by Tove Jansson
‘I’ll go and see how he is,’ said Moominpappa. ‘I fully intend to defend my island!’
‘But the whole point is under water, it’s dangerous!’ Moominmamma cried. ‘You might get washed away by the waves…’
Moominpappa leaped up and grabbed his plumb-line, which was hanging up under the stairs. He was exhilarated. He felt as light as air.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘The sea can do what it likes. Let it do its worst, I don’t care! I intend to protect every single person living on this island!’
Moominpappa went down the rock with Little My dancing round him. She shouted something, but it was lost in the wind. Moomintroll stood in the heather gazing at the spot where the fisherman’s house had been.
‘You can come, too,’ said Moominpappa. ‘It’s high time you learned to defend yourself!’
They ran across to the island to the point, now under water. Little My was jumping up and down with excitement. Her hair, loosened by the wind, was blowing round her head like a halo.
Moominpappa looked at the angry sea, breaking over the island, throwing up spray and falling back again with a terrible sucking sound. And over the point the waves were thundering. It was here that they would have to cross. Moominpappa tied the rope round his waist and passed the end to his son.
‘Now hold on to this like grim death,’ he said. ‘Make a good knot and follow after me with the rope taut. We’ll fool the sea! The wind’s force seven! Force seven!’
Moominpappa waited until a huge wave had broken and then made for a rock sticking out of the water a little way away. It was dangerously slippery wherever he put his paws, but when the next wave broke he had passed the rock. The rope between him and Moomintroll tightened, the sea swirled under their paws, and turned them head over heels in the water. But the rope held.
When the wave had passed, they slid across the boulders and repeated the manoeuvre at the next big rock.
‘It’s high time you learned some manners!’ thought Moominpappa, meaning the sea, of course. ‘There’s a limit to everything… It doesn’t matter how much of a nuisance you make of yourself to us, we can put up with it. But to pick on that fisherman, poor wrinkled piece of seaweed that he is, when he admires you so much, is going a bit too far. It’s really quite upsetting…’
A mountainous wave broke over him, washing away his anger.
He was nearly across. The rope tightened round his waist. He grabbed the side of a rock and held on tight with all four paws. Yet another wave washed over him, and the rope went slack.
As soon as he got his nose out of the water, Moominpappa clambered up the point as quickly as he could. His paws were shaking. He began to haul the rope in with his son on the end. Moomintroll was bobbing up and down a little way off to leeward.
They sat next to each other on the rock shivering with cold. On the other side Little My was bouncing up and down like a ball, obviously cheering them like mad. Moomintroll looked at Moominpappa and they started to laugh. They had fooled the sea.
‘How goes it?’ shouted Moominpappa, sticking his nose under the fisherman’s boat. The fisherman turned his bright blue eyes towards him. He was drenched to the skin, but had escaped the flying glass from the window.
‘Do you feel like a nice cup of coffee?’ Moominpappa shouted above the noise of the wind.
‘I don’t know, it’s such a long time since I had one…’ The fisherman’s voice sounded like a cracked tin whistle. Suddenly Moominpappa felt terribly sorry for him. He was so small, he couldn’t possibly manage to get home by himself.
Moominpappa stood up and looked at Moomintroll. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled a face, as if to say: ‘Well, that’s how it is; there’s nothing much we can do about it.’ Moomintroll nodded his head.
They began to walk as far as they could towards the point. The wind flattened their ears against the sides of their heads, and the salt spray made their faces smart. When they could walk no further Moominpappa and Moomintroll stopped and looked at the stately column of foam that rose in front of them with every wave, rising slowly, almost ceremoniously, and then falling back into the sea.
‘It’s an enemy worth fighting, anyway,’ shouted Moominpappa through the noise of the breakers.
Moomintroll nodded his head. He hadn’t heard what Moominpappa had said, but he understood all the same.
Something was being carried to the shore by the waves. It was a box. It was floating to leeward on one side of the point and was lying heavy in the water. It was strange how they understood each other without exchanging a word. Moomintroll jumped in and let himself be carried towards the box by a retreating wave while Moominpappa braced himself against the rock.
