Seacrow Island

  What Stina thought so horrible Pelle thought very homey. It gave him a sensation he enjoyed so much that he felt it all over his body.

  “I’d like to live here myself,” he said, looking around at the rubbish which the last owner had left in his boathouse. There were tattered fishing nets, a willow basket, a dilapidated old fish box, ice picks, bailers and oars, a laundry basket and a clothes beater, a rusty anchor, an old-fashioned toboggan with wooden runners and, farthest away in a corner, an old cradle with a name and a date carved on it. “Little Anna,” said the carving. He could not read the year.

  “I expect it’s a long time since Little Anna lay in that cradle.”

  “Where do you think Little Anna is now?” asked Tjorven.

  Pelle thought for a moment. He stood for a long time, looking at the old cradle and thinking of Little Anna.

  “I expect she’s dead by now,” he said reverently.

  “No, don’t say that—it’s sad,” said Tjorven. “Oh, well,” and she began to sing:

  “All the world’s an isle of sorrow,

  Here today and gone tomorrow,

  Only dust remaining.”

  Pelle pulled open the door and rushed out into the sunshine. Tjorven followed after him as soon as she had said good-bye to Moses and promised him on her honor to bring him herrings every day.

  Outside, Dead Man’s Creek lay dreaming in the afternoon sun. Pelle took a deep breath, and then a kind of madness seemed to take hold of him. He gave a shout and began to run. In and out of the boathouses he raced, as if possessed. He jumped on crumbling jetties and slippery planks until Tjorven grew frightened, although she followed him and jumped just as recklessly as he did. Onto the shivering boards in the darkness of the boathouses they ran, where the water lay black beneath them. Pelle jumped about in a sort of silent fury, saying nothing, and Tjorven was silent too. She was frightened, but she followed him without hesitation.

  Afterward they sat on a jetty in the sun, and then Pelle said, “Where’s Stina?”

  They remembered now they had not seen her for a long time. They called her, but there was no answer. Then they began to shout. Their cries echoed around Dead Man’s Creek and then died away, leaving a terrifying silence.

  Pelle went white. What had happened to Stina? What if she had fallen into the sea from some jetty and had been drowned? “Little Stina” and “Little Anna”—anyone could die, he knew that.

  “Oh, why didn’t I bring Bosun with me?” said Tjorven with tears in her eyes.

  They stood there in agony and anxiety, and then they suddenly heard Stina’s voice. “Guess where I am!”

  They did not have to guess, for now they could see her, high up in the crow’s-nest of the old trawler, and they wondered how in the world she had got there. Tjorven was furious and dried her tears angrily.

  “You stupid little girl!” she yelled. “What are you doing up there?”

  “Trying to come down,” said Stina miserably.

  “Is that why you climbed up?”

  “No, to look at the view,” said Stina.

  “Well, look at it now,” said Tjorven. What a silly thing, she thought, to go climbing about looking at views instead of getting drowned. Of course it was lucky that she wasn’t drowned, but she should not have frightened them like that.

  “Didn’t you hear us when we called?” said Tjorven furiously.

  Stina was ashamed of herself. She had heard them calling of course, but it was fun to see that they could not find her. Stina had been playing hide-and-seek, although Pelle and Tjorven did not know it. And now the fun was over, she knew that.

  “I can’t get down,” she called.

  Tjorven nodded grimly. “Well, then, you’ll have to stay where you are and when we bring Moses his herrings we’ll put one on a fishing rod and hand it up to you.”

  Stina began to cry. “I don’t want any herrings. I want to get down, but I can’t.”

  It was Pelle who took pity on her, and he had a difficult task. It was easy enough to climb up to the crow’s-nest but when he got there he understood what Stina meant when she said, “I want to get down, but I can’t.” But he took a firm grip round Stina’s middle, shut his eyes and climbed down, promising himself that never would he go any higher than the kitchen table at home in the future.

  As soon as Stina was back on solid ground she was as lively as usual. “There’s a wonderful view from up there,” she said to Tjorven.

