Andrus Kivirähk - The Man Who Spoke Snakish

Morning arrived over and over again; Mother started clattering and preparing food. Soon Salme and Mõmmi would arrive too, and I knew that the moment was not far off when they would all gather by my bed, look at me tenderly with pity in their eyes, and ask, “Well, dear Leemet, how do you feel?” I didn’t answer them, not because I couldn’t, but because I feared the intoxicating joy that my first words after a long illness would excite in them. I feared that if they started clapping with excitement and congratulating me on my recovery I would resist, leap out of bed, and bite them; yes, I believed I was capable even of that. So I simply closed my eyes whenever they gathered to look at me again, drank the hot broth obediently, and listened to them sadly sighing. I felt Mother stroking my head. It annoyed me; I wanted them to move out of the shack and leave me in peace. At the same time the head stroking made me tearful, which irritated me even more; that was why I yearned to get back to my long sickness, where there were no tears, there was no anger, no pain, only silence and drowsing on the border between life and death.

Finally I understood that I could no longer stand the constant chatter that surrounded me day in, day out. There was only one way out of this: I had to get to my feet. Then I could escape from the shack if I wished, spend a day somewhere in the forest, far from all the botherers, and return home only at night, if at all. I assumed that I was well enough by now; only the fear of the burst of joy that would follow my getting out of bed kept me back a couple more days, but then I took courage.

One morning I pushed the animal skins aside with a rapid movement, sat up in bed, and said to Mother: “Mother, listen to me! I am well, but you mustn’t say anything to me, not a single word. I’m getting dressed, eating, and going out. I don’t want to hear a single shout; I don’t want to see a single tear. I want silence. Do you understand, Mother? Don’t say anything.”

Mother nodded dumbly and looked at me with round eyes. She had covered her mouth with her hand and her eyes glistened, so that I understood: she could control her voice, but not her tears. This worried me; I wanted to get dressed as quickly as possible and escape from home at once. Getting dressed wasn’t easy at all. I was still very weak and clumsy — and driven wild by the knowledge that now Mother certainly was weeping. I didn’t look at her, just grabbed a bit of cold roast goat from the table and rushed out of the door.

The sun dazzled me. I shaded my eyes with my hand and stumbled deep into the forest, into the shade of the trees. I was seeking a lonely spot where no one ever went, somewhere I could throw myself down and see out the day until the evening. I was very pleased that I still had the courage to get out of the house. I really couldn’t stand the discussions about whether Mõmmi had worms in his stomach or not, and if so how to get rid of them. Of course I did understand that life in the forest goes on, and that worms in the stomach are the most burning issue for some people and animals, but this chatter was driving me mad.

It was not easy to find a lonely spot; everywhere there was some bird hopping or hare jumping, and this confused me. I kept moving forward, until I reached the edge of the forest. There I saw some village girls.

Magdaleena was not among them I soon established. Actually I should have gone away, for the village girls were undoubtedly more befuddling than any titmouse or hare, and they weren’t appropriate for a man seeking solitude. But I stayed there, getting down on my stomach among the bushes, watching the girls.

They had brought some sheep with them, and now were intending to let them stay and eat grass in the meadow at the forest’s edge.

“But what happens if a wolf comes?” asked one girl.

“There’s a medicine against that,” answered another. “Don’t you remember what Elder Johannes taught us? You have to take that belt that you wear to church and draw a line with it around the pasture. A wolf won’t be able to cross that sacred line, because Jesus won’t let it.”

“Do you have a belt like that?” asked the first.

“Of course, I always think before I leave home,” said the other girl, glibly. She undid a long colorful band from around her smock and began tracing an invisible ring through the meadow around the sheep. The first girl followed her friend’s action with reverence.

“Next time I’ll bring my belt with me,” she promised. “Just think how simple it is to fight off wolves! Jesus can do everything.”

“Yeah,” agreed the second girl, who had completed the protective circle and was now tying her belt back on. “This is the foreigners’ wisdom; life is much simpler if you know it.”

They set off, carefree in the certain knowledge that the sheep were protected from all danger.

Naturally a wolf was soon on the scene. Strangely, the sight of it did not excite any feelings in me, although it was the first wolf I’d encountered since that evening. I had no desire to kill it or pour out my wrath on it in any way. Actually there was no hatred in me, only indifference. What could this wolf do to me? Attack me? I wasn’t even sure that I could be bothered to defend myself.

But the wolf didn’t come up to me; it was more interested in the sheep. Naturally it didn’t notice that the girl had waved a belt around; that strip of clothing probably hadn’t even left a scent. The wolf leapt on the neck of one sheep, brought the animal down, and dragged it off among the trees.

The sheep all bleated anxiously for a little while, then carried on eating the grass; then a second wolf came and carried off the next sheep. I didn’t care to look at this massacre any longer; there was no doubt that if the girls didn’t come back soon the wolves would polish them off. It might of course also happen that when the girls came back, they would also be eaten up, along with Jesus and the belt.

I suddenly found this idea very unpleasant. I didn’t want to see that; I had to prevent it! Let the wolves gobble up the sheep; I didn’t care. But the idea of another girl between those creatures’ jaws made my head spin with rage. So I stayed on the spot and looked on while the last of the sheep were slaughtered.

Some time passed before the girls came back. They didn’t come alone; with them were Elder Johannes and Magdaleena.

I crouched down as low as I could. I had not seen Magdaleena since the time when I walked home that evening in love with her; that seemed to have been in another life. After that had come the escape with Hiie, meeting Grandfather, and everything else — but that world had now vanished, cut from under me like Grandfather’s legs.

What had become of Grandfather, who had promised to fly in after us soon? Had something happened? Had he not been able to get the last essential bones?

At the same time I was dreaming of Grandfather on his distant island and thinking of Magdaleena, who was standing right here, so close to me that if I had stood up she would have seen me immediately. She had grown a little plumper, but was still wonderfully beautiful, and I felt to my own amazement that I still loved her.

I tried to ward off that feeling; it seemed obscene to me. I had come to the forest to seek solitude, to mourn in silence then melt into the moss like Meeme, for what could life be without Hiie, whom I had loved so much — but I caught one glimpse of Magdaleena and couldn’t take my eyes off her.

All these feelings that had seized me by the monastery as we listened to the monks’ singing, the desire to touch her, to sit in her presence, smell her, came roaring back like an unexpected cloudburst.

But — it also occurred to me — Grandfather did not lose his mind after he lost his legs; he started building wings. If things don’t go one way, you have to try another.