Moomintroll reached the box. It was heavy and had a handle made of rope. He could feel the line round his waist tighten as he was hauled to the shore again. It seemed to him that he was playing the most exciting and dangerous game he had ever played, and, what’s more, he was playing it with his own pappa.
They dragged the box ashore. It was intact. They discovered that it was a crate of whisky from some foreign land. They could tell from the outlandish designs on the outside in red and blue.
Moominpappa turned his eyes towards the sea, half in surprise and half in admiration. The waves were a deeper green now and the evening sun shone on their crests.
*
After the fisherman had fortified himself with a good strong whisky, they helped him across to the island. Moominmamma was standing there waiting for them with the lighthouse-keeper’s old clothes over her arm. She had found them in the bottom drawer of the desk.
‘I don’t like those trousers,’
said the fisherman, his teeth chattering.
‘I think they’re ugly’
‘You just go behind one of these boulders and put them on,’ said Moominmamma firmly. ‘It makes no difference whether you think they’re ugly or not. They’re warm and, what’s more, they once belonged to a perfectly respectable lighthouse-keeper, and there’s nothing wrong with them, or with him for that matter, although he seems to have been a very melancholy sort of man.’
She put the clothes over the fisherman’s arm and made him go behind a boulder.
‘We’ve found a crate of whisky,’ Moomintroll told her.
‘Splendid!’ said Moominmamma. ‘Then we must go for a picnic!’
Moominpappa laughed. ‘You and your picnics,’ he said.
After a while the fisherman reappeared in a corduroy jacket and a pair of battered old trousers.
‘But they look as if they were made for you,’ exclaimed Moominmamma. ‘Now I think we should all go home and have a nice cup of coffee.’
Moominpappa noticed that she had said ‘home’ and not ‘the lighthouse’. It was the first time she had done it.
‘Oh, no!’ cried the fisherman. ‘Not there!’ He looked at his trousers in terror, and made off over the island as fast as his legs could carry him. They watched him disappear into the thicket.
‘You’ll have to take him some coffee in a thermos,’ said Moominmamma to Moomintroll. ‘Have you pulled that crate up so that it will be safe?’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Moominpappa. ‘It was a present from the sea, and not even the sea would take a present back.’
*
They drank tea a little earlier that evening.
Afterwards they took out the jigsaw puzzle and Moominmamma fetched the tin of toffees from the mantelpiece.
‘It’s a very special day today, so you can have five each,’ she said. ‘I wonder whether the fisherman likes toffees.’
‘You know what,’ said Moominpappa. ‘I never felt really happy about the toffees you put out for me on the rock.’
‘Why not?’ asked Moominmamma, surprised. ‘You are very fond of toffees, aren’t you?’
‘Nonsense!’ said Moominpappa with an embarrassed laugh. ‘It may have been because I couldn’t get anywhere with my investigations. I don’t know.’
‘You j
ust felt a stupid fool, that’s all,’ put in Little My. ‘Can I count two toffees as one if they’re stuck together? Are you going to stop bothering about the sea, then?’
‘Far from it,’ exclaimed Moominpappa. ‘Do I stop bothering about you just because you behave like a stupid fool?’
They all laughed.
‘You see,’ Moominpappa said, leaning forward, ‘the sea is sometimes in a good temper and sometimes in a bad temper, and nobody can possibly understand why. We can only see the surface of the water. But if we like the sea, it doesn’t matter. One learns to take the rough with the smooth…’
‘Oh, you like the sea now, do you?’ asked Moomintroll shyly.
‘I’ve always liked the sea,’ said Moominpappa indignantly. ‘All of us like it. That’s why we came here, isn’t it?’ He looked at Moominmamma.
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Look, I’ve found a bit that fits into that awkward spot.’
They all bent over the puzzle admiringly.
