Moominvalley in November by Tove Jansson Read Free Book Online
Authors: Tove Jansson
to the surface, struggling towards the boundless swamps of the rain-drenched forests where the lightning was reflected in the bubbles rising from the ooze, and finally abandoning his original element.'
He must have been really lonely, Toft thought. He wasn't like any of the others and his family didn't bother about him, so he left. I wonder where he is now and whether I shall ever be able to meet him. Perhaps he'll show himself if I can describe him clearly enough.
Toft said: end of the chapter, and put out the light.
CHAPTER 11
Next Morning
I N the long, vague dawn as the November night changed to morning, the fog moved in from the sea. It rolled up the hillsides and slid down into the valleys on the other side and filled every corner of them. Snufkin had determined that he would wake up early in order to have an hour or two to himself. His fire had burnt out long ago but he didn't feel cold. He had that simple but rare ability to retain his own warmth, he gathered it all round him and lay very still and took care not to dream.
The fog had brought complete silence with it, the valley was quite motionless.
Snufkin woke up as quickly as an animal, wide awake. The five bars had come a little nearer.
Good, he thought. A cup of coffee and I'll get them. (He ought to have skipped the coffee.)
The morning fire picked up and began to burn. Snufkin filled the coffee-pot with water from the river and put it on the fire, took a step backwards and tumbled over the Hemulen's rake. With a terrible clatter his saucepan rolled down the river bank, and the Hemulen stuck his nose out of the tent and said: 'Hallo!'
'Hallo!' said Snufkin.
The Hemulen crawled up to the fire with the sleeping-bag over his head, he was cold and sleepy but quite determined to be amiable. 'Life in the wilds!' he said.
Snufkin saw to the coffee.
'Just think,' the Hemulen continued, 'being able to hear all the mysterious sounds of the night from inside a real tent! I'm sure you've got something for a stiff neck, haven't you?'
'No,' said Snufkin. 'Do you want sugar or not?'
'Sugar, yes, four lumps preferably.' His front was now getting warm and the small of his back didn't ache so much any more. The coffee was very hot.
'What's so nice about you,' said the Hemulen confidentially, 'is that you are so little. You must be terribly clever because you don't say anything. It makes me want to talk about my boat.'
The fog had lifted a little, quite quietly, and the black wet ground began to appear around them and round the Hemulen's big boots, but his head was still in the fog. Everything was almost as usual, except his neck. The coffee warmed his stomach and suddenly he felt gay and without a care in the world: 'You know what,' he said, 'you and I understand each other. Moominpappa's boat is down by the bathing-hut. That's where it is, isn't it?'
And they remembered the jetty, narrow and solitary, resting shakily on blackening piles and the bathing-hut at the end of it with its pointed roof and red and green window-panes and the steep steps leading down into the water.
'I'm not sure that the boat is still there,' said Snufkin, putting his mug down. He thought: they've sailed away. I don't feel like talking about them with this hemulen. But the Hemulen leant forward and said gravely: 'We must go and have a look. Just you and me, it'll feel better that way.'
They went off into the fog, which lifted and began to drift out of the way. In the forest it was an endless white ceiling held up by the black pillars of the tree-trunks, a tall, solemn landscape created for silence. The Hemulen thought about his boat but said nothing. He followed Snufkin all the way down to the sea and at last everything had become uncomplicated and meaningful again.
The bathing-hut jetty was the same as ever. The sailing-boat wasn't there. The duckboards and the fish-basket lay above the high-water line and they had pulled the little dinghy right up to the trees. The fog drifted
He must have been really lonely, Toft thought. He wasn't like any of the others and his family didn't bother about him, so he left. I wonder where he is now and whether I shall ever be able to meet him. Perhaps he'll show himself if I can describe him clearly enough.
Toft said: end of the chapter, and put out the light.
CHAPTER 11
Next Morning
I N the long, vague dawn as the November night changed to morning, the fog moved in from the sea. It rolled up the hillsides and slid down into the valleys on the other side and filled every corner of them. Snufkin had determined that he would wake up early in order to have an hour or two to himself. His fire had burnt out long ago but he didn't feel cold. He had that simple but rare ability to retain his own warmth, he gathered it all round him and lay very still and took care not to dream.
The fog had brought complete silence with it, the valley was quite motionless.
Snufkin woke up as quickly as an animal, wide awake. The five bars had come a little nearer.
Good, he thought. A cup of coffee and I'll get them. (He ought to have skipped the coffee.)
The morning fire picked up and began to burn. Snufkin filled the coffee-pot with water from the river and put it on the fire, took a step backwards and tumbled over the Hemulen's rake. With a terrible clatter his saucepan rolled down the river bank, and the Hemulen stuck his nose out of the tent and said: 'Hallo!'
'Hallo!' said Snufkin.
The Hemulen crawled up to the fire with the sleeping-bag over his head, he was cold and sleepy but quite determined to be amiable. 'Life in the wilds!' he said.
Snufkin saw to the coffee.
'Just think,' the Hemulen continued, 'being able to hear all the mysterious sounds of the night from inside a real tent! I'm sure you've got something for a stiff neck, haven't you?'
'No,' said Snufkin. 'Do you want sugar or not?'
'Sugar, yes, four lumps preferably.' His front was now getting warm and the small of his back didn't ache so much any more. The coffee was very hot.
'What's so nice about you,' said the Hemulen confidentially, 'is that you are so little. You must be terribly clever because you don't say anything. It makes me want to talk about my boat.'
The fog had lifted a little, quite quietly, and the black wet ground began to appear around them and round the Hemulen's big boots, but his head was still in the fog. Everything was almost as usual, except his neck. The coffee warmed his stomach and suddenly he felt gay and without a care in the world: 'You know what,' he said, 'you and I understand each other. Moominpappa's boat is down by the bathing-hut. That's where it is, isn't it?'
And they remembered the jetty, narrow and solitary, resting shakily on blackening piles and the bathing-hut at the end of it with its pointed roof and red and green window-panes and the steep steps leading down into the water.
'I'm not sure that the boat is still there,' said Snufkin, putting his mug down. He thought: they've sailed away. I don't feel like talking about them with this hemulen. But the Hemulen leant forward and said gravely: 'We must go and have a look. Just you and me, it'll feel better that way.'
They went off into the fog, which lifted and began to drift out of the way. In the forest it was an endless white ceiling held up by the black pillars of the tree-trunks, a tall, solemn landscape created for silence. The Hemulen thought about his boat but said nothing. He followed Snufkin all the way down to the sea and at last everything had become uncomplicated and meaningful again.
The bathing-hut jetty was the same as ever. The sailing-boat wasn't there. The duckboards and the fish-basket lay above the high-water line and they had pulled the little dinghy right up to the trees. The fog drifted