Hattie

by Frida Nilsson

  Hattie had no idea it could get as dark as this. It’s like wearing a blindfold. Her body is stiff with terror. Up in the sky small cold stars shine, but on the ground it’s as dark as the underworld.

  Now there are noises. Hissing and scurrying sounds nearby. It could be wolves!

  “MAMAAA!” Hattie leaps to her feet; she’s going to run home again. She trips over moss and branches, and yells until her voice becomes thin and hoarse. She runs a hundred miles, maybe a thousand! She’s lost. The branches grab at her clothes, her boots rub and trip her up. Then she stops.

  In a little clearing is a house with a light shining. It’s red and run-down and all by itself. With her heart bolting, Hattie looks around. She’d rather go to her own home but she knows she’ll never find the way.

  She climbs the little stone steps and knocks at the door. It doesn’t open. Her heart beats harder. No one comes. It’s still silent inside the house.

  Then she sits down and waits. She’d rather sit here the whole night than run back into the forest. A cat comes and rubs itself against her legs. They sit and look at each other for a long time. Then someone opens the door behind her back. In a tiny gap, a wrinkled man appears.

  “May I come in?” says Hattie, standing up. “I have to make a phone call.”

  At first the man says no. He’d rather she went somewhere else to do her phoning because he doesn’t like strangers. Not even if they’re seven years old.

  Then Hattie puts her face in her hands and sobs. The old man looks as if his ears will roll up and fall off. “Ssshhh!” he hisses, but Hattie can’t be quiet. She cries even louder.

  In the end the old man relents, and Hattie is allowed into the little yellow kitchen. A single lamp shines in the window. It has a stuffy smell of mashed turnips. The embroidered curtains are grubby and the floor is sticky underfoot.

  The old man has a long, thin beard. He lives in the forest with fifty-eight cats. They’re everywhere. On the floor, on the table, on the stove and in the sink. Even inside the open oven there’s a red cat sitting and licking its paws. The old man gives it a pat on his way to a shelf with a telephone.

  “Do you know the number?” he squeaks.

  “Yes,” says Hattie, and she takes the heavy black telephone. Soon she’ll hear her mother’s voice.

  But no one answers at the other end. It rings on and on: ten, eleven, twelve. No one even says hello.

  They don’t want to answer! They’re so angry they never want to talk to Hattie again, she knows it! She drops the receiver to the floor and the cats hiss and run away. Now she’ll never go home again. She sobs so hard the old man is desperate.

  “Shh, shh,” he grumbles, wrinkling his eyebrows. “Not so loud. What’s your name?”

  “Hattie,” Hattie sniffles.

  The old man chews his tongue. “Where do you live?” he asks.

  “Ängatorp,” she answers.

  Then the old man goes and lifts down a large kerosene lamp from a hook in a cupboard. He pulls on his boots and hat, then he puts his crusty little fist over Hattie’s hand. “It’s not far,” he says, and swings open the door to the dark. The red cat stays in the oven.

  Tall hedges line the path. The old man’s light swings back and forth. Hattie sees the birch trees dancing in the yellow light and withered nettles bend underfoot. The old man strides on. Hattie gets out of breath keeping up. He squeezes her hand.

  “Soon you’ll be home,” he says.

  And at last they reach the gravel road to home. Hattie knows exactly where she is even though it’s pitch-black. She can see the kitchen window at Ängatorp shining like a warm square eye and someone’s coming with a light to meet them.

  “Papa!” she cries and starts running.

  But it isn’t Papa. It’s Alf, from next door. He and her mother and father have been out searching for Hattie. That’s why no one answered the telephone!

  Alf says that her father has run down to the stream to look for her. And her mother has been crying. She wants to call the police and ask for a helicopter.

  Hattie rushes inside and gets a lot of hugs. Her mother is shaky and says she’s changed her mind about the armchair. She doesn’t want to throw it away. She wants to finish it so Hattie can sit in it and be comfortable forever.

