Andrus Kivirähk - The Man Who Spoke Snakish

I got up, stretched, and moved my arms to get warm. I had to seek some shelter, since the autumnal forest was not warm enough for me to lie under the open sky. I didn’t want to go to my sister’s; it would be silly in the darkness of the night to start building a new dwelling, so all that was left was my old home. For a long time I had been reluctant to visit it, but now suddenly I felt its absence. Why not go there and sleep a little? In the end it was only a shack; so what if for me it was full of sad memories? I thought of my mother and Hiie, but I could find no emotion in myself. The past seemed just like a distant legend, which might be sadder or happier but had no connection with the present moment. Mother and Hiie were just figures in a story that had been told to the end; now there was just the dark, cool forest, which aroused repugnance in me, and an empty shack somewhere on the other side of the forest, where it would be so pleasant to lie down and stretch out. Nothing else was important.

I started heading for my old home, and the road took me along the edge of the forest. I couldn’t resist the temptation to take a look at Magdaleena’s village; from here it should be quite visible. I turned aside from the path and in a few moments I got to where the trees ended and the fields and meadows began.

From here I should have seen the roofs of the village houses, but there weren’t any. The village had vanished, and in the dim light my eyes could not make out exactly whether it had been wiped off the face of the earth or whether there were still at least traces of buildings, ruins, or something similar. I was dismayed, because I hadn’t realized how an entire village could suddenly disappear. Grandfather and I hadn’t burned it down, and yet there was no village. Had they moved away and taken their houses with them?

Then I saw a human figure off in the distance. I went closer to him out of curiosity, hoping to meet someone I knew. This man certainly was familiar. Elder Johannes was tottering along the narrow road, a stick in his hand and a tattered cloak on his back.

“Hello, Elder,” I said, stepping out of the darkness. “Isn’t it nice to meet again after such a long while?”

Johannes gazed at me and clutched his stick with both hands, to protect himself from me with it. But I had no thought of attacking him. My hatred had abated and at that moment I felt only pleasure that I had met a person whom I could ask about the mysterious disappearance of the village.

“Don’t wave your stick about,” I said. “I haven’t come to kill you. Tell me what’s happened to the village! Were you struck by a fire? Where are all the houses?”

“Damned spawn of hell!” growled Elder Johannes. “Now you come and ask where the houses are! Yes, our village burned to the ground, and it’s your fault!”

“I didn’t put your eaves to the torch,” I protested.

“Our village burned to the ground because of unprecedented wickedness, and that wickedness was committed by you,” replied Johannes. “With your flying accomplice you killed the holy bishop himself, and for that evil murder we had to pay. The noble knights came and set our village on fire, because the murder of a holy man is a horrible sin. You’ll burn in hell for this! I tried to explain to the esteemed knights that we had not raised our hand against the holy father, that it would never occur to us to commit such a terrible murder. I explained that the bishop had been attacked by a savage, a werewolf whose dwelling place is the thick forest and who had previously bitten to death my unhappy daughter and the son in the flesh of a noble knightly lord. But the gentlemen said that it was all the same to them which boor had committed the crime. They said that we were all only brutes and savages, with no culture and no respect. They said they didn’t have time to make the distinction which of us was Christian and which wasn’t, so in any case we could all bear responsibility for the brutality of our countrymen. Then they set fire to our village and rode away on the backs of their thoroughbreds.”

“Why didn’t you resist and kill them?” I asked.

“Because we are Christians!” declared Johannes, and raised his hand to heaven, as was always his habit when he was in full spate and starting to shout. “We are not wild animals like you, and we know how to behave in the new world. In the end the noble knightly gentlemen were right; the killing of the bishop is the most terrible murder and someone had to be punished for it. If we started to rebel and attack the knightly lords, we would only be confirming their opinion that we do not belong in the ranks of civilized peoples. Therefore we took the just punishment with Christian humility, and we will build a new village. Just today I went to the castle to request permission for one, and the noble knight was good enough to give us a new chance to prove ourselves. We will rise from the ashes and one day we will stand proudly beside the other modern nations and will be precisely as good.”

I had been hearing this talk all the time I was living with Magdaleena; they all talked this kind of rubbish.

“Very nice. Carry on building a new village and become a cultured people,” I said. “Be modern and pray to your new God. I sincerely wish you success. Farewell!”

I wanted to go, but Johannes was just getting into his stride and didn’t want to stop talking so soon.

“Don’t mock, you Satan!” he screeched. “Where are you going now? Into the dark forest, to bow down before your abominable sprites and pray for the forces of hell to torment us!”

“My dear man,” I said, exasperated. “I promise you I won’t bow down in the dark forest before any sprite or pray for anything.”

“Faithless!” screamed Johannes.

“That’s true,” I replied. “I’m not ashamed of that name.”

“Murderer!”

“That’s not a lie either. But the same could be said of you, old man. Do you remember how you set fire to all the adders? By the way, what’s become of Peetrus, who put my friend onto an ants’ nest? I hope he was burned up when the iron men punished you.”

“Peetrus is the pride of our village!” declared Johannes. “It was he who discovered the dead bodies of the holy bishop and his companions and quickly called the knightly lords to strike at the house and visit punishment. As a mark of thanks he was made a servant of a knight. Just a few days ago he left these parts with his master, on a trip to the holy land, to do battle with the heathens. This is a great honor for our whole people; Peetrus is the first one of us to go so far. Along with the great and powerful peoples, our boy is now making his contribution to creating a new world.”

“I hope those heathens flay his skin,” I said. “Good night now, old man. I hope you will get chain mail before you die too; you’ve earned it in every way.”

“I’m hardly likely to get such an honor,” replied Johannes, yet from his tone I felt that he was pleased by my words. His voice became solemn. “Go on then, boy, and carry on living in your dark past like some primeval animal, a tail still growing out of your backside. I’m going the other way, and as long as I breathe, I shall strive toward the light and a new, better world!”

“Go then,” I responded. “And so that the way is easier for you …”

I pulled out my knife and stabbed the village elder in the backside.

“There!” I said, laughing, for honestly, there wasn’t an ounce of hate in that blow. I had done it simply from a sudden whim. “Now you needn’t fear that you’ve got a tail on you. Now march away in peace; now you’re really a modern person!”

“Werewolf!” screamed Johannes, holding his hand over his bleeding backside. “Murderer! Hell is your place. That is where you’ll burn! You killed me! I’ll bleed to death!”