‘Well,’ said Little My, impressed. ‘Good! He’s blowing off steam. He’ll go and stand guard over that moss till early in the morning.’
Moominmamma said nothing. She padded up and down, getting ready for the night. As usual, she looked in her handbag, she turned the lamp down; and all the time there was a silence in the room that didn’t seem natural. When she came to Moominpappa’s model lighthouse, standing on the shelf by the washstand in the corner, she began to dust it absentmindedly.
‘Mamma,’ said Moomintroll.
But Moominmamma wasn’t listening. She went up to the big map hanging on the wall, the one showing Moominvalley with the coast and its islands. She climbed on to a chair so that she could reach right out to sea, and put her nose right on a spot in the middle of nowhere.
‘There it is,’ she murmured. ‘That’s where we’re going to live and lead a wonderful life, full of troubles…’
‘What did you say?’ asked Moomintroll.
‘That’s where we’re going to live,’ repeated Moominmamma. ‘That’s Pappa’s island. Pappa is going to look after us there. We’re going to move there and live there all our lives, and start everything afresh, right from the beginning.’
‘I’ve always thought that spot was only a bit of fly-dirt,’ said Little My.
Moominmamma climbed down to the floor. ‘It takes a long time sometimes,’ she said. ‘It can take a terrible long time before things sort themselves out.’
Then she went out into the garden.
‘I’m not saying anything about some mothers and fathers,’ drawled Little My. ‘If I do, the first thing you’ll say is that they are never silly. They’re up to something, those two. I’d eat a bushel of sand if I knew what it was.’
‘You’re not supposed to know,’ said Moomintroll sharply. ‘They know perfectly well why they’re behaving a little oddly. Some people think they’re so superior and have to know everything just because they’ve been adopted!’
‘You’re dead right,’ said Little My. ‘Of course I’m superior!’
Moomintroll stared at the spot on the map, far out in the open sea all on its own, and thought: ‘Pappa wants to live there. That’s where he wants to go. They’re serious about it. This is a serious game.’ And suddenly he saw the sea round the island begin to rise and fall. The island itself was green with red cliffs. It was the island he had seen in picture-books, a desert island, inhabited by pirates. He felt a lump in his throat. ‘Little My,’ he whispered, ‘it’s fantastic!’
‘You don’t say!’ said Little My. ‘Everything’s fantastic – more or less. The most fantastic thing about it all would be if we were to make a great hullabaloo about getting us and all our paraphernalia there, only to discover that it really was only a bit of fly-dirt!’
*
It could scarcely have been more than half-past five in the morning when Moomintroll was following the Groke’s tracks through the garden. The ground had thawed again, but he could still see the places where she had sat. The grass there had turned quite brown. He knew that if she sat on the same spot for more than an hour, nothing would ever grow there again. The ground just died of fright. There were several spots like that in the garden, and the worst one, infuriatingly enough, was in the middle of the tulip-bed.
A wide path of dry leaves led all the way up to the veranda. That’s where she had stood. She had remained outside the circle of light and stared at the lamp. She couldn’t help it, she had to come as close as possible, and everything died. It was always the same. Everything she touched just died.
Moomintroll imagined he was the Groke. He shuffled along slowly, all hunched up, through a pile of dead leaves. He stood still, waiting while he spread the mist round him. He sighed and stared longingly towards the window. He was the loneliest creature in the whole world.
But without the lamp it wasn’t very convincing. Instead, only nice thoughts came into his head, thoughts of islands in the sea, and great changes taking place in all their lives. He forgot the Groke and started to play a game as he walked between the long shadows cast by the morning sun. You had to walk only where the sun was shining. The shadows were the unfathomable depths of the sea. That is, of course, if one couldn’t swim.
Somebody was whistling in the woodshed. Moomintroll looked inside. Bright gold sunlight shone on a pile of wood-shavings by the window, and there was a smell of linseed-oil and resin. Moominpappa was busy putting a little oak door in the wall of his lighthouse.
