“We think we could,” replied Pirre and Rääk. Incidentally, they always spoke together, one saying one word, the other the next, so it wasn’t possible to understand with which Primate you were talking. In fact it wasn’t possible to imagine them apart; they were always together, moving around side by side, and sitting clinging to each other. I don’t know whether this was from their great love, or whether hanging on to each other is simply a Primate habit. Apart from Pirre and Rääk I didn’t know any other Primates. There probably weren’t any. They were the last of their kind.
In any case, I sought out a bear in the forest, and asked him to give me a louse. The bear agreed happily. At the time he was skulking around the home of a friend of my sister’s, and I had a sneaking suspicion they had an assignation, because bears simply can’t keep away from girls. This bear must have had some affair going on with my sister’s friend, but that wasn’t my business. As long as he didn’t trouble my sister. I took some lice from the bear and left him sitting under a bush.
A bear like that, on the prowl for a woman, may sit patiently in one place for several days, without eating or drinking, his head cocked, his paws meekly on his belly, and a silly lovesick expression on his face. It makes a huge impression on a girl. “Oh, what a sweet teddy!” they sigh tenderly, and the bear, having managed to create the desired impression, gets to his feet and shambles awkwardly over to his beloved, a globeflower picked from a meadow in his teeth. And when he has continued to show his skill by weaving a dandelion wreath and putting it on his own half-cocked head, then not a single woman can resist such an idyllic scene.
I took the lice I’d received from the bear to Pirre and Rääk, and after the Primates had tenderly stroked them and let them scurry over their hairy fingers for a while, they commanded the lice to lie on their backs—and the creatures did so, waving their legs in the air.
“You see, they obey!” said Pirre and Rääk joyfully. “Smart creatures! We’ll let them in with the others; we’ve got enough room.” They could never have enough lice; they picked up every one they came across.
At this time Pirre and Rääk had another exciting task in hand. They had already bred frog-sized lice, but only a few, and wanted to breed lice that were the size of goats. The sturdier lice were separated from the smaller ones, they were allowed to multiply, and from these the very hugest were selected. This did not take long, however, as the lice bred quickly and had plenty of offspring. A few months later a goat-sized louse was born. I have to say that it was an impossibly hideous creature. With a little louse, the ugliness wasn’t visible, as it was simply a little speck, but a big louse was the most unpleasant animal you can imagine. Pirre and Rääk didn’t think so. They were very pleased with their monster.
“In the olden days, all animals were much bigger than today,” they said. “There were incredibly bulky creatures living in the world, which have died out by now, or gone into hiding to sleep forever in darkness. A big animal has a big sleep! They may never wake again, and nobody will see these magnificent giants again. So it’s so nice to see this louse, which will do very well bustling about on the fur of some terribly huge and ancient creature. Leemet, look at it carefully! Before you, you see a fragment of a world of hundreds of thousands of years ago!”
I looked at that fragment and I didn’t like it at all. I was very pleased to be living now, not hundreds of thousands of years before. I wasn’t about to say that to Pirre and Rääk, but for form’s sake I praised their louse, and I even agreed to take the animal for a walk, because the Primates thought it needed exercise. Pirre and Rääk themselves strayed away from their cave extremely rarely, since a little piece of primeval thicket remained just around their home, consisting of strange plants that had died out long ago elsewhere that Pirre and Rääk ate, and from which they harvested their grubs. Away from this little ancient ground they didn’t feel at home.
I invited Ints and Pärtel along, attached the leash to the louse, and took it walking in the woods. The insect was indeed the size of a goat, but extremely stupid. Apparently it couldn’t understand that it was no longer the size of a seed and tried to fit through the narrowest slits, expressing an insane eagerness as it did so. It didn’t care about our injunctions, but tried obstinately to press into some little holes that were a tenth its size. As a result the louse often got trapped, flailing its legs helplessly until we heaved it out with great effort. It was a terrible nuisance, and we decided to take it for a walk in some clearer place where it couldn’t climb anywhere.
