Wild Song (8 page)

I must have cried myself to sleep. I dreamt the drowning dream again. I was reaching out through the water, trying to grab at someone’s hand. My throat clammed up with terror. Then the hand vanished. In my sleep I tried to reach for that hand. But the hand wasn’t there.

When I woke, sweating, the sun was already high in the sky. I was hot. Then I was shivering with cold. My heart was hammering. I told myself it was only a dream. I didn’t drown. I’d swum in the sea and I hadn’t drowned. I grabbed at clumps of moss and draped it over me. The exhaustion came back. I resisted sleep in case the drowning dream returned, but I couldn’t resist for long. Sleep sucked me like water down a drainpipe.

Hours later I woke, blinking in the bright light. The horrible fear I had felt earlier had gone. Now I felt relaxed. I had survived one night and what felt like most of the next day, and I was still alive. I heard gulls screech above me and I felt my chest pressed against springy heather and
soft moss. I lay there, face down, not moving, still drowsy with sleep, feeling weird, all light like a balloon. Eventually I opened one eye and stared at a bright green blade of grass. It was a millimetre from my eye. For ages I lay there staring at that one blade of grass. It was huge. It was like a sword. There was a tiny insect crawling up it and I studied it, like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The tiny insect took ages, and sometimes it slid down a bit, then started over. Then I became vaguely aware that there was more in the world than a tiny insect and a towering blade of grass. There was more grass. I opened my other eye and lifted my head, then I dragged myself along on my front, like I’d seen the creature do. I felt like a paratrooper slinking along in enemy country in the long grass. Finally I rolled over, sat up and did a quick scan of my surroundings.

I was on my island. There was a lot of grass, and bushes, and further off a clump of pine and birch trees, like on the Wild School, but different. The Wild School island had the human touch, with its rope bridges, benches, piers, buildings and stuff. This island that I had swum to didn’t. That was what I had wanted but it was pretty scary. Not a house. Not a road. Not a wooden bench. No electricity. Not a person. Not a boat. Not a rope bridge. I swallowed hard. This was a real Wild Island – Niilo’s island.

I rose to my knees and looked for the seal. I couldn’t see it anywhere. It wasn’t lounging about on the rock. It wasn’t slinking around in the sea. That made me uneasy,
not knowing where it was, but I didn’t feel frightened. Maybe it was the long sleep that had calmed me. And the fact I had drunk half the fresh water in the pool. I think a whole night had passed – maybe half the next day too? The sun was high in the sky. Maybe the seal had left the island? Maybe, and I liked this thought, it had been one of those magical creatures from Ahtola – those creatures Hannu spoke about – and it had guided me to this island and just hung around to check I was okay. It had been watching over me.

Maybe I really was going mad, but that version sounded like a  possibility. Just when I was feeling relaxed about being watched over, another thought popped into my head. It wouldn’t want to eat me, would it? I batted that mad thought away. I had read the books and I knew seals didn’t eat humans, but part of me feared that anything could happen on this island. And nobody would know. Or care.

I looked down at my body – suntanned, torn shorts, scratches everywhere and looking pretty skinny. If I didn’t eat soon I’d be skin and bones. I’d only been gone one or two days and already I
looked
wild. There were still amazingly a few streaks of grease on my arms. And I felt ravenous. I had planned on gorging myself on berries. Now I couldn’t remember whether I had eaten any the night before or not.

‘Breakfast time,’ I said – out loud, just for the company. My voice sounded tiny. I staggered up to my feet, realising that I still felt wobbly.  I took a few steps, and a few deep
breaths. I was beginning to feel like a real castaway. Good thing I had learnt to pick berries and dandelion leaves, fir-tree sprouts and nettles at the Wild School, and to know which were poisonous and which were good. I set out over the springy bushes in search of food … and I didn’t have far to go. I grabbed at a few dandelion leaves and crunched them down. They tasted sweet. I crammed fistfuls into my mouth. Then it was time for pudding. I looked down at the bushes and spied the small round dark berries. Blueberries. I could see the bushes flattened out, where the seal had been sleeping. I saw again, by its imprint, how huge it was. I forgot about monster seals and grabbed a berry. The juice burst in my mouth with a zing, so I ate more, scrambling over the ground, grabbing at berries and shoving them into my mouth. It took a lot to make me feel full. And when I was I fell down, rolled over and gazed up at the blue sky. A few flies droned above me. Drowsily I swatted them away.

