Astrid Lindgren, illustrated by Ilon Wikland, translated from the Swedish by Jill Morgan

by Astrid Lindgren

  “The grass hears us,” said Nonno. “And the flowers and wind. The trees hear how we play, the willow trees that lean over the stream.”

  “Do they?” I said. “Do they like it?”

  “Yes, they love it,” said Nonno.

  We played a long time for the grass and flowers and wind and trees. But I still thought it was a shame there weren’t any people to hear us.

  Then Nonno said, “We can go home and play for my grandmother if you want to. My grandmother that I live with.”

  “Does she live far from here?” I asked.

  “Yes, but the way will seem short, if we play as we walk,” said Nonno.

  “Yes, yes, the way won’t be long, if we play as we walk,” said Pompoo. He wanted to walk home to see Nonno’s grandmother as much as I did.

  In fairy tales there are always kind old grandmothers. But I’d never met a real grandmother, though I know there are many. That’s why I thought it would be so fun to go and meet Nonno’s grandmother.

  We had to take all Nonno’s lambs and sheep with us. And Miramis. We were a whole caravan. First went Pompoo and Nonno and I, then came the sheep and lambs and at the end rambled Miramis. Practically as slow as Charlie. We walked over hills and played as we went along. The lambs probably wondered where we were taking them. But I think they enjoyed it, because they bleated and skipped around us the whole time.

  When we had walked for many hours and over many hills, we came to Nonno’s house. It was the kind of house in fairy tales, too, a funny little cottage with a thatched roof and lots of lilacs and jasmine outside.

  “Be quiet now, so we can surprise Grandmother,” said Nonno.

  A window stood open and we could hear someone bustling about inside. We lined up by the window, Nonno and Pompoo and I.

  “Let’s start,” said Nonno. “One, two, three!”

  And we did. We played such a merry tune that the lambs skipped and danced when they heard it. An old, old woman came to the window; she looked very kind. She was Nonno’s grandmother and she clapped her hands and said, “Oh, what beautiful music!”

  We played to her for a long time and she remained by the window listening until we were done. She was very old and looked like a character out of a fairy tale, though she was a real grandmother.

  After that we went into the cottage. Nonno’s grandmother asked us if we were hungry, and we were. So she brought out a loaf of bread and cut thick slices from it which she gave us. It was crisp brown bread, and it was the best bread I’ve ever eaten in my life.

  “Oh, it tastes good,” I said to Nonno. “What kind of bread is it?”

  “I don’t think it’s any special kind of bread,” said Nonno. “We call it the Bread That Satisfies Hunger.”

  Miramis wanted to eat with us, too. He came and stuck his head through the open window and neighed a little. We laughed at him because he looked so funny. But Nonno’s grandmother stroked his nose and gave him some of the good bread too.

  After that I was thirsty and when I told Nonno, he said, “Follow me.”

  He took us into the garden, and there was a clear well. Nonno lowered a wooden pail down into the well and brought up some water and we drank out of the wooden pail. It was the coolest and best water I’ve ever tasted in my life.

  “Oh, that’s very good,” I said to Nonno. “What kind of well is it?”

  “It’s not any special kind of well,” said Nonno. “We call it the Well That Quenches Thirst.”

  Miramis was thirsty, and the lambs and sheep too, so we gave them water to drink.

  Soon it was time for Nonno to walk back to the pastures among the hills, with his sheep. He asked his grandmother for the cloak he would use to wrap up in while sleeping out in the pastures at night, watching over his sheep. She brought out a brown cloak and gave it to him. I thought Nonno was very lucky to be able to sleep in the pastures. It was something I’d never done before. Sometimes Ben and his mama and papa used to ride their bikes out to a campground. They would pitch their tent on a pleasant wooded hillside and sleep in their sleeping bags at night. Ben always said it was the best time, and I believe it.

  “I wish I could sleep outside all night,” I said to Nonno.

  “You can,” said Nonno. “Follow me!”

  “No,” I said. “My father the King would be worried if I didn’t come home.”

