by Tove Jansson
The plaster was already mixed so, as you know, it was a question of seconds. You mustn’t touch it and you must hardly breathe. I should never have dreamed of going into the studio just then. Mummy and Daddy were standing ready with their plastering clothes on and the whole floor was covered with brown paper.
And just then she came in and said: hallo! hallo! Something’s going on here, I can see. Don’t let me disturb you!.
I was standing behind the curtains and watching. She went straight up to the tub of plaster and poked a finger in it and said, plaster! how funny, and just now when I’m particularly interested in plaster!
Mummy said: we’re working. And Daddy looked ready to murder somebody. I was so frightened and embarrassed that I climbed up onto my bunk. I was sure that Daddy would throw clay at her because that’s what he always does when he’s angry. But the only thing I could hear was the soft slapping sound of wet plaster. They had started casting. She babbled away the whole time without realising that she was interrupting an almost sacred ceremony. Granny came out of the bedroom for a moment, looked terrified and went back inside.
After a while I ventured down. By that time she had got an overall on and was standing by the window with both hands in a little bowl of plaster.
Now it’s going hard! She shouted. What shall I do next?
And instead of hitting her on the head, Daddy went up to her and showed her what to do. I looked at Mummy. She grinned and shrugged her shoulders.
The spinster had cut out a picture from Aller’s Family Magazine and put it face down on a saucer.
Have you greased the saucer properly? Daddy asked severely.
Yes, yes, she said. Just as you said.
Well, pour it on, said Daddy. But don’t put your finger in it.
She poured the plaster into the saucer and Daddy took the putty knife and made the whole thing even. Then he said: do you want a hook too?
Yes, yes, she whispered, and was so happy that she drew her breath as she spoke. It’s to hang on the wall.
Daddy sniffed and went up to the reel of steel wire and cut off a bit. He made a loop and stuck it in the plaster on one side. Don’t touch it, he said. Leave it to dry.
You are kind, she breathed and the tears came to her eyes. I shall come back tomorrow and bring my glossy cut-out pictures with me. They will be even more beautiful.
And she did, too!
All the time the plaster-casting was going on, she stood at the work-bench and put glossy cut-outs into a saucer and poured plaster on them and put a loop at one end just as Daddy had taught her to do. A whole row of plaster pictures lay on the bench, each with a big bright glossy cut-out in the middle. The pictures curved beautifully over the chalky-white plaster and had no spots on them at all because she got better and better at it all the time.
She was beside herself with joy. Granny came in and praised her. She gave each of us a picture and she hung Daddy’s on the studio wall.
I didn’t know what to think. The plaster pictures were really the most beautiful things I had ever seen, but they weren’t Art. One couldn’t respect them at all. Actually one should really have despised them. It was a terrible thing to do to make such pictures in Daddy’s studio and, what’s more, while a plaster cast was being made.
The worst thing was that she didn’t even look at the statue standing there waiting to be touched up and given its patina, but just babbled on about her own pictures. The whole work-bench was full of them and looked like a cake-shop.
In the end she was given a big bag of plaster and all the pictures were packed up in a box and she took the lot and went home and disappeared.
What a relief! said Mummy and began to clean the floor. Now you can take it down.
Daddy took the spinster’s plaster plaque off the wall and looked at it and sniffed. I looked at him and thought, now I must take mine down too. I waited to see what he was going to do. For a moment he held it over the rubbish bin. Then he went over to the bookcase and shoved the plaque behind some early statuettes of his on the top shelf. You could only just see a little bit of the glossy picture.
I climbed up onto my bunk and took my picture off the nail. I put it behind a candlestick on the bookcase and stepped backwards to have a look. It didn’t look right. So I pulled the picture forward a bit, just enough so that the candlestick hid a couple of forget-me-nots. It couldn’t be helped that the glossy cut-out picture was really very beautiful, and to tell the truth, for me it didn’t profane anything.
The Tulle Skirt
I TURNED THE KEY AND WAITED. After a while the door opened of its own accord, very slowly as if someone inside the wardrobe was forcing it. And then the black tulle skirt poured forth and the door stood still. I did the same thing several times. Each time Mummy’s tulle skirt opened out as if it was alive.
It is a party skirt which will never be used, or rather ten or a hundred transparent party skirts on top of each other, a black mountain of tulle, a great big rain cloud, or perhaps a funeral.
I crept into the wardrobe underneath the skirt and looked up inside it and now it was a lift shaft that faded away into the darkness. I pulled the hem a little. Then the tulle skirt glided out on top of me with a quiet swish. I heard the clothes hanger swing and scrape the top of the wardrobe. I sat still for a long time, I was hidden. Then I crept out of the wardrobe and the skirt came after me.
I went along the corridor inside a rain-cloud that rustled and whispered round me and felt rough against my face. No one was at home.
When I reached the studio the cloud lifted and I could see the legs of the statues and the modelling stand, but everything looked greyish-black as if there was an eclipse of the sun. Every colour was darkened and wrapped in black crepe and the studio was a new studio that I had never been in before.
