The Exploits of Moominpappa (Moominpappa's Memoirs) (9 page)

But all was silent. Not a trace of the excited crowd we had imagined would come running to look at
The Oshun Oxtra
and ourselves, and to ask us all about the hurricane.

'Perhaps Edward the Booble has frightened them away,' I said a little disappointedly.

We went up the nearest hill.

'There's a house,' said the Joxter. 'I'd like to see if the door's locked.'

It was a small hut, not very well built of board ends and large stiff leaves.

We knocked four times, but nobody opened.

'Ahoy!' Hodgkins shouted. 'Anybody home?'

Then we heard a small voice that answered: 'No, no! Nobody at all!'

'That's funny,' I said. 'Then who's talking?'

'I'm the Mymble's little daughter,' said the voice. 'But you'll have to go away quickly, because I'm not allowed to open the door to anybody until mother comes back.'

'Where's mother, then?' Hodgkins asked.

'She's gone to the garden party,' the little voice answered sadly.

'Well, why didn't she take you along?' the Muddler asked in a shocked voice. 'Are you too small?'

Then the Mymble's daughter started to cry and said: 'I've a sore throat today! Mother thought it might be diphtheria!'

'Open the door, won't you?' Hodgkins said kindly. 'We'll have a look at your throat. Don't be afraid.'

The Mymble's daughter opened the door. She had a thick woollen scarf around her neck, and her eyes were quite red.

'Let's see now,' Hodgkins said. 'Open your mouth, please. Wider, please. Say a-a-a-ah!!'

'Or typhoid fever, or cholera mother thought,' said the Mymble's daughter sadly. 'A-a-a-ah!'

'Not a spot,' Hodgkins said. 'Not even swollen. Does it hurt?'

'Terribly,' mumbled the Mymble's daughter. 'I think my throat's growing together, so I'll not be able to breathe at all, and not to eat or talk either.'

'You'll have to go to bed at once,' Hodgkins said. 'We'll find your mother for you. Immediately!'

'No, no, please don't,' the daughter cried. 'It was just a fib. I'm not ill at all. Mother left me at home because I've been a bad girl.'

'A fib? Whatever for?' Hodgkins asked in astonishment.

'To have a little fun!' said the Mymble's daughter and started to cry once more. 'I've nothing on earth to do!'

'Can't we take her with us to that garden party?' the Joxter proposed.

'Perhaps the Mymble wouldn't like it,' I said.

'Of course she would,' said her daughter happily. 'She'll be terribly glad, because I'm sure she's forgotten it all by now.'

'Can you show us the way? To the party?' asked Hodgkins.

''Course I can!' said the Mymble's daughter and took off her woolly scarf. 'But we'll have to hurry, or else the King will be disappointed. The surprises must have started long ago.'

'Is he a real King?' I asked respectfully as we went at a jog trot over the hills.

'A real King?' exclaimed the Mymble's daughter. 'He's a true Autocrat and the greatest King alive. But we're allowed to call him Daddy Jones to feel more at home with him.'

'I'm going to call him Your Autocratical Majesty,' I said very earnestly. 'Imagine, to shake hands with a real King! It's the reward for my old and sincere royalist views!'

'Why do you have all these stone walls?' asked the Joxter. 'Do you want to shut people in or out?'

'No,' answered the Mymble's daughter. 'We don't use them for anything special. It's just that we like building them. My mother's brother has built nineteen miles of them. And d'you know what else he does? He's studying all letters and words from all sides. He likes to walk around them until he's quite sure of them. It takes him hours and hours to do the longest words!'

'Like otolaryngologist,' said the Joxter.

'Or kalospinterochcromatokrene,' I said.

'Oh,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'If they're
that
long he has to camp beside them for the night. He used to sleep on the ground in nothing but his long red beard. Half the beard's his cover and the other half's his mattress. In the daytime he keeps two small white mice in it, and they're so sweet that they don't have to pay any rent.'

'Most curious,' said Hodgkins. 'Have you any brothers or sisters?'

'Lots and lots,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'Nobody's been able to count them, they run so fast. Look, here we are. Promise me to tell mother that you made me come here to show you the way!'

'Certainly,' Hodgkins promised. 'What does she look like?'

'She's round,' said her daughter. 'Everything's round about her.'

We were standing before a gate, garlanded with flowers, in an exceptionally high stone wall. The gate bore a large placard reading:

DADDY JONES'S GARDEN PARTY
FREE FOR ALL!

Come in, come in, please!

THE SURPRISE PARTY OF THE YEAR - VERY SPECIAL!

(because of the 100th Anniversary of Our Birth)

DON'T BE AFRAID
If Anything Happens!!!

'What happens?' asked the Nibling.

'Anything,' said the Mymble's daughter. 'That's the fun of it. You'll see!'

We went into the garden and looked around us.

It was wild and overgrown.

'Excuse me, are there any wild beasts?' the Muddler asked nervously.

'Much worse,' grinned the Mymble's daughter. 'I'll run along now. See you later.'

We followed carefully. A long tunnel filled with green and mysterious light led us through the thickets and bushes.

