Seacrow Island

by Astrid Lindgren

  “Is there absolutely nothing left in the knapsack?” asked Teddy.

  “A bottle of water,” said Freddy.

  A bottle of water! After all their wonderful dreams of hot chocolate and steak, it seemed an incredible letdown to have nothing but a bottle of water. They sat silent and miserable for a long time. Niklas wondered which would be worse, to freeze to death or to starve to death. Just at that moment he was finding the cold almost too much to bear. His thick jacket did not help, and he was shivering right to the marrow of his bones when he suddenly remembered their campfire out on the island. It must have been a campfire in another life, it felt so far away now. But it reminded him of the box of matches he had in his pocket and he fished it out. With stiff fingers he lit a match. The clear, comforting little flame flared for a moment and he held his hand around it to feel the warmth. Then he suddenly saw something in the boat.

  “What’s that over there? Is it a primus stove?”

  “Yes,” said Teddy. “Who in the world left it there?”

  “Probably Daddy,” said Freddy, “when he and Mummy were out fishing the day before yesterday. He persuaded Mummy to go with him by promising to make her some coffee in the boat, don’t you remember?”

  “We haven’t any coffee,” said Freddy. “Only water.”

  Niklas pondered. Warm water would warm them at any rate, and just now they needed warmth more than anything else. He looked around for the scoop they used to bail the water out of the boat. It was an ordinary scoop and it could be used as a saucepan. He told the others what he thought of doing and they looked on with interest as he lit the primus stove and filled the scoop with water from Freddy’s bottle.

  Johan had an idea. “We can cook our fish in this,” he said.

  Teddy looked at him with real admiration. “Johan, you’re a genius,” she said.

  Then they got busy. They cleaned and rinsed the fish in a frantic hurry, cut them into fillets and spent an almost happy hour cooking them in the scoop. It was a lengthy process, for there was only room enough for four fillets at a time, but eventually all the fish was cooked—and eaten with great approval. Bosun had most of it, but they all had plenty.

  “Can you understand,” said Freddy, “how it’s possible to eat four bits of fish without any salt, and think it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted?”

  “Why not?” said Johan. “If you can even drink old fish water and think it’s delicious!”

  But the life seemed to return to them as they drank the musty, hot, smoky fish soup. It warmed them right down to their toes. Suddenly they began to hope again that something would turn up, that the fog would lift or that they would wake up at home and find that it was all a bad dream.

  But the hours had passed and the fog did not lift. No boat came and it was not a dream, for you can’t shiver so much in a dream. The fish soup only helped for a short time and the primus stove had gone out for good. Now the cold came creeping back and with it the weariness and despair. It was no good trying to hope any more. They would have to stay there as prisoners in the fog right through the night and perhaps forever.

  Suddenly Freddy started and jumped up. “Listen!” she cried. “Listen!”

  And they heard! Somewhere far away in the mist they heard the dunk, dunk, dunk of a motorboat. They listened as if their lives depended upon it and then they began to shout. It might be Björn’s boat or it might be someone else’s, but whoever it belonged to, they must get it to come nearer.

  And it did. It drew closer and closer and they shouted themselves hoarse, in frantic joy at first—then in despair and fury. Full of bitterness they sat there and heard the dunk, dunk, dunk of the motorboat grow fainter again and slowly die away until at length there was nothing—nothing but the fog. Then they gave up and silently settled down in the bottom of the boat beside Bosun so that he would give them a little of his warmth.

  Nisse Grankvist’s shop on Seacrow Island was one of the most peaceful spots on earth. Not that it was quiet and dead—on the contrary. Everybody collected there from Seacrow Island and the other islands around. They came to shop and to gossip and to hear the news and to pick up their mail and to telephone. The shop was the center of Seacrow Island. People liked Nisse and Marta, for they were gay and helpful and it was very homey in their little shop, filled with the good smell of coffee and dried fruit and fish and various other things. There was chatter and laughter all through the day, but despite that the shop was a very peaceful place.

