Andrus Kivirähk - The Man Who Spoke Snakish

I kicked the iron man I had cut down, and he flew into the bushes with a clatter.

“Splendid!” shouted Ints, and her children hissed with pleasure, coming over to nose around the dead iron man. “Where did you learn that?”

“It came by itself,” I said. “A lineage from my grandfather.”

I was still panting excitedly. If someone had told me at that moment that I had to go to the wedding immediately and give up lurking by the roadside, I would have refused. Now I truly understood Grandfather’s words: in a time of war, a woman must wait. At that moment I would not give up my war for any price. I wanted to experience again that feeling that overcame me when an enemy’s head bounces and clatters along the road. And in any case, we still didn’t have any wine.

I dragged the dead iron man in among the trees and threw myself down right there to await a new victim.

“Coming,” said Ints after a little while, having much keener hearing than I had. “And it’s a cart, not a rider.”

I soon saw that she was right. We were incredibly lucky. Along the road came two bullocks, pulling behind them a cart with two monks and two vats of wine in it.

“That’s the wine for my wedding going by,” I told Ints. “It couldn’t have gone better.”

Ints curled up into a ring.

“I think you can begin this yourself,” she said. “I’m not going to intervene at all you’re so nimble. Children, come out of Uncle’s way! Later, you can look at the monks later!”

“But then they won’t have their heads on anymore,” said one little adder.

“What’s the difference? Come out of the way!”

It all went as smoothly as the previous time. On hearing the Snakish words, the bullocks’ eyes bulged; they suddenly became overanimated and pulled the cart straight into the forest. With a yell the monks rolled off into the bushes with their vats and I did what I wanted with them.

“That’s all,” said Ints with a yawn. “Children, let’s go home and eat now.”

By evening the preparations were made and the wedding feast could begin. The bonfire made of stacked trees was blazing and an enormous amount of meat was cooking on it. The vats of wine were in place, and Meeme was resting between them, one of Grandfather’s skull cups in his hand. He was already completely drunk, but still helping himself to more and more of the tipple that trickled from the barrel.

“Try some,” I told my mother, offering her some wine.

“I don’t dare to drink it! I’ve never put such stuff in my mouth before. Leemet, don’t you drink it either. I’m watching; you’re just like your father. He liked those village foods too. I never understood what he saw in them. Now look at you too!”

“Mother, the villagers don’t drink wine. They aren’t given it; they’re taught to be content with porridge and a bit of bread. Wine is drunk by the iron men and the monks.”

“That makes it worse!” said Mother, wringing her hands. “No, no, I’m not touching it! Leemet, you’d be better eating some hare. Just look at this beautiful well-cooked shank!”

“Yes, I will,” I replied. “But you try some wine. One drop!”

“Why are you tempting me?” sighed Mother, screwing her eyes tight and swallowing one little swig from the cup. She smacked her lips and screwed up her nose.

“Not as bad as porridge, but not good either. They think up all sorts of silly things. What’s wrong with springwater and wolf’s milk then?”

“Let me have a taste too,” begged Mõmmi.

At first Mother and Salme had assured me that the sick bear definitely wouldn’t be able to come to the wedding, since his backside was hurting him dreadfully. Salme had even thought that she better stay at home and look after the ailing Mõmmi.

“He can’t walk at all; he just lies around,” she had said bitterly. “I’m so sorry for him! That beautiful brown fur. It was that fur that I fell in love with about him! Now it’s all burned and horrible.”

“Only in one place,” I consoled her. “And it’s sure to grow back.”

Hiie and I went to Mõmmi’s bed and nodded at him.

“Sorry you can’t come,” said Hiie. “We’re getting a goat for you too.”

“Why can’t I come?” exclaimed Mõmmi, sitting straight up. “I want to go to the wedding too!”

“You can’t, darling, but never mind,” said Salme, comforting him. “I’ll stay at home with you so you don’t get bored.”

“No, Salme, that’s not a good idea,” said Mõmmi decisively, getting out of bed. “How can you stay at home when your brother’s getting married? You have to go, and I’m coming too.”

“Oh, but you can’t! It’s painful for you to walk!”

“Of course it’s painful,” agreed the bear, taking a couple of limping steps. “But if you support me, I think I can do it anyway.”

“You really think so?”

“Of course! Now listen, Salme, what’s the point in having to bring me food home from the wedding, if I can go there myself and eat right there?”

And so Mõmmi, panting and groaning, lumbered up to the bonfire. Now he sat down contentedly under a tree and wolfed down the meat.

I handed him a beakerful of wine; Mõmmi swallowed it in one gulp, and licked his nose with his long pink tongue.

“I like it!” he declared. “Pass me another one.”

When he had drunk a second beakerful, he hiccupped slightly, gave me a sly look, and ran with great agility behind Salme’s back.

“Peek-a-boo!” he cried, covering Salme’s eyes with his paws. “Who am I?”

Guessing wasn’t particularly hard, for the only one at the wedding with bear’s paws was Mõmmi.

“Mõmmi!” cried Salme. “Why are you walking around? You’ll hurt your wound! I was just about to bring you a new haunch of venison.”

“I don’t want to eat any more,” announced Mõmmi grandly. “And there’s no damage to my wound, I’ve been licking it with my tongue. Don’t you know that a bear’s tongue contains nine medicines? Wait, sweetie, and I’ll show you!”

He drew his tongue far out of his mouth and licked Salme’s face.

“Mõmmi, what are you doing?” tittered Salme. “People are looking!”

“You’re as sweet as honey,” cooed Mõmmi. “Let’s dance!”

“But your bottom, Mõmmi! You were hobbling just now!”

“That was this morning, but now it’s evening! In the morning I was hobbling; in the evening I turn somersaults. That’s the kind of bear I am!” bragged Mõmmi, trying to roll over on his head, but he fell down and lay on the ground on his back, laughing, his four paws in the air.

“Mõmmi!” begged Salme. “What’s come over you? What are you raving about?”

“Let’s dance, Salme. Let’s dance!” said the bear, getting up and starting to lope around heavily, occasionally bowing and twisting his body around. He was mumbling some strange bear song and appeared to be overjoyed.

“Mother, look at what Mõmmi’s doing!” whispered Salme. “Shameful!”

“Why shameful?” laughed Mother, who had started clapping to the rhythm of Mõmmi’s song. “It’s just nice. It’s fun! You’re supposed to have fun at weddings. Go and dance with your husband!”

“I won’t!” declared Salme, scowling at her spouse as he staggered around her.

Hiie’s mother was also at the wedding. She kept a little apart from the others, looking timidly at the blazing linden trees and the bear tramping out his dance.

“Mother, come and eat!” called Hiie.

“I don’t want to,” said Mall, and in her again was the strict woman who had brought her child up so sternly with Tambet. “Meat cooked on wood from the grove would stick in my throat. And that disgusting foreign drink is quite out of place here. Maybe I’m old and I’ve seen out my days, but I’m sorry, daughter, all this is insulting to me. I have my principles.”