‘It’s going to be a big grey bird!’ exclaimed Little My. ‘There’s the tail of another – a white one. They’re flapping their wings as though someone had lit a match under them!’
Now that they had discovered what the puzzle was supposed to be, they soon found four birds. It began to get dark and Moominmamma lit the hurricane lamp.
‘Are you going to sleep outside tonight?’ she asked.
‘Not on your life,’ answered Little My. ‘Our hide-outs have all grown over.’
‘I’m thinking of building a tiny little house of my own,’ Moomintroll announced. ‘Not immediately, but sometime anyway. When it’s ready you can all come and call.’
Moominmamma nodded her head. She was adjusting the flame of the lamp. ‘What’s the wind like now? Have a look and see, dear, will you?’ she said to Moominpappa.
He went over to the north-window and opened it. After a while he said: ‘I can’t see whether the forest’s moving or not. It’s blowing just as hard. It’s probably up to force eight.’
He shut the window and came back to the table.
‘The trees will be on the move later tonight,’ said Little My, her eyes sparkling. ‘Moaning and groaning and groping higher and higher up the rock – like this!’
‘You don’t think they’ll try and get in here, do you?’ Moomintroll exclaimed.
‘Of course they will,’ said Little My, lowering her voice. ‘Can’t you hear the boulders beating against the door downstairs? They’re rolling up from all directions, crowding round the door. The trees are closing in round the lighthouse, getting nearer and nearer. Then their roots will start climbing up the walls until they’re right outside these windows, making it dark inside…’
‘No, stop!’ cried Moomintroll, putting his paws round his nose.
‘Really, my dear,’ said Moominmamma. ‘Please don’t imagine such things!’
‘Please keep calm, all of you!’ said Moominpappa. ‘There’s no cause for alarm. Just because a few poor little bushes are scared of the sea there’s no need to get worked up about it. It’s really much worse for the bushes, you know. I shall see to the matter.’
It began to get darker and darker, but no one thought of going to bed. They found three more birds, and Moominpappa was absorbed in a drawing of a kitchen cupboard.
The storm raging outside made the room feel very safe. From time to time one of them said something about the fisherman, wondering whether he had found the thermos and drunk the coffee.
Moomintroll began to feel uneasy. It was time for him to go and see the Groke. He had promised her she could dance tonight. He huddled up in his chair and said nothing.
Little My looked at him, her eyes like shiny black beads. Suddenly she said: ‘You left the rope down on the beach.’
‘The rope?’ Moomintroll said. ‘But I brought…’ Little My kicked him viciously under the table. He got up and said very sheepishly: ‘Why, so I did. I must go and fetch it. If the water rises it’ll get washed away.’
‘Go carefully,’ said Moominmamma. ‘There are so many roots everywhere, and we’ve only got one glass for the lamp. And while you’re out you can have a look for Pappa’s exercise-book.’
Moomintroll looked at Little My before he closed the door behind him. But she was busy with the jigsaw puzzle, whistling nonchalantly between her teeth.
The Lighthouse-Keeper
THE island was moving all night. The fisherman’s point drifted imperceptibly a little farther out to sea.
Shudder after shudder shook the whole island like chills running up and down its spine, and the black pool seemed to creep deeper and deeper into the rocks. It was sucked in and out and fresh waves broke in from the sea, but the pool never seemed to fill up. Its enormous mirror-like black eye sank lower and lower, surrounded by a fringe of sea-grass round the edges.
On the beach on the leeward side, little field-mice ran backwards and forwards at the edge of the water, the sand slipping away from under their paws. Boulders turned over heavily, revealing the pale roots of the sea pinks.
At dawn the island slept. The trees had reached the lighthouse-rock, deep holes were left where great boulders had been before, now lying scattered among the heather. They were waiting for another night to come so that they could roll nearer and nearer the lighthouse. The great autumn gale continued to blow.
At seven o’clock Moominpappa went out to look at the boat. The water had risen again and the south-west wind was blowing the sea higher and higher. He found the fisherman lying rolled up at the bottom of the Adventure. He was playing with a handful of pebbles. He blinked under his fringe, but he said nothing. And the Adventure lay there beaten by the waves and without a mooring.
