Moominpappa at Sea (23 page)

‘I wonder whether they will go back to just the same places or choose new ones instead. Let me know when they make up their minds and I’ll go and put seaweed round their roots.’

‘You’re a dreary lot!’ complained Little My. She was staring out of the window looking very disappointed. ‘Everything’s going to be the same as it always was. I was sure the island would sink, or float away or take off into the air! Nothing ever really happens round here!’

She looked reproachfully at Moomintroll. He laughed.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It isn’t everybody who can put a whole forest back where it belongs!’

‘You’re right!’ exclaimed Moominpappa with delight. ‘Not everybody can do that, and without boasting about it afterwards, too!’

‘I must say some people are in a cracking good mood this morning,’ said Little My. ‘It would be better if they looked after their crates of whisky!’

Moominpappa and Moomintroll ran to the window. The crate was still there on the point, but the point had moved quite a way out to sea.

‘I can do without breakfast,’ said Moominpappa, putting his hat on. ‘I must go down and see how high the water is.’

‘Have a look for the fisherman while you’re about it,’ said Moominmamma. ‘It would be just as well to invite him in good time.’

‘Yes, do!’ shouted Little My. ‘Imagine! He might have another engagement this evening!’

But the fisherman had disappeared. Perhaps he was hiding in the thicket, sitting inside all by himself and thinking: ‘It’s my birthday today.’

The cake was finished and stood waiting on the table with the candles. They had hung up branches of mountain ash and juniper and Little My had picked a bunch of hips.

‘Why are you so quiet?’ she asked.

‘I was thinking,’ answered Moomintroll. He was putting a ring of tiny pebbles round the cake.

‘What do you do to get her warm?’ asked Little My. ‘I went out during the night and the sand wasn’t frozen at all.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Moomintroll, and then blushed. ‘You mustn’t let on.’

‘What sort of tell-tale do you think I am?’ asked Little My. ‘I don’t care a fig for other people’s secrets. And I certainly don’t broadcast them all over the place. Anyway, they all come out sooner or later. Believe you me, this island has a lot of secrets, and I know them all!’ She laughed mockingly and rushed off.

Moominpappa came puffing up the stairs with a load of wood. ‘Mamma has no idea how to use the axe,’ he said. ‘But she can saw all right. I must make enough room round the wood-pile for us to work there together.’

He flung the wood down by the stove and asked: ‘Do you think I could give the fisherman my old top hat? I shan’t want to wear it again.’

‘Yes, do. You’ve got the one the lighthouse-keeper left behind,’ said Moomintroll.

Moominpappa nodded and went up the ladder to look for some paper to make a parcel. He was lifting the lid of a box when he caught sight of another verse of poetry on the wall. He hadn’t seen this one before. He read the lighthouse-keeper’s forlorn, spidery handwriting:

‘But it’s the third of October today,’ thought Moominpappa with amazement. ‘It was the lighthouse-keeper’s birthday today, too. What a coincidence!’

He found some paper and climbed down the ladder.

The others were discussing how they could get the fisherman into the lighthouse.

‘He’ll never come,’ said Little My. ‘He’s afraid of the lighthouse. He always makes elaborate detours to avoid going past it.’

‘Isn’t there something that would tempt him?’ suggested Moomintroll. ‘Something pretty, perhaps. Should we sing for him?’

‘Oh, dry up!’ said Little My. ‘That would scare him off.’

Moominmamma got up and walked firmly towards the door. ‘There’s only one way,’ she said. ‘I shall go and ask the poor creature myself in the proper old-fashioned way. Little My can go and pull him out of the thicket.’

When they got there, the fisherman was sitting on the edge of the thicket with a sprig of flowering thyme in his hair. He got up and stared at them, waiting for them to say something.

‘Many happy returns of the day!’ said Moominmamma, curtseying.

The fisherman bowed his head with great solemnity. ‘You’re the first person who’s ever remembered my birthday,’ he said. ‘I feel very honoured.’

‘We’re having a little party for you at home,’ Moominmamma went on.

‘In the lighthouse?’ asked the fisherman, screwing up his face. ‘I’m not coming there!’

‘Now listen to me,’ said Moominmamma quietly. ‘There’s no need for you to look at the lighthouse at all. Just shut your eyes tight and give me your hand. My, run and put the coffee on and light the candles, please, dear.’

The fisherman shut his eyes and held out his hand.
Moominmamma took it and led him very carefully through the heather and up to the lighthouse-rock.

‘Now you must take a big step,’ she said.

‘Yes, I know,’ answered the fisherman.

When the door creaked he stopped and wouldn’t go on.

‘There’s a cake, and we’ve decorated the room,’ said Moominmamma. ‘And there are presents, too.’

She got him over the threshold and they started to climb the stairs. The wind moaned round the walls outside and now and then one of the windows rattled. Moominmamma could feel the fisherman’s hand trembling. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of,’ she said. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds. We shall soon be there.’

She opened the door of the room and said: ‘Now you can open your eyes!’

The fisherman looked cautiously round. The candles were alight although it wasn’t yet twilight. The table looked very nice, with a clean white table-cloth and little green sprigs at the corners. The family stood in a line waiting for him.