  But Tjorven just gave her a look, and Pelle said, “We must hurry home. It’s almost six o’clock.”

  “It can’t be,” said Stina. “Grandpa said I was to be home at four o’clock, and I’m not.”

  “Your own fault,” said Tjorven.

  “Well, I don’t suppose Grandpa will notice a couple of hours more or less,” said Stina hopefully.

  But she was mistaken. Söderman was with his sheep, giving the lambs fresh water, and when he saw Stina come skipping along, he said, “What in the world have you been doing all day?”

  “Nothing special,” said Stina.

  Söderman was not a stern grandfather. He only shook his head. “It takes a long time for you to do nothing special.”

  When Tjorven got home she saw her father down on the jetty and ran down to him.

  “Well, here’s our Tjorven at last,” said Nisse. “What have you been doing all day?”

  “Nothing special,” said Tjorven, exactly like Stina.

  And Malin got the same answer out of Pelle. He came into the kitchen after the whole family had sat down to supper.

  “No, I haven’t been doing anything special,” said Pelle. And he really meant what he said.

  When one is seven years old, one lives dangerously. In the land of childhood, that wild and secret country, one can be on the verge of complete disaster without thinking it is “anything special.”

  Pelle made a face when he saw what they were having for supper—fish and spinach. “I don’t think I want any food,” he said.

  But Johan raised a warning finger. “Don’t be fussy! We’re all helping here. It’s Daddy who cooked the supper. Malin has been sitting talking to her newest sheik,” he said.

  “For three hours,” said Niklas.

  “Now, now, now,” said Melker. “We’ll leave Malin in peace.”

  But Niklas would not stop. “I only wondered what you could possibly sit and talk about for three hours.”

  “The weather, of course,” said Johan brightly.

  Malin smiled and patted Johan’s shoulder. “He’s not a ‘sheik’ and we didn’t talk about the weather, isn’t that strange? But he thinks I’m sweet, you know.”

  “Of course you’re sweet, Malin, my dear,” said Melker. “Aren’t all girls?”

  Malin shook her head. “No, Petter doesn’t think so. He said that if girls these days knew what was best for them they would all be much sweeter.”

  “You only have to tell them,” said Niklas. “Be sweet or I’ll give you what for!”

  Malin looked at him and laughed. “It’ll be fun to be a girl when you’re a few years older. Eat up now, Pelle,” she said.

  Pelle looked lovingly at Melker. “Did you really cook the supper, Daddy? How clever you are!”

  “Yes, I thawed it all by myself,” said Melker, in a housewifely sort of way.

  “Couldn’t you have thawed something else?” asked Pelle, turning up his nose.

  “Listen, my dear boy,” said Melker. “There are certain things called vitamins, which I expect you have heard of—A, B, C, and D, in fact the whole alphabet—and we all have to have them in our food!”

  “What vitamins are there in spinach?” asked Niklas, eager for information. But that Melker could not remember.

  Pelle looked at the green mess on his plate. “I think there must be piles of smelly vitamins in this,” he said.

  Johan and Niklas laughed, but Malin said sternly, “No, Pelle, we do not speak like that in this house.”

  Pelle said nothing, but whe
n after supper he went out to his rabbit hutch with his hands full of dandelion leaves, he said to Yoka encouragingly, “It’s all right—there aren’t many smelly vitamins in these.”

  He took Yoka out of his hutch and sat with him on his lap. He sat with him a very long time, but then he heard Malin come out on the step and call something to her father which Pelle was not pleased to hear.

  “Daddy, I’m going out,” called Malin. “Petter is waiting for me. Can you see to putting Pelle to bed?”

  Pelle hastily pushed Yoka into his hutch. Then he raced after Malin.

  “Won’t you be at home to say good night to me?” he asked anxiously.

  Malin hesitated. Petter’s holiday was over and this was his last evening and after that she might never see him again. Not even for Pelle’s sake could she stay at home this evening.

  “I can say good night to you here and now,” she said.

  “No, you can’t,” said Pelle crossly.

