It was only insects that didn’t understand the Snakish words, since their brains were too small for that sort of wisdom, no bigger than a speck of dust. So Snakish words were no use against mosquitoes or horseflies, or to treat beestings. Crab lice couldn’t grasp the ancient tongue at all; they had their own disgusting whine. Even today I can still hear it when I go to the well for water, for although the Snakish words have now inexorably died away, the whining remains.
But then, young and eager to learn, I didn’t pay any attention to insects and I simply swatted them when they attacked me. Crab lice didn’t seem to belong to the forest; they were like flying garbage. What entranced me were the changes I noticed in the forest thanks to the Snakish words. Whereas I had once simply scampered around in it, now I could talk to the forest. The fun seemed endless.
Uncle Vootele was pleased with me; he was assured that I had a knack for Snakish, and when our meat ran out, he let me call a new goat to us. I hissed, the goat ran docilely toward me, and Uncle Vootele killed it, while Mother looked on, gratified. I was then nine years old.
The best part of my studies, of course, was that I got to know Ints.
The day I met Ints I was alone. Uncle Vootele had given me a few new hisses to practice and learn by heart and I was resting by the little well, hissing diligently, so that my tongue got tied. Suddenly I heard someone else hissing — loudly and in terror.
It was a young adder being attacked by a hedgehog. I hissed my most forbidding injunction at the hedgehog, and it seemed to come out very well. The word I had hissed would make any animal freeze on the spot, but the hedgehog took no notice of my utterance. Then I understood that that same hiss had been used by the little adder, and that it was extremely silly of me to try to use Snakish words to help a snake. No matter what skill a human could manage with Snakish words, against a real snake it came to nothing. It was snakes who taught us the art, not the other way around.
The little snake was expecting another kind of help from me. You see hedgehogs are the stupidest of all animals, and in the millions of years that their species has been running around, they have never learned Snakish. Therefore both my own and the young adder’s hisses were falling on deaf ears. Paying no heed to the hissing, the hedgehog had attacked the snake, and probably would have finished him off if I hadn’t given it a good kick into the bushes.
“Thank you,” panted the young snake. “Those hedgehogs are endless trouble; they’re as stupid as pinecones and tussocks. You can hiss yourself to death and it does no good.”
My Snakish was by no means good yet, but with clumsy hisses I managed to ask the young adder why he hadn’t stung the hedgehog.
“That does no good either. As I said, they’re like pinecones and tussocks, completely dumb. Our poison has no effect on them; they just keep on doing their tricks. Once again, many thanks! By the way, your Snakish is pretty good. I haven’t met a human for ages who knows it so well. My father tells me that in the old days he had a lot of talks with humans, but now people don’t know any more than how to kill a goat with Snakish words.”
I was slightly ashamed, because I had just recently used Snakish words for that very purpose, but I didn’t tell that to the little adder. I explained to him as best I could that I was being taught by Uncle Vootele, and I told him my own name.
“I’ve seen that Vootele,” said the adder. “My father knows him well. He speaks our language really fluently. He’s visited us too. If you want, Leemet, you can pay us a visit. Why don’t we go straight away, and I’ll tell Mother and Father how you saved me. My snake-name is dreadfully complicated for your tongue, but you can call me Ints.”
I agreed right away to go with the adder, because I had never before seen how snake-kings live. The fact that my new friends belonged to the Snakish royalty was self-evident. Snake-kings were much bigger than ordinary adders, and a tiny golden crown sparkled on the brow of a full-grown snake-king. Ints didn’t have one yet, but from his build and his intelligence there was no doubt that he was the son of a snake-king. Snake-kings were like queen ants who were surrounded by millions of tiny workers. I had seen them sometimes, but until now I hadn’t had a chance to speak to one. And snake-kings wouldn’t pay any attention to little boys; they were too grand and important for that.
So I was very excited when Ints led me to a large hole and told me to squeeze inside. It was a bit creepy, but not as creepy as when stepping into Johannes the village elder’s house. The snakes were in their own home; they had nothing to be afraid of — but all the same I was a bit nervous. The passage to the snakes’ home was dark and pretty long, but Ints hissed encouragingly beside me and that reassured me.
Finally we reached an open cave. There certainly were a lot of snakes there! Mostly ordinary little adders, but among them were about a dozen snake-kings, all with fine crowns on their heads like golden brier-roses. The biggest of them was evidently Ints’s father. Ints told him about how I had saved him, speaking so rapidly that I didn’t understand much of his nimble hissing. The great snake-king eyed me and crawled closer. I bowed and gave the greeting that Uncle Vootele had taught me.
“I worry that you, my dear boy, will be the last human from whose mouth I hear those words,” said the snake-king. “Humans no longer care much for our language and seek a prettier life. Your uncle Vootele is a good friend of mine. I’m pleased that he has raised up a successor to himself. You are always welcome in our cave, especially since you rescued my child. Hedgehogs are the greatest nuisance to our kind. Coarse, wooden-headed creatures!”
“A pity that humans are going the same way!” said another snake from a corner. “Soon they’ll be just the same.”
“And no wonder,” added Ints. “Humans admire the iron men, but they seem just like the hedgehogs — with the same prickly covering. Humans have been feeding the iron men; I wouldn’t be surprised if they soon started pouring bowls of milk for hedgehogs.”
At this they laughed heartily.
“The iron man is not quite the same as a hedgehog,” said the same snake who had spoken before. “The hedgehog never takes off his spines, but the iron man does take off his coat. Our venom does nothing to a hedgehog, but I jabbed one iron man just the other day when he had stripped himself bare and stumbled straight toward me after swimming. Venom did affect that man; he started screaming in a dreadful voice and ran off.”
I had never before heard of a snake stinging a human, and that story horrified me. Ints’s father noticed this and hissed soothingly at me.
“A human who lives in the forest and understands our language is our brother,” he said. “But a human who has gone to live in the village and no longer understands Snakish words has only himself to blame. If he comes too close to us, then first we welcome him politely, but if he doesn’t respond to us, that means he’s no longer one of us. He is like a hedgehog or an insect and we don’t pity him.”
“Why are you talking to the boy like that?” asked a third snake, who I later found out was Ints’s mother. “Why are you frightening him? It doesn’t concern him; he saved Ints’s life and we’re eternally grateful to him. He can come to us whenever he likes, and stay here as long as he likes. From now on he’s our son.”
“Yes, he is,” agreed Ints’s father. “Our son. And if my friend Vootele allows, I’ll be glad to teach him some Snakish myself. In the olden days humans and snakes used to be close together. At least in our own lifetime we could continue that old custom. Whatever happens in times to come.”
Five
nts became a great friend of mine. I introduced him to Pärtel, who was not as adept at Snakish as I was, but could hiss a little. That was enough for him to grasp Ints’s more simple conversation, and for the more complicated bits, I interpreted. In the course of time Pärtel’s skill also improved, because if you have to deal with snakes all day long, some of it rubs off on even the dullest learner. And it was natural, too, that we spent a lot of time with Ints, since all games are better with three than with two.