by Tove Jansson
And then she caught sight of them, right at the far end of Robert Street, only two specks but moving, quite clearly moving. They were coming. She began to run.
The kitchen she shared with Kris was on the ground floor. They had always eaten at the kitchen table and had been about to have dinner when it happened. The rest of the floor was totally blocked. Kris had pointlessly injured his leg. In Emily’s opinion he should never have rushed out, ending up with half the facade on top of him. It was nothing but idle male curiosity. He knew perfectly well what you were supposed to do. There had been warnings on the radio: “Stay indoors in the event of …” and so on. And now here he was lying on a mattress Emily had found in the street.
She had hung the rug up to cover the hole where the window had blown out, and later fixed the whole thing in place by nailing up boards from rubbish she found outside. Luckily the toolbox had been in the kitchen. Otherwise, absolutely anyone could have climbed in through the window. To be really safe she spent hours piling up camouflage on the outside as well. As Kristian lay on his mattress listening to Emily constructing their defences, he couldn’t help feeling that she was enjoying herself – at least up to a point. He took care not to alarm her. He spent a lot of time sleeping. This business of his leg didn’t seem too serious but it did hurt and he couldn’t rest his weight on it. The darkness distressed him more.
Now he was awake and groping for the candle and matches on the floor by the mattress. He lit the candle carefully so the match wouldn’t go out. He had the books from the Erikssons’ place, unread books from a world that had no meaning for him any more. He wound up his watch, as he did every morning. It was a little after six; she’d be home any minute. There weren’t many matches left.
I wish we could talk about what’s happened, thought Kristian; give it a name, have a serious matter-of-fact conversation. But I haven’t the heart to. And I don’t want to frighten her. If only we could have that damn window open.
Here she was. She unlocked the kitchen door, put her bags on the table, smiled at him and showed him the Erikssons’ gilded clock, a monstrous object. “How’s the leg? Had a good sleep?”
“Excellent,” said Kristian. “Did you find any matches?”
“No. And there wasn’t any more fruit juice. They’ve slashed the sofa at the Erikssons’.”
“You’re out of breath,” said Kristian. “You’ve been running. Did you see them?”
Emily took off her coat and hung the new washing-up brush on the peg where the old one had been. “I must get some more water from the river so I can wash up,” she said.
“Emily? Did you see them?”
“Yes. Only two of them. A long way off. Somewhere near Edlund’s corner. Maybe people are moving to the centre now the shops are empty.”
“Edlund’s corner? But I thought you said it wasn’t there any more? That there’s nothing left beyond the petrol station?”
“Yes, yes, but the corner itself is still there.” Emily put a plate with tomato juice and crispbread down beside him on the floor. “Try and eat something. You’re getting much too thin.” She took down the household book and entered the new cans of sauerkraut on the Vegetables page.
Very soon Kristian started talking about the window. They had to open it, free it up and let in the daylight again. He couldn’t stand this darkness any longer.
“But they’ll get in!” Emily exclaimed. “they’ll find us in no time and take all the food I’ve been shopping for! Kris, please do try to understand. You have no idea what I’ve seen! The Erikssons’ sofa… tons of smashed china, antiques as well… And anyway, it’s so dark outside.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, it just keeps getting darker. Two weeks ago I could go shopping at four and now it’s hard to see anything before five.”
Kristian was very disturbed. “Are you sure? That it’s getting darker? But it’s the beginning of June – it can’t be getting darker!”
“Kris, love. Calm down. It’s just that it’s always overcast. We haven’t seen the sun since… I mean, not even once.”
He sat up and took hold of her arm. “D’you mean like twilight or…?”
“No – I just mean it’s overcast! Clouds, you know? Clouds! Why are you trying to upset me?”
Far off in the city the siren started up again. It sounded intermittently, with long intervals, a sort of helpless lament that made Emily frantic. Kristian had tried to reassure her by saying maybe they had a generator at the fire station that had somehow got stuck, but it was no use. She’d just wept, like she was doing now. Then she sprang up and began blindly rearranging her cans and jars on the kitchen shelf. One fell to the floor, rolled across and knocked over the candle, putting it out.
“Look what you’ve done,” he said. “How many matches do you think we have left! What do you think we’ll do when they’re all gone – sit here in the dark and wait for the end? We’ve got to have that window open!”
“You and your window!” shouted Emily. “Why can’t you just let me be happy? You know you like it when I’m happy! And we’ve got it nice here at home, haven’t we? I found a bar of soap yesterday, you hear – a bar of soap!” Suddenly calm, she went on, “I’m making our home cosy and snug. I go out and shop. I find amazing things… Why do you have to scare me? Why do you have to make everything so dismal?”
“How do you think it feels?” said Kristian, ‘How do you think it feels lying here like a corpse unable to help you or look after you! It feels like shit.”
“You’re proud, aren’t you?” Emily said. “Has it never occurred to you that I’ve never in all my life had a chance to protect anyone else and make decisions and take responsibility for important things? Let me keep that. Don’t take it away from me! All you have to do to help is keep me from being afraid.” She found the matches and lit the candle. “The only thing that worries me is that they might come and take our food. Nothing else.”