  “Yes, I can, if I make up my mind to it.” She kissed him violently, a whole row of small, quick kisses which she planted here, there, and everywhere, on his forehead, on his ears, on his soft brown hair. “Good night, good night, good night. I could, you see!” she said.

  Pelle laughed, but then he said sternly, “Don’t be back too late anyhow!”

  Petter was sitting down on the jetty, waiting, and as he sat he too was being kissed. But not by Malin. Tjorven and Stina had seen him as they were out on a little evening promenade with the doll carriage and Lovisabet, and when Tjorven saw the enchanted prince she was gripped by holy wrath. Wasn’t it his fault that Moses was lying all alone in his boathouse in Dead Man’s Creek? When one produced enchanted princes, one did not actually mean that they should go around buying baby seals.

  “Stupid,” she said to Stina. “Why did you suggest that we should kiss that frog?”

  “Me?” said Stina. “But it was you!”

  “No, it wasn’t,” said Tjorven.

  She looked angrily at the prince they had found for Malin. He really looked rather good with his dark-blue jacket and shining hair, but he could look as nice as he liked, it was a great disaster that he was there at all. Tjorven thought hard. She was used to finding ways out.

  “What about . . .?” she said. “But no, that won’t do.”

  “What?” asked Stina.

  “What if we kissed him once more? Then he might turn into a frog again, you never know.”

  Petter sat there, not knowing what was in store for him. He was gazing toward Carpenter’s Cottage with eager eyes. Surely Malin would be coming soon? That was the only thing he was occupied with just now. Not until they stood immediately in front of him did he see the two little girls he had previously met in the shop.

  “Sit still and shut your eyes,” said Tjorven.

  Petter laughed. “What’s all this about? Is it a game?”

  “We won’t tell you,” said Tjorven grimly. “Shut your eyes, I said.”

  Malin’s prince shut his eyes obediently and they kissed him angrily, first Tjorven and then Stina. And then they ran away as quickly as they could. They did not stop until they were a safe distance from him.

  “Well, it looks as though we’ll have to put up with him,” said Tjorven glumly. And then she shouted to the prince who would not become a frog, “Go to blazes!”

  Girls were certainly not as sweet as they ought to be, thought Petter. He looked in astonishment at the two small terrors who had just kissed him, but then he saw Malin coming, as lovely as a June evening, and he quickly shut his eyes.

  “Why are you sitting with your eyes shut?” said Malin, flicking him on the nose. He opened his eyes and said with a sigh, “I was only trying it out. I thought it was probably the custom here on Seacrow Island for all girls to kiss a man sitting quietly with his eyes shut.”

  “Are you crazy?” said Malin. But before Petter had time to explain it, Tjorven shouted to her, “Malin, do you know what? Just you beware of him. He’s really a frog!”

  That evening Bosun returned to his place beside Tjorven’s bed and when the whole family came as usual to say good night to their youngest, she told them why Moses was no longer there and what a spoilsport Westerman was.

  “He’s just like that Pharaoh in Egypt,” said Tjorven. “You remember, don’t you, Freddy, when they had to hide all those Moseses?”

  “Where have you hidden your Moses?” both Teddy and Freddy wanted to know.

  “That’s a secret,” said Tjorven.

  Secret Teddy and secret Freddy, after all there were others who could have secrets!

  “I keep everything secret,” said Tjorven. “You won’t ever know where Moses is—not ever!”

  Her father looked thoughtful. “But this business with Westerman must be cleared up somehow.” Then he scratched Bosun’s neck. “Well, Bosun, at any rate you’re happy now.”

  Tjorven jumped out of bed and looked Bosun deep in the eyes. “My own little soppy dog,” she said tenderly. “Now let’s both go to sleep, you and me.”

  But perhaps this was too great a joy for Bosun to bear. He slept restlessly and at about twelve o’clock that night he woke Tjorven and wanted to go out. Drunk with sleep, she opened the door for him.

  “What’s the matter with you, Bosun?” she murmured. But then she staggered back to bed and was asleep by the time she reached it.