  But not on this foggy evening. Instead it was filled with sorrow and fear and despair. For Melker Melkerson’s “great quake” was creating more noise than all the inhabitants of the island put together.

  “Something must be done now,” he shouted. “I want all the Coast Guard, all the helicopters and all the rescue planes there are to come and search now!” He glared at Nisse as if it was his business to deal with it all.

  Malin took hold of her father’s arm. “Daddy dear, calm down!”

  “How can I calm down when I am just about to become fatherless!” shouted Melker. “I mean . . . oh, what do I mean! Anyhow it’s too late now. I don’t think they are still alive—any of them.”

  The others stood there silent and depressed, listening. Nisse and Marta and Malin and Björn. Even Nisse and Marta were anxious by now. This thick fog in the month of June was strange. Nothing of the kind had ever happened before within living memory.

  “What an idiot I was! Why didn’t I take the children with me when I took them their boat?” said Björn. He had a guilty conscience, which was keeping him here in the shop on Sea-crow Island although he ought to have been on his way home long ago.

  But it was not only his conscience and the poor parents that made him stay, for there was Malin too, who was so serious now and so unlike the gay, happy girl he had met the other evening. He found it hard to take his eyes off her. Silent and helpless, she stood there listening to her father’s outbursts. With a tired movement she pushed her light hair from her forehead and he saw her eyes, dark and anguished. He was so sorry for her. Why couldn’t her father control himself a little if she could?

  Nisse had warned the Coast Guard at the nearest station, not because he thought there was any immediate danger, but it would be a bad thing if the children had to spend the night in the fog.

  “Just one Coast Guard station! What’s the good of that?” burst out Melker, who wanted all the lifesaving apparatus of the entire Baltic to come to Seacrow Island this foggy June evening. But after he had shouted and carried on for a long time it seemed as if all his strength suddenly gave out. He sank down on a sack of potatoes and sat there so pale and distressed that Marta was sorry for him.

  “Would you like a tranquilizer?” she asked kindly.

  “Yes, please,” said Melker. “A whole jarful.”

  He found it very difficult to take pills even at the best of times and he had no faith in them, but just at this moment he was ready to try anything, if it could give him a moment’s peace and quiet.

  Marta gave him a little white pill and a glass of water. As always, he put the pill on his tongue, took a mouthful of water and swallowed violently. As always, the water ran down his throat but the pill remained on his tongue. This did not surprise him, as his pills had a habit of doing this. He tried once more but the pill still remained on his tongue. Bitter—horrible.

  “Take an enormous gulp,” said Malin. Melker did so. He took an enormous gulp and everything went down the wrong way, the pill too, for this time it went with the water.

  “Oh,” said Melker, coughing, and then the pill came up and lodged somewhere behind his nose, where it stayed for the rest of the evening. And as far as could be seen it did not make Melker any calmer.

  Up till now Malin had controlled herself, but now she suddenly felt that she was going to cry—not just because the tranquilizer had stuck behind Melker’s nose but because every-thing was so miserable. As she did not want her father to see her tears, she ran outside. She let the
m flow, leaning her head against the wall and crying quietly.

  It was there that Björn found her. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked sympathetically.

  “Yes . . . don’t be kind to me,” mumbled Malin, without looking up. “Because if you are I shall cry until there’s an absolute flood.”

  “Then I won’t say anything,” said Björn, “except that you’re sweeter than ever when you cry.”

  He was on his way home to Norrsund to the school where he taught the children from all the islands. At the top of the schoolhouse was his bachelor flat. It did not take him more than ten minutes to get from Seacrow Island to his home and Malin saw him disappear toward the jetty.

  “It will be all right tomorrow,” he shouted. “I promise!”

  Immediately afterward she heard the dunk, dunk, dunk of his motorboat out at sea.

  It was the very chugging sound that the children heard in their boat a few minutes later and which disappeared so annoyingly.

  “Now I’m really fed up,” said Johan, and crawled up from the bottom of the boat where he had been sitting pressed close to Bosun for the past half hour.