  “I can take a message to our lord King that you’ll be sleeping out in the pastures tonight,” said Nonno’s grandmother.

  “And to my father, too,” said Pompoo.

  “To the Master Rose Gardener, too,” agreed Nonno’s grandmother.

  Pompoo and I were so thrilled that we skipped and jumped even more than the lambs.

  But Nonno’s grandmother looked at our short white jerseys, which were all we had to wear, and she said, “When the dew begins to fall you’ll be cold.” She suddenly looked very sad. “I have two more cloaks,” she said in a quiet little voice.

  She went over to an old chest which was standing in a corner of the cottage and took out two cloaks, a red one and a blue.

  “My brothers’ cloaks,” said Nonno, looking so sad, too.

  “Where are your brothers?” I asked.

  “Sir Kato,” whispered Nonno. “The cruel Sir Kato seized them.”

  When he said this, Miramis neighed outside as if someone had whipped him. All the lambs ran anxiously to their mothers, and all the sheep bleated as if their last hour had come.

  Nonno’s grandmother gave me the red cloak and Pompoo the blue, and she gave Nonno a loaf of the Bread That Satisfies Hunger and a pitcher of water from the Well That Quenches Thirst. And so we walked back over the hills the same way we had come.

  It made me sad to think of Nonno’s brothers, but I couldn’t help feeling happy since I was allowed to sleep out in the pasture.

  When we came to the hill by the willow tree that leaned over the stream, we stopped and Nonno said we should camp there for the night.

  And we did. We lit a fire—a big, warm glorious fire. We sat around it and ate the Bread That Satisfies Hunger and drank the water from the Well That Quenches Thirst. The dew fell and darkness came, but it didn’t matter, because by the fire it was light and warm.

  We wrapped our cloaks around us and lay down close to the fire and around about us slept all the sheep and lambs, and Miramis grazed nearby. We lay there, listening to the wind whistling through the grass, and saw the light from the fires far away. Many, many fires were lit tonight because so many shepherds lived on Greenfields Island. We heard them playing in the darkness, the old melody that Nonno said shepherds had been playing for thousands and thousands of years. Yes, we lay watching the fires and listening to the old melody played by a shepherd we didn’t know, but who played for us through the night. And it was as if the melody wanted something particular from me.

  The sky twinkled with stars, the biggest and brightest stars I’ve ever seen. I lay there and looked at them. I turned on my back, lying there so warm in my red cloak and I watched them. Then I remembered how we had played for the grass and flowers and wind and trees, and Nonno had said they liked it. But we hadn’t played for the stars. “Do stars care if you play to them?” I wondered just that. I asked Nonno and he said he believed they did. So we sat around the fire, took out our flutes, and played a little song for the stars.

  The Well That Whispers at Night

  I’D NEVER SEEN the Land on the Other Side of the Water and Beyond the Mountains. But one day when I walked with my father the King through the Garden of Roses, I asked him if I could ride over the Bridge of Morninglight. My father the King stopped in his tracks, and took my face in his hands. He looked at me so kindly, yet so solemnly.

  “Mio, my son,” he said. “You may travel wherever you like in my country. You may play on Greenfields Island or ride to the Land on the Other Side of the Water and Beyond the Mountains whenever you want to. You may travel east and west and north and south, as far as Miramis will carry you. But there is one th
ing that you must know. There is a country called Outer Land.”

  “Who lives there?” I asked.

  “Sir Kato,” said my father the King, and his face darkened. “The cruel Sir Kato.”

  As he said that name, it seemed like something vile and treacherous had entered the Garden of Roses. The white birds flew to their nests. Sorrowbird screeched loudly and beat his broad black wings. And at that moment many roses withered and died.

  “Mio, my son,” said my father the King. “You’re dearer to me than anything, and my heart grows heavy when I think of Sir Kato.”

  The wind rushed through the silver poplars as if a storm had passed through them. Countless leaves dropped to the ground, and they seemed to cry as they fell. I felt scared of Sir Kato. So scared, so scared.

  “If your heart grows heavy, you must not think of him anymore,” I said.

  My father the King nodded and took my hand.