We went to the lakeshore, but the louse was even stupider than we had thought. It didn’t perceive at all that the surface of the water was not the same as the grass, rushed headlong straight to the lake, and naturally fell in.
“Can this bastard swim?” squealed Pärtel, and I couldn’t really answer him, because I was no expert on lice. But after a few moments it became clear that it could swim after all, since it rose to the surface and floundered in the water, but again so stupidly that it steered away from us instead to keeping to the shore.
“It won’t be able to swim across the lake,” said Ints. “It will get tired out and sink to the bottom. And as far as I’m concerned it can stay there; such an animal is no use to anyone.”
“I’m afraid I’ll still have to go in the water and try and save it,” I said. “Pirre and Rääk would be angry if we didn’t bring it back. It was entrusted to me and I’m responsible for it.”
I stripped naked and was ready to jump into the water when somebody sternly stopped me.
It was Ülgas the Sage.
“Where’s your sense, boy!” he asked angrily. “Don’t you know this lake is sacred? This is the home of the lake-sprite to whom I always sacrifice two squirrels when the moon is young, so that he will stay in the lake and not let our homes drown in its currents. You must not swim here. It would anger the sprite terribly! First he would pull you down under the water, and then he would flood the whole forest. Get dressed immediately and get out of here, your friend too. The lake-sprite loves silence. He must not be disturbed.”
“I’m sorry for that, but I want to catch that beast!” I said. Ülgas scowled at the louse splashing in the lake, and his face became pale.
“But that’s the lake-sprite himself!” he muttered, falling to his knees, as if at that moment his shinbone had broken in half. “The sacred lake-sprite is showing himself to us. What could it mean?”
He stared at the louse bobbing in the water, his eyes big with wonder.
“Boys, you’ve offended him in some way!” he thundered, raising his arms heavenward. “He came for you, and I must not let you go. The sprite has the right to a sacrifice.”
“That is a louse, not a sprite,” said Ints scornfully. Adders didn’t believe in sprites, just as they didn’t believe in blooming ferns. They knew the forest inside out, and they knew what lives there and what does not. They did not stop people from going to the sacred grove and bringing sacrifices, although in their eyes it was completely senseless. Adders never interfered in other beings’ affairs, as long as it didn’t affect them directly. In their view, everyone has the right to live their lives just as foolishly as they like.
Clearly, then, the sight of a snake did not exactly please the Sage of the Grove. He eyed Ints disdainfully and then looked again at the louse swimming in the water.
“What are you talking about? What louse?” he said. “Lice are small. That is the lake-sprite. I ought to know such things. Don’t make him even angrier!”
“It really is a louse,” I assured him, and I told Ülgas about Pirre and Rääk’s experiments. The mention of Primates didn’t make the sage any happier, because, just like the adders, the Primates didn’t believe in sprites, and never visited the grove. “In ancient times there weren’t any groves, and these sprites were only invented later,” they would explain. “In those days long ago, when the woods were still full of Primates, people would bow in homage to other beings than those, but sadly, we no longer remembe
r who they were and how they were worshipped.”
At any rate Ülgas still didn’t want to believe that it was an ordinary, if oversized, louse swimming in the water, and not the lake-sprite. Unfortunately at that moment the bug managed to flounder closer to the shore, so that its legs reached the bottom and it clambered onto dry land. It was wet and drooping, shivering a little, and tried instantly to scuttle down into a pine root.
“Now you see that it isn’t a sprite,” I said. “Apparently it just looks like a sprite. I didn’t know that sprites look like big lice.”
Ülgas the Sage glowered angrily at the louse.
“Boy,” he said then, having turned his back decisively on the creature and putting his heavy hand on my shoulder. “I want to tell you that you have dishonored the lake-sprite by throwing that horrible animal into the water. The sprite’s domain is polluted and I will have to bring him many sacrifices to quell his rage. And you must help me, since you are most to blame for angering the sprite. Come back here at midnight tonight and bring with you all the wolves from your barn. This time, squirrels’ blood won’t be enough! I must do everything in my power to stop the sprite from avenging this indignity.”