I still felt uneasy at the edges about loads of things – like the huge seal, the nightmare, Hannu getting married, and a search party coming to look for me, and my parents getting told I had drowned, and maybe my name being in the newspapers. I liked to imagine the whole of Finland searching for me, and here I was chilled out and just doing my thing. I wondered what picture of me would be in the papers. I wondered if I was on TV. I wondered what my mum would say, if the journalists came and interviewed her. ‘
I loved him so much
,’ she would say, crying buckets.
‘
I gave him everything
.’ None of that seemed real. The only thing that was real was the sharp taste of blueberries in my mouth and the scratchy heather under my back. It felt so good to lie back and stare up at the sky. To have my belly full of food, and not plastic food from some supermarket, but food I had hunted for with my own hands. And it felt great to have my very own island.

Maybe this was it? This was the life I had always been waiting for, preparing for? I took slow deep breaths and lay there feeling perfect bliss for about ten minutes. Then I began to wonder, and doubt, and worry.

I was all alone.

When I let that thought sink in it scared me. For years I’d vanished into my capsule. I was used to feeling alone. But as I gazed about, over the pine trees and heather and out to the blue ring of sea, it hit me that for the first time ever, I was
really
alone. Scary. But exciting too. I had just got used to the idea that I was alone when I had another thought. Maybe I wasn’t? Maybe this wasn’t my very own island? I mean, I hadn’t checked the whole island out yet. I got up and picked bits of heather out of my hair. I would need to explore. Maybe there was a summerhouse tucked away, or a small hut? Maybe there was a helicopter landing pad? Maybe this island belonged to a film star? An artist? A hermit? Or an axe murderer? I took a few hesitant steps and stubbed my toes against a stone. It hurt. And I was shivering with cold – the sun was warm, but there was a cool wind off the sea. Apart
from these baggy black swimming shorts, I was naked. I had been so tired, and thirsty, and hungry, I hadn’t noticed that I was cold. I looked around helplessly, like a hoodie might miraculously appear out of thin air, and a pair of trainers, my size.

That’s when it really hit me: that I had managed to swim to another island. I had escaped and now I was alone. No money. Apart from leaves and berries, no food. Apart from shorts, no clothes. Apart from moss and springy bushes, no bed. Apart from one mysterious animal that now seemed to have vanished, no company.

I kept glancing over my shoulder as I walked over the springy heather. My feet hurt from the scratches, but I quickly learnt to place my bare feet in soft moss, or on flat stones. And the more I explored the less nervous I felt. It was like I was growing taller and stronger. This was my island. There was nobody here and nothing to worry about. I’d been told how there were thousands of islands in the Finnish Archipelago and most of them were uninhabited. I punched the air. By this time I was pretty sure my little island was one of the undiscovered. I felt great. I didn’t care about anything. This was it: the thing worth fighting for – freedom! I whooped loudly.

I heard my voice carry over the island and waited for somebody to appear. No one did. I strode off over the heather and walked to the top of a small hill. From here I could see the whole island. There was no hut. No house. No wisp of smoke. I lifted my arms into the air, flexed my
small hard muscles. I was king of this world. And I felt better than I ever felt. I had beaten my fear of the sea. I had swum to freedom. I had survived. I shouted like a crazy boy – ‘I’m free!!!’

My voice didn’t sound tiny now. It sounded huge. Maybe the wild animal thought I was in trouble? Maybe it thought I was calling it back? Whatever it thought, the wild animal that was either a seal or a walrus or a mythical beast came back.

