Moominvalley in November (14 page)

in peace to forget things.' He was lying on the drawing-room sofa under a pile of blankets and had his hat on.

'How old are you, actually?' Fillyjonk asked cautiously.

'I have no intention of dying,' Grandpa-Grumble declared cheerfully. 'How old are you yourself?'

Fillyjonk disappeared. Doors were opened and shut all over the house, the garden was full of the sound of shouts and running footsteps. Nobody thought of anything but Grandpa-Grumble. That basket might be anywhere, he thought not without a certain satisfaction. His stomach had settled.

Mymble came in and sat on the edge of his sick-bed. 'Listen, Grandpa-Grumble,' she said. 'You're just as well as I am and you know it.'

'Possibly,' Grandpa-Grumble answered. 'But I shan't get up until I know that I can have a party! Quite a small party for old people who have recovered.'

'Or a big party for mymbles who want to dance,' said Mymble thoughtfully.

'Not at all!' Grandpa-Grumble exclaimed. 'A huge party for me and the Ancestor. He hasn't had a party for a hundred years, and now he's sitting in the clothes-cupboard feeling sorry for himself.'

'If you believe that you'd believe anything,' said Mymble with a grin.

'It's found!' the Hemulen shouted outside. The door flew open and the drawing-room was suddenly full of people and movement. 'The basket was under the veranda!' the Hemulen exclaimed. 'And the brandy was on the other side of the river!'

'Brook,' corrected Grandpa-Grumble. 'I'll have the brandy first.' Fillyjonk poured out a little drop and they all watched him carefully while he drank it down.

'Do you want a little of each medicine or only one kind?' Fillyjonk asked.

'None at all,' Grandpa-Grumble answered, and fell back among the cushions with a sigh. 'Don't ever again mention things I don't like to hear. And I shan't get really well before I've been given a party...'

'Take off his boots,' said the Hemulen. 'Toft, take off his boots. It's the first thing to do when anybody's got a stomach-ache.'

Toft unlaced Grandpa-Grumble's boots and took them off. He took a crumpled up piece of white paper out of one of them.

The note!' Snufkin exclaimed. He smoothed out the paper carefully and read:

'Please do not light a fire in the stove because that's where the Ancestor lives. - Moominmamma.'

CHAPTER 17
Preparations

FILLYJONK
said nothing more about what had been living in the clothes-cupboard, but tried to fill her head with small, fussy thoughts of the kind she was used to. But at night she could hear the faint, hardly distinguishable sounds that occur when something is crawling inside the wallpaper, sometimes a scurrying sound along the wainscot, and once a death-watch beetle had been ticking over the head of her bed.

The best things in the whole day were being able to bang the gong and put the rubbish bucket on the steps after dark. Snufkin played almost every evening and Fillyjonk had learnt his tunes. But she only whistled when she was sure that no one would hear her.

One evening she was sitting by the stove trying to find some excuse for not going to bed.

'Are you asleep?' asked Mymble outside the door. She came in without waiting for an answer and said: 'I need some rainwater to wash my hair.'

'Really,' said Fillyjonk. 'I should have thought that river water would have done just as well. It's in the middle bucket. That one's spring water. But you can rinse your hair with rainwater if you insist. Don't spill any on the floor.'

'You seem to be yourself again.' Mymble declared and put the water on the stove. 'Actually, you're nicer that way. I shall wear my hair down for the party.'

'What party?' said Fillyjonk sharply.

'The party for Grandpa-Grumble,' Mymble answered. 'Didn't you know that we're having a party in the kitchen tomorrow?'

'You don't mean to say so! It's news to me!' Fillyjonk exclaimed. 'That's certainly something worth knowing! It's just exactly what one should do when one is shut in together, washed ashore, wind-blown, rain-drenched - one has a party and in the middle of the party the lights go out and when they go on again there is One Less in the House.'

Mymble looked at Fillyjonk with new interest. 'Sometimes you're very surprising,' she said. 'That wasn't bad at all. And then one after another vanishes and in the end only the cat is left, washing itself on their graves!'

Fillyjonk shuddered. 'I think your water is hot,' she said. 'There's no cat here.'

'It would be easy to get one,' said Mymble with a grin. 'You just imagine it and there you are, you've got a cat!' She took the saucepan off the stove and opened the door with her elbow. 'Good night,' she said. 'And don't forget to put your hair in curlers. And the Hemulen said that you were the one to decorate the kitchen because you're the most artistic' Then Mymble went away and closed the door behind her quite niftily with her foot.

Fillyjonk's heart started pounding. She was artistic, the Hemulen had said that she was artistic. What a wonderful

word! She whispered it over and over again to herself.