“Mother won’t let me have the wolves killed! They give us milk.”
“Your mother will have to get used to it, because her son has done evil!”
There was no trace left of the kindly old granddad; with his burning eyes and whiskers trembling with rage, the sage more resembled a rat standing on his hind legs. “A mother is responsible for her son. And she is guilty too, because if she went to the grove every week as she should, and took you with her, she would know that one has to be very respectful to sprites, and you would know that too. In the olden days people went to the grove every day, to show respect to the powerful forces of nature and to earn their goodwill and friendship. Then it wouldn’t have occurred to any brat that he could throw a filthy louse into a sacred lake. Leemet, terrible things will happen to you if you don’t respect the sprites! Even I can’t placate the nature spirits if you anger them with this shameless behavior. You really would be better off listening to me, instead of befriending Primates and snakes too much. They may be our brothers, of course, but they’re quite a different breed.”
Ülgas’s talk had scared me. Did I really have to bring all our wolves to the lakeshore, so that the sage could slit their throats and buy the friendship of the lake-sprite with their blood? What would Mother say? We needed the wolves. Of course we could get new animals—there were many abandoned wolves whose masters had moved to the village trotting round the woods—but that kind of much-traveled wolf didn’t give much milk. It would take a long time for them to get used to a new pack. And anyway, replacing the wolves would be inconvenient and I had a very bad feeling in my heart. In the end I wasn’t to blame that the louse rushed into the water. I tried to explain that to Ülgas, but he said that it didn’t matter, since the lake-sprite was angry anyway, and that awful things would happen if he wasn’t given wolves’ blood. He commanded me to be at the grove with the wolves at exactly midnight, adding that in the olden days wolves alone would not have sufficed. In olden days the guilty party—meaning myself—would have had to be cut into pieces and thrown into the lake. But he, Ülgas, was such a skillful sage and such a great friend of the lake-sprite that he was able to placate the sprite with wolf flesh alone. Or at least he would try.
This kind of talk terrified me even more. What if his attempt failed and Ülgas decided to sacrifice me to the sprite after all? We sneaked away from the lakeshore, leaving Ülgas muttering some spells.
I had a very bad feeling, as any child would who has done something naughty and now has to go home to tell his mother. At the same time I knew that the sooner I got this horrible business off my shoulders the better. I wanted to pass the decision on to my mother. Let her tell me what to do: whether to go at midnight to the lakeshore with the wolves or not.
I asked Ints and Pärtel to take the louse back to Pirre and Rääk, while I ran home.
Eight
t home, Mother was waiting for me, her face beaming with pleasure.
“Leemet, guess what I’ve brought you today!” she asked conspiratorially, and immediately announced, “Owls’ eggs! Two for you and two for Salme.”
I felt even lousier. Owls’ eggs were my favorite food, and it was by no means easy for Mother to get them, because at that time she was getting fat, and climbing up a tree to an owl’s nest with a frame like hers was quite a feat. To tell the truth, it was always frightening to watch Mother climb, because you felt that at any moment the branch might break under her weight and she would fall and break her bones. Uncle Vootele had told Mother that she shouldn’t climb to the treetops like that, that I should go in her place, but Mother replied that she knew how to choose eggs, and anyway she liked being up in the trees.
“A bit of movement and exercise can only do me good,” she said, and I often heard her calls as I roamed around the forest and saw her gesturing from some terribly high top of a spruce, a broad grin on her face. Mother was astonishingly nimble when it came to searching for delicate morsels for her children, and food generally.
All those dangers that Mother had to overcome in fetching owls’ eggs made the delicacy especially precious, and I was dreadfully ashamed that in return for the eggs I had nothing to offer except the news that her wolves would that night have to be taken to the lakeside and bled to death. I mumbled that I was terribly glad about the eggs, though I didn’t start eating them, but slipped quietly behind the table and waited for the opportunity to talk about the louse and Ülgas.
