Wretched Räikkö
A translation of Räikkö räähkä
Wretched Räikkö, an unkempt man,
showed the enemy the way
between two cliffs
on a quiet autumn night;
he did so fearing for his life.
They burned the village to ashes,
slew people in abundance.
One house remained standing:
it was the house of wretched Räikkö.
The evening of the second day came. –
The refugees,
one here, another there,
glancing around, cowering,
wary of trees and bushes,
returned to the bloody corpses,
to beloved ruins.
Räikkö at his door
watched and listened.
“What do you seek, old lady?”
“I sought my golden home,
found smoking ashes.”
Räikkö at his door
looked pale and sickly.
“What are you looking at, dear friend?”
“I’m looking at a bloody knife,
maybe my brother’s, maybe my brother-in-law’s.”
Räikkö’s son on the steps
cried profusely.
“Why are you crying, poor boy?”
“I cry for the jolly stallion;
I found the bell by the roadside.”
Räikkö hid in his house,
barred the doors, closed the bolts,
sat on the bench by the oven.
“What are you sad about, my girl?”
“I grieve the handsome man,
the cause of my unborn child.”
A secret whisper was heard,
hissing as a viviparous lizard,
after one week, travelling as a viper,
after one month, roaring as a bear:
“One house was not burned,
why is it the house of wretched Räikkö?”
Räikkö’s shining wife
declared the news:
“He showed the enemy the way,
Räikkö led them to the hidden dwellings.”
Insolent Räikkö barked:
“That’s a lie!
Or do you have witnesses?”
His shining wife testified:
“There were strong witnesses:
the stars were watching, the moon was listening.”
Räikkö denied it no more,
his shoulders collapsed,
he felt that he had been seen;
he took the rope that was on the beam,
walked across the floor,
left the house with heavy steps,
his feet pressing heavily on the planks.
He turned around once at the door:
“Forgive me, my wife,
I thought of you when I did it.”
“May God have mercy.”
He closed the door. –
Pausing in the hallway,
he went to the yard,
from the yard to the gate,
from the gate to the well-path,
from the well-path to the forest path;
eternal night in his eyes,
silent grief in his mind.
At the edge of the forest he turned. –
He saw his dear home,
heard the sounds of summer,
blue smoke from the sauna,
the sound of cattle bells,
a squeak from the shadoof,
the door opening,
his mother on her way to the storehouse.
It tore the heart of the grim man
to see a vision of the beauty of life,
of the blessed work of man
on the hard earth;
he stood there for a moment, looked on for a while,
then disappeared into the forest.