‘Look at these iron clamps,’ he said. ‘They’re buried in the rock, and this is how you climb up to the lighthouse. You have to be very careful if the weather’s rough. Your boat is carried in towards the rock on the crest of a wave – then you jump off, get a firm grip and scramble up while the boat is flung back… when the next wave comes, you’re safe. Then you fight your way against the wind, holding on to this railing. Then you open the door, but it’s heavy. Now it slams behind you. You’re inside the lighthouse. You can hear the roar of the sea in the distance through the thick walls. Outside it’s roaring all round, and the boat is already a long way off.’
‘Are we inside, too?’ asked Moomintroll.
‘Of course,’ said Moominpappa. ‘You’re up here in the tower. Look, every window has real glass. Right at the top is the light itself, and it’s red and green and white, and it flashes at regular intervals all night, so that boats know where to go.’
‘Are you going to put a real light in it?’ asked Moomintroll. ‘Perhaps you could put a battery underneath and somehow make it flash.’
‘Of course I could,’ said Moominpappa, cutting some little steps to put in front of the lighthouse door. ‘But I haven’t time just now. This is only a toy, actually, just a way of trying things out.’ Moominpappa laughed, a little embarrassed, and began poking about in his tool drawer.
‘Wonderful!’ said Moomintroll. ‘So long.’
‘So long,’ said Moominpappa.
The shadows were now much shorter. A new day was beginning, just as warm and just as beautiful. Moominmamma was sitting on the steps doing nothing at all, which seemed very strange somehow.
‘Everybody’s up so early this morning,’ said Moomintroll. He sat beside her, screwing his eyes up in the sun.
‘Did you know that there’s a lighthouse on Pappa’s island?’ he said.
‘Of course I did,’ Moominmamma answered. ‘He’s been talking about it all summer. That’s where we’re going to live.’
There was so much to talk about that nothing was said. It was warm sitting there on the steps. Everything seemed to be so right. Moominpappa began to whistle ‘Anchor’s Aweigh’, something he did rather well.
‘I’ll make some coffee soon. I just thought I’d sit here and think. It’s been quite a night.’
But the lighthouse was calling to them. They knew that they must go to the island, and go soon.
The Lighthouse
ON the all-important evening of their departure, the wind had moved towards the east; it had got up soon after twelve, but they had decided not to leave before sunset. The sea was warm and deep blue, just as blue as it was in the crystal ball. The jetty was piled high with luggage, right up to the bathing-house, where the boat was lying tied-up. It was bobbing up and down, with its sail hoisted and a hurricane lamp was burning at the top of the mast. On the beach it was already getting dark.
*
‘Of course we run the risk of it being calm tonight,’ said Moominpappa. ‘We could have left immediately after lunch. But on an occasion like this we must wait for sunset. Setting out in the right way is just as important as the opening lines in a book: they determine everything.’ He sat in the sand next to Moominmamma. ‘Look at the boat,’ he said. ‘Look at the Adventure. A boat by night is a wonderful sight. This is the way to start a new life, with a hurricane lamp shining at the top of the mast, and the coastline disappearing behind one as the whole world lies sleeping. Making a journey by night is more wonderful than anything in the world.
’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ replied Moominmamma. ‘One makes a trip by day, but by night one sets out on a journey.’ She was rather tired after all the packing, and a little worried in case something important had been forgotten. The pile of luggage looked enormous now that it was all there on the jetty, but she knew how little it would seem when they unpacked. A whole family needs such an awful lot of things in order to live through a single day in the proper way.
But now, of course, things were different. Now the proper thing to do was that they should begin an entirely new life, and that Moominpappa should provide everything they needed, look after them and protect them. Life must have been too easy for them up till now. ‘It’s strange,’ Moominmamma thought. ‘Strange that people can be sad, and even angry because life is too easy. But that’s the way it is, I suppose. The only thing to do is to start life afresh.’
‘Don’t you think it’s dark enough now?’ she said. ‘Your hurricane lamp looks really lovely against the sky. Perhaps we might start now.’
