The Big Book of Modern Fantasy

by The Big Book of Modern Fantasy (retail) (epub)

  THE LAST DRAGON IN THE WORLD

  Tove Jansson

  Translated by Thomas Warburton

  ONE THURSDAY, one of the last of the dog-days, Moomintroll caught a small dragon in the brown pond to the right of Moominpappa’s hammock-tree.

  Of course he hadn’t dreamed of catching a dragon. He had hunted for a few of those small wobbly things that were rowing about in the bottom mud, because he wanted to know how they moved their legs when swimming, and whether they always swam backwards. But when he lifted his glass jar against the light there was something altogether different in it.

  “By my everlasting tail,” Moomintroll whispered, overawed. He held the jar between both paws and could only stare.

  The dragon was no bigger than a matchbox, and it swam around with graceful strokes of its transparent wings that were as beautiful as the fins of a goldfish.

  But no goldfish was as splendidly golden as this miniature dragon. It was sparkling like gold; it was knobbly with gold in the sunlight, the small head was emerald green and its eyes were lemon yellow. The six golden legs had each a green little paw, and the tail turned green towards the tip. It was a truly wonderful dragon.

  Moomintroll screwed the lid on the jar (there were breathing-holes) and carefully put it down in the moss. Then he stretched himself out beside the jar and took a closer look.

  The dragon swam close to the glass wall and opened its small jaws. They were packed with tiny white teeth.

  It’s angry, Moomintroll thought. It’s angry even if it’s so very small. What can I do to make it like me?…And what does it eat? What do dragons feed on?

  A little worried and anxious he lifted the jar in his arms and started homewards, cautiously, so as not to make the dragon hurt itself against the glass walls. It was so very small and delicate.

  “I’ll keep you and pet you and love you,” Moomintroll whispered. “You can sleep on my pillow. When you grow up and start liking me I’ll take you for swims in the sea…”

  * * *

  —

  Moominpappa was working on his tobacco patch. One could always show him the dragon and ask him about it. Or still, perhaps better not. Not yet. One could keep it a secret for a few days, until it had become used to people. And until one had had the greatest fun of all: showing it to Snufkin.

  Moomintroll pressed the jar hard against him and went strolling towards the back door as indifferently as possible. The others were somewhere on the front side by the verandah. At the moment when Moomintroll slunk up the back steps little My jumped into view from behind the water barrel and called:

  “What’ve you got?”

  “Nothing,” said Moomintroll.

  “A jar,” said My, craning her neck. “What’s in it? Why are you hiding it?”

  Moomintroll rushed upstairs and into his room. He put the jar on the table. The water was sloshing about, and the dragon had wound his wings around him and curled up into a ball. Now it slowly straightened out and showed its teeth.

  It won’t happen again, Moomintroll promised. I’m so sorry, dearest. He screwed off the lid, so as to give the dragon a better view, and then he went to the door and put the latch on. You never knew with My.

  When he returned to the dragon it had crawled out of the water and was sitting on the edge of the jar. Moomintroll cautiously stuck out a paw to fondle it.

  At this the dragon opened its jaws again and blew out a small cloud of smoke. A red tongue darted out like a flame and vanished again…

  “Ow,” said Moomintroll, because he had burned himself. Not much, but distinctly.

  He admired the dragon more than ever.

  “You’re angry, aren’t you?” he asked in a low voice. “You’re terribly wild and cruel and wicked, are you, what? Oh you sweet little goody-goody-goo!”

  The dragon snorted.

  Moomintroll crawled under his bed and pulled out his night box. In it were a couple of small pancakes, now a little dried, half a piece of bread and butter and an apple. He cut small pieces from them all and laid the morsels on the table in a circle around the dragon. It sniffed at them, gave him a contemptuous look and suddenly ran surprisingly nimbly to the window, where it attacked a large August fly.

  The fly stopped humming and started to screech. The dragon already had its small green forepaws around its neck and blew a little smoke in its eyes.

  And then the small white teeth went snippity-snap, the jaws came open and the August fly disappeared. The dragon swallowed twice, licked its snout, scratched its ear and gave Moomintroll a scoffing, one-eyed glance.

  “How clever you are!” cried Moomintroll. “My little teeny-weeny-poo!”

  Just then Moominmamma beat the lunch gong downstairs.

  “Now wait for me and be good,” Moomintroll said. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He stood for a moment looking longingly at the dragon, that didn’t appear to be cuddly in the least. Then he whispered: “Little dearie,” and ran downstairs and out on the verandah.

  Even before her spoon had touched her porridge My started off:

  “Certain people seem to be hiding secrets in mysterious glass jars.”

  “Shut up,” said Moomintroll.

  “One is led to believe,” My continued, “that certain people are keeping leeches or wood-lice or why not very large centipedes that multiply a hundred times a minute.”

  “Mother,” Moomintroll said. “You know, I’ve always wished for some small pet that was attached to me, and if I would ever have one, then it should be, or would…”

  “How much wood would a wood louse chuck,” said My and blew bubbles in her milk glass.

