Moominvalley in November (5 page)

The Hemulen himself smelt of old paper and worry. Toft knew it. Once the Hemulen had stood outside his boat and sighed and tugged at the tarpaulin a bit and then gone away,

It wasn't raining at the moment but the forest was covered in mist and looked very beautiful, and it got thicker and thicker where the hills went down into Moominvalley, and little by little the pools became rivulets, more and more of them, and Toft walked between hundreds of streams and waterfalls, and all of them were going in the same direction as he was.

Moominvalley was very near now, he was there. He recognized the birch-trees because their trunks were paler than in any other valley. Everything light was lighter and everything dark was darker. Toft walked as quietly as he could and very slowly. He listened. Someone was chopping wood in the valley. It was Moominpappa chopping wood for the winter. Toft walked even more quietly, his paws hardly touching the mossy ground. The river came towards him, and there was the bridge and there was the road. Moominpappa had stopped chopping, and now there was only the sound of the river where all the rivulets and streams came together and went down to the sea.

I've arrived, Toft thought. He crossed the bridge and entered the garden and it was just as he had described it to himself, it couldn't possibly have been different. The trees

stood leafless in the November mist but for a moment they were all clothed in green, the little spots of sunlight danced in the grass and Toft could feel the sweet, comforting smell of lilac.

He ran all the way to the woodshed, but there a different smell came towards him, a smell of old paper and worry. The Hemulen was sitting on the steps of the woodshed with the axe in his lap. It had several nicks in the blade where he had struck nails. Toft stopped. That's the Hemulen, he thought. So that's what he looks like.

The Hemulen looked up. 'Hallo,' he said. 'I thought you were Moominpappa. Do you know where they've all gone to, eh?'

'No,' answered Toft.

'Their wood is full of nails,' the Hemulen explained and held up the axe. Old planks and bits of wood full of nails! It felt good to have someone to talk to. 'I came here just for fun,' the Hemulen continued. 'I just popped in to see old friends!' He laughed and put the axe away in the woodshed. 'Listen, Toft,' he said. 'Carry all this into the kitchen so that it can dry, and pile it up so that it faces first this way and then that way. Meanwhile I'll go and make some coffee. The kitchen is at the back of the house to the right.'

'I know,' answered Toft.

The Hemulen went towards the house and Toft began to gather the wood together. He could tell that the Hemulen wasn't used to chopping wood, but he had probably enjoyed himself. The wood smelt good.

*

The Hemulen carried the coffee-tray into the drawing-room and placed it on the oval mahogany table. 'The family have their coffee in the morning on the veranda usually,' he said. 'But coffee for visitors is served in the drawing-room, particularly when there's someone who has never been here before.'

The chairs were covered in dark red velvet, and there was a lace cloth on the back of each of them. Toft gazed timidly round the beautiful but awe-inspiring room. He didn't dare sit down, the furniture was much too grand. The tiled stove went right up to the ceiling and was painted with a pine-cone design, it had a damper-cord decorated with beads and shiny brass doors. The desk was also shiny and there was a gilded handle on every drawer.

'Well, aren't you going to sit down?' the Hemulen said.

Toft sat right on the edge of a chair and stared at the portrait hanging above the desk, which portrayed somebody with shaggy grey hair, close-set eyes and a tail. The nose was unusually large.

'That's their Ancestor,' the Hemulen explained. 'He's from the time when they lived behind stoves.'

Toft's glance moved to the staircase, which disappeared into the darkness of the attic floor. He shivered and said: 'Wouldn't it be warmer in the kitchen?'

'I think you're right,' the Hemulen said. 'It might be nicer in the kitchen.' He picked up the tray and they left the deserted drawing-room.

*

All day they didn't mention the family that had gone away. The Hemulen walked about the garden raking leaves and talking about anything that came into his head, and Toft followed on behind and collected the leaves in a basket and said very little.

At one point the Hemulen stood looking at Moominpappa's blue crystal ball. 'Garden ornaments,' he said. 'When I was young they used to be silver-plated,' and then he went on raking.

Toft didn't look at the crystal ball. He didn't want to look at it until he was alone. The crystal ball was the focal point of the whole valley and it always mirrored those who lived there. If there was anything left of the Moomin family then one ought to be able to see them in the deep-blue crystal ball.

