The Adventures of Pelle No-Tail

by Gösta Knutsson

  In any event, Papa found a nice compartment and at least there was no dog, and the whole family settled in, and soon the train pulled out. It was really going terrifically fast. Pelle sat on the little table by the window and looked out at the telegraph wires racing up and down, up and down. There was no order to it all: one second a wire was on top and the next it was below. Pelle got quite a headache trying to follow the wires with his eyes.

  ‘Tickets, please!’ said the conductor, standing in the doorway. Papa pulled out a small bundle of tickets from his waistcoat pocket, and the conductor punched them with his hole puncher.

  ‘Well then, doesn’t the cat have a ticket?’ said the conductor.

  ‘Now he’s going to throw me off the train,’ thought Pelle. ‘Just my luck.’ But the conductor guffawed and went on his way. Of course, he had just been joking.

  The train continued for several hours and Pelle grew very tired and lay down to sleep in Birgitta’s lap. But suddenly he woke to a strange noise. He looked up quickly. A boy in a white jacket was going from one compartment to the next, banging a gong and calling out, ‘LUNCHEON IS SERVED! FIRST SITTING FOR LUNCH!’

  ‘Splendid,’ thought Pelle. ‘Now I’ll get to enjoy a herring and a saucer of fresh milk.’

  ‘Jaha, it’s time for us to go to the dining car to have something to eat,’ said Papa and he stood up from his seat. So Pelle stood up too.

  ‘Jaså, you think you’re coming too,’ said Papa and laughed. ‘You know, my little fellow, I think it might be best if you stay here in your basket while we go and eat. We’ll put the lid over you, so you’ll be safe.’

  ‘Nehej, I’m staying here with Pelle,’ said Birgitta. ‘How would you feel, Papa, if someone put you in a basket with a lid on it …?’

  ‘Yes, well, it would have to be quite a magnificent laundry basket,’ said Papa. ‘Nå ja, you’re good to think of the cat, darling. And I suppose we can bring a little food back for you and Pelle when we return.’

  You can well imagine the feast Birgitta and Pelle had in the compartment later on. For his part, Pelle was offered a pork cutlet that he gnawed on for as long as there was something left to gnaw on, and then a little longer still.

  8

  Big-Stina at Övrabo

  Finally they arrived at the tiny country station. And the whole family bundled themselves into a car with all the bags and Pelle’s backpack, and then they arrived at an old, cosy farmhouse that sat high up in the forest above a lake shining bluer than the bluest cornflower.

  ‘Jaha, here we are at Övrabo,’ said Papa. ‘And this is where we’re going to spend the whole summer out in the countryside.’

  Pelle felt a little lost. He went sniffing in every corner to make himself at home. He had of course been born in the country, but he didn’t remember a single thing from his time on the farm, because he was so little when he came to Birgitta and Olle and their Mama and Papa in the city. And he had grown so used to the city that now he found the country rather peculiar.

  ‘While the others are unpacking, I’ll take myself off for a walk,’ said Pelle to himself. ‘I’m just wondering if there’s a good supply of rats around here.’

  So Pelle went on his way, and he would have held his tail high, had he had one. He went down a little path, which wound its way prettily through the grass, until he arrived at a big pile of stones that lay between the path and a field. He jumped up onto a stone – aj, it was warm. And no wonder, because the sun had been beating down on it all day. He kneaded his paws on the stone a couple of times and hopped onto another one. It was just as warm. But now he had another thing to worry about because something was coming slithering through the rocks.

  It was a tail without a cat! Pelle had never seen anything so peculiar! He tilted his head and peered at it intently. Yes, indeed, it was a tail without a cat!

  ‘That’s just the sort of lovely, long tail one should have!’ Pelle sighed, but just then, the tail hissed, and Pelle got such a fright that with one enormous leap, he was back in the grass and running off down the path.

  Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks when he came upon a big, stout mother-cat. She settled herself down in the middle of the path. Pelle sat down too and there they both sat, looking at each other.

  ‘Perhaps I’d better hiss a bit, so I earn some respect,’ thought Pelle, so he hissed. But he regretted it at once, because the old mother-cat didn’t look mean at all, but really rather friendly.

  ‘There’s no need to hiss at me,’ she said, ‘I’m not dangerous. My name is Big-Stina and I’m the oldest cat around here. And I was thinking we might be good friends.’