  “You’re right,” he said. “For a little while I’ll forget Sir Kato. For a little while you can play the flute and build huts in the Garden of Roses.”

  Then we went to find Pompoo.

  My father the King had much to attend to in his great country, but he always had time for me. He never said, “Go away, I don’t have time now!” He liked being with me. Every morning he walked with me in the Garden of Roses. He showed me where the birds were nesting, and looked at our hut, and taught me the right way to ride on Miramis, and talked with me and Pompoo about everything. That’s just what I liked so much about him—that he talked with Pompoo too. Exactly as Ben’s papa used to do with me. I enjoyed it, when Ben’s papa talked to me and Ben always looked so pleased then, as if he were thinking, “He’s my father but I like him talking to you, too.” And that’s just how I felt, when my father the King talked with Pompoo.

  It was probably a good thing that Pompoo and I went out for long rides, because how else could my father the King govern his vast county? If we hadn’t been away, sometimes for whole days on end, then my father the King would have kept on playing and talking with me instead of looking after his country. So it was probably a good thing that I had Pompoo, and Miramis, too.

  Oh, my Miramis, what rides I took on his back! My Miramis, who carried me over the Bridge of Morning-light for the first time, I’ll never forget it.

  It was early in the morning when the guards lowered the bridge for the day. The soft grass was wet with dew, which soaked Miramis’s golden hooves, but it didn’t matter. We were a little sleepy, Pompoo and I, because we had gotten up so early. But the air was cool and fresh and felt so pleasant against our faces. As we rode across the meadows we became wide awake. We reached the Bridge of Morninglight just as the sun was coming up. We rode out on the bridge, and we felt like we were riding on golden rays of light. The bridge went high, high up over the water. Looking down made me feel dizzy. We were riding on the tallest and longest bridge in the world. Miramis’s golden mane glistened in the sun. Faster, faster, faster he ran. Higher and higher and higher up we moved along the bridge. Miramis’s hooves thundered. It was glorious and soon I would see the Land on the Other Side of the Water. Soon, soon.

  “Pompoo,” I shouted, “Pompoo, aren’t you glad, isn’t this glorious. . . .”

  Then I saw what was going to happen. Something terrible was going to happen. Miramis was galloping straight toward an abyss. The bridge ended. It ended in mid-air because the guards hadn’t lowered it properly. The bridge didn’t reach the Land on the Other Side of the Water. There was a horrible gap where the bridge should have been, an awful depth. I’ve never been so scared before. I wanted to scream to Pompoo, but I couldn’t. I pulled on Miramis’s reins to stop him, but he didn’t obey me. He neighed wildly and galloped on with thundering hooves to certain death, straight toward the abyss. I was so scared! Soon we would plunge down into the abyss. Soon I would no longer hear the sound of Miramis’s hooves, but only his cries as he tumbled down into the depths with his golden mane streaming around him. I shut my eyes and thought of my father the King, while Miramis’s hooves thundered on.

  Suddenly the thundering stopped. I could still hear the sound of hooves, but it was a different sound, a thudding like Miramis was galloping on something soft. I opened my eyes and looked, then I saw that Miramis was galloping on air. Oh, my Miramis with the golden mane, he moved through the air as easily as he did on land! He could gallop over the clouds and jump over the stars if he wanted to. I’m sure no one ever had such a horse as mine. You can’t imagine how it felt sitting on his back, flying through the air, and looking down at the Land on the Other Side of the Water, far below in the sunshine.

  “Pompoo,” I shouted, “Pompoo, Miramis can gallop over the clouds!”

  “Didn’t you know that?” he answered, as if there was nothing strange about what Miramis could do.

  “No, how could I know?” I said.

  Pompoo laughed and said, “There’s a lot you don’t know, Mio.”

  We rode around up in the sky for a long time while Miramis jumped over the little white clouds. It was incredibly exciting and enjoyable, but at last we wanted to land. Miramis descended slowly to the ground and stopped. We had arrived at the Land on the Other Side of the Water.

