The Queen in the Forest
An old man has gathered berries and nuts in the forest
in a basket he carries them home through the forest
When he arrives at the clearing
where his house stands
he sees a snake lying in the grass outside the door
‘What are you doing outside my door
snake’
he asks it
the snake replies
‘I am the queen in the forest and I am waiting for you
old man
if you try to go into the house
I will bite you to death and then eat you
if you try to escape
then too I will bite you to death and then eat you
if you try to stay
where you are standing
then I will wait
until you have starved
you will die all by yourself and then I will eat you’
meanwhile the man has recognised
that the snake belongs to a species
which is known in the whole region for its deadly and particularly painful bite
‘I fear your poisonous bite
snake
therefore I prefer to sit down
where I am
on the ground and wait
until I have starved
but look
I still have these berries and nuts in my basket
what am I supposed to do with them’
‘Just you eat them’
the snake replies
‘they might make you nice and fat’
‘I don’t think so
I’ve never looked different to the way I look now
at my age I will hardly grow fat
but I am still happy to eat the berries and nuts’
the old man takes a handful out of the basket and pushes some of them singly into his mouth with thumb and index finger
chewing he turns to the snake
‘If this proves to be my last meal
then I would at least like to converse a little
tell me
snake
what makes you
want to eat me
you have seen
I am old and thin and certainly no treat
the snake raises its head
‘Don’t you see
how big I am
to sustain such a body
I must take
what I can get
if I meet an animal in the forest
I will eat it
if I pass a house in a clearing
I just eat its inhabitants
that’s quite simple’
‘Oh
I understand’
The old man says
‘that’s how you do it
yes
I see that now
you’re big
huge even
and you’re beautiful at that
your scales gleam like precious metals
but not as hard
on the contrary
they gleam smoothly
it looks to me
as if each one were a single dew-drop
reflecting the morning light in colours of green and brown’
the snake twists and turns
it sticks out its tongue
‘Yes
you’ve noticed
I’m not just big
I’m also beautiful
have you looked at my eyes as well
they are as yellow as the inside of a bird’s egg and in between
a narrow
deep crevice
so dark is the black of my eyes’
the old man opens his eyes wide
‘No
that hadn’t occurred to me yet
but you’re right
your eyes are wondrously beautiful
and your tongue is beautiful too
fine and pointed and split precisely in the middle’
‘I know
my tongue is beautiful too’
says the snake
‘Recently when I wanted to dive into the lake in the forest for the first time
to catch a fish
I saw my reflection and in it I recognised my beauty
I swam to the middle of the lake and curled up there on a lily pad
until my tail was elegantly rolled up on it and my head stuck out like a blossom
I called into the forest
‘Look at me
I am the Queen in the forest’
then a bird cheekily twittered from a tall tree
‘what a spectacle you’re making of yourself
size and beauty by no means make a queen
prove first that you are strong as well’
I swam from the lily pad back to the shore and bit into a fallen tree
my teeth left two deep holes in the wood
the bird sailed down from its tree crown to the lowest branch
to make sure
how deep the holes were
and it admired
how sharply and smoothly the teeth had pierced the wood
it had recognised my strength and was willing to believe
that I was the queen in the forest
then a second bird of the same small
precocious species joined the first on the branch and cried
‘Who knows
perhaps this time you just got lucky and the tree is rotten
then I slipped back into the clear water and bit into a big stone
immediately the stone turned blood red
crimson the blood ran down the stone
trickled away among the stones and dispersed in the water
this made the birds fall silent
startled to death they fell from the tree and splashed into the lake
they became my first meal as queen in the forest
now you can imagine my strength
imagine
how hard I can bite’
‘That’s a great story
that you tell there’
the old man interrupts the snake
‘but for my meal I want to fetch some bread and cheese from the house
without bread and cheese it only tastes half as good to me’
the snake hisses
‘Stop
what are you trying to do
have you forgotten already
if you go into the house
I will bite you to death
you are afraid of my bite after all’
‘No
I haven’t forgotten
that you threatened to do that
but I don’t believe it any more’
‘Why don’t you believe it any more
I advise you not
to try’
‘Still
I want to try
I am an old man and I have heard a lot in my life
if I have never heard something before at my age
I can’t resist doubting it a little
a snake biting into a stone
is something I have never heard of in all my life
and it seems very fatuous to me
because a snake would break its teeth on a stone
or wouldn’t it
still
I want to try’
What an Idea
No one in the family has imagination
not the mother
none the father
the daughter no imagination
the son no imagination
no one has potential
one lives the life of the family from dawn till dusk
and at night in the beds of the family one succumbs
But one night
the mother haunts the daughters dream
it occurs to her
that should create herself from strange
special lilac material a dratted helmet with an immeasurable point
she poses with her lilac helmet amidst
the family
who mesh their fingers
so that the mother may climb the mesh
intended as a firing mechanism
father
son and daughter
with the mother in the middle
bend their knees and arise
so that the mother may lower and lift
they bend their knees and arise
until it is enough and the mother is blasted from the bosom of the family
she dashes out and further out
gets through the moon
which she smashes with lilac helmet
leaving a clean hole for the return’s sake
rushes further out
unto the dead point
where the light of the sun expires
in the dead point the mother manages to turn around
whereupon she gravitates back
she gets back into the light
shoots with lilac helmet through the hole in the moon and succumbs in the bosom of the family
The daughter keeps the dream quiet
one lives the life of the family from dawn till dusk
But early one day, the mother wakes the husband
the son
the daughter
‘It occurs to me
that I should create myself a lilac helmet with an immeasurable point’
the family numbly endures the mother’s preparations
but then she poses with lilac helmet amidst the family
who according to her instructions mesh their fingers
so that the mother may climb the mesh
father
son and daughter
with the mother in the middle
bend their knees and arise
so that the mother may lower and lift
they bend their knees and arise
until it is enough and the mother is blasted from the bosom of the family
she dashes out and further out
gets through the moon
which she smashes with lilac helmet
rushes further out
unto the dead point
where the light of the sun expires
‘Darn it
what an idea
what a rush’
she exclaims
although she cannot be heard
at home the family sings at the top of their voices and dances in a circle and celebrates the immeasurable potency of its own kin
in the dead point the mother manages to turn around
whereupon she gravitates back
she gets back into the light
shoots with lilac helmet through the hole in the moon and finally truly succumbs in the bosom of the family
who all welcome and congratulate her
with the utmost warmth
By Michael Fehr
Translated by Shaun Whiteside
Michael Fehr was born in Bern. He studied at the Swiss Institute for Literature, Biel and at the Y Institute, Bern University of the Arts. He has published three books: Kurz vor der Erlösung, Simeliberg and Glanz und Schatten. On the studio album Im Schwarm his stories appear as songs, oscillating between narration and music.
Shaun Whiteside’s latest translations from French, German and Italian. include Black Water Lilies and Time is a Killer by Michel Bussi, The Temptation to be Happy by Lorenzo Marone, Malacqua by Nicola Pugliese, Blitzed by Norman Ohler and To Die in Spring by Ralf Rothmann. He has previously translated works by Nietzsche, Freud, Schnitzler and Musil for Penguin Classics.
Photo of Michael Fehr © Franco Tettamant