At the same time, sister Salme was enjoying the taste of the owls’ eggs, slurping greedily and licking her lips. I felt envious watching her, seeing that her brow with its white hair was not furrowed by trouble, unlike mine. Mother noticed my strange expression and asked if I was sore anywhere.
“No,” I said. “But … Look, I want to tell you something.”
“Eat up your eggs first,” Mother suggested. “And then I’ll bring you a cold flank of venison to the table; you can’t have eaten anything today. Where do you run around all day? Were you with the snakes?”
“Mother, I don’t want to eat now. I was at Pirre and Rääk’s today …”
“Why do you go there?” Salme interrupted me. “I think they look horrible. Why do they go around naked all the time? It’s obscene! I get sick in the tummy when I see that lot. That Rääk’s breasts hanging down to her navel, dangling like two great hairy oak leaves. And Pirre has such a big tool that when he sits he takes it in his lap; otherwise his willy lies on the ground like a tail and the ants get inside.”
“Salme, what are you saying?” gasped Mother. “Why do you stare at such things anyway?”
“How could I not stare, when he shows it off to everyone? That’s just why I’m saying it. I think it’s horrible! I get a pain in the tummy when I see those two. And then there’s their bottoms! They don’t even have hairs growing there! Completely bare and purple, like two big berries in a bunch!”
“Then close your eyes,” said Mother.
“Why should I close my eyes? Let those apes put something on their arses! My eyes don’t bother anyone, but their thingumybobs are completely gross! Other girls say it too. Just thinking about Pirre’s dick and Rääk’s tits makes you lose your appetite.”
“Well, don’t think about them then!” exclaimed Mother. “I don’t think about them at all. I never see them; they don’t move around the forest much.”
“Luckily!” snorted Salme. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if Leemet invited them around here one day. He hangs around those apes all the time. Leemet, I’m telling you: if you bring those purple-arsed Pirre and Rääk around here, I won’t be sleeping or eating in this house anymore!”
“Oh no, Leemet won’t be inviting them,” Mother assured Salme. “And they wouldn’t come either. But what were you doing there, Leemet? What’s so interesting there?”
�
��They bred a louse the size of a goat,” I said. “And Ints and Pärtel and I took it for a walk.”
I took a deep breath, because now I wanted to get the whole horrible story off my chest, but Mother and Salme wouldn’t let me. For a while they debated why anyone would need to breed a louse the size of a goat, and whether such a louse would be dangerous to humans, and whether Salme dared to go out in the forest at all.
“What can it do to you?” wondered Mother. “You can shout at it, or hit it with a pinecone. That’ll send it running.”
“You don’t know anything,” snorted Salme. “An animal like that wouldn’t be afraid of anything. Only an ape could invent such a stupid thing. But just you wait—I’ll tell Mõmmi about this louse, and Mõmmi will break it to pieces.”
“Who’s Mõmmi?” asked Mother, her voice now becoming icy and wary, because it wasn’t hard to guess what sort of animal was hidden by that very ursine name. “It’s a bear,” replied Salme reluctantly. She realized that she’d said too much, but now it was too late to bite her lip.
“How do you know him?” demanded Mother, and to my dismay I understood that now the conversation was taking a whole different direction, and it would be very difficult for me to come out with my own worries. Bears were a sore point with Mother, and if she feared one thing in this world, it was that her daughter would follow her bad example.
“I saw him one day in the forest,” said Salme. “We don’t really know each other; we’ve just seen each other a couple of times. Mother, don’t go on about it! I know you don’t like any bear, but Mõmmi’s very friendly, and actually I’m not going out with him. We just say hello when we meet.”
“Salme, you’re too young to be carrying on with bears!” said Mother, and sat with a frightened look on her face, as if lightning had just struck the roof of her shack and set fire to the whole place.
The Man Who Spoke Snakish Page 7
