Moominland Midwinter (11 page)

*

During the following week Too-ticky sat doggedly under the ice with her fishing-rod. Beside her under the green ceiling sat a row of guests, also angling. Those were the guests that disliked the Hemulen. Inside the Moomin-house, by and by, gathered all who didn't care to, weren't able to or didn't dare to remonstrate.

Early in the mornings the Hemulen used to put in his head, and a burning torch, at the broken window. He liked torches and camp-fires - and who doesn't? - but he always put them in the wrong place, as it were.

The guests loved their long, somewhat slovenly forenoons, when the new day was allowed to break later, while everybody discussed the dreams of the night and listened to Moomintroll making coffee in the kitchen.

The Hemulen interrupted all that. He always began by telling them that the drawing-room was stuffy, and described the fresh cold weather outside.

Then he chatted about what could be done this fine new day. He did his utmost to find some amusements for them all, and he was never hurt when they refused his proposals. He only patted them on the back and said: 'Well, well. You'll see for yourself by and by how right I am.'

The only one who followed him everywhere was Little My. He generously taught her everything he knew about skiing, beaming over her progress.

'Little Miss My,' said the Hemulen. 'You're born on skis. You'll beat me at my own game soon.'

'That's exactly what I figure to do,' replied Little My sincerely. But as soon as she was fully trained, she disappeared to her own hills that nobody knew about, and didn't care much for the Hemulen any more.

As time passed, more and more of the guests became anglers under the ice, and finally the Hemulen's black-and-yellow sweater was the only blob of colour left on the hillside.

The guests didn't like to be involved in new and troublesome things. They liked to sit together talking about old times, before the Lady of the Cold came and they ran out of food. They told each other how they had furnished their homes, and whom they were related to and used to visit, and how terrible the coming of the Great Cold had been, when everything changed.

They shifted closer to the stove, listening to each other and patiently waiting for their own turn to speak.

Moomintroll saw that the Hemulen was left more and more to himself. 'I must get him to leave before he notices it and feels hurt,' Moomintroll thought. 'And before he finishes all the jam.'

But it wasn't easy to find a pretext that would be both believable and tactful.

Sometimes the Hemulen went skiing down to the shore and tried to coax Sorry-oo from the bathing-house. But neither dog-sledge nor even ski-jumping could interest Sorry-oo. He used to sit out all the nights, howling at the moon, and in daytime he was sleepy and wanted to be left alone.

Finally one day the Hemulen thrust his sticks in the snow and said imploringly: 'Don't you see, I like little dogs so terribly much. I've always thought that one day I'd have a dog of my own who would like me too. Why won't you play with me?'

'I really don't know,' Sorry-oo mumbled, blushing. As soon as he had the chance, he slunk back to the bathing-house, and there he continued to dream about the wolves.

It was the wolves he wanted to play with. What boundless happiness, he thought, to hunt with them, to follow them everywhere, to do everything they did and everything they wanted one to do. Then, by and by, he himself would change and become as free and wild as they were.

Every night, when the moonlight glittered in the ice-ferns on the windows, Sorry-oo awoke in the bathing-house and rose to listen. Every night he pulled his woollen cap over his ears and padded softly out.

He took the same path every time, across the sloping shore and into the wood. He continued on his way until the wood became more open and he could see the Lonely Mountains. There Sorry-oo sat down in the snow and waited for the howling of the wolves. Sometimes they were very far away, sometimes nearer. But he heard them neatly every night.

And each time Sorry-oo heard them he put up his muzzle and answered.

Towards morning he crept back again and went to sleep in the bathing-house cupboard.

Too-ticky once looked at him and said: 'You'll never forget them that way.'

'I don't want to forget them,' replied Sorry-oo. 'I want to think of them always.'

*

Strangely enough it was the most timid of them all, Salome the Little Creep, who really liked the Hemulen. She longed to hear him play the horn. But alas! the Hemulen was so big and always in such a hurry that he never noticed her.

No matter how fast she ran he always left her far behind, on his skis, and when she at last overtook the music, it ceased and the Hemulen began doing something else.