'Stop, everybody! Stay where you are!' cried Hodgkins suddenly and halted in his tracks.

An abyss yawned before us. And down there crouched a hairy and goggling Thing - on long, quivering legs - a giant spider!

'Hush! Let's see if he's angry,' whispered the and began throwing pebbles at the monster.

The spider wobbled his legs, swayed horribly and threw his eyes about (they were on stalks).

'Unnatural,' Hodgkins remarked. 'His legs. Wire springs.'

He was right. The whole spider was made of wire springs.

'Excuse me, that was almost impudent,' said the Muddler. 'As if one weren't afraid enough of
really
dangerous things!'

'One of the party surprises, I expect,' said Hodgkins and led us on with redoubled care.

At the next turn of the path hung a placard readings:

SCARED - WEREN'T YOU?

'I'd never thought a King would descend to such jokes,' I said. 'Even if he's a hundred years old. Don't let yourself be scared next time we see anything remarkable.'

'Here's a lake,' Hodgkins said. 'Artificial too.'

We looked at it with suspicion. Small brightly painted dinghies bearing the Autocratical colours lay on the beach. Friendly-looking trees were leaning out over the clear water.

'I don't quite believe it,' muttered the Joxter and chose himself an orange-coloured boat with an azure railing.

We were out in the middle of the lake when the next surprise overtook us.

A strong jet of water shot up between our boats and drenched us to the skin. The Nibling howled frightfully.

Before we reached the other beach we had four more showers, and on the shore we found another placard asking us:

WET - AREN'T YOU?

'Funny kind of garden party,' muttered Hodgkins.

'I like it,' said the Joxter. 'Daddy Jones must be a singular person.'

Now we came to a whole network of canals with a maze of bridges. In the difficult places you had to cross on rotten

old tree-trunks or on suspended lianas. But nothing special happened, except that the Nibling dived head first into a mud bank.

Suddenly the Joxter exclaimed: 'At last! Here's a new joke! But this time he won't pull
my
leg!' And the Joxter walked straight up to a big stuffed bull and gave it a smack on the muzzle.

Only the big bull wasn't stuffed. It was very much alive and gave a terrific bellow. We fled head over heels behind a dense hedge where another placard was awaiting us:

DIDN'T THINK SO - DID YOU?

By and by we became accustomed to the surprises. We wandered further and further, deeper and deeper into Daddy Jones's garden, through leafy caverns and secret hiding-places, under waterfalls and over new abysses with Bengal lights. But the Autocrat had provided his guests with other things than trap-doors, explosions, and wire spring monsters. If you looked carefully at the roots of bushes, in hollow trees and cracks in the rocks you some times found small nests containing one or more brightly painted or golden eggs. Each egg had a number on it.

I found numbers 67, 14, 890, 223, and 27.

It was Daddy Jones's Royal Lottery.

We all became quite crazy with egg-hunting. The Nibling found most of the eggs, but it was hard to make him understand that it would be better to save them for the draw than to eat them on the spot.

Hodgkins came a good second, then I, and then the Joxter who was too lazy to search in earnest, and lastly the Muddler whose only method consisted in hopping around.

Finally we found one end of a long red and yellow rope that was slung between the trees and tied in beautiful bows. As we followed it we began to hear a medley of happy whoops, shots, and music. The party seemed to be in full swing.

'I think I'll stay here and wait for you,' said the Nibling a little nervously. 'There's such a lot of people.'

'As you like,' said Hodgkins. 'Only keep still so we can find you again.'

We were standing at the outskirts of a great open meadow. We looked, simply enraptured. In the middle of the meadow stood a large circular house that seemed to whirl round and round. It was full of fluttering pennants and white horses in shining silver harness, and an orchestra played all the time.

'What on earth's that?' I asked excitedly.

'A merry-go-round,' Hodgkins replied. 'Don't you remember? I drew it for you once. Cross section of the engine.'

'You didn't draw it like this,' I protested. 'It's all horses and music and flags and gold!'

'And
cog wheels,' said Hodgkins.

'Ginger ale, please?' asked a big Hemulen in a definitely unbecoming pinafore (I've always said so: Hemulens have no taste). She gave us each a glass and said importantly:

'You'll have to go and wish Daddy Jones many happy returns of the day. It's his hundredth birthday, you know.'

I took my glass of ginger ale in a shaky paw and looked up towards the Autocrat's throne. For the first time in my life I beheld a real King! He was terribly old and wrinkly and merry and he was stamping time to the music so that his throne wobbled. Under it he kept a fog horn and gave a short blast every time he wished to acknowledge a toast from any one of his subjects.

We bowed to the earth, and when the fog horn ceased Hodgkins said: 'Many happy returns of the century!'

'And thank you for the greatly successful surprises, Your Autocratical Majesty,' I added in an unnatural voice and saluted with my tail.

'Cheerio!' said Daddy Jones and chuckled happily. 'Did it come off? Were you wet? What did the bull do? Did anybody fall in the treacle trap? Really, sometimes it's great fun to be King!'

'If Your Majesty allows me...' I started to say.