  “What?” asked Moominpappa and looked up from his newspaper.

  “Moomintroll has found a new animal,” Moominmamma explained. “Does it bite?”

  “It’s so small it can’t bite very hard,” her son mumbled.

  “And when will it grow up?” asked the Mymble. “When can one have a look at it? Does it talk?”

  Moomintroll was silent. Now all was spoiled again. One ought to have the right to have a secret and to spring it as a surprise. But if you live inside a family you have neither. They know about everything from the start, and nothing’s any fun after that.

  “I’m going down to the river after lunch,” Moomintroll said, slowly and contemptuously. Contemptuously as a dragon. “Mother, please tell them that they’re not to go into my room. I can’t answer for the consequences.”

  “Good,” said Moominmamma and gave My a look. “Not a living soul may open his door.”

  Moomintroll finished his porridge in dignified silence. Then he went out, through the garden down to the bridge.

  * * *

  —

  Snufkin was sitting before his tent, painting a cork float. Moomintroll looked at him, and straight away he felt happy over his dragon again.

  “Whew,” he said. “Families are a cross sometimes.”

  Snufkin grunted in agreement without taking his pipe from his mouth. They sat silent for a while, in male and friendly solidarity.

  “By the way,” Moomintroll suddenly said. “Have you ever come across a dragon on your wanderings?”

  “You don’t mean salamanders, lizards or crocodiles, apparently,” Snufkin replied after a long silence. “You mean a dragon. No. Never. They’re extinct.”

  “But there might be one left,” Moomintroll said slowly, “and someone might even catch it in a glass jar some day.”

  Snufkin gave him a sharp look and saw that Moomintroll was about to burst from delight and suspense. So he replied quite curtly:

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Possibly it would be no bigger than a matchbox even if it could spit fire all right,” Moomintroll continued with a yawn.

  “Well, that’s pure fantasy, of course,” said Snufkin, w
ho knew how surprises are prepared.

  His friend stared past him and said:

  “A dragon of pure gold with tiny green paws, who’d be devoted to one and follow one everywhere…”

  And then Moomintroll jumped to his feet and cried: “I’ve found it! I’ve found a real dragon of my own!”

  * * *

  —

  While they walked up to the house Snufkin went through the whole scale of disbelief, astonishment and wonder. He was perfect.

  They went upstairs, opened the door with great caution and went in.

  The jar of water stood on the table as before, but the dragon had disappeared from it. Moomintroll looked under the bed, behind the chest of drawers and all over the floor, calling all the while:

  “Little friend…my pretty-pretty…my teeny-weeny, where are you…”

  “Moomin,” Snufkin said, “it’s sitting on the window curtain.”

  So it was, high on the rod near the ceiling.

  “How on earth,” cried Moomintroll in great alarm. “He mustn’t fall down…Keep quite still. Wait a bit…don’t talk…”

  He pulled the bedclothes from his bed and spread them on the floor below the window. Then he took the hemulen’s old butterfly net and reached up towards the dragon.

  “Jump!” he whispered. Teeny-weeny…don’t be afraid, it can’t hurt you…”

  “You’ll frighten it away,” said Snufkin.

  The dragon yawned and hissed. It gave the butterfly net a good bite and started to purr like a small engine. And suddenly it flapped out under the ceiling and began flying around in circles.

  “He’s flying, he’s flying!” Moomintroll shouted. “My dragon’s flying!”

  “Of course,” said Snufkin. “Don’t jump about so. Keep still.”

  The dragon was hanging quite still in the air. Its wings were a blur, like a moth’s. And then suddenly it dived down, bit Moomintroll in the ear, so he gave a cry and then it flew straight to Snufkin and settled on his shoulder.

  It edged closer against his ear, closed its eyes and started to purr.

  “What a funny creature,” Snufkin said in astonishment. “It’s all hot and glowing. What does it do?”

  “It’s liking you,” said Moomintroll.

  * * *

  —

  In the afternoon the Snork Maiden came home from visiting little My’s grandma and of course was told at once that Moomintroll had found a dragon.

  It was sitting on the verandah table beside Snufkin’s cup of coffee, licking its paws. It had bitten everybody except Snufkin, and every time it became cross at anything it burned a hole somewhere.

  “What a sweetie-pie,” said the Snork Maiden. “What’s its name?”

  “Nothing special,” Moomintroll mumbled. “It’s just a dragon.”

  He let his paw warily crawl across the table until it touched one of the little gilded legs. At once the dragon whirled around, hissed at him and blew a small cloud of smoke.

  “How sweet!” the Snork Maiden cried.

  The dragon ran over to Snufkin’s pipe that was lying at the table, and sniffed at the bowl. Where it had sat was a round brown-edged hole in the table cloth.

  “I wonder if it can burn through oilcloth too,” Moominmamma said.

  “Naturally,” said little My. “Just wait until it’s grown a bit. It’ll burn down the house for us.”

  She grabbed a piece of cake, and the dragon rushed at her like a small golden fury and bit her in the paw.

  “You d…d spider!” cried My, and slapped at the dragon with her napkin.

