I HAD AN APPOINTMENT at the salon. I was scheduled for a trim by Juula, my favorite hairdresser, at precisely 1 pm. When I arrived there on bicycle, I saw there was a line out the door and many of them were speaking other languages, one of which was certainly German and another one was probably Latvian. I am rarely able to recognize Latvian, but it’s become the default “other language” I use in such cases. Some Latvian teenagers were talking to each other and I realized I would have to wait. They were beautiful girls in puffy winter jackets.
At the door there were two other surprise guests, Rhys Jonathan and Salil, schoolmates from Sconset High. They had certainly put on weight over the years, resembling Tweedledee and Tweedledum from John Tenniel’s 19th century illustrations. Rhys Jonathan’s throat was strange though, and upon inspection, I saw that it had been sliced open during some kind of sword fight, but was sutured with safety pins, like Clancy Brown’s Kurgan character in Highlander. “Don’t mind this, old friend,” Rhys Jonathan said, gesturing at his neck. “It’s a minor wound.”
Later we went for a stroll and Rhys Jonathan and Salil updated me on their adventures, the most titillating of which was Salil’s run-ins with a snake. Salil had been cohabitating with a sort of nightmare hippie witch woman who had turned him on to prostatic stimulation using a real-life serpent. This was a tiny golden tree snake that she had trained specifically for such male-pleasuring purposes. I found the whole story unbelievable, but Salil insisted it was true and took us to his home, which was in one of those cellar apartments in an old rowhouse, the kind you find in Washington, DC, scattered around up in Dupont Circle and in Georgetown.
His girlfriend was there, her hair was matted and dry but she had not yet started on dreadlocks. She had on a black tank top and ripped jeans and certainly did look a bit mischievous and evil looking. At the same time, her sex appeal was undeniable, and I found myself wondering if, had she seduced me, might I also be convinced to undergo the snake treatment. “But isn’t it odd to have a living creature in your ass?” I asked Salil. “It’s giving me low-key Richard Gere vibes.” “Don’t knock it until you try it,” Salil said. It was hard to imagine this otherwise laidback and civil Indian archaeologist in the throes of true snake ecstasy.
His girlfriend then displayed the snake in a jar, which slithered from side to side, it’s tongue darting in the air. She never said a word the entire time we were there, but her dark round eyes had all of us captivated, especially as she paused to roll herself a new marijuana cigarette.
Just then there was a mortar attack and someone shouted out, “Russians!” A loud blast followed, a stunning light, followed by thick and harsh gray smoke. When it cleared, I could see the snake on the ground, its glass jar shattered. Its yellow skin had turned black. The snake was dead and Salil’s girlfriend had disappeared. Salil crouched over the snake and seemed moved by its loss. “It was a good snake,” he said. “Come on,” Rhys Jonathan said. “Let’s leave.”
After the war started, I returned to Viljandi, where I found three Amazon packages outside my door, one of which had already been opened. These were full of organic granola bars and small candied citrus fruits, pears and apples. Foodstuffs that would come in handy during the conflict. Some of it had already disappeared and there were wrappers strewn around. Then my daughter came out of the house, munching on something. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I was hungry.” “Take the boxes and go back into the house,” I yelled. “The Russians are coming!”
My daughter retreated into the house and at that moment Rhys Jonathan and Salil arrived on bicycles with a third friend, Kutsukalli, a Dutch-born academic and lover of dogs. “Kutsukalli is an expert on Stalinist interrogation techniques,” Rhys Jonathan said. “He will help us as we organize resistance against the Russians.” I looked up at Salil, who had lost his beloved ass snake, as well as his nightmare hippie girlfriend. We knew they must be avenged and that my daughter and her hoard of granola bars must be protected. Retrieving my bicycle from the wood barn, I mounted it in a cavalier way and we cycled ahead to reconnoitre the enemy.
north! 