I went on crawling. It was hot inside the skirt, and sometimes I couldn’t see anything at all. Then I crawled in another direction and tunnels of black light opened up again and the rain was swishing the whole time.
I crawled right up to Daddy’s modelling mirror which stands on the floor by the box of plaster. A great big black creature was creeping towards me.
I got cautious and stood still. The creature was shapeless. It was one of those creatures that can spread itself out and creep under the furniture or turn into a black fog that gets thicker and thicker until it is quite sticky and gets all around you and fastens itself to you.
I let the creature get a little closer and put its hand out. The hand crept along the floor and then was pulled back suddenly. The creature came even closer. Suddenly it got scared and ran quickly in an oblique direction and stopped still. Now I was scared. I kept my eyes on it the whole time. Now it was moving so slowly that you couldn’t really see whether it was coming towards you or not. Occasionally its shape changed just slightly and its black tummy swept over the concrete floor. I could hardly breathe. I knew that I ought to run away and hide but I just couldn’t. Now it moved diagonally again towards the wall and wasn’t to be seen any longer. It was in the pile of junk behind the modelling stand, it was somewhere behind the sacks of plaster and might appear again just anywhere.
It was getting dark in the studio. I knew that it was me who had let the creature out and I couldn’t capture it and lock it up again.
I crept towards the wall very slowly and began to shuffle past the bookcase. I got as far as the curtain and crawled under the work-bench. It was narrow. More and more tulle got in my face, my eyes and my mouth and the further in I crept the worse it got.
In the end I got stuck. I had wound myself into a cocoon of black tulle that smelt of powder and dust and I was completely safe. I wouldn’t come out again for a whole year and when I did I would look round to see whether it was worth coming out or not. If there didn’t seem to be any idea in coming out I should creep back in and stay there for the time being.
Outside in the studio the great big creature was out hunting. It multiplied itself and became many creatures. They snif
fed the air and threw long shadows over the floor. Every time they called to each other they multiplied until the studio was full of them. They rubbed up against the legs of the statues. They padded into the bedroom and jumped up on the beds so that they left deep footmarks.
Finally they all sat down in the studio window and looked out over the harbour and started to howl noiselessly.
It was then that I realised that they weren’t dangerous. Of course they had heard other creatures howling at the Zoo on the island opposite the harbour. They could see the Zoo like a shadow on the other side of the ice and they were driven mad by it. An endless, melancholy prospect; a dark island full of snow and cold cages and creatures pacing up and down, up and down and howling.
I crept backwards under the work-bench and noticed that Mummy’s party skirt was over my head and that it was full of bits of fluff so I shook it off and rushed around and lit the lights everywhere. I lit the lights in the studio and in the sitting-room and in the bedroom and opened lots of windows – I had so much to do – I opened the hall door and pulled back the curtain in front of the door and climbed up on the chairs and pulled out the damper of the stove and a hundred black creatures rushed past me the whole time in every direction.
There was a strong draught and the wind blew right in from the harbour through all the rooms and out on to the staircase and more and more creatures ran out until there wasn’t a single one left. They laughed as they ran.
Finally it was quiet and I thought, well, well, one has to see to everything. But that’s out of the way!
I put Mummy’s party skirt back in the wardrobe and closed it. Then I went into the sitting-room and looked at the snowdrift. It looked very pretty in a long curve on the floor and it was getting slowly bigger. The snow whispered as it came through the window. All the creatures in the Zoo had calmed down and weren’t howling any longer because now they had company. The curtains flapped in the wind and some of the drawings on the wall moved a little. The room was cold and looked quite different and I felt calm and thought that I had organised everything rather well. Actually I had only done what every decent citizen should do. I mean, anyone can let Danger out but the really clever thing is finding somewhere for it to go afterwards.
Snow
WHEN WE GOT TO THE STRANGE HOUSE it began to snow in quite a different way. A mass of tired old clouds opened and flung snow at us, all of a sudden and just anyhow. They weren’t ordinary snowflakes, they fell straight down in large sticky lumps, they clung to each other and sank quickly and they weren’t white, but grey. The whole world was as heavy as lead.
Mummy carried in the suitcases and stamped her feet on the door-mat and talked the whole time because she thought the whole thing was such fun and that everything was different.
But I said nothing because I didn’t like this strange house. I stood in the window and watched the snow falling, and it was all wrong. It wasn’t the same as in town. There it blows black and white over the roof or falls gently as if from heaven, and forms beautiful arches over the sitting-room window. The landscape looked dangerous too. It was bare and open and swallowed up the snow, and the trees stood in black rows that ended in nothing. At the edge of the world there was a narrow fringe of forest. Everything was wrong. It should be winter in town and summer in the country. Everything was topsy-turvy.
The house was big and empty, and there were too many rooms. Everything was very clean and you could never hear your own steps as you walked because the carpets were so big and they were as soft as fur.
If you stood in the furthest room you could see through all the other rooms and it made you feel sad; it was like a train ready to leave with its lights shining over the platform. The last room was dark like the inside of a tunnel except for a faint glow in the gold frames and the mirror which was hung too high on the wall. All the lamps were soft and misty and made a very tiny circle of light. And when you ran you made no noise.