  “If you say things like that you’ll never go to heaven,” the Mymble started instantly, but Moomintroll cut her short with a cry:

  “It wasn’t the dragon’s fault! He thought you wanted the fly that was sitting on the cake.”

  “You and your dragon!” cried My, whose paw was really hurting badly. “It isn’t yours even, it’s Snufkin’s, because it likes only him!”

  There was a silence.

  “Did I hear the small fry squeak,” said Snufkin and rose from the table. “A few hours more and it’ll know where it belongs. Well. Be off. Fly to master!”

  But the dragon had settled on Snufkin’s shoulder again and clung to it with all six clawed paws, purring all the while like a sewing machine. Snufkin picked it up between thumb and forefinger and put it under the tea-cosy. Then he opened the glass door and went out into the garden.

  “Oh, he’ll suffocate,” Moomintroll said and lifted the tea-cosy half an inch off the table. The dragon came out like lightning, flew straight to the window and sat there staring after Snufkin, with its paws against the pane. After a little while it began to whine, and its golden colour turned to grey from neck to tail.

  “Dragons,” Moominpappa broke the silence, “disappeared from public consciousness about seventy years ago. I’ve looked them up in the encyclopaedia. The last to keep alive was the emotional species with strong combustion. They are most stubborn and never change their mind about anything…”

  “Thanks for the tea,” Moomintroll said and rose from the table. “I’m going upstairs.”

  “Darling, shall we leave your dragon here on the verandah?” Moominmamma asked. “Or are you taking it along with you?”

  Moomintroll didn’t reply.

  He went to the door and opened it. There was a flash as the dragon swished past him, and the Snork Maiden cried:

  “Oh! You won’t catch it again! Why did you? I hadn’t even looked at it properly yet!”

  “Go and look for Snufkin,” Moomintroll said between clenched teeth. “It will be sitting on his shoulder.”

  “My darling,” Moominmamma said sadly. “My little troll.”

  * * *

  —

  Snufkin had barely got his fishing line baited when the dragon came buzzing and settled on his knee. It nearly tied itself into knots from delight at having found him.

  “Well, this is a pretty kettle,” Snufkin said and whisked the creature away. “Shoo. Be off with you. Go home!”

  But of course he knew it was no use. The dragon would never leave him. And for all he knew it could live a hundred years.

  Snufkin looked a little sadly at the small shining creature that was doing all it could to attract his attention.

  “Yes, you’re nice,” he said. “Yes, it would be fun to have you along. But, don’t you see, there’s Moomintroll…”

  The dragon yawned. It flew to his ragged hat brim and curled up to sleep on it. Snufkin sighed and cast his line into the river. His new float bobbed in the current, shining brightly red. He knew that Moomintroll wouldn’t like fishing today. The Groke take it all…

  The hours went by.

  The little dragon flew off and caught some flies and returned to sleep on the hat. Snufkin got five roaches and one eel that he let off again because it made such a fuss.

  Towards evening a boat came down the river. A youngish hemulen steered.

  “Any luck?” he asked.

  “So so,” Snufkin replied. “Going far?”

  “Oh, well,” said the hemulen.

  “Throw me your painter,” Snufkin said. “You might have use for a few fish. Swaddle them in damp newspapers and roast them on the embers. It’s not too bad.”

  “And what do you want?” asked the hemulen who wasn’t used to presents.

  Snufkin laughed and took off his hat with the sleeping dragon.

  “Now listen,” he said. “Take this with you as far as you’re going and leave it in some nice place where there are a lot of flies. Fold up the hat to look like a nest, and put it under a bush or something to make this dragon feel undisturbed.”

  “A dragon, is it?” the hemulen asked suspiciously. “Does he bite? How often does one have to feed him?”

  Snufkin went i
nto his tent and returned with his old tea-kettle. He shoved a tuft of grass down into it and cautiously let the sleeping dragon down after it. Then he placed the lid firmly on and said:

  “You can poke some flies down the nozzle now and then, and pour in a few drops of water sometimes also. Don’t mind if the kettle becomes hot. Here you are. After a couple of days you can leave it.”

  “That’s quite a job for five roaches,” the hemulen replied sourly and hauled home his painter. The boat started to glide with the current.

  “Don’t forget the hat,” Snufkin called over the water. “It’s very particular about my hat.”

  “No, no, no,” said the hemulen and disappeared round the bend.

  “He’ll burn his fingers some time,” Snufkin thought. “Might serve him right.”

  * * *

  —

  Moomintroll came after sundown.

  “Hello,” Snufkin said.

  “Yippee,” Moomintroll said tonelessly. “Caught any fish?”

  “So so,” Snufkin replied. “Won’t you sit down?”

  “Oh, I just happened to pass by,” Moomintroll mumbled.

  There was a pause. A new kind of silence, troubled and awkward. Finally Moomintroll asked:

  “Does he shine in the dark?”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, the dragon. I just thought it might be fun to ask if a creep like that shines in the dark.”

  “I really don’t know,” Snufkin said. “You’d better go home and take a look.”