Moominsummer Madness (11 page)

'I want to be a leading lady, too,' said the Mymble's daughter.

'And what play would you perforai?' asked Emma sceptically.

Moominmamma looked at Moominpappa. 'I suppose you could write a play if Emma helped you,' she said. 'You've written your Memoirs, and it can't be so very hard to put in a few rhymes.'

'Dear me, I couldn't write a play,' replied Moominpappa, blushing.

'Of course you could, dear,' said Moominmamma. 'And then we all learn it by heart, and everybody comes to look at us when we perform it. Lots of people, more and more every time, and they all tell their friends about it and how good it is, and in the end Moomintroll will hear about it also and find his way back to us again. Everybody comes home again and all will be well!' Moominmamma finished and clapped her paws together.

They looked doubtfully at each other. Then they glanced at Emma.

She extended her paws and shrugged her shoulders. 'I expect it'll be gruesome,' she said. 'But if you absolutely want to get the raspberry, as we say on the stage, well, I can always give you a few hints about how to do it correctly. When I can find the time.'

And Emma sat down and began to tell them more about the theatre.

*

In the evening Moominpappa had finished his play and proceeded to read it to the others. No one interrupted him, and when he had finished there was complete silence.

Finally Emma said: 'No. Nono. No and no again.'

'Was it that bad,' asked Moominpappa, downcast.

'Worse,'said Emma. 'Listen to this:

I'm not afraid of any lion,

be it a wild 'un or a shy 'un

That's horrid.'

'I want a lion in the play, at all costs,' Moominpappa replied sourly.

'But you must write it again, in blank verse! Blank verse! Rhymes won't do!' said Emma.

'What do you mean, blank verse,' asked Moominpappa.

'It should go like this: Ti-dum, ti-umty-um - ti-dumty-um-tum,' explained Emma. 'And you mustn't express yourself so naturally.'

Moominpappa brightened. 'Do you mean: "I tremble not before the Desert King, be he a savage beast or not so savage"?' he asked.

'That's more like it,' said Emma. 'Now go and write it all in blank verse. And remember that in all the good old tragedies most of the people are each other's relatives.'

'But how can they be angry at each other if they're of the same family?' Moominmamma asked cautiously. 'And is there no princess in the play? Can't you put in a happy end? It's so sad when people die.'

'This
is
a tragedy, dearest,' said Moominpappa. 'And because of that somebody has to die in the end. Preferably all except one of them, and perhaps that one too. Emma's said so.'

'Bags I to die in the end,' said Misabel.

'And can I be the one who fixes her?' asked the Mymble's daughter.

'I thought Moominpappa would write a mystery,'

Whomper said disappointedly. 'Something with a lot of suspects and nasty clues.'

Moominpappa arose pointedly and collected his papers. 'If you don't like my play, then by all means write a better one yourselves,' he remarked.

'Dearest one,' said Moominmamma. 'We think it's wonderful. Don't we?'

'Of course,' everybody said.

'You hear,' said Moominmamma. 'Everybody likes it. If you just change the style and the plot a little. I'll see to it that you're not disturbed, and you can take the whole bowl of candy with you.'

'All right, then,' replied Moominpapa. 'But there must be a lion.'

'Of course there must be a lion, dear,' said Moominmamma.

Moominpappa worked hard. Nobody spoke or moved. As soon as one sheet of paper was filled he read it aloud amid general applause. Moominmamma refilled the bowl at regular intervals. Everybody felt excited and expectant.

Sleep was hard to find that evening for them all.

Emma felt her old legs come to life. She could think of nothing but the dress rehearsal.

CHAPTER 9
About an unhappy daddy

ON
the morning of the day Moominpappa wrote his play, and Moomintroll was jailed, Snufkin was awakened by a trickle of rain seeping through the roof of his spruce-twig hut. He looked out in the wet forest, very carefully, because he didn't want to wake up the twenty-four little children.

He looked out on a carpet of white flowers that shone like little stars among glistening green ferns. He wished bitterly that they had all been turnips instead.

'I suppose that's the way fathers think,' he thought. 'What shall I give them to eat today? Little My won't need many beans, but all these others are going to finish off my provisions in no time.'

He turned and glanced at the woodies asleep in the moss.

'And now they'll catch cold from the rain, I expect,' he mumbled bleakly to himself. 'And that won't be the worst. I simply
can't
invent anything new to amuse them. They don't smoke. My stories scare them. And I can't stand on my head all day, because then I won't get to the Moomin Valley until summer's over. What a blessing it's going to be when Moominmamma takes care of them all!'

'Good old Moomintroll,' Snufkin thought with sudden devotion. 'We'll go for moonlight swims together again, and sit and talk in the cave afterwards...'

At that moment one of the woodies had a bad dream and began to cry. All the others awoke and cried too, out of sympathy.

'Wellwellwell,' said Snufkin, 'hoppityhoppityhop! Tweedledeedledeedledee!'

It had no effect.

'They didn't think you were funny,' Little My explained. 'You must do as my sister does. Tell them that if they don't shut up you're going to whack them silly. Then you ask them to forgive you and give them candy.'

'And does that help?' Snufkin asked.

'No,'said Little My.

Snufkin raised the spruce-twig hut from the ground and threw it into the bushes.

'That's what we do with a house when we've slept in it,' he said.

The woodies fell silent at once and wrinkled their noses in the drizzle.

'It's raining,'said a small woody.

'I'm hungry,' said another.

Snufkin looked helplessly at Little My.

'Scare them with the Groke!' she suggested. 'That's what my sister used to do.'

'Does it make you a good girl?' asked Snufkin.

'Of course not!' said Little My and laughed so that she toppled over.

Snufkin sighed. 'Come along, come along,' he said. 'Rise up, rise up! Hurry up and I'll show you something!'

'What?' asked the woodies.

'Something...' said Snufkin uncertainly and waved his hands.

*

They walked and they walked.

And it rained and rained.

The woodies sneezed and lost their shoes and asked why they couldn't have some bread and butter. A few of them started a fight. One rammed his snout full of spruce needles, and another one got pricked by a hedgehog.

Snufkin came near to feeling sorry for the Park Wardress. He was now carrying one woody on his hat, two on his shoulders, and two more under his arms. Drenched and unhappy he stumbled along through the blueberry scrub.

At that moment, that most melancholy moment, they arrived at a glade. And in the middle of the glade was a small house with withered garlands around its chimneystack and gateposts. Snufkin staggered to the door on wobbly legs. He knocked and waited.

Nobody opened.

He knocked once more. Nothing. Then he pushed the door open and stepped in.

Nobody was at home. The flowers on the table were faded, the clock had stopped. He put down the woodies

and went across the floor to the cold stove. There had been a pancake once. He went to look for a pantry. The woodies silently followed him with their eyes.

A moment of suspense followed. Then Snufkin returned with a whole keg of beans and put it on the table: 'Now you can eat yourselves square and round again on beans,' he said. 'Because we're going to stay here a little while and calm down until I've learned your names. Light my pipe, someone!'

All the woodies rushed to light his pipe.

A while later there was a good fire in the stove, and all dresses and skirts and trousers were hung up to dry. A large dish of steaming beans stood on the table, and outside the rain was gushing down from an evenly grey sky.