It was just the same outside. Soft and vague and the snow went on falling and falling.
I asked why we were living in this strange house but got no proper answer. The person who cooked the food was hardly ever to be seen and didn’t talk. She padded in without one noticing her and then out again. The door swung to without a sound and rocked backwards and forwards for a long time before it was still. I showed that I didn’t like this house by keeping quiet. I didn’t say a word.
In the afternoon the snow was even greyer and fell in flocks and stuck to the window-panes and then slid down and new flocks appeared out of the twilight and replaced them. They were like grey hands with a hundred fingers. I tried to watch one all the way as it fell, it spread out and fell, faster and faster, I stared at the next one and the next one and in the end my eyes began to hurt and I got scared.
It was hot everywhere, and there was enough room for crowds of people but there were only two of us. I said nothing.
Mummy was happy and rushed all over the place saying, what peace and quiet! Isn’t it lovely and warm! And so she sat down at a big shiny table and began to draw. She took the lace tablecloth off and spread out all her illustrations and opened the bottle of Indian ink.
Then I went upstairs. The stairs creaked and groaned and made lots of noises that stairs make when a family has gone up and down them for ages. That’s good. Stairs should do that sort of thing. One knows exactly which step squeaks and which one doesn’t and where one has to tread if one doesn’t want to make oneself heard. It was just that this staircase wasn’t our staircase. Quite a different family had used it. Therefore I thought this staircase was creepy.
Upstairs all the soft lamps were on in the same way and all the rooms were warm and tidy and all the doors were standing open. Only one door was closed. Inside it was cold and dark. It was the box-room. The other family’s belongings were lying there in packing-cases and trunks and there were moth-proof bags hanging in long rows with a little snow on top of them.
Now I could hear the snow. It was falling all the time, whispering and rustling to itself and in one corner it had crept onto the floor.
The other family was everywhere in there so I shut the door and went down again and said I wanted to go to bed. Actually I didn’t want to go to bed at all, but I thought it would be best. Then I wouldn’t have to say anything. The bed was as wide and desolate as the landscape outside. The eiderdown was like a hand too. You sank and sank right to the bottom of the earth under a big soft hand. Nothing was like it was at home, or like anywhere else.
In the morning it was still snowing in just the same way. Mummy had already got started with her work and was very cheerful. She didn’t have to light fires or get meals ready and didn’t have to be worried about anybody. I said nothing.
I went to the furthest room and watched the snow. I had a great responsibility and had to see what the snow was doing. It had risen since yesterday. A thousand tons of wet snow had slithered down the window-panes, and I had to climb onto a chair to see the long grey landscape. The snow had risen out there, too. The trees were thinner and more timid and the horizon had moved further away. I looked at everything until I knew that soon we would be done for. This snow had decided to go on falling until everything was a single, vast wet snow-drift, and nobody would remember what had been underneath it. All the trees would sink into the earth and all the houses. No roads and no tracks – just snow falling and falling and falling.
I went up to the box-room and listened to it falling, I heard how it stuck fast and grew. I couldn’t think of anything but the snow.
Mummy went on drawing.
I was building with the cushions on the sofa and sometimes I looked at her through a peephole between them. She felt me looking and asked: are you all right? while she went on drawing. And I answered: of course. Then I crept on hands and knees into the end room and climbed onto a chair and saw how the snow was sinking down over me. Now the whole horizon had crept below the edge of the world. The fringe of forest couldn’t be seen any longer, it had slid over. The
world had capsized, it was turning over quietly, a little bit every day.
The very thought of it made me feel giddy. Slowly, slowly, the world was turning, heavy with snow. The trees and houses were no longer upright. They were slanting. Soon it would be difficult to walk straight. All the people on earth would have to creep. If they had forgotten to fasten their windows they would burst open. The doors would burst open. The water barrels would fall over and begin to roll over the endless field and out over the edge of the world. The whole world was full of things rolling, slithering and falling. Big things rumbled, you could hear them from far off, and you had to work out where they would come and get away from them. Here they were, rumbling past, leaping in the snow when the angle was too great, and finally falling into space. Small houses without cellars broke loose and whirled away. The snow stopped falling downwards, it flew horizontally. It fell upwards and disappeared. Everything that couldn’t hold on tight rolled out into space and slowly the sky went dark and turned black. We crept under the furniture between the windows taking care not to tread on the glass. But from time to time a picture or a lamp bracket fell and smashed the window-pane. The house groaned and the plaster came loose. And outside large heavy objects rumbled past, rolling right through the whole of Finland all the way down from the Arctic Circle, and they were even heavier because they had collected so much snow as they rolled and sometimes people fell past screaming all the time.
The snow on the ground began to slither away. It slid in an enormous avalanche which grew and grew over the edge of the world … oh no! oh no!
I rolled backwards and forwards on the carpet to make the horror of it seem greater, and in the end I saw the wall heave over me and the pictures hung straight out on their wires.
What are you doing? Mummy asked.
Then I lay still and said nothing.
