Andrus Kivirähk - The Man Who Spoke Snakish

“Even though walking on this flat ground isn’t easy at all,” said Pirre. “The old Primates were so wise to build their houses in the treetops. All illnesses and disasters come from walking on the ground.”

He sat down with a sigh and rubbed his tired soles.

By this time we had reached the shore and the louse was prancing around Hiie like mad. I took two skulls from the boat and handed them to the Primates.

“These were made by my grandfather,” I added. “I’m giving them to you.”

The Primates turned the beakers over in their hands.

“Beautiful work,” they declared appreciatively. “Ancient work! These days no one knows how to make these tankards, and all skulls are left to rot. But don’t take it wrongly if we don’t accept them anyway. You understand we have our principles and these skulls are too modern for us.”

“How so? You said yourselves that they’re ancient work,” I said.

“In the sense of handicraft, they are,” replied Pirre with a smile. “But look at the material. Look at this cranium, its curves and angles. This is a human skull of today; obviously the owner of this skull must have been an iron man or a monk. Objects of this kind of material we don’t take into our homes on principle. It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

I wasn’t going to argue with the Primates. Moreover, I didn’t get the opportunity. At that same moment, Ülgas rushed onto the beach screaming, “Caught you! I knew that Tambet would find you and bring you home by the ears. The sprites never let one of their sacrifices go.”

It was obvious that like the louse Ülgas had been impatiently expecting us, except that while the louse’s aim had been to rub itself against Hiie’s legs with great abandon, the sage wanted to kill us, and as quickly as possible. He looked repulsive: flaky skin clung around his bones, his long gray hair fluttered in the wind, and his eyes sat so deep in their sockets that from a distance they appeared to be empty.

His head is a ready-made chalice, I thought. It only needs to be lopped off the neck. I showed Ülgas the mug I had wanted to give Pirre, and cried, “All that’s left of your friend Tambet is a mug! You want it? I can give it to you. But there’s probably no point. Soon I’ll be making one out of your head.”

When I had said that, I leapt at Ülgas and struck him with my knife. Within me foamed up a colossal anger. I wanted to chop off Ülgas’s head and was enjoying the anticipation of the moment when a thick cascade of blood would burst forth from the stump of his neck. But I was too inexperienced in this sort of activity and, as it happened, I had missed, and didn’t hack off the sage’s head but only cut his right ear and cheek. Ülgas’s face streamed with blood, and on the sand lay, beside part of the cheek, a single ear, from which a gray wisp bristled.

Ülgas began yelping and fled away, but I was disappointed that I had not managed to bump off the old man, and strove at him with my knife again.

“Criminal!” screamed Ülgas as he ran toward the forest, his head like a flayed hare, giving off bubbles of blood. “You raised your hand against the Sage of the Grove! The sprites won’t forgive you! The dogs of the grove will come and bite you to death! They have no mercy! Remember that. The dogs of the grove!”

“I’ve lived in the forest all my life and I’ve never yet seen a single dog of the grove!” I called after him. “Those dogs exist only in your skull, Ülgas. I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to cut it in half. Then I might have seen those miraculous creatures at last. Go home, and if you don’t bleed to death, try to perish as quickly as possible, because you can count on this: the moment I see you, I’ll chop you to pieces. I’m back at home, I’m marrying Hiie, and it would be best for a bastard like you to hang yourself in your own sacred grove!”

Ülgas was howling about the dogs of the grove and the sprites, but I couldn’t be bothered listening to this rubbish anymore. I piled the remains of the roast hare into a net bag with the skulls and said to Hiie: “Let’s go to my place now, home.”

“Yes, darling,” replied Hiie. “Tell me, may I take Ülgas’s ear for myself? I’ll dry it in the sun like a dead frog and then it’ll be nice to wear around my neck on the end of a band. Would you like your wife to have an ornament like that?”

“Yes,” I said. “It would remind us of this day, and how I must learn to strike better. I would have liked it even more if you carried that bastard’s dried heart around your neck, with rowanberries inside it, so it would rattle like a child’s toy.”

We laughed and kissed each other.

“You weren’t away for long,” said Pirre in surprise. “Yet it seems as if I hadn’t seen you for years. There’s a feeling as if all those years had rolled backward. It seems to me that those times of long ago have come back, the days when your forefathers were chopping up foreigners and you could see the Frog of the North flying over the sea, coming to gobble up the latest shipwreck victims.”

Hiie and I burst out laughing again, and Hiie said, “By the way, it may happen that the Frog of the North really will come flying in.”

“We wouldn’t be surprised,” replied Pirre and Rääk, nodding thoughtfully. “After all, it’s only the recent past, which isn’t really gone for good. This is the world our forefathers imagined on that cave wall you’ve seen. The really ancient pictures have crumbled away, and nothing will bring those days back.”

Nor did Hiie and I have any need for those times of long ago; we were satisfied with the present. We motioned to the Primates, who remained on the shore massaging their unaccustomed limbs, and we set off. The louse, tired from hopping around Hiie, lay panting on the sand and licking Ülgas’s hacked-off cheek.

Mother opened the door and squealed with joy.

“Heavens, it’s you, Leemet! And you too, Hiie, alive and well! How wonderful! How worried I’ve been! Come straight to the table. I’ve got a goat on the fire!”

We stepped inside. Salme ran toward me and hugged me firmly, bursting into tears. Mõmmi, lying in a corner, got up and motioned with his paw.

“What’s happened to your bear?” I asked. “Why is he resting there under the skins?”

“Mõmmi’s been injured,” replied Salme. “You don’t know what we’ve all had to live through. You can’t imagine it!”

“Salme dearest. I’m sure that Leemet and Hiie have also had to live through many horrible things,” said Mother. “Although yes, what they did to our Mõmmi is dreadful. Just imagine: that same evening when you escaped from the grove, Ülgas and Tambet came here. They wanted to know where you had gone with the boat. I shouted back in their faces and swore all I could, called them murderers and miserable fleas and said they should get out of my shack right away, because I didn’t want to see such vile creatures in my house. Forgive me, Hiie, for yelling at your father like that, but once a pig, always a pig.”

“Doesn’t matter,” replied Hiie. “He’s dead now anyway.”

“Dead?” exclaimed Mother. “How did he die then? Tell me, but wait a little; I’ll finish my own story. Anyway I swore at them as much as I could. They were as cold as fish, just standing and staring. Well, I don’t know if they’d been eating fly agaric or drinking Meeme’s wine, or simply been hit over the head, but they looked very strange. Sort of grim and furious.”

“They told Mother: ‘Be quiet, you old hag; we’ll find her anyway in the end and sacrifice her to the sprites,’ “ said Salme, interrupting.

“Why do you remember them calling me an old hag now?” railed Mother. “Why are you telling Leemet and Hiie that?”