  “Are you going to jump into the sea?” asked Niklas, his teeth chattering so that he could hardly speak.

  “No, I’m just going to row to the nearest jetty and put you all ashore,” said Johan glumly.

  Freddy looked up with a face blue with cold. “Thank you, that would be fine—and just where is the nearest little jetty?”

  Johan clenched his teeth together. “I don’t know, but I’m either going to find it or die in the attempt. I’m not going to let any old fog decide how long I’ve got to sit here in the middle of the sea.”

  He began to row. The fog was still as thick as cotton wool. Oh, how he hated it. Why didn’t it drift off to the North Sea, or wherever it belonged?

  “But I’ll show you,” he mumbled bitterly to the fog. He felt as if the fog were his personal enemy. He rowed five powerful strokes and then the boat struck a stone.

  “Bang,” said Teddy. “Here’s the jetty!”

  It was not a jetty, but it was land. They had been sitting for a couple of hours just five strokes away from land.

  “That’s the sort of thing that’s enough to drive you crazy,” said Teddy, and like mad creatures they tumbled out on the shore. They shrieked and jumped about and Bosun barked. They all went absolutely wild. How wonderful to have firm ground beneath their feet again!

  But what sort of firm ground was it? Was it one of those islands where people came to meet you with hot drinks, or just a deserted island where they would have to sleep under a fir tree? Teddy had said she didn’t mind if it was an ugly little scrubby island, and that seemed to be exactly what this was.

  Johan walked up the shore in front of the others and began to feel that he really was the leader. This was an expedition through unexplored territory with unknown dangers at every turn.

  He rounded a corner before the others and then he saw something which made him stop in his tracks. It was a roof sticking up above some trees, just in front of him.

  The others had caught up with him and he pointed proudly to his discovery.

  “There’s your house! Probably full of warm drinks!”

  Then Teddy and Freddy began to laugh—wild, relieved laughter. It seemed to put an end to their horrible adventure in the fog and Johan and Niklas laughed too, although they did not know what they were laughing at.

  “I wonder what kind of a house it is?” said Niklas when they had stopped laughing at last.

  “Just you listen carefully and I’ll tell you,” said Teddy. “It’s our school!”

  None of the Grankvists and none of the Melkersons got to bed before twelve that night. Pelle and Tjorven had gone to sleep at the usual time, but they were dragged from their beds to join the party which took place in the Grankvists’ kitchen to celebrate the happy ending of this disturbing day.

  It had been disturbing to the very end. When Björn landed his boat at the Grankvists’ jetty and Melker saw his lost sons sitting there safe and sound and wrapped in blankets, the tears ran down his cheeks and he took a leap to join them on board and hold them in his loving arms. But he took off rather too violently so that, having touched down on the stern, he plunged straight on into the water on the other side of the boat—and the tranquilizer behind his nose was not the slightest use to him.

  “This is the last straw!” he bellowed.

  Malin sighed when she saw him splashing in toward the jetty in a fury. Nobody but Melker could have suffered so many misfortunes in a single day.

  Tjorven stood watching, not quite awake. “Why are you swimming with your clothes on, Uncle Melker?” she mumbled. But then she saw Bosun and forgot everything else. “Bosun!”

  He jumped ashore and raced toward her and she threw her arms around him as if she would never let go.

  “You see! My wishing stone did help,” said Pelle, when they were all sitting around the big table in the Grankvists’ kitchen. Pelle was radiant. Oh, what a night! What a good idea to pull people out of bed in the middle of the night to eat pork chops! And Johan and Niklas were home after all.

  “Isn’t it strange, how you can get quite dizzy with food?” said Teddy with her mouth full.

  Freddy sat with a pork chop in each hand. She bit first one and then the other. “I think it’s wonderful,” she said. “I want to be dizzy in the head with food.”

  “Real food,” said Johan. “Not something that you imagine when you’re out at sea.”

  “But I thought that was good, too,” said Niklas.