I stood on the top of the hill and watched it. I saw its round black head way off in the sea. It swam towards the island. In a weird way the creature seemed familiar. And in another weird way, I was almost happy to see it again. Was I so starved for company that even a seal was better than being totally alone? Or maybe because I felt so good and strong and free, I thought I could handle anything. Anyway, it slid onto the pebbly beach – a fat long sleek thing. It had two stunted arms. Flat hands. It dragged its heavy body up the beach with these spread-out hands. I had a good view of it and I felt like a visitor had entered my private island. Maybe it comes every day to snuggle down in the heather? Maybe it likes sunbathing on that flat rock? Maybe this isn’t my private island? It is the creature’s private island. My mind raced. I sunk down onto my knees, wondering what my visitor would do next.

It lifted its head and the black animal looked straight at me. Pushing down on its hands (from where I stood
they looked like hands!), it pushed the upper half of its body up high, lifted back its head and stared at me. That freaked me out, getting eyeballed like that, and I could feel my knees tremble. But I held its gaze. I didn’t faint or keel over and suddenly I got the strangest sensation. Images, like fast-moving film, flashed into my head. A boat. A man. A child. And then towering waves. I didn’t understand it. It was like the seal was planting these pictures in my head. These were pictures from my nightmare. I felt a shiver creep over my skin. But I kept staring.

I was a master starer. I could win battles just by shooting the evil eye at people. But this was different. This was an animal. The weird pictures in my head vanished. As I stood there on the top of the hill the creature dragged itself up the stony beach and onto the springy heather. There was something totally prehistoric about the way it moved. Beneath my ribs, my heart pounded, and the hairs on my arms prickled. But I didn’t flinch. Sometimes the creature dropped its head to concentrate on where it was going. Sometimes it looked up, as if it was checking that I was still there.

‘
Just think, Niilo, a man and a seal, buried together, one hand on top of the other, five thousand years ago. We were brothers, back then
.’

It had managed to haul itself over the heather. It stopped at the flattened patch where it had slept the day before. It lifted its head and sniffed. Then it rocked itself around and headed back down to the sea. I watched it slide into the
water again and felt a tiny slither of disappointment, like I had believed my story. I had imagined this really was some magical guardian come to look over me. But it had lost interest.

I was curious now. The seal called me like a magnet calls a pin. I ran down the hillside, over the beach, then slowed when I came to the rocks. The black thing was swimming round and round like it was waiting for me. It lifted its head and looked in my direction. Sometimes it made funny blowing sounds. It didn’t look like a monster at all. More like a dog. I suddenly got the feeling it wanted to play with me.

I was feeling brave and strong, so I hooted, like I remembered it had done yesterday, or was it the day before? It seemed to study me, then it howled back. It kicked up its tail fins and dived under the water. I ran a few more steps over the flat rocks. Then suddenly it broke the surface of the water and – I couldn’t believe it – it had a fish between its teeth. Beads of red blood around its mouth gleamed in the sun. The seal swam towards me and flung the fish at my feet, then flipped round and swam off.

I stared down at the fish. Its silvery body trembled. It jerked its tail back and forth, then suddenly stopped. A wide round eye stared up at me. This was a present. I was supposed to eat this dead thing. Its silvery scales had tints of blue and red – it was like a small rainbow. I knew if I was serious about surviving on this island I would have to eat fish. I glanced up at the seal. It had its black head
lifted out of the water, like it was waiting to see what I was going to do. I looked back at the gift of fish, and swallowed hard.

Hannu had tried to teach me how to build fires. He had held a piece of glass next to tinder dry grasses and miraculously the grasses had caught fire. He had said it was the sun’s reflection. I remembered he’d brought little twigs and made a spire shape. He had been busy while I had stood doing nothing. I’d watched him gut a fish. Then he’d speared the fish onto a stick. It had been that simple. He’d said this was the way our ancestors survived. And how he and I had the north in our blood. We knew the ways of nature, deep down inside, he’d said. It was just a question of remembering. He’d held the fish over the flames then, till I could smell the flesh singe. It had caught in the back of my throat and made me feel sick. I had watched him flick its charred body back and forth. To make sure it was all cooked through, he’d said. I’d thought it was disgusting, and I had told Hannu there was no way I would ever eat that. ‘Suit yourself, Niilo.’ That’s what he had said, biting into it. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ he’d said.

‘Gross.’ That’s what I’d said then.