‘Can’t you see that this boat is about to drift out to sea?’ said Moominpappa. ‘She’s being bashed against a stone. Just look at it! Come on now! Jump out and give me a hand to pull her up!’
The fisherman twisted his bent legs over the side of the boat and tumbled on to the beach. His eyes were just as kind and gentle as ever, and he said: ‘I haven’t done any harm…’
‘You haven’t done any good, either,’ said Moominpappa; with a tremendous effort he pulled the boat up himself.
He sat down on the sand, puffing and blowing. What was left of the sand, that is. The angry sea seemed to be jealous of the sand, taking more and more of it away every night. He looked at the fisherman sourly and said: ‘Did you find the coffee?’
But the fisherman only smiled.
‘There’s something wrong with you that I can’t make out,’ Moominpappa said to himself. ‘You’re not a human being at all. You’re more like a plant or a shadow, just as if you’d never been born.’
‘I was born,’ the fisherman said immediately. ‘It’s my birthday tomorrow.’ Moominpappa was so surprised that he began to laugh.
‘You remember that all right,’ he said. ‘So you have a birthday, do you? Just think! And how old are you, if I may ask?’
But the fisherman turned his back and strolled off along the beach.
Moominpappa went back to the lighthouse. He felt very worried about his island. The ground where the forest had been was abandoned and full of deep holes. Long furrows crossed the heather, left by the trees as they moved towards the lighthouse-rock. And there they stood, a tangled skein of fright.
‘I wonder what one has to do to calm an island down,’ Moominpappa wondered. ‘It won’t do for the island and the sea to fall out with each other. They must be friends…’
Moominpappa stood still. There was something wrong with the lighthouse-rock. With a very slight movement it was shrinking, like skin going into wrinkles. A couple of grey boulders turned over in the heather. The island seemed to be waking up.
Moominpappa listened. A chill went down his spine. He was sure he could feel it. A very slight thumping sound. He could feel it all over his body, getting closer. It seemed to come from deep down in the ground.
Moominpappa lay down in the heather and pressed his ear
to the ground. He could hear the island’s heart beating. It was deeper than the sound of the breakers, deep deep down in the earth, a soft dull heart-beat.
‘The island is alive,’ Moominpappa thought. ‘My island is just as much alive as the trees and the sea. Everything is alive.’
He got up slowly.
A juniper was creeping quietly through the heather like an undulating green carpet. Moominpappa scrambled out of its way, and stood stock-still, frozen to the spot. He could see the island moving, a living thing crouching on the bottom of the sea, helpless with fear. ‘Fear is a terrible thing,’ Moominpappa thought. ‘It can come suddenly and take hold of everything, and who will protect all the little creatures who come in its way?’ Moominpappa started to run.
He got home, and hung his hat on its nail.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Moominmamma. ‘Has the boat…?’
‘I pulled her up,’ said Moominpappa. The family stared at him and he added: ‘It’s the fisherman’s birthday tomorrow.’
‘No? Really?’ Moominmamma exclaimed. ‘Is that why you’re looking so strange? Well, we must give a party for him. Imagine! Even the fisherman has a birthday!’
‘It’ll be easy to think of a present for him,’ said Little My. ‘Little parcels full of sea-grass, a lump of moss, or just a damp spot, perhaps!’
‘Now you’re not being very nice,’ Moominmamma said.
‘But I’m not nice,’ cried Little My.
Moominpappa stood at the window, looking out over the island. He could hear his family discussing two very important questions: how to get the fisherman to come into the lighthouse and how to get the crate of whisky over the sea-washed point. But he could only think of the island’s timid heart-beats deep down in the ground.
He would have to talk to the sea about it.
*
Moominpappa went and sat on the lighthouse-keeper’s ledge in the cliff, looking as though he was the figure-head in the bows of his galleon – the island.