‘Just a moment, I must get my bearings,’ said Moominpappa. He spread out the map on the sand and stared at the island, all by itself right out in the open sea. He was very serious. He sniffed in the wind for a while and tried to get his sense of direction, something he hadn’t had to use for a long time. Our ancestors never needed to worry about finding the right course, it came to them naturally of its own accord. It’s a pity that the instinct gets weaker if you don’t use it.
After a while, Moominpappa felt that he was sure he had the right course. He knew which way to go, so they could set sail. He put his hat straight and said: ‘Let’s be off. But you’re not to lift a thing. We’ll do all the heavy work. Just go aboard.’
Moominmamma nodded, and somewhat wearily dragged herself to her feet. The sea had turned violet and the line of the forest along the shore looked soft and dark. She was very sleepy, and suddenly felt everything was a little unreal; a slow, fantastically lit dream in which one walks through heavy, heavy sand without getting anywhere.
The others were on the jetty, putting the luggage on board. The storm lantern swayed to and fro, and the silhouette of the jetty and the bathing-house looked like a long spiky dragon against the evening sky. She could hear Little My laughing, and behind her the cries of night-birds still awake in the forest.
‘It’s so beautiful!’ said Moominmamma to herself. ‘Beautiful and just a little strange. Now I’ve time to think about it, the whole thing is rather wonderful. But I wonder whether Pappa will mind if I take a little nap in the boat.’
*
The Groke slunk through the garden after sunset, but this evening there was no lamp on the veranda. The curtains had been taken down and the water-butt had been turned upside down. The key hung on its nail above the door.
She was used to deserted houses, and she saw at once that no one would light a lamp here for a long time to come. She shuffled slowly back up the slope towards the cliff. For a moment the crystal ball caught her reflection, but then once more was filled with its usual, unreal deep blue. The forest caught its breath in fear as she approached, strange little sounds could be heard from under the moss, branches rustled with fright and the lights of tiny eyes went out everywhere. Without pausing, she went up to the top of the cliff overlooking the southern shore and gazed out over the sea, now growing dark as night fell.
She could see the hurricane lamp at the top of the mast of the Adventure quite clearly, a lonely star gliding past the last islands, all the time moving farther out towards the open sea.
She gazed at it for a long time, for she was never in a hurry. Time for her was endless and passed very slowly. Time for her contained nothing, except the occasional lamps which were lit as autumn approached.
Now she glided down the ravine towards the beach. Behind her she left big shapeless footprints, as though a seal had dragged itself to the edge of the water. The waves drew back as she approached, and then hesitated as if they didn’t know what to do next. The water became smooth and still round the dark hem of her skirt and began to freeze.
For a long time she stood there, while a cloud of freezing mist gathered round her. Now and then she slowly lifted one of her feet, and the ice crackled and became thicker and thicker. She was building an island of ice for herself in order to reach the hurricane lamp. It was out of sight behind the islands now, but she knew it was there somewhere. If it went out before she got to it, it wouldn’t matter. She could wait. They would light another lamp some other evening. They always did sooner or later.
*
Moominpappa was steering the boat. He held the rudder tightly in one of his paws, feeling that he and the boat understood each other. He was completely at peace with himself.
His family looked just as tiny and helpless as they had looked in the crystal ball; he was guiding them safely across the vast ocean through the silent, blue night. The hurricane lamp lit the way, just as if Moominpappa had drawn a firm bright line across the map, saying: ‘from here… to there. That’s where we’re going to live. There my lighthouse will be the centre of the world, it will tower proudly above the dangers of the ocean at its feet.’
‘You don’t feel the cold, do you?’ he shouted happily. ‘Have you wrapped the blanket round you?’ he asked Moominmamma. ‘Look, we’ve left the last island behind us now, and soon it will be the darkest part of the night. Sailing at night is very difficult. You have to be on the look-out all the time.’