In the silence of the night Fillyjonk took her kitchen lamp and went to hunt for the decorations in the cupboard above Moominmamma's wardrobe. The cardboard box with the Japanese lanterns and the ribbon was in its usual place on top on the right, they were all jumbled up and covered in candlewax. The Easter ornaments, old birthday wrapping-papers with rose patterns, still had greetings on them: 'To my darling Pappa,' 'Happy Birthday dear Hem-ulen,' 'With love and kisses this we send, To Little My our own dear Friend.' 'To Gaffsie, with best wishes.' They hadn't liked Gaffsie as much.

Then she came across the paper streamers. Fillyjonk carried everything down to the kitchen and spread it all out on the draining-board. She wet her hair and put in the curlers, whistling softly all the time, quite in tune and much better than she was aware of herself.

*

Toft had heard them all talking about a party, although the Hemulen had called it 'an evening at home'. He knew that everyone had to contribute a turn to the programme to entertain the others and he suspected that at 'an evening at home' one had to be talkative and jolly. He didn't feel jolly. He wanted to be alone to try and work out why he had been so terribly angry at that Sunday dinner. It frightened him to realize that there was a completely different toft in him, a toft he didn't know and who might come back and disgrace him in front of all the others. After that Sunday, the Hemulen had been building his house all alone. He didn't call for Toft any longer. They were both embarrassed.

How could I have been so angry with him? Toft brooded. There was nothing to be angry about and I've never been angry before. It just came over me, like something rising and overflowing, like a waterfall! And I'm so good-natured, too.

The good-natured Toft went down to the river for water. He filled the bucket and put it down outside the tent. Snufkin was sitting inside making a wooden-spoon, or perhaps nothing at all, just keeping quiet and knowing about things better than anyone else. Everything Snufkin said sounded so good, so right, and when you were alone again you didn't understand what he meant and felt too shy to go back and ask. Or sometimes he didn't answer your questions at all but talked about tea or the weather and chewed his pipe and made that awful vague noise, making you feel you'd asked something quite dreadful.

I wonder why they all admire him, Toft thought seriously. Of course, it's stylish to smoke a pipe. Perhaps they admire him because he walks away and shuts himself up. But I do the same and nobody thinks anything of it. What's wrong is that I'm too small. Toft strolled farther down the garden, right down to the big pool, and thought: I don't want friends who are kind without really liking me and I don't want anybody who is kind just so as not to be unpleasant. And I don't want anybody who is scared. I want somebody who is never scared and who really likes me. I want a mamma!

The big pool was a gloomy place in the autumn, a place to hide oneself and wait. But Toft had a feeling that the Creature wasn't there any longer. It had gone. It had gnashed its new teeth and made off. And it was he, Toft, who had given the Creature its teeth.

Grandpa-Grumble sat dozing on the bridge. As Toft passed him, he roused himself and shouted: 'We're having a party! A big party in my honour!'

Toft tried to slip past him, but Grandpa-Grumble caught hold of him with his stick. 'You must listen to me,' he said. 'I've told the Hemulen that the Ancestor is my best friend and hadn't had a party for a hundred years, and he must be invited! As guest of honour! "Yes, yes, yes," the Hemulen says. But I'm telling all of you that I shan't come to the party without the Ancestor! Do you understand?'

'Yes,' muttered Toft. 'I understand.' But he was thinking about the Creature.

Mymble was sitting on the veranda combing her hair in the pale sunshine. 'Hallo, Toft,' she said. 'Have you got your turn ready?'

'I can't do anything,' answered Toft, turning away.

'Come here,' said Mymble. 'Your hair needs combing.'

Toft placed himself in front of her obediently and Mymble started to comb his scruffy hair. 'If only you combed it for ten minutes every day it wouldn't be so bad,' she said. 'It falls well, and it's a nice colour. So you can't do anything? Well, you were angry, weren't you? But then you crept under the table and spoilt it all.'

Toft stood still, he liked having his hair combed. 'Mymble,' he said shyly. 'Where would you go if you were a great big angry animal?'

Mymble answered immediately: 'To the bottom of the back garden in those horrid trees behind the kitchen. That's where they went to when they were angry.' She went on combing, and Toft said: 'You mean when you are angry.'

'No. The family,' Mymble said. 'They went to the back garden when they were fed up and angry and wanted a bit of peace and quiet.'

Toft took a step backwards and cried: 'It's not true! They were never angry!'

'Stand still,' said Mymble. 'How do you think I can comb your hair if you jump about like that? And I can tell you that both Moominpappa and Moominmamma got terribly tired of one another from time to time. Come here.'