wild animal was still lurking in the bushes. Mõmmi was very upset by the girls’ behavior, because he had no bad intentions. Quite the contrary, he would gladly have loved all the young maidens. There were so many of them. They smelled so sweet. And that drove the bear to distraction. Day after day he went to the edge of the forest to prowl, but it did no good. The girls only feared him all the more, while the bear went more and more in heat.

Actually Mõmmi’s adventures need not have concerned Salme at all, because it was clear that not a single village girl would let a bear into her arms; she would rather die. But Salme was still stricken with jealousy. She didn’t like Mõmmi sitting on the edge of the forest, his tongue hanging out hungrily, watching the screaming village maidens. And so I as the “only man” had to be the one to call Mõmmi to order, to go to this wicked bear at the forest edge and take him home.

That is what Mother was now asking me to do.

“He’s been prowling round there all day and Salme is quite beside herself,” she complained. “I told her the bear can’t help his nature; he simply adores all women terribly. Let him look at them. He won’t do anything with them!”

In Salme’s quarrels with Mõmmi, Mother often took the bear’s side; at any rate she loved to emphasize that she “understands bears” and wanted Salme likewise to “learn to appreciate them.” At this Salme always got very angry and shouted, “Whose mother are you, mine or Mõmmi’s?”

“Yours, of course, dear child!” replied Mother.

“Why do you defend Mõmmi?”

“Because I understand bears,” Mother began again, and so it continued for hours.

I didn’t bother to scream at Mõmmi, but as the only man I was already used to restraining my mother, my sister, and her bear, and I also knew that Mother wouldn’t leave me in peace before I did it. I could already guess her objections that would immediately follow if I were to say I was tired and wanted to go to sleep: “But she’s your sister,” “she looked after you so well when you were little,” “we’re one family; we have to help each other,” “we mustn’t stand aside.” So I ate my fill quietly and said, “All right, I’ll go. But first of all I’ll eat.”

For Mother, eating was sacred, and she was not about to hurry me up. I chewed deliberately slowly. I had told Mother a hundred times that Salme could call her bear home herself; it wasn’t difficult. Mõmmi never put up any resistance; at the first call he would get to his feet obediently and slouch to his den, sighing sadly to himself. But Mother had an answer to that: “You’re the head of the family,” followed by talk of the “only man.” I finished my roast, drank some springwater, and got up.

“So, I’ll go then,” I said.

“Do that, darling!” replied Mother. “Do your sister that favor. Don’t be angry with Mõmmi. Just tell him simply that what he’s doing is not right.”

“I never get angry with him,” I said, and went out. It was already evening and the forest was getting dark, but I could find the way with my eyes closed. Mõmmi was in exactly the same place where I’d found him more than ten times before, sitting, looking toward the village and sighing longingly. He understood immediately why I’d come, and started getting up, but I didn’t say anything to him — just sat down next to him and joined him, staring at the village.

They were making fire. A great bonfire was blazing at the edge of the village, and around it skipped young people — boys and girls. Pärtel must have been among them there; I hadn’t seen him since the time we got into a quarrel. I didn’t recognize him; all those village boys looked the same, broad shouldered with fat red faces. I didn’t like them at all; they seemed dull witted. But the girls were beautiful, much more beautiful than Hiie and more beautiful than my sister. So no wonder that Mõmmi went spying on them every day.

“So many girls!” said Mõmmi dreamily. Then he looked at me and winked, man to man. “You like them too, don’t you?”

“I do,” I admitted, somehow against my will.

I had tried to keep as far away from the village as possible; I didn’t want to have anything to do with it. But the girls really were beautiful. I couldn’t deny it.

We sat for a while looking at the villagers.

The boys led the girls to dance. The girls didn’t refuse; they took the boys by the waist and whirled around the fire with them. I suddenly felt very bad, got up, and said to the bear: “That’s enough, come home! Salme will be worrying. What’s the meaning of coming here every evening?”

“I can’t help it,” replied Mõmmi. “I’m driven here. Salme’s a nice woman, but sometimes I want someone fresh so badly.”

“And what is Salme then? I think she’s still fresh.”

“Salme’s like last year’s honey,” said the bear somewhat bitterly. “It’s good too, but …” He didn’t finish the sentence.

“You’re shameless you are. How can you talk about my sister that way! You’re like honey yourself, sticking to everything. Now go home and try and stay there. It’s really annoying having to come and fetch you every evening.”

“But you can look at beautiful girls yourself then, can’t you?” asked Mõmmi, suddenly mischievous, nudging me with his cold black nose in the groin. This was so unexpected that I blushed and couldn’t reply. Mõmmi sniffed the scent of the girls wafting toward him from the village for the last time and lumbered into the bushes. I didn’t get up to accompany him. Why should I get involved in other creatures’ family quarrels?

can’t say that I hadn’t thought about girls from time to time. There just weren’t any of them in the forest, apart from Hiie. Mother was dead certain that one day I would take Hiie as my wife. I wasn’t so sure. In fact if I hadn’t seen a single other girl I might have thought that all women are like Hiie and been resigned to my fate. But I had a sister, who might not have been a first-class beauty, but was still luscious and fluffy in every way. I remembered her girlfriends too, whom Pärtel and I used to go and peep at when they were whisking themselves stark naked in the trees. There were some real beauties among them. Now they had all moved away to the village, but the village wasn’t exactly seven seas away; in fact it was quite close to us, and there was nothing to stop me from roaming to the edge of the forest every once in a while.

Yes, I was no better than Mõmmi; I too went spying on the village girls. I’d seen them gathering hay and cutting grain with a scythe and — why hide it — even bathing in the lake. I knew very well what a girl should look like, and Hiie was nothing compared to the village maidens. She was sweet and nice, and we met and chatted often, but on no occasion did I feel a wish to caress her. She was a different sort. There are certain species of flower that seem to demand to be picked, with every color of their blossom radiating at you in a meadow, and you notice them even among the tallest grass. As a child I was very fond of picking flowers and presenting them to Mother. In the early spring when the first yellow coltsfoot appeared, I would pick them and take them home. Yet the coltsfoot is not really a flower; it withers indoors almost right away, but with its golden florets it stands out from the dead spring grass, asking to be picked. That’s to say nothing of the later globeflowers, chamomiles, bellflowers, and poppies. As a child I just couldn’t walk peacefully past them; even when I was in a hurry somewhere, my foot would falter when I saw their many-colored blooms and I felt a terrible desire to go and pick flowers.