Andrus Kivirähk - The Man Who Spoke Snakish

He wriggled into the undergrowth like some great lizard, whose enemy has nipped his tail off.

“How old is he really?” asked Hiie.

“About eighty,” I answered. “I don’t know exactly. Uncle and Mother always spoke of him as someone ancient and long departed.”

“He certainly is ancient,” said Hiie. “I’m a little afraid of him, but I find him very refreshing. It’s quite different to my father and mother’s obsession with the past. What they do smells musty, but your grandfather is just like some plant that simply blossoms even though winter has arrived.”

We snuggled in each other’s arms, but for a long time I got no sleep, thinking of my unexpectedly discovered grandfather. In a way he reminded me of Uncle Vootele, although in a much wilder form. They were made from the same tree, except that Uncle Vootele was the tree’s smooth and strong trunk, which a storm might be able to break, while Grandfather was like a coarse and tough root pulled from deep in the ground, which not even a bear would have the strength to twist in half. And I was the crown of the tree, bending with the wind and fragile. I was the top, where the branches become so fine that they couldn’t even bear a little warbler. Nothing was higher than I was, only the sky, empty and blue.

But at this moment all that seemed unimportant. Hiie snuffled to sleep on my arm; she had ears that stuck out a little from her head, and she looked like a little rat. I pressed my nose against her cheek and fell promptly to sleep.

Grandfather woke us in the morning with a loud hiss, splitting the ear like a knife and scaring away sleep at once. Hiie and I leapt up. Grandfather was sprawled beside us, in the sunlight even hairier and more wrinkled, and winked his eye.

“Come and eat!” he said. “I’ve roasted a whole deer for you. Eat as much as you can; the rest you can take to Saaremaa with you.”

Grandfather lived in a very peculiar structure, built partly of wood, partly of stones. One can only imagine what effort Grandfather had required to roll the knee-high rocks into place. He couldn’t lift them, so had to push the stones in front of him as he crawled like an ant. At the same time one could only wonder at the force that Grandfather had shown in dragging whole tree trunks into place. I couldn’t resist asking Grandfather how such a thing was possible, but he only snorted vaguely and said that the house had to be strong, or it would not be able to withstand war.

“I can never know when some ship might sail to this island, so full of iron men and their henchmen that I can’t kill them all at once,” explained Grandfather. “Then I’ll need a fortress to go into, to resist a siege. Here between the stones I have all kinds of narrow passages that I can wriggle through, to attack the iron men by surprise, but they won’t find me in the maze of stone and wood.”

“But still, how did you manage it?” I persisted. “You don’t have legs. You’re alone, but these stones and beams weigh … I don’t know how much.”

“Ah!” chuckled Grandfather. “It’s not worth talking about. Every true man in the olden days could manage with stones and trees. Come on in. I’ll cut the venison for you and show you my bowls.”

We went to the fireplace, on which a huge stag was roasting. Nearby stood a stack of hundreds of skulls — all properly scrubbed to a polish and with the excess holes stopped up with precious stones and gold. These were apparently ornaments and treasures carried by those unfortunate iron men whom a cruel fate had led to this island that at first sight seemed so beautiful and safe, but in whose grass lurked a cruel Grandfather, fangs in his mouth.

Grandfather filled three bowls with springwater.

“Water from this spring is especially sweet and pure,” he said. “There you are, children! Drink! Your skull, Hiie, belonged to a monk. But yours, Leemet, was the chief of the iron men. Let’s drink a toast!”

We knocked together the beakers made of skulls and drank the springwater. I can’t say that drinking from such strange vessels didn’t induce a certain hesitation. Hiie’s hand trembled a little as she raised the cranium to her lips, and I feared that the springwater might have the taste of death. But no, the water was really pure and amazingly delicious. Actually I had to admit that Grandfather was very reasonable. What else was he to do with the crania of the iron men? Now a use had been found for useless objects. It’s very pleasant to drink from skulls. I emptied mine and filled it again.

“Isn’t it good?” nodded Grandfather. “Making these bowls is my passion. I don’t actually need that many of them, just the one would be enough for me, but I simply like carving. Every cranium has its own peculiarities. Some are oblong; others are as round as a lingonberry. Some have a lump on the side. Some are very small. Look at this one! It just makes you laugh. You might think it was a rat’s skull! But actually this was on top of this man’s neck, and the man himself had a quite ordinary build. He must have been extra stupid, if he had such a small head!”

“Interesting,” I said, turning over a small cranium in my hand, in which there was room for only a few sips of water.

“Did you have bowls like these at home?” inquired Grandfather. “No? Well then, I’ll give you one when you get back from visiting Möigas. Take as many as you want and take them home. That’s my wedding present.”

Hiie and I looked at each other and smiled awkwardly.

“We don’t even know if we can go back home,” said Hiie. “They wanted to sacrifice me and they’re probably looking for us even now.”

“Hit them on the head with an ax and there’s an end to it,” suggested Grandfather. “I have never feared anyone. I always went where I wanted, and soon I’ll be going again — I mean flying — when you bring me the windbag. Are your stomachs full? You’d better get going then. The sooner you leave, the faster you’ll come back, won’t you?”

He ordered us to fill the boat with meat, because “you have to eat; food gives you strength.” It was clear where my mother had acquired the practice of stuffing all relatives and friends with food. We took with us a couple of skull cups too. Grandfather ordered us to give them to Möigas the Sage. And then we were in the boat, and I tried by rowing to keep to the direction where Saaremaa was, according to Grandfather.

The trip to Saaremaa lasted quite a lot longer than our first sea journey. Maybe we could have got there a little faster, but we didn’t rush. Of course Grandfather needed the wind, but one day more or less no longer mattered to a man who has spent decades alone on an island. Time and again I rested the oars and then we bathed and cuddled and ate cold venison. This was our honeymoon, although we didn’t know it at that moment. We were simply happy to be together with no one disturbing us, apart from the inquisitive seals who poked their heads out of the water and watched us with great interest. There were also several sorts of small and large fish splashing in the sea whose dark backs could be seen quickly slipping past as you looked into the water. We could have caught them, but we didn’t bother. It wasn’t possible for us to cook fish in the boat, and there was plenty of venison. I tried to keep our course by the sun and we were more drifting than rowing toward Saaremaa.

By evening we still hadn’t got far, and we spent the night in the boat, amid the splashing of the waves, and the gurgling caused by the seals rising to the surface and then sinking to the depths of the sea. In the morning we woke early and I tried to work out where we had got to. On the horizon appeared something dark, which apparently was a shore. I put the oars in the water and started to row, but the boat didn’t move from the spot.