One day Kristian forgot to wind up his watch. At first he couldn’t admit it, not right away, not till evening. Emily was standing at the sink; she stiffened but said nothing.
“I know,” said Kristian. “It’s unforgivable. My only duty and I’ve failed. Emily? Speak to me.”
“they’ve all stopped,” said Emily in a very low voice. “All the clocks have stopped. Now I’ll never again know when it’s time to go shopping.”
He insisted, “It was unforgivable of me.”
They said no more about it. But this business of the watch changed something; it established uncertainty, a reticence between them. Emily went out less often with her bags; the food shops were empty and going to the Erikssons’ only made her sad. However, the last time she went there, she took the large Spanish silk shawl lying over the piano, thinking it might add a little colour to their barricaded window. On the way home she saw a dog. She tried to get it to come to her but it ran away.
When she came into the kitchen, she said, “I saw a dog.”
Kristian was immediately interested. “Where? What did it look like?”
“A brown and white setter. Near the park. I called but it got scared and ran away. The rats aren’t scared.”
“Which way did it run?”
“Oh, it just ran off. Funny no one’s eaten it yet. And what the poor dog must have been living on doesn’t bear thinking about. In any case, it wasn’t particularly thin.”
Kristian lay down again. “Sometimes you astonish me,” he said. “Women astonish me.”
* * *
Their life went on unchanged. Kristian’s leg got a little better, and now and then he managed to sit at the kitchen table. He’d sit there sorting the matches into piles and doing calculations: so many matches would last them such and such a length of time. Every time Emily came back from fetching water he would ask her if she had seen them. Then one morning she did see them.
“Were they men or women?”
“I don’t know. They were a long way off in the park.”
�
��Couldn’t you see whether they were young or old?”
“No.”
“I wonder,” said Kristian, “I wonder if they’ve noticed too how it’s getting darker all the time. I wonder what they think about. Do they try and talk things over and make plans, or are they just scared. Why haven’t they gone away like all the others? And do they think they’re entirely alone, that there isn’t anyone else left, not a single…”
“Kris love, I don’t know. I try not to think about them.”
“But we have to think about them!” Kristian burst out. “Perhaps that’s all there is, us and them. We could meet them.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“On the contrary, I’m serious. We could talk to them. Figure out what we could do together. Share things.”
“Not our food!” Emily shouted.
“Keep your cans and jars,” said Kristian contemptuously. “We could share what’s happened, the things you never want to talk about. What’s happened, why it happened, and where we can go from here if there is any going on.”
“I have to take the rubbish out,” said Emily.
“You don’t have to do any such thing. You need to listen to what I have to say. It’s important.” And Kristian went on talking, trying to communicate to her the conviction that had formed in him during all those days and weeks of being imprisoned in darkness. He offered Emily his respect for her judgment in exchange for the trust and loyalty he felt she owed him as his woman. In fact he was making her a declaration of love, but she didn’t understand that, and left the room without a word so she wouldn’t have to listen.
When she had gone Kristian was gripped by a terrible rage. He made his way to the window and tore down the Spanish shawl. Then he pried loose the boards one after another, attacking the window with a hatred born of disappointment till his leg gave way and he sank to his knees. But through a little opening at one side, daylight came into the room.
Emily had come back. She stood in the doorway and shouted, “You’ve torn my Spanish shawl!”
“Yes, I’ve torn your shawl. The world is coming to an end and little Emily’s shawl is torn. What a shame! Give me the axe – now!”
Kristian threw himself at the barricade. Time and again he collapsed and had to lower the axe – and then he’d try again.
“Let me,” whispered Emily.
“No. This has nothing to do with you.”
But she moved forward to support him so he could continue. When the window was opened, she began sweeping up the mess he’d made. Kristian waited for her to speak but she said nothing. In the grey light from outside, their kitchen seemed unfamiliar, exposed, a room full of random shabbiness and unnecessary things.
Then Emily said, “They’re coming,” and without looking at him went on. “You seem to be doing pretty well on your leg. You’re so difficult these days I can’t cope with you. Come on, let’s go out.” She opened the kitchen door.
“But do you have confidence in me?” asked Kristian. “Do you believe in me?”
“Don’t be so pompous – of course I do. But take your coat; it’s getting colder.” She helped him on with his coat and took his arm.
Outside it was already getting darker as evening came on. The others had come nearer. Very slowly, Kristian and Emily walked towards them.
The Forest
IN THOSE DAYS there was nothing but cow paths through the forest, which was so big that if you went looking for berries you could get lost and not find your way home again for days. We didn’t dare go more than a little way in, and even then we would just stand there and listen to the silence for a while before running back. Matti was more scared than I was, but then he wasn’t yet six years old. There was a drop-off below the hill, and Mum had given us quite a lecture about that hill before we said goodbye.