  Papa comes back from the stream. He has tears in his eyes, and he keeps ruffling Hattie’s hair until she gets dizzy. “Little shrimp,” he says in a voice even squeakier than the old man’s.

  Then he takes out the map to see where Hattie has been. He looks at it and scratches his head. The old man and her mother look as well.

  Then their faces turn pale and they’re silent because they can see that Hattie has crossed the bog. The bog, which is deadly dangerous. You can disappear into the bog, like a little pea down the kitchen sink, and drown in a few seconds.

  Then her father starts shaking. He has to hug Hattie hard, and her mother has to have a cigarette even though she doesn’t smoke. “Never run away like that again,” she pleads, looking at Hattie with big, frightened eyes.

  Hattie promises.

  She stands in the window and waves goodbye to the little old man. His lamp seesaws away in the dark, and soon she can no longer see it. Mama and Papa come and stand beside her. They’re so happy she’s home. Hattie is too.

  SNOOPY COMES TO STAY

  It’s already September. Mama has put the outdoor furniture away in the barn.

  Grandma and Grandpa are coming to visit, and Papa wants to cook something special to surprise them. “How about dumpling cakes?” he asks Hattie.

  Hattie can hardly believe her ears. Cakes for dinner! And Papa almost never wants cake. When Hattie and her mother have afternoon tea he usually runs off to the woodshed to avoid it.

  “Good idea, Papa.” She applauds him.

  Papa gets ready to make the batter.

  “I’ll probably eat quite a few of them,” Hattie warns.

  “Are you sure?” asks Papa.

  “Yes!” Hattie promises. Who doesn’t like cakes?

  Caramel cakes, jam cakes, chocolate cake—she likes every kind.

  Papa hums and goes on with the cake. Tacka comes and sits nearby to watch.

  “Go and lie down,” says Papa sternly. Tacka slinks forlornly away but she comes back almost immediately with her tongue hanging out like a dishcloth.

  Soon there’s a toot from the road. Grandpa and Grandma are here. Grandpa has a gray beard and a belly like a blown-up beach ball. If Hattie pounds his belly it goes boinga-boinga-boing and Grandpa laughs. He says it doesn’t hurt, it feels more like a mosquito tapping with its front legs.

  Grandma has small gold glasses that sit on the end of her nose. She’d probably break if Hattie pounded her belly. She’s as thin as a matchstick.

  They come along the hallway with happy faces. Tacka jumps and yaps, and soon Hattie comes in, hopping and yapping too. She loves it when her grandparents visit. She thrusts out the presents she’s had behind her back. Grandpa gets a drawing of a house with a happy mouth and eyes. Hello Grandpa, it says. Grandma gets a pencil, a green one.

  Then Grandpa winks at her. “Would you like a present too?” he says.

  He opens his case…and out comes Snoopy! He’s a white stuffed dog with long black ears and a button for a nose. On his head is a cowboy hat and his tail sticks out through a hole in his trousers. They are made of leather.

  Hattie is so happy she squeals. Grandpa laughs and Grandma puts her hands over her ears.

  Soon it’s time for cake. Hattie flies onto her chair and picks up her knife and fork. Grandpa smacks his lips and on the floor Tacka is whimpering.

  “Go and lie down!” says Papa, but Tacka takes no notice. She stays where she is, drooling. Papa growls at her a few times, but in the end he gives up. He serves cakes to everyone.

  Hattie looks at hers. It’s strange, not at all like a crispy little dumpling cake. More like a puffy, white jelly ball. She cuts a small piece and tastes it. Horrible. From the firs
t mouthful, Hattie feels sick.

  All the others are busy eating and enjoying them.

  “Very good,” says Grandpa.

  “Wait till you get to the filling,” says Papa. “Pork.”

  Pork? Hattie can hardly believe it. There should be jam or chocolate cream in cakes! Not little bits of pork with the fat still on!

  “I don’t like it,” she says.