I gaped at the fish now. I was as wide-eyed as it. Hunger gnawed inside me. I was starving. Time was a blur, but I reckoned I had been away from the Wild School for two and a half days. In all that time I had eaten a few dandelion leaves and a pile of blueberries, and that was all. The seal was swimming back and forth. It was watching me,
probably to see what I was going to do with the present. ‘Okay,’ I shouted out to it. ‘I’ll eat it.’ I bent down and touched the fish, then I pulled my hand back and shuddered – it felt flabby, cold and revolting.

I looked up at the seal. It was looking back at me. Suddenly it hit me that this wasn’t a game. This was my life now and I had better get used to it. No van was going to pull up blaring out rock music and selling kebabs. I took a deep breath and forced myself to pick up the fish. I winced at the slippery feel of it, but told myself not to be a wimp. I had a pocket in my shorts and I stuffed the fish into my pocket – I didn’t want any hungry gulls swooping down and making off with it. Hurriedly I gathered twigs, then pulled up the driest grasses I could find. I searched the stony beach near the rocks for glass. Hannu said you could often find just what you needed brought in by the tide, if you really looked for it. Maybe this was beginner’s luck, or maybe that seal creature really was my guardian from Ahtola, but I found a small piece of broken glass.

I set up the twigs into a little spire. I bunched the dry grasses together, angled the glass between the sun and the grass, and moved it about. This was the hardest bit. Ages passed and the fish was probably going off in my pocket. Who did I think I was? Robinson Crusoe? Just when I thought this would never ever work, it did. Suddenly I smelt burning and saw a tiny wisp of smoke in the bunch of grass. I couldn’t believe it! It had caught. The smoke

snarled into a tiny flame and I had done it! Like my ancient ancestors from deepest darkest Finland, I had made fire!

Then I had to gut the thing. That was the grossest part. Hannu had used a knife. I used a twig, stripping the bark from it. It was pretty sharp, so I stabbed the end of the twig into the belly of the fish. It went in smoothly, like a knife slicing into a cake. I tugged the twig upwards, then the fish opened up and all these innards spewed out. I just got on with the job, all the time remembering how Hannu had done it and trying not to feel sick. I scooped out the guts. Then I stabbed the fish right through with the twig and dangled it over the flames, batting a few droning flies off. ‘Buzz off!’ I yelled. ‘This is my fish!’

Just like the berries, pulled from the bushes with my own hands, this fish – gutted and cooked over a fire I had made – tasted fantastic. I forgot I didn’t even like fish. The warm tasty flesh seemed to melt in my mouth, and I ate every scrap from the thin bones. I was so hungry I even sucked on the head. All black and charred from the fire it didn’t look like a head. Then I threw the skeleton away. It didn’t even reach the ground – it was immediately snatched up by a gull. They’d already made off with the guts.

When there was nothing left to eat I ran back to the rocks and searched for the seal. I was still hungry – I could have eaten
ten
fish. The seal, my fish provider, was now asleep on its rock. Was that all it ever did? Sleep? It had taken me ages to cook that fish. I probably used up more
energy making the fire and gutting the fish than I got from eating it and I was still starving. I had to have more. I shouted at the seal, ‘I’m still hungry.’ It was like the summer breeze snatched at my voice and drowned it. I thought about pelting the creature with a stone to wake it up. ‘I’m starving,’ I yelled, snatching up a pebble. I drew back my arm, aiming to hit the seal, but something made my fingers fall open. The stone dropped. Something weird was going on. I backed away, goose bumps running up my arms.

I turned and ran over the heather. Sure, I was still ravenous, but even one fish had given me some energy. I felt strong. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I took off over the island. Maybe I would find mushrooms? Would there be mushrooms in mid-July? Or raspberries? In minutes I had reached the other side. My island was seriously not big.

Ahead of me was a small dark clump of trees. I made for the trees, and that’s when I found the wooden hut. I almost yelled out, and smacked my hand over my mouth. The old hut was hidden away, ringed by tall dark pine trees. I forgot all about fish and starvation and pressed back against a tree. The hut looked so wrecked I doubted anybody was home, but if they were I didn’t want them bumping into an escaped convict from the Wild School prison. Half the roof was broken, the door hung open, and the windows were broken. This might have been somebody’s
summerhouse a hundred years ago. Now it looked
like a summerhouse for ghosts and bandits, and I don’t know which I was most scared of.