  And now Pelle felt very ashamed that he had hissed.

  ‘But you’ve left your tail behind,’ said Big-Stina. ‘What have you done with it?’

  ‘It’s crawling around up in the pile of stones,’ said Pelle. ‘And perhaps you, Auntie Big-Stina, can help me put it back on?’

  ‘I think you’re quite the little joker,’ said Big-Stina. ‘But we’re going to have to watch out for that tail creeping around up in the stones. That’s Kalle Snake, and he’s very dangerous, because he has poison in him.’

  ‘Oh no!’ said Pelle, ‘Lucky I ran away. I did think he looked slippery and evil.’

  ‘But you haven’t told me your name,’ said Big-Stina.

  ‘My name’s Pelle,’ said Pelle. ‘My surname is No-Tail, but I’m not so keen on that name. It’s not much fun being reminded all the time that you don’t have a tail.’

  ‘I don’t think you should be sad about that,’ said Big-Stina. ‘Just think how nice it is for you not to have a tail that can get slammed in a door or that wicked boys can pull or step on.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s boring not to have anything to wave about when you’re angry,’ said Pelle.

  ‘You must never be angry,’ said Big-Stina, ‘so that fixes that problem. But now I thought I’d show you around a little. It doesn’t hurt for you to know your way about right from the outset.’

  So off they went down the path, Big-Stina leading the way and Pelle following. Every now and again, Big-Stina would turn her head to check that Pelle was there. Joodå, yes, there he was following along nicely in her footsteps.

  Suddenly Big-Stina jumped up onto a fence, lithe and elegant even though she was so old. Little Pelle didn’t want to come off second best, so he readied himself and used all his might – but sadly, he didn’t make it and instead fell down again. And there he sat in the grass, licking his nose and looking forlorn.

  But kind-hearted Big-Stina jumped back down to him.

  ‘Forgive the old lady,’ she said. ‘I thought we should walk a while along the fence for a change but I forgot you aren’t very big. We’ll continue along the path instead, and soon enough we’ll get to the barn. Believe you me, it’s fun there.’

  9

  The Nibble-ström family and Miss Teaser

  The farmyard was cosy in an old-fashioned sort of way.

  ‘I feel very at home here,’ said Big-Stina. ‘I’m such good friends with all the cows and calves. But now they’ve all been put out to pasture. Almost all of them. That’s May-Rose standing over there – she’s the only cow still inside today. She’s mama to those small newborn calves standing there in the stalls. They’re called Brinkeberg and Brunkman, and mostly they just stand there lowing all day.’

  ‘Which one is Brinkeberg?’ asked Pelle.

  ‘Brinkeberg is the one with the black spot on his forehead,’ said Big-Stina.

  ‘That must be Brunkman then, who doesn't have a black spot on his forehead,’ said Pelle.

  ‘Exactly right. You’re quite the clever cat,’ said Big-Stina. ‘But now we have to go and take a look at the rat holes.’

  ‘Are there many rats here?’ asked Pelle.

  ‘Lots,’ said Big-Stina, with some conviction. ‘Take this hole, for example, which I call the BIG FEAST HOLE. If you’re swift with your paws, you can usually get a fine haul. One day I caught five darling littl
e rats there.’

  ‘I’ll never be that good at it,’ sighed Pelle.

  ‘Åjo, just you wait,’ said Big-Stina, soothingly. ‘One fine day, you’ll be all grown up and you’ll be catching rats as quick as a flash. Here’s another good hole, by the way. I call this one the DELICIOUS NIBBLE-STRÖM HOLE, because the entire appetising Nibble-ström family lives in there … Papa, Mama and twenty-seven children. No, truth be told, today there are only twenty-six because I had one for breakfast this morning …’ And Big-Stina licked her nose a while as she remembered that delicious meal.

  ‘But now I think we should move on,’ continued Big-Stina. ‘Adieu, Brinkeberg!’

  ‘Adieu, Brunkman!’ said Pelle.

  ‘Adieu, Brinkeberg and Brunkman!’ they both said together. And on they went.

  ‘Shall we go to the pigsty?’ asked Big-Stina.

  ‘Ooof, no. I think pigs are so dirty, and they sound so silly when they grunt,’ said Pelle. ‘I’d rather see the stables. Horses are such decent creatures. I’m good friends with a draught horse in town. We usually give each other a sniff when we meet out on the street.’