  Papa looks baffled. “But I made extra,” he says. “Eat up one at least.”

  “That’s right,” says Grandpa. “You should eat one before you leave the table.”

  Hattie screws up her top lip. The cake is as big as a tennis ball. She’ll never manage to get it inside her. On the chair beside her Snoopy is waiting.

  Suddenly something scrabbles on the floor below Hattie. It’s Tacka, round eyes blinking, whiskers quivering in anticipation of fatty pork. Hattie is quick. In a flash, she grabs the cake and shoves it into Tacka’s drooling mouth.

  “No!” says Papa. “I saw what you did!”

  But Hattie leaps from her chair and grabs Snoopy by the tail. She races up the stairs and locks the door to her room. Then she hugs Snoopy so hard his seams creak. He just smiles. He’s very glad he’s come to live with Hattie.

  RICHARD THROWS UP

  Now the frost is white on the hills when Hattie swishes past in the school bus. Today is Friday and for the final hour it’s cozy Friday.

  On cozy Friday everybody brings a drink and something for afternoon tea. Hattie has strawberry cordial and some of her mother’s Finnish fingers. They’re skinny, dry biscuits with pearl sugar on top.

  Anyone who wants to can perform in front of the blackboard. Linda and Hattie have been working on a dance routine put to a song. Hattie does such high disco jumps she splits her trousers. They get lots of applause.

  “Bravo,” says the teacher. Then he looks at the clock. He has a slight headache because the class is so wild on Fridays, wishing for the weekend.

  One boy in the class is called Richard. He’s tall and thin with brown eyes and brown hair. His parents are farmers and they have at least a hundred pigs in a sty. The biggest pig is called Agnes.

  Today Hattie and Richard have been squabbling since early morning. They’ve pulled each other’s hair, chased, shoved, pinched and taunted each other. Hattie has drawn a pig on the blackboard, then written RICHARD with an arrow. Then Richard ran to the blackboard and drew a witch with warts on her face, then he wrote HATTIE.

  Now that Friday is almost finished and everyone’s ready to go home, Hattie wants to play one last trick. A teeny, tiny…

  She goes out of the classroom. Over by the sink outside the bathroom, Richard is talking to some others in the class. He’s put his drink bottle down on the box with the paper towels.

  Hattie creeps up quietly. Richard doesn’t notice; he has his back to her.

  Then quick as a wink, Hattie snatches the drink bottle and squirts soap from the soap pump into it. Then she puts the bottle back.

  Linda is nearby and has seen everything. She and Hattie stand by the big window and wait.

  Soon the teacher calls that it’s time to come and pack up for the day. Richard takes his drink bottle. He puts it to his mouth and tips it up. He takes a couple of mouthfuls…

  And then he makes a gurgling shout! He spits drink out like an angry volcano and throws himself at the tap to rinse his mouth.

  “HA HA!” Hattie squeals, and she makes a thumbs-up.

  “Good work, Hattie!” Linda pats her on the back.

  Richard lifts his head up and glares. As Hattie goes past he tries to punch her arm, but she’s quick and ducks out of the way.

  Then it’s Friday evening and Hattie is at home on the sofa in the living room. She has chips and fizzy drink and is watching soap operas on TV. Her parents roll their eyes and say that the shows are rubbish, but they never miss a single episode.

  In the middle of the program the telephone rings. Hattie’s mother goes down to the kitchen to answer it.

  After a moment she returns. “Hattie, what did you put in Richard’s drink?” she asks.

  Hattie’s head turns cold. Richard has told on her!

  “I have to know,” her mother goes on, “because I’ll need to call the school cleaner and ask if it was poisonous or something that could burn holes in the stomach.” Her voice is soft and nice but a little worried.

  Hattie sits with chip crumbs on her lap, trembling.

  “It was Richard’s mother who rang,” says Mama. “Richard is vomiting.”

  Immediately Hattie feels sick. Richard wasn’t supposed to get holes in his stomach or be poisoned. It was just a little joke.