*

At dusk the Hemulen went into the drawing-room and wound up Moominpappa's grandfather clock. It started off by striking like something possessed, rapidly and unevenly, and then it began to work. The clock was ticking again, steadily and quite calmly, and the drawing-room had come to life again. The Hemulen went up to the barometer, a large dark mahogany barometer covered with ornamental work, tapped it and saw that it said: Unsettled. After that he went into the kitchen and said: 'Things are getting organized now! We can have another fire and a little more coffee, what?' He lit the kitchen lamp and found some cinnamon biscuits in the cupboard.

'These are real ship's biscuits,' he explained. 'They remind me of my boat. Eat, Toft! You're too thin.'

'Thank you very much,' said Toft.

The Hemulen was in high spirits. He leant over the kitchen table and said: 'My sailing boat is clinker-built. Is there anything to compare with getting a boat into the water when spring comes?'

Toft dunked his biscuit in his coffee and said nothing.

'You wait and wait,' said the Hemulen, 'and at last you set sail and you're off.'

Toft looked up at the Hemulen from under his fringe. Finally all he said was: 'Yes.'

The Hemulen was suddenly gripped by a feeling of loneliness, it was too quiet in the house. He said: 'It isn't always that one has time to do just what one wants. Did you know them?'

'Yes, Moominmamma,' Toft answered. 'The others are a little hazy in my mind.'

'They are in mine, too,' the Hemulen exclaimed, relieved that Toft had at last said something. 'I never looked at them very closely, they were just there, you know...' He fumbled for words, and went on tentatively: 'They were just like things that are always around, if you see what I mean... Like trees, eh?... or... things.'

Toft retired into himself again. After a while the Hemulen got up and said: 'Perhaps it's about time to go to bed. Tomorrow's another day.' He hesitated. The beautiful image of the summer and the guest room facing south had vanished, now he could only see the staircase leading up to the dark attic floor with empty rooms. He decided to sleep in the kitchen.

'I'm going outside for a while,' Toft muttered.

He shut the door behind him and stood on the kitchen steps. It was as black as jet outside. He waited until his eyes got used to the dark and then walked slowly through the garden. Something blue and radiant appeared out of the night, he'd reached the crystal ball. He looked right into it, it was as deep as the sea and was flooded with a tremendous swell. Toft looked deeper and deeper and waited patiently. At last, deep down inside the ball, he could see a faint point of light. It shone and then disappeared, shone and disappeared at regular intervals, like a lighthouse.

What a long way away they are, Toft thought. He felt the cold creeping up his legs but he stayed where he was staring at the light which came and went, so faint that one could only just see it. He felt as though they had deceived him somehow.

*

The Hemulen stood in the kitchen holding the lamp in his paw and thinking what an impossible and unpleasant task it was hunting for a mattress, finding a place to put it, and then to undress and confess that yet another day had become yet another night. How did things get like this, he thought, quite dumbfounded. I have felt so happy all day. What was it that was so simple?

While the Hemulen stood there wondering, the veranda door opened and someone came into the drawing-room and knocked over a chair.

'What are you doing in there?' the Hemulen asked.

No one answered. The Hemulen lifted up the lamp and shouted: 'Who's there?!'

A very old voice answered mysteriously: 'That I have no intention of telling you!'

CHAPTER 7
Grandpa-Grumble

H
E
was frightfully old and forgot things very easily. One dark autumn morning he woke up and had forgotten what his name was. It's a little sad when you forget other people's names but it's lovely to be able to completely forget your own.

He didn't bother about getting up, and the whole day he let pictures and thoughts come and go in his mind just as they pleased; he slept sometimes and woke up again still not knowing who he was. It was a peaceful and very exciting day.

Towards evening he tried to find a name for himself so that he would be able to get up. Crumby-Mumble? Grindle-Fumble? Grandpa-Grumble? Gramble-Fimble? Mamble...?

There are so many people you're introduced to who immediately lose their names. They always come on Sundays. They shout polite questions because they can never learn that you're not deaf. They try to talk as simply as possible so that you'll understand what it is they're on about. They say good night and go home and play and dance and sing until the next morning. They're all relations of yours.

I am Grandpa-Grumble, he whispered solemnly. I shall get up now and forget all the families in the world.

Grandpa-Grumble sat by his window most of the night and looked out into the darkness, he was full of expectation. Someone passed his house and went straight into the forest. A lighted window was reflected in the water on the other side of the bay. Perhaps there was a party going on and perhaps there wasn't. The night passed quietly while Grandpa-Grumble waited to know what he wanted to do.