‘Why of course, dear!’ said Moominmamma, who was lying curled up in the bottom of the boat. ‘This is all a great experience,’ she thought. The blanket had got a little wet and she moved gingerly towards the windward side. But the ribs of the boat got in the way of her ears all the time.
Little My sat in the bow of the boat, humming monotonously to herself.
‘Mamma,’ whispered Moomintroll. ‘What happened to her to make her like that?’
‘Who?’
‘The Groke. Did somebody do something to her to make her so awful?’
‘No one knows,’ said Moominmamma, drawing her tail out of the water. ‘It was probably because nobody did anything at all. Nobody bothered about her, I mean. I don’t suppose she remembers anyway, and I don’t suppose she goes around thinking about it either. She’s like the rain or the darkness, or a stone you have to walk round if you want to get past. Do you want some coffee? There’s some in the thermos in the white basket.’
‘Not just now,’ said Moomintroll. ‘She’s got glassy eyes just like a fish. Can she talk?’
Moominmamma sighed and said: ‘No one talks to her, or about her either, otherwise she gets bigger and starts to chase one. And you mustn’t feel sorry for her. You seem to imagine that she longs for everything that’s alight, but all she really wants to do is to sit on it so that it’ll go out and never burn again. And now I think I might go to sleep for a while.’
Pale autumn stars had come out all over the sky. Moomintroll lay on his back looking at the hurricane lamp, but he was thinking about the Groke. If she was someone you mustn’t talk to or about, then she would gradually vanish and not even dare to believe in her own existence. He wondered whether a mirror might help. With lots and lots of mirrors one could be any number of people, seen from the front and from the back, and perhaps these people might even talk to each other. Perhaps…
Everything was silent. The rudder creaked softly, and they all slept. Moominpappa was alone with his family. He was wide-awake, more wide-awake than he had ever been before.
*
Far away, the Groke decided towards morning that she would set off. The island under her was black and transparent with a sharp bowsprit of ice pointing south. She gathered up her dark skirts, hanging round her like the leaves of a faded rose. They opened out and rustled, lifting themselves like wings. So the Groke’s slow journey over the sea began.
She moved her skirts upwards, outwards and downwards, like slow swimming-strokes, in the frozen air. The water drew back in scared,
choppy waves, and she floated on into the dawn with a cloud of drifting snow behind her. Against the horizon she looked like a large reeling bat. She found it slow-going, but somehow she managed. She had time. She had nothing else but time.
*
The family continued all night and all the next day until it was night again. Moominpappa still sat at the rudder waiting to catch sight of his lighthouse. But the night was just deep blue, and no lighthouse could be seen flashing on the horizon.
‘We’re on the right course,’ said Moominpappa. ‘I know we’re set on the right course. With this wind we ought to get there by midnight, but we should have seen the lighthouse when it began to get dark.’
‘Maybe some rotter’s put it out,’ suggested Little My.
‘Do you think anyone would put a lighthouse out,’ said Moominpappa. ‘You can depend on it that the lighthouse is working all right. There are some things one can be absolutely sure of: sea currents, the seasons, the rising of the sun, for example. And that lighthouses always work, too.’
‘We shall see it soon,’ said Moominmamma. Her head was full of little thoughts that she couldn’t really get organized. ‘I do hope it’s working,’ she thought. ‘He’s so happy. I do hope there really is a lighthouse somewhere out there, and not just a bit of fly-dirt after all. We can’t possibly go home now, particularly after such a grand start… You can find big pink shells, but the white ones look very nice against black soil. I wonder whether the roses will grow out there…’
‘Shush! I can hear something,’ said Little My from the bow. ‘Be quiet all of you! Something’s happening.’
They all lifted their noses and stared into the night. The sound of oars reached their ears. The unknown boat gradually came nearer, gliding out of the darkness. It was a little grey boat, and the man rowing it was resting on his oars looking at them quite undismayed. He looked very scruffy, but appeared to be quite calm. The light shone on his large blue eyes, which were as transparent as water. He had some fishing-rods in the bow of his boat.