Moominland Midwinter (13 page)

On his way back, as a matter of fact, he nearly forgot Salome the Little Creep and thought only of a glass of hot syrup and water.

*

The following day was Sunday, and the gale had calmed down. The weather was warm and cloudy, and people sank up to their ears in snow.

The valley looked as strange as a moonscape. The drifts were enormous, rounded heaps or beautifully curved ridges with edges sharp as knives. Every single twig in the wood carried a large snow-cap. The trees looked most of all like big pastry-cakes made by a very fanciful confectioner.

For once all the guests swarmed out in the snow and arranged an enormous snowball fight. The jam was nearly finished, and it had given them all much strength.

The Hemulen sat on the wood-shed roof, blowing his horn with Salome the happy Creep at his side. He played 'The King's Hemulens' and crowned this favourite piece of his with a special flourish. Then he turned to Moomintroll and said: 'You'll have to promise not to be angry with me, but I've made up my mind to go to the Lonely Mountains, come what may. I'll be back again next winter and teach you to ski, instead.'

'But I told you...' Moomintroll began anxiously.

'I know, I know,' the Hemulen interrupted. 'You were quite right, too. But after this blizzard the hills must be splendid. And just think how much fresher the air must be there!'

Moomintroll looked at Too-ticky,

She nodded. It meant: 'Let him go. The thing's settled now and everything is for the best.'

Moomintroll went in and opened the shutters of the porcelain stove. First he softly called to his ancestor, a low signal, somewhat like: Tee-yooo, tee-yooo. The ancestor didn't reply.

'I've neglected him,' Moomintroll thought. 'But things that happen now really
are
more interesting than those that happened a thousand years ago.'

He lifted out the big jar of strawberry jam. Then he took a piece of charcoal and wrote on the paper lid: 'To my old friend, the Hemulen.'

*

That evening Sorry-oo had to struggle for a whole hour in the snow until he finally reached his wailing pit. Each time he had sat there with his longing, the wailing-pit had grown slightly larger, but now it was set deep in a snowdrift.

The Lonely Mountains were wholly snow-clad now and shone before him in splendid whiteness. The night

was moonless, but the stars were twinkling unusually bright. From far away came the rumbling of an avalanche. Sorry-oo sat down to wait for the wolves.

Tonight he had to wait long.

He imagined them running over snowy fields, grey and big and strong - and then they would suddenly stop when they heard his calling howl from the edge of the wood.

Perhaps they'd think: 'Listen, there's a pal. A cousin we could have for a companion...'

This thought made Sorry-oo feel excited, and his imagination carried him further. He embroidered his daydream while he waited. He let the whole pack appear over the nearest hill. They came running towards him... They wagged their tails... Then Sorry-oo remembered that genuine wolves never wag their tails.

But that was no matter. They came running, they knew him from before... They had already decided to take him along with them...

Now Sorry-oo was quite overwhelmed with his vivid daydream. He turned his muzzle to the stars and gave a howl.

And the wolves answered him.

They were so near that Sorry-oo felt frightened. He tried clumsily to burrow down in the snow. Eyes were lighting up all around him.

The wolves were silent again. They had formed a ring around him, and it was slowly closing in.

Sorry-oo wagged his tail and whined, but nobody answered him. He took off his woollen cap and threw it in the air to show that he would like to play. That he was quite harmless.

But the wolves didn't even look at the cap. And suddenly Sorry-oo knew that he had made a mistake. They weren't his brethren at all, and one couldn't have any fun with them.

One could only be eaten up, and possibly have the time to regret that one had behaved like an ass. He stopped his tail that was still wagging from pure habit, and thought: What a pity. I could have slept all these nights instead of sitting here and longing myself silly...'

The wolves were coming nearer.

At that very moment a clear bugle call resounded through the wood. It was a blaring brass blast that shook lots of snow from the trees and made the yellow eyes blink. Within a second the danger was past and Sorry-oo was alone again beside his woollen cap. On his large snow-shoes the Hemulen came shuffling up the hill.

'Sitting here, are you, little doggie?' said the Hemulen. 'Have you waited long for me?'

'No,' said Sorry-oo truthfully.

'There'll be a fine crust on the snow tonight,' said the Hemulen happily. 'And when we're up on the Lonely Mountains we'll share the nice warm milk I have in my thermos.'

The Hemulen shuffled on, without looking over his shoulder.

Sorry-oo padded after him. It seemed much the best thing he could do.

CHAPTER 6
The first of spring

T
HE
first spring blizzard had brought change and unrest to the valley. The guests became more homesick than ever. One after the other they started back, usually in the night when the snow-crust made walking easy. A few of them had made themselves a pair of skis, and everyone carried at least one little jam-jar with him. The last ones to go shared the cranberry-jar.

As the last of the guests walked off over the bridge, the jam-cellar was completely empty.

'Now it's only we again,' said Too-ticky. 'You and me and Little My. All the mysterious ones have hidden away until next winter.'

'I never saw him with the silver horns a second time,' said Moomintroll. 'Nor those spindle-shanked little ones that came skidding over the ice. Nor the black one who flew over the bonfire and had such large eyes.'

'They were all winter people,' said Too-ticky. 'Can't you feel that spring's coming?'

Moomintroll shook his head. 'It's too early still. I don't recognize it,' he said.

But Too-ticky turned her red cap inside out, and the inside turned out to be a pale blue. 'I always do this when I feel spring in my nose,' she said. Then she seated herself on the lid of the well and sang:

I am Too-ticky

And my cap's turned inside out!

I am Too-ticky

Catching warm winds in my nose!

Great blizzards are drawing near!

Great avalanches roar!

The great earth revolves

And everything is changed these days

Including people's winter woollens.

One evening when Moomintroll was on his way home from the bathing-house he stopped on the path and pricked his ears.

It was a cloudy, warm night, full of movement. The trees had long since shaken off their snow, and he could hear them tossing their branches in the dark.

Far away from the south came a strong gust of wind. He could hear it soughing along through the wood and passing him on its way across the valley.

A little shower of water drops fell from the trees into the darkening snow, and Moomintroll lifted his snout to sniff.

That could have been a faint whiff of bare earth, indeed. He continued on his way and knew that Too-ticky had been right. Spring was really on its way.

For the first time in many weeks Moomintroll went and looked carefully at his sleeping Pappa and Mamma. He also held the lamp over the Snork Maiden and regarded her musingly. Her fringe fluff had a nice gleam in the lamplight. She was very sweet. As soon as she awoke she would rush to the cupboard and look for her green spring hat.

Moomintroll set the lamp on the mantelpiece and looked around him at the drawing-room. It was a horrid sight indeed. Most of the things had been given away, borrowed or simply taken by some thoughtless guest.

The remaining things were in an indescribable jumble. Unwashed dishes were piled high on the kitchen sink. The central-heating fire in the cellar would soon go out, as there was no more peat. The jam-cellar was empty. And a window-pane was broken.

Moomintroll pondered. He could hear the wet snow starting to slide down along the roof above him. It landed with a big thump, and suddenly he could see a piece of the clouded night sky through the upper part of the south window.