  In the stable stood Old Dobbin, stamping his feet.

  ‘All the other horses are out,’ said Big-Stina, ‘and Old Dobbin is probably finding it a bit tedious to be standing here all alone. But I think he has had a cold lately, and that’s why he’s not allowed back out into the paddock yet.’

  Just then Old Dobbin neighed.

  ‘Yes, he definitely sounds a little hoarse,’ said Pelle, ‘but he looks kind.’

  ‘And he is kind too,’ said Big-Stina, and she went forward, leaping up into the manger and rubbing herself against Old Dobbin’s soft nose.

  ‘Are there any rat holes in the stables?’ wondered Pelle.

  ‘Just one,’ replied Big-Stina, ‘and that one I call JONAS’S SPECIAL HOLE, because it’s reserved for Jonas, the stable cat.’

  ‘Reserved? What does that mean?’ asked Pelle.

  ‘Yes, well, he has made it clear that hole belongs to him. And I’m not going to bother interfering. In any event, Jonas doesn’t appear very much and it’s all the same to me. He’s not a very elegant cat; in fact, he’s quite clumsy and impolite.’

  While Big-Stina was chatting about Jonas, she and Pelle left the stables. They made their way down the path. It looked pretty in the summer sun, with white-trunked birch trees lining both sides.

  A little black and white bird dived down and stood, wagging its tail, right in front of Pelle’s nose. Pelle readied himself and was already thinking that lunch was organised, but just as he was about to nab the bird, it flew away again at lightning speed, twittering all the while. This happened several times, the bird rising and falling and beating its wings, Pelle crouching down, readying himself and leaping, but never managing to nab his quarry.

  ‘Are you trying to catch Miss Teaser?’ asked Big-Stina.

  ‘Who me? Neej då,’ replied Pelle, trying to look nonchalant. ‘I just thought it might be fun to jump around a bit. I’m not about to let some bird get the better of me!’

  ‘Yes, you shouldn’t bother yourself with the wagtails. They’re just teasing us cats. But now I think we might lie down in the grass for a while. I’m starting to feel tired in my old legs.’

  10

  The giant ladybird

  There was a beautiful field of flowers off to the right of the path, and Big-Stina and Pelle lay down among the blooms, which shone in every colour of the rainbow. There were bluebells gently swaying in the light summer breeze, egg and bacon flowers glowing a friendly yellow as far as the eye could see, and red clover with its thick, soft blossom.

  A little red thing with black spots flew down and settled right in the middle of Big-Stina’s pink nose. Pelle swiped at it with his paw and was just about to hit it when the red spot split in two and the whole thing rose up towards the blue sky.

  ‘What sort of a strange spot was that?’ wondered Pelle.

  ‘That was a ladybird,’ said Big-Stina. ‘Ladybirds are sweet, harmless creatures and they’re very welcome to sit on my nose, if that makes them happy.’

  Pelle yawned. He had grown very tired. But what was that? A ladybird that was a hundred times bigger than the first one came flying in, settled down right in front of Pelle and stared at him.

  ‘Are you Pelle No-Tail?’ she roared.

  ‘Jaaaa,’ answered Pelle, shaking with fear.

  ‘Are you the one who’s going to go and graze in the fields?’

  ‘Ja…a…a…’ answered Pelle, shaking from his nose to … yes, well, I was just about to say ‘to the tip of his tail’, but of course he didn’t have one of those.

  ‘Well, you’re heading out to the paddocks now,’ said the ladybird and she took Pelle by the scruff of his neck and flew away with him. She flew over fields and meadows, over forests and lakes, over farms and cottages, and Pelle dangled along. But at last, she dropped down and landed in a big paddock. A sign hung between two birches, and on the sign stood the word PADDOCK in big, green letters. And then a boy in a white jacket came and hit a gong, shouting, ‘LUNCHEON IS SERVED! FIRST SITTING FOR LUNCH!’

  ‘Eat up!’ ordered the ladybird, and Pelle didn’t dare do anything but obey, but now he saw there were at least another hundred cats around him, all of whom were gobbling up as much as they could.

  ‘I think I’m turning into a cow!’ moaned Pelle to himself. ‘Soon I’ll be mooing, too!’