The fisherman looked at the cake.

‘There were only three candles left,’ Moominmamma said apologetically. ‘How old are you, if I may ask?’

‘I don’t remember,’ the fisherman muttered. His eyes moved anxiously from one window to the other and up to the trap-door.

‘Many happy returns of the day,’ said Moominpappa. ‘Pray be seated!’

But the fisherman remained standing and started to make for the door.

Suddenly Little My yelled at the top of her voice: ‘Sit down and behave yourself!’ she shouted angrily.

The fisherman was so startled that he came up to the table and sat down. Before he knew what was happening, Moominmamma had poured out the coffee and one of the others undid the parcel with the hat in it and put it on his tangled head.

He sat very still, trying to look at the hat from underneath. He wouldn’t have any coffee.

‘Try a little sea-grass,’ suggested Little My, giving him one of the presents done up in red leaves.

‘You can eat that yourself!’ said the fisherman politely, and the whole family laughed. It was funny to hear him say something so apt. The party was immediately more relaxed, and they went on talking easily among themselves and left him to himself for a while. After a while he took a sip of coffee. He pulled a wry face and took eight lumps of sugar, then he swallowed the lot at one go.

Then he opened Moomintroll’s present. The parcel
was full of the things Moomintroll had left on the beach for the sea-horses, little bits of glass, pebbles and four copper weights. The fisherman looked at the weights for a while and said: ‘Huh!’ Then he opened the last little parcel and took out the shell with the inscription ‘a present from the seaside’ on it, and said: ‘Huh!’

‘That’s the best of the lot,’ said Moomintroll. ‘It was washed up on the beach.’

‘Was it really?’ said the fisherman, looking at the bottom drawer of the desk.

He got up and went slowly to the desk. The family watched him with interest. They were very surprised that he hadn’t thanked them for their presents.

It was getting dark. Only a small patch of sunlight from the setting sun shone on the apple tree on the wall. The three candles were burning steadily.

The fisherman caught sight of the bird’s nest on the desk.

‘That should be in the chimney,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s been there for years.’

‘We had thought we might hang it out of the window,’ said Moominmamma apologetically. ‘But we haven’t got round to doing it…’

The fisherman stood in front of the desk, looking in the mirror. He stared at Moominpappa’s hat and contemplated his own unfamiliar face. Then his eyes turned to the jigsaw puzzle. He picked up a piece and fitted it in immediately, and with short sharp movements went on putting pieces in while the family got up and came and stood behind him to see what he was doing.

He completed the puzzle. It was a picture of birds flying round a lighthouse. He turned round and looked at Moominpappa.

‘Now I remember,’ he said. ‘We’re both wearing the wrong hat.’

He took off the hat he was wearing and offered it to Moominpappa. They exchanged hats without saying a word to each other.

The lighthouse-keeper had come back.

He buttoned up his corduroy jacket and hitched up his trousers. Then he went and picked up his cup and said: ‘I wonder if there’s any more coffee?’

Moominmamma dashed to the stove.

They all sat down at the table, but it was very difficult to find anything to say. The lighthouse-keeper ate his piece of cake while the family looked at him a little shyly.

‘I have painted a little on one of the walls,’ Moominmamma remarked diffidently.

‘So I see,’ said the lighthouse-keeper. ‘A landscape. It makes a change, I suppose. It’s well done, too. What had you thought to paint on the other wall?’

‘A map, perhaps,’ said Moominmamma. ‘A map of the island, showing all the rocks and shallows and perhaps the depth of the water as well. My husband is very good at measuring the depth of the water.’

The lighthouse-keeper nodded appreciatively. Moominpappa felt very pleased but still couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

Little My’s bright little eyes wandered from one to the other. She looked tremendously amused and as though she was about to say something really unsuitable, but she didn’t.

Two of the candles had burned right down and run over the cake. It was dark, and the storm was still raging outside. But inside it was quiet. They had seldom had such a peaceful evening.

The thought of the Groke crossed Moomintroll’s mind. But he didn’t feel that he
must
think about her. He would see her later as usual, but he didn’t have to. Somehow he knew that she wasn’t afraid of being disappointed any longer.

At last Moominpappa said something.

‘I have that crate of whisky out there on your point. Do you think the wind will drop soon?’

‘When a south-westerly gale sets in it can be weeks before it blows itself out. Your crate will be quite safe, don’t worry,’ said the lighthouse-keeper.

‘I thought I might go and have a look at the weather in a little while,’ said Moominpappa, filling his pipe. ‘Do you think the boat’s all right?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said the lighthouse-keeper. ‘There’s a new moon, so the water won’t rise any higher.’

The third candle went out, and only the glow of the fire shone over the floor.

‘I’ve washed your sheets,’ said Moominmamma, ‘although they were quite clean. Your bed is in its old place.’

‘Thank you very much,’ the lighthouse-keeper said, getting up from the table. ‘I think I’ll sleep up top tonight.’

They wished each other good night.

‘Shall we go over to the point?’ asked Moominpappa.

Moomintroll nodded his head.