A couple of times Salome the Little Creep tried to explain how much she admired him. But she was far too shy and ceremonious, and the Hemulen never had been a good listener.

So nothing of any consequence was said.

One night Salome the Little Creep awoke in the meerschaum tram, where she had settled down on the back gangway. It was no comfortable sleeping-place because of the many buttons and safety-pins the Moomins, in the course of time, had collected in their magnificent drawing-room decoration. And Salome the Little Creep of course was much too considerate to remove them.

Now she could hear Too-ticky and Moomintroll talking under the rocking-chair - and at once she understood that they talked about her beloved Hemulen.

'This is the limit,' said Too-ticky's voice in the dark. 'We simply have to have some peace again. Ever since he started his bugle-tooting my musical shrew has refused to

play the flute. Most of my invisible friends have gone away. The guests have a lot of nerves and colds from sitting under the ice all day long. And Sorry-oo hides in the cupboard until nightfall. Somebody has to tell him to leave.'

'I haven't the heart,' said Moomintroll. 'He's so convinced that we like him.'

'Then we'll have to swindle him,' said Too-ticky. 'Tell him the hills in the Lonely Mountains are much higher and better than ours.'

'There are no skiing grounds at all in the Lonely Mountains,' said Moomintroll. 'Only abysses and snaggy cliffs, and not even any snow.'

Salome the Little Creep shivered, and her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

Too-ticky replied: 'Hemulens always manage. And do you suppose it's better to have him understand that we don't like him? Think about it.'

'Can't you do it?' Moomintroll asked wretchedly.

'He lives in your garden, doesn't he?' said Too-ticky. 'Pull yourself together. Everybody'll be the better afterwards. He too.'

Then all was silent. Too-ticky had crawled out through the window.

Salome the Little Creep lay awake and staring out in the darkness. They wanted to send the Hemulen and his horn away. They wanted him to tumble into abysses. There was only one thing to do. He had to be warned against the Lonely Mountains. But cautiously. So that he wouldn't know that people wanted to get rid of him.

Salome the Little Creep lay awake all the night, pondering. Her small head wasn't accustomed to important thoughts like these, and towards morning she was fast asleep. She slept over morning coffee and dinner, and no one even remembered her existence.

*

After breakfast Moomintroll went up to the skiing slope.

'Hello!' cried the Hemulen. 'Fun to see you here! May I teach you a very simple little turn that's not dangerous in the least?'

'Thanks, not today,' said Moomintroll, feeling a big beast. 'I just passed by for a chat.'

'That's great,' said the Hemulen. 'You're not very chatty, none of you, I've noticed. You always seem to be in a hurry and going off somewhere or other.'

Moomintroll cast him a quick look, but the Hemulen looked simply interested and beaming as usual. Moomintroll took a deep breath and said: 'I happen to know that there are some really wonderful hills in the Lonely Mountains.'

'Are there really?' said the Hemulen.

Oh, yes! Enormous!' Moomintroll continued, nervously. 'The most colossal ups and downs.'

'Ought to give them a try,' said the Hemulen. 'But that's far away. If 'I'm off to the Lonely Mountains we mightn't meet again this side of spring. And that'd be a pity, wouldn't it?'

'Of course,' Moomintroll replied untruthfully, blushing strongly.

'But really, it's quite an idea,' the Hemulen mused on.
'
That would be outdoor life indeed! The log-fire in the evenings, and new mountain tops to conquer every morning! Long ravine slopes, untouched snow, crisp and rustling under the rushing skis...'

The Hemulen lapsed into day-dreams. 'You're really a splendid pal to take such interest in my skiing,' he said thankfully after a while.

Moomintroll stared at him. And then he broke out: 'But they're dangerous hills!'

'Not to me,' said the Hemulen calmly. 'Kind of you to warn me, but I really love hills. The bigger the better.'

'But they're impossible!' cried Moomintroll, beside himself now. 'Nothing but steep precipices that don't even hold any snow! I told you wrong, I told you wrong! I remember now that somebody told me that it's quite impossible to ski there!'

'Are you sure?' said the Hemulen wonderingly.