  They ate and enjoyed themselves and began to think more and more that after all it had been rather a good day.

  “The chief thing is to take it all calmly,” said Melker, helping himself to another chop. He had changed his clothes and was dry and so happy that the air seemed to shine around him.

  “Is that what you say?” said Malin.

  Melker nodded importantly. “Yes, it’s impossible to live out in the islands otherwise. I admit that I was rather worried at one point, but, thanks to your tranquilizer, Marta—”

  “You calmed down—behind your nose, anyhow,” said Nisse. “But apart from that—”

  “Apart from that—I’m thankful,” said Melker. And he really was. The noise around the table increased, for the children were dizzy with food and warmth and joy at being home, away from nightmares and fog. Melker listened to his children’s voices and was thankful. He had them all here with him. Not one of them was floating under the water with hair like swaying seaweed.

  “They’ve all got lungs, they can all speak, and no one is missing,” he said quietly to himself. Malin looked at him across the table.

  “What are you sitting there murmuring about, Daddy?”

  “Nothing,” said Melker.

  And Then Came Midsummer

  IT WAS midsummer, a clear, shining midsummer day, but what was the matter with Malin?

  The whole morning she had been sitting in the grass behind the lilac hedge, writing in her diary, and when Johan tried to approach her she snapped, without even looking up, “Go away!”

  Thereupon Johan, snubbed, went back to his brother and reported, “She’s still angry.”

  “She ought to be thankful,” said Niklas. “Now she’s got something to write about. She wouldn’t have a diary at all if it weren’t for us.”

  Pelle looked worried. “Perhaps she’d have more amusing things to put down then—things that she thinks are more fun, I mean.”

  They looked anxiously across at Malin, and Johan said, “This time she’s bound to write quite terrible things.”

  “It was Midsummer’s Eve yesterday,” wrote Malin, “and a Midsummer’s Eve I will never forget, but for safety’s sake I will write down a few lines to remind me about it. Then I can pass it on to my daughter if I ever happen to have one, and perhaps she will come home to me some Midsummer’s Eve and, bursting with happiness, will ask me, ‘Did you have such a
wonderful time when you were young, Mummy?’

  “Then I will point sourly to a couple of yellowing pages in my diary and say, ‘Just read for yourself what your poor mother suffered from your small, horrible uncles!’

  “But actually even the world’s most frightful little uncles cannot spoil the beauty of a Midsummer on Seacrow Island. The colors of the summer which is blooming around us now, nothing can destroy that. We go around in a cloud of perfumes of saxifrage and clover; marguerites nod in every ditch, and buttercups shine in the grass; the pink froth of wild roses covers our poor, bare, gray rocks, and violets grow in the crevices. Everything smells sweetly, everything is in full bloom, everything is summer and the cuckoo cuckoos and all the birds chirp and sing. The earth is full of joy and so am I. High above my head the swallows dart while I sit here and write. They are nesting under the eaves of Carpenter’s Cottage and are close neighbors to Pelle’s wasps, although I don’t think they have much to do with each other. I like the company of the swallows and the wasps and butterflies but I would be grateful if you, Johan, would stop sticking your nose out from behind the corner of the cottage, because I am furious with you all and shall continue to be for a little longer—if I can. At any rate, until I have written this reminder of my first Mid-summer’s Eve on Seacrow Island.

  “I was woken by singing. Dad was up early and was putting the last touches to the garden furniture—with an ordinary paintbrush this time. He was standing right below my window and singing quite beautifully. I jumped up and into my clothes, and saw that the bay was lying out there, blue and shining, and that my beloved brothers were up with nothing to do. So I made them come with me to Jansson’s cow meadow. We returned home with our arms full of flowers and green leaves and turned the whole of Carpenter’s Cottage into a leafy bower with summer perfume in every corner.

  “And when the Seacrow I came steaming up the bay she was like a floating leafy hut, decorated with young birches from stem to stern. Someone aboard was playing an accordion and people in summer clothes were singing, just like Daddy, but not so beautifully.