I held onto Hannu’s voice in my head, like a lifeline – ‘
Don’t worry, Niilo. The magical creatures of Ahtola are watching over you
.’ I bit my lip and looked about. There were no signs of life. No flattened-down grass. No litter. The grass had grown up at the door. Nobody had been through that door for a long time. I took a few wary steps towards it. ‘Is anybody there?’

Adrenalin pumped through my body. By this time I was pretty convinced there was nobody there. No ghosts. No bandits. This could be
my
hut, though I would have to patch it up a bit. I tingled all over. This was better than filching purses, way better than stealing wallets. Better than the scariest movie.

‘Anybody there?’ I said again.

The door creaked in the breeze. I jumped, then laughed. Nobody there but the wind. I sidled up to the front of the hut. By this time I could stretch out my arm and touch the dilapidated old place. I did. The wood felt warm. I stepped forward and forced myself to peer through the broken window. What a dump! The inside of the hut had just one room and it looked like seagull heaven. I tapped on what was left of the window and two huge gulls panicked and took off, through the hole in the roof. What a racket their flapping wings made! I stuck my head through the gap in the broken window. What a stink! The place was full of bird droppings. I held my nose and peered in.
It was pretty gloomy inside because of the trees around it. But I could see in the middle of the hut there was a broken bed and the stuffing was pulled out of the mattress. I could see stains all over the blue and white striped mattress. On the floor there were little mounds of earth, some broken dishes, a couple of dead birds and a pile of magazines.

I pushed back the door, pinched my nose and stepped in, disturbing another bird inside. It flapped about dementedly before taking off through the hole in the roof. Then I was alone. The place was silent. Stinking. Gloomy. Creepy. I just stood there in the shadowy stink, letting the place settle around me. Then I let go of holding my nose. The smell wasn’t too terrible once you got used to it. I picked up one of the magazines. It was a women’s magazine. Ancient. The yellow paper smelt mouldy. I flicked through it. Cake recipes. Knitting patterns. Romantic stories. I stepped over the mounds of earth, bird poo, broken plates and dead birds.

A rotting cupboard door hung on its hinges. The reek of damp coming from behind it was sickening but I forced myself to look inside. And there it was: a brown faded shirt. Considering it was prehistoric it wasn’t a complete rag. I took it off the nail it hung on and put it on. It was way too big for me, but it would do. Then I rummaged about for a pair of shoes. I couldn’t find any, but I did find a lighter, stubs of candle, three tins of tomato soup, a battered white enamel cup and a packet of mouldy biscuits stored away in a tin. The biscuits had turned green. I
gulped and swung round, convinced someone was about to step inside. The door creaked again in the wind.

‘Calm down, Niilo,’ I said out loud. ‘Some old fisherman was here. But he’s not now. He’s gone. Look at this dump. I mean, who would want to come here?’ Talking to myself helped. I calmed down and had another rummage around in the cupboard. I found more evidence of recent life: a packet of coffee that still smelt like coffee. An empty packet of cigarettes. An open penknife that wasn’t totally rusted. I shut the penknife up, swiped it and put it in my pocket – it had been a hard job gutting the fish with twigs. I swiped the lighter as well. I looked at the packet of cigarettes, grabbed it and shook it as a sudden urge to smoke came over me, even though I hadn’t smoked for three months. I flung the empty packet of cigarettes away. For a moment I felt mad, then a bird flapped about above the roof and I forgot about smoking. I yelled at it and it flew off.

Under the broken window there was a wooden shelf. On it stood a blackened pot and about twenty stubs of white candles. Next to the pot was a book. I picked it up and read the front cover.
Moominland Midwinter
, it said, by Tove Jansson. I opened it and fingered the thin paper. I remembered the Moomins, and I got this sudden warm feeling about Moomin Mama and Papa and the whole happy family. I considered stuffing the book into the pocket of my shorts. Maybe I would take one of the magazines too?