Mum worked in town so that we could spend our summer at the cottage, which she had rented through an advertisement. She had also hired Anna to make our meals. Mostly Anna just wanted to be left in peace. “Go out and play,” she’d say.
Matti followed me everywhere, saying, “Wait for me!” and “What’ll we play?” but he was way too little to hang out with. What are you supposed to do with a little brother? The days were really long.
Then, one very special day, Mum sent us a parcel and in the parcel was a book that changed everything – it was called Tarzan of the Apes.
Of course Matti couldn’t read yet, but I would read him bits of it from time to time. Mostly though, I’d take Tarzan with me into a tree. Matti would stand at the bottom and pester me with questions. “What’s happening now? Is Tarzan okay?”
Then Mum sent us The Beasts of Tarzan and The Son of Tarzan.
Anna said, “What a nice mum you boys have. It’s such a shame you lost your poor papa.”
“He’s not lost!” Matti said. “He’s big and strong and he’s not afraid of anything, so you watch what you say about him!”
Later Matti announced that he was Tarzan’s son.
The summer changed totally, and the biggest change was that we started going into the forest. We discovered that it was a jungle that no one had ever explored, and we ventured in farther and farther to where the trees crowded together in perpetual twilight. We had to learn to tread silently like Tarzan so as not to crack the smallest twig, and we learned to listen a new way. I explained that for the time being we couldn’t use the cow paths, because the jungle beasts used them to reach their watering holes. I told Matti we had to be a bit careful with our wild friends, at least for now.
“All right, Tarzan,” said Matti.
I taught him how to tell directions by the sun so we could find our way home, and I explained we must never set out in cloudy weather. My son became braver and more skilful, but he never quite overcame his fear of deadly ants.
Sometimes we lay on our backs in the moss, in some safe place, and gazed up into a mighty world of green. We hardly ever caught a glimpse of the sky, although the forest bore the sky on its roof. And though we could hear the wind moving through the treetops, the air was utterly still. There was never any danger because the jungle concealed and protected us.
One time we came to a stream. Tarzan’s son knew the stream was full of piranhas, but he waded across it all the same – very quickly. I was proud of him, perhaps never more so than the time he ventured a little way into deep water, all by himself. I was standing behind a rock holding a safety line but he didn’t know that.
I made us bows and arrows but we shot only one or two hyenas – we didn’t really count them among our wild friends – and once a boa constrictor. We hit it right in the mouth and it died instantly.
When we came home to eat, Anna asked what we’d been playing and my son told her we were much too old to play. We were exploring the jungle.
“That’s nice,” said Anna. “You go right ahead. But do try not to be late for supper.”
We discovered a new independence and followed only the Law of the Jungle, which can never be questioned and is strict and just. And the jungle opened its arms and accepted us. Each day, we had the heady experience of daring, of stretching our limits to the utmost, of being stronger than we’d dreamed. But we never killed anything smaller than ourselves.
August arrived with its black nights. When the sunset cast its red light between the tree trunks we would run home because we didn’t want to see the darkness fall.
Then, when Anna had turned off the lamp and closed the kitchen door, we would lie in bed and listen. Something howled a long way off, then a hooting close to the cottage.
“Tarzan?” Matti whispered. “Did you hear that?”
“Sleep,” I said. “Nothing can get in. Trust me, my son.”
But suddenly I knew with a terrible certainty that my wild friends were friends no longer. I caught the rank smell of wild beasts rubbing their hairy bodies against the wall of the cottage… It was I who had conjured them, and only I could send them away before it was too late.
“Papa!”
Matti cried. “They’re coming in!”
“Don’t be silly,” I said. “It’s only some old owls and foxes making a noise; now go to sleep. All that stuff about the jungle was something we made up. It isn’t true.”
I said it very loud so they would hear outside.
“Of course it’s true,” Matti shrieked. “You’re wrong! They’re real!” He worked himself up into a real state.
The next summer Matti wanted us to go into the jungle again. But to be honest, that would just have been leading him on.
The PE Teacher’s Death
ONE SPRING, WHEN THE TREES in the Cambrai district were about to turn green, something tragic happened that had a lengthy and profound effect on the Southern Latin Boys’ School: the PE teacher hanged himself in the gym. The caretaker found him on Saturday evening. Gym was replaced till further notice by drawing lessons for the lower classes, and almost without exception the boys chose extremely morbid themes for their sketches.
The school was closed on the day of the funeral. In the headmaster’s view, the sad event might have had something to do with the teacher failing to pass an exam required for the job of Director of Physical Education, but there were other theories too. One set of speculations concerned a copse of trees a kilometre west of the school that was due to be cleared. This little patch of woodland was barely three acres in size. The PE teacher had been in the habit of taking his pupils there on Sundays. It was believed that he was the one who had cut the barbed-wire fence that the Highrise Development Company had placed around the site to stop people climbing into the wood and getting into mischief before it was cut down. Whatever the truth of the matter, it was generally considered that his death had at the very least been an overreaction and entirely unnecessary.