  But suddenly, he felt a wet drop on his nose and then one on his right ear and then one on his back. And then the rain came pouring down!

  ‘It’s all because I’ve been eating grass,’ thought Pelle. ‘Ugh, it’s so wet!’

  Then he woke up! (Yes, you do understand that Pelle had been dreaming, lying there asleep in the grass, and had imagined this whole story.)

  And the wet feeling? That was Big-Stina licking him with all her might. All over his face and back.

  ‘Where’s the ladybird?’ asked Pelle, feeling dazed.

  ‘It flew off quite a while ago,’ answered Big-Stina.

  ‘But where’s the big paddock and the sign and all the cats?’

  ‘You’ve been dreaming, you little rascal,’ said Big-Stina. ‘And now we should head home because soon it will be time for our evening milk.’

  *

  ‘Where has my little pussycat been all this time?’ said Birgitta when Pelle arrived home. ‘If only you knew how worried we’ve been.’

  ‘I think it’s starting to rain,’ said Papa. ‘I’m sure I felt a drop on my nose.’

  ‘Me, too,’ said Olle.

  And they were right. Soon a soft summer rain was falling over Övrabo.

  ‘Isn’t this lovely,’ said Papa. ‘It’s just what all the plants and flowers need.’

  ‘Do you know what I think Pelle has been doing while he was gone?’ asked Birgitta.

  ‘Neeeej,’ said Papa.

  ‘I think he was eating grass, and that’s why it’s raining,’ said Birgitta. And she turned to Pelle and said to him, ‘Hey, Pelle, have you been out grazing?’

  ‘Miaow,’ said Pelle.

  11

  Pelle No-Tail gets lost!

  It was a lovely summer. And Pelle felt very much at home in the country.

  Almost best of all was being able to watch the cows be milked. Every morning and evening, Big-Stina and Pelle would walk with Hedda, the milkmaid, to the paddock where the cows were kept and then they would sit there and watch as Hedda milked the cows. And they would wait until Hedda turned over the milk can lid, poured in some milk and offered it to them. It tasted so good to get fresh milk in the lid of a milk can out in the meadows. Big-Stina always closed her eyes when she ate. Pelle saw her do this and thought it looked very elegant to close your eyes when you ate, so one day he tried to do the same, but then he managed to dip his nose too deep into the milk so it splashed in every direction and made him sneeze three times in a row. Conrad Crow, who was sitting close by, laughed with a sneer.
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  ‘It can be a tough job, eating,’ said Conrad.

  ‘You’re one to talk,’ said Pelle. ‘I’d like to see you lap up milk from the lid of a milk can, you with your long beak.’

  ‘And wouldn’t I like to see you fly!’ said Conrad. ‘And watch you steer with your tail! See you later!’ And off he flapped, laughing as he went.

  *

  But summer passed. The leaves started to turn yellow on the trees, mushrooms shot up like so many umbrellas out in the forests, lingonberries ripened on their tussocks, and with each day, the sun hurried faster and faster to crawl into bed beyond the edge of the forest and became increasingly lazy in the mornings. And then it was time for Pelle’s family to travel back to the city. Yes, when I say ‘Pelle’s family’, I mean, of course, the family he lived with: Papa, Mama, Birgitta and Olle.

  ‘Jaha,’ said Papa. ‘Tomorrow we have to go home again. Don’t you have to go back to school on Monday, Olle?’

  ‘Jaaaa, so they say,’ said Olle, with a sour look. ‘I think they could give us a lesson-free day on the first day. That way, we could stay in the country one more day.’

  ‘And then there should be a pupil-free day while they clean the school,’ said Birgitta, ‘so we could stay another day after that.’

  ‘They could do a really good job and take at least two days to scrub the school,’ thought Pelle. Because he, too, thought it dreadfully miserable to have to leave Övrabo.

  *

  And so, the next day they took the train. Big-Stina waved them off at the station. Well, she didn’t exactly wave, because cats don’t usually wave, but if they did, you can be certain that Big-Stina would have waved long and hard with her grey, front-right paw.

  ‘Happy travels!’ said Big-Stina. ‘We’ll see each other again next summer!’

  ‘For sure,’ said Pelle. ‘And then I hope I’ll be able to catch August.’

  (August was a barn rat who had teased Pelle all summer long. Pelle had tried to catch him over and over again but hadn’t had any luck.)