“I want bread and barley gruel!”
“Ah, you don’t know how horrible they are. We’ve got plenty of roast meat! Come and take some, boy! Believe me, it’s a hundred times nicer.”
I didn’t believe her. Roast meat I ate every day; it was ordinary food, with nothing mysterious about it.
“I want bread and barley gruel!” I insisted.
“Leemet, stop talking nonsense now! You don’t even know what you’re saying. You don’t need any bread. You just think you want it, but actually you’d spit it straight out. Bread is as dry as moss; it gets stuck in your mouth. Look, I’ve got owls’ eggs here!”
Owls’ eggs were my favorite, and at the sight of them I stopped whining and set about sucking the eggs empty. Salme came into the room, saw me, and screamed that our mother was spoiling me. She wanted to drink owls’ eggs too!
“But of course, Salme,” said my mother. “I’ve put aside eggs for you. You each get just as many.”
Then Salme grabbed her own eggs, sat down next to me, and we competed with each other. And I no longer thought of bread or barley gruel.
Three
uite naturally, however, a few owls’ eggs couldn’t kill my curiosity for long, and the very next day I was roaming on the edge of the forest, looking greedily toward the village. My friend Pärtel was with me, and it was he who finally said, “Why are we watching from so far away? Let’s sneak a bit closer.”
The suggestion seemed extremely dangerous; the very thought of it made my heart race. Nor did Pärtel look all that brave; he looked at me with an expression that expected me to shake my head and refuse; his words had indicated his dread. I didn’t shake my head; I just said, “Let’s go then.”
As I said it, I had the feeling that I was expected to jump into some dark forest lake. We went a couple of steps and stopped, hesitating; I looked at Pärtel and saw that my friend’s face was as white as a sheet.
“Shall we go on?” he asked.
“I guess so.”
So we did. It was horrible. The first house was already quite close, but luckily no one appeared. Pärtel and I hadn’t agreed how far we would go. As far as the house? And then — should we take a look in the doorway? We surely wouldn’t dare to. Tears overcame me; I would have liked to run headlong back into the forest, but since my friend was walking beside me, it wouldn’t do to look so scared. Pärtel must have been thinking the same thing, because I heard him whimpering now and then. And yet, as if bewitched, we kept inching forward, step by step.
Then a girl came out of the house, about our age. We came to a stop. If some adult had appeared before us, we probably would have made off back to the forest with a loud cry, but there was no need to flee because of a girl of our own age. She didn’t seem very dangerous, even if she was a village child. Nevertheless we were very cautious, staring at her and not going any closer.
The girl looked back at us. She didn’t seem to feel any fear.
“Did you come from the forest?” she asked.
We nodded.
“Have you come to live in the village?”
“No,” replied Pärtel, and I saw my chance to do a bit of bragging, informing her that I had already lived in the village, but moved away.
“Why did you go back to the forest?” The girl was amazed. “Nobody goes back to the forest; they all come from the forest to the village. They’re fools that live in the forest.”
“You’re a fool yourself,” I said.
“No I’m not; you are. Everyone says only fools live in the forest. Look what you’re wearing! Skins! Awful! Like an animal.”
We compared our own clothing with the village girl’s, and we had to admit that the girl was right; our wolf and goat skins really were a lot uglier than hers, and hung off us like bags. The girl, on the other hand, was wearing a long, slim shirt, which was nothing like an animal skin; it was thin, light, and moved in the wind.
“What kind of skin is that?” asked Pärtel.
“It isn’t skin; it’s cloth,” replied the girl. “It’s woven.”
That word meant nothing to us. The girl burst out laughing.
“You don’t know what weaving is?” she shrieked. “Have you even seen a loom? A spinning wheel? Come inside. I’ll show you.”
This invitation was both frightening and alluring. Pärtel and I looked at each other, and we decided that we ought to take the risk. These things with strange names ought to be seen. And whatever that girl might do to us, there were two of us after all. That is, unless she had allies inside …
“Who else is in there?” I asked.
“No one else. I’m alone at home; the others are all making hay.”
That too was an incomprehensible thing, but we didn’t want to appear too stupid, so we nodded as if we understood what “making hay” meant. Our hearts were in our throats as we went inside.
It was an amazing experience. All the strange contraptions that filled the room were a feast for the eyes. We stood as if thunderstruck, and didn’t dare sit down or move. The girl, on the other hand, felt right at home and was delighted to show off in front of us.
“Well, there’s a spinning wheel for you!” she said, patting one of the queerest objects I’ve ever seen in my life. “You spin yarn on it. I can already do it. Want me to show you?”
We mumbled something. The girl sat down at the spinning wheel and immediately a strange gadget started turning and whirring. Pärtel sighed with excitement.
“Mighty!” he muttered.
“You like it?” the girl inquired proudly. “Okay, I can’t do any more spinning just now.” She got up. “What else can I show you? Look, this is a bread shovel.”
The bread shovel, too, made a deep impression on us.
“But what’s that?” I asked, pointing to a cross shape hanging on the wall, to which was attached a human figure.
“That is Jesus Christ, our God,” someone answered. It wasn’t the girl; it was a man’s voice. Pärtel and I were as startled as mice and wanted to rush out the door, but our way was barred.
“Don’t run away!” said the voice. “No need to tremble like that. You’re from the forest, aren’t you? Calm down, now, boys. Nobody means you any harm.”
“This is my father,” said the girl. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you afraid?”
Timidly we eyed the man who had stepped into the room. He was tall, and looked very grand with his golden hair and beard. To our eyes he was also enviably well dressed, wearing the same sort of light-colored shirt as his daughter, the same furry breeches, and around his neck the same figure on a cross that I had seen on the wall.
“Tell me, are there still many people living in the forest?” he asked. “Please do tell your parents to give up their benighted ways! All the sensible people are moving now from the forest to the village. In this day and age it’s silly to go on living in some dark thicket, doing without all the benefits of modern science. It’s pathetic to think of those poor people who still carry on a miserable existence in caves, while others are living in castles and palaces! Why do our folk have to be the last? We want to enjoy the same pleasures that other folk do! Tell that to your fathers and mothers. If they won’t think of themselves, then they ought to show some pity for their children. What will become of you if you don’t learn to talk German and serve Jesus?”
We couldn’t utter a word in response, but strange words like “castles” and “palaces” made our hearts tremble. They must surely be finer things than spinning wheels and bread shovels. We would have liked to see them! We should really talk our parents into letting us spend at least some time in the village, just to look at all these marvels.
“What are your names?” asked the man.