  Bosun wandered out into the June night, which with its pale light makes both people and animals restless. Malin saw him when she came home. For she was standing at the gate of Carpenter’s Cottage, saying good night to Petter. Sometimes such things take about two hours and June nights are not made for sleep. As Petter had said—they were so short and there was so much to talk about.

  “I have met a lot of girls,” Petter assured her. “I’ve liked some of them—a lot. But I’ve never been seriously in love before, so much in love that you feel almost as though you must die of it. That has only happened to me once.”

  “And perhaps you’re still in love with her,” said Malin.

  “Yes, I am still in love with her.”

  “Is it long since it happened?” asked Malin, and there was anxiety and disappointment in her voice.

  “Let me see.” Petter looked at his watch and then he reckoned, “It’s exactly ten days, twelve hours, and twenty minutes. There was a bang and I was done for. You can see it in my log book, if you like. You’ll see ‘Today I met Malin.’ Quite simple.”

  Malin smiled at him. “But if it happened so quickly, perhaps it won’t last long: Bang—and it will all be over.”

  He looked at her seriously. “Malin, I’m the steady type, believe me.”

  “Are you?” said Malin. Just at that moment they heard a dog barking and Malin murmured, “What’s the matter with Bosun, I wonder?”

  Whether it is a June night or not, one cannot stand at a gate forever. Petter kissed Malin and slowly she left him and went toward the house. He stood, looking after her, and she turned back to him.

  “I think you can write something else in that log book,” she said. “Today Malin met Petter.”

  And then she disappeared into the shadows between the apple trees.

  “June nights are not made for sleep,” Petter had said. There were several others who thought so too. But finally they all returned home. Bosun came home just as Malin was saying her last good night to Petter, and the fox that lived in Jansson’s cow meadow also returned to his hole. And Söderman, who could never sleep when the nights were light, had just been on a nightly round of his sheep and he came home, carrying Tottie in his arms.

  There was one more creature who had been out wandering that June night—Yoka. Pelle had not fastened his hutch door properly and Yoka had been out for a walk too—but he, alas, did not come home!

  Sorrow and Joy

  SORROW and joy go hand in hand—some days are black and full of misery and generally they come when least expected.

  Next morning Söderman came into the shop to see Nisse
and Marta. He was unhappy, for he had sad news to tell.

  “Last night I went on the rounds among my sheep as I usually do and what did I hear? A dog barking and my sheep baaing—and from a good way off I could see them running back and forth as though they were being chased. And when I got to the field, who do you think I met, rushing wildly away? Well, Bosun!”

  Söderman looked as if he thought the earth would open under him when he said this, but Nisse looked at him blankly.

  “Oh, really—and who do you think was chasing the sheep?”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? It was Bosun! And I’ve got Tottie at home with one of his legs bitten.”

  “You can hear a lot before your ears fall off,” said Marta. “But you’ll never get me to believe that Bosun chases sheep.”

  Nisse shook his head. It was hardly worth answering such an absurd accusation. Bosun, the world’s most gentle dog. You could put any child or kitten or lamb right under his nose and he would not touch it.

  But Söderman stuck to his accusation, and just then Malin came in to buy potatoes with Westerman immediately behind her. He had meant to talk to Nisse about Moses, but he changed his mind.

  “It might just as easily have been Cora who was out last night,” said Nisse when he saw Westerman.

  There were only two dogs on Seacrow Island, Westerman’s Cora and Tjorven’s Bosun.

  But Westerman declared angrily that he, unlike some others, kept his dog tied up, and Malin was able to confirm that it was true. At any rate Cora had been outside her kennel as usual and had barked when she and Petter passed by at about eleven o’clock yesterday evening.

  “And besides,” said Malin unwillingly, “I saw Bosun when he went out last night and when he came back. And I heard him barking, I’m afraid.”

  Söderman looked anxiously at Nisse. It was not pleasant to have to bring such a tale of woe.

  “Bosun hardly ever barks, you know that, Nisse. And, as I told you, I saw him coming straight out of the sheep field.”