  “Here’s a green meadow for Miramis with the golden mane,” said Pompoo. “Let him graze here while we go and see Totty.”

  “Who’s Totty?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” said Pompoo. “Totty and his sisters and brothers live near here.”

  He took my hand and led me nearby to a white cottage with a thatched roof. It was exactly like a cottage from a fairy tale, too. It’s hard to explain why a house looks like it comes straight out of a fairy tale. Maybe it’s something in the air, or the old trees standing around it, or the fairylike scent of flowers in the garden, or perhaps something entirely different. In the front garden of the cottage was an old round well. I think it was the well that made Totty’s house look like it came from a fairy tale, because there aren’t many wells like that nowadays, at least I’d never seen one before.

  Five children sat around the well. The oldest was a boy. His smile went from ear to ear, and he looked so friendly.

  “I saw you coming,” he said. “That’s a fine horse you have.”

  “His name is Miramis,” I said, “and this is Pompoo and I’m Mio.”

  “I know,” said the boy. “My name is Totty and these are my sisters and brothers.”

  The whole time he looked so nice and friendly and so did his sisters and brothers, as if they were pleased to see us.

  It was so different from North Street. There the boys snarled like wolves when you came near, unless they liked you. They were always mean to someone, and that person was left out of their games. Usually that was me. Only Ben would always play with me. There was a big boy named Johnny. I never did anything to him, but whenever he saw me he shouted, “Leave, before you get a beating. Go away!” It wasn’t any good for me to try playing ball or anything with them, because the others were always on Johnny’s side and copied him because Johnny was so strong.

  Since I was used to Johnny, it was a surprise to meet children like Totty and Pompoo and Nonno and Totty’s sisters and brothers, who were friendly all the time.

  Pompoo and I sat down on the edge of the well beside Totty. I looked down into it, and it was so deep that I couldn’t see the bottom.

  “How do you bring the water up?” I asked.

  “We don’t bring up any water,” said Totty. “It’s not a water well.”

  “What kind of well is it, then?” I said.

  “It’s called the Well That Whispers at Night,” said Totty.

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “Wait until tonight, then you’ll understand,” said Totty.

  We stayed with Totty and his sisters and brothers all day long playing under the old trees. When we were hungry Totty’s sister, Minonna-Nell, ran into the kitchen for bread. It was the Bread That Satisfies Hunger and I loved it as much as bef
ore.

  I found a little spoon in the grass under the trees, a little silver spoon. I showed it to Totty, and he looked very sad.

  “That was my sister’s spoon,” he said. “Mio has found our sister’s spoon,” he shouted to his sisters and brothers.

  “Where’s you sister?” I asked.

  “Sir Kato,” said Totty. “The cruel Sir Kato seized her.”

  When he said that name the air all around us turned as cold as ice. A tall sunflower in the garden withered and died, and the butterflies lost their wings so that they could never fly again. I felt scared of Sir Kato. So scared, so scared.

  I gave the little silver spoon to Totty, but he said, “Keep our sister’s spoon. You found it, and she’ll never need it again.”

  His little sisters and brothers cried when they heard that their sister wouldn’t need the spoon any more. But soon we started playing again and thought no more of their troubles. I put the spoon in my pocket and thought no more of it either.

  But the whole time we were playing, I kept wishing it would be evening, so I could find out more about the peculiar well.

  The day went by and it began to get dark. Then Totty looked at his sisters and brothers. They looked at each other wonderingly, and Totty said, “Now!”

  They all rushed over and sat down on the edge of the well. Pompoo and I sat down beside them.

  “Be perfectly quiet,” said Totty.

  We sat perfectly quiet and waited. It became a little darker among the trees and Totty’s house looked even more like a cottage from a fairy tale. It stood in a strange, mysterious darkness, yet not in total darkness because dusk was only approaching. Something strange and mysterious and very old settled over the cottage and over the trees and, most of all, over the well, as we were sitting around the edge.

  “Be perfectly quiet,” whispered Totty, although we hadn’t said a word in a long time. We sat quietly even longer, and it became a little darker among the trees, and I still couldn’t hear anything.