  “It was soap,” she squeaks, and the tears come. If Richard dies from deadly poison lots of people will be angry with her. Especially Richard’s parents. Everyone will think Hattie is a stupid, stupid child. Maybe she won’t be able to get a job either, when she grows up.

  Hattie’s mother calls Ulla, the cleaner. She thinks that soap might have something in it that can burn holes in the stomach. But she’s not sure.

  Hattie has to go and lie on her bed. She feels as if she’s been poisoned too, as if she might vomit. She stares straight at the wall with eyes full of tears. On the wallpaper naked angels fly around blowing trumpets. Snoopy sits in the cane chair, shaking his head.

  The phone rings again. Mama runs to answer it, and then comes in to see Hattie. It was Richard’s mother again. Now Richard’s whole family is being sick! His mother, father and even his little sister.

  Hattie wants to die! She wants to fly up to heaven and blow a trumpet! By putting soap in Richard’s drink, she’s poisoned the whole family. And the poor pig Agnes, is she being sick too?

  “So it was a tummy bug,” says her mother. “Not poisoning.”

  Hattie stops crying for a second. She has to breathe through her mouth because her nose is blocked with snot.

  “Tubby bug…?”

  Her mother nods and kisses her hot cheeks. Richard’s family have gone and got a stomach bug. Hattie hasn’t poisoned a single person. She feels bubbles of happiness behind her ribs. But the tears won’t stop coming. Hattie puts her snotty face into her mother’s soft stomach and sobs and hiccups. Mama’s top gets completely wet.

  “There, there,” she says, stroking Hattie’s head. “You don’t need to cry any more.”

  But Hattie cries for at least half an hour. Even though she’s happy, she can’t stop.

  The angels on the wall aren’t the least bit sad. They turn wild somersaults and flap their wings. Then they play a fanfare because Richard has a tummy bug!

  UGLY HAIRCUT

  Back at school after the weekend, Richard looks pale. He glares at Hattie across the classroom. At break she has to be quick as a weasel so he can’t catch hold of her. By the last hour she’s so tired her legs are shaking.

  “And don’t forget!” says the teacher, as they put away their books. “It’s school photos tomorrow! Dress nicely!”

  When Hattie comes home and reminds her mother about the school photos, Mama goes crazy. “I’d forgotten!” she cries. “Your hair’s far too long!”

  She gets her kitchen scissors and asks Hattie to come. But Hattie doesn’t want to because she thinks her hair is the exact right length.

  “Pleeeease.” Her mother pats a chair invitingly.

  “Uh-uh,” says Hattie. Her mother cut her hair once before and no one was particularly pleased about it. Especially not her mother.

  Mama runs to her wallet and takes out some money. “What if I give you this?” She waves the money.

  Hattie swipes the money and sits on the kitchen chair. For that much money Mama could practically shave her head.

  But her mother isn’t pleased this time either. She looks at Hattie’s hair, turning her head from side to side. Whichever way she looks, she sees that it’s crooked. She bites her thumbnail. “I’ll call Ben,” she says, running to the telephone.

  Hattie can’t believe it! Ben is h
er mother’s own hair stylist in town and he’s really good!

  Her mother has such a nice haircut. The best part is the fringe. It points in every direction, like a tussock in the middle of her forehead. It’s very modern.

  They drive into town. Hattie sits in the back seat and waves at some old cows. They wave back with their tails. “Mooo!” they bellow. “See you, Hattie! Good luck with Ben.”

  Ben greets them in the salon. There are pictures of women with exotic hairdos all over the walls. Short hair, long hair, in-between hair—just say what you want and Ben can do it.

  Ben has a shiny shirt and two pairs of glasses sitting in a row on his narrow nose. Hattie hops up in the hairdressing chair and gets the plastic tent put on. It’s like a tarpaulin, to protect her top from getting hair in it. Mama looks proud.

  “What would you like?” Ben asks, peering through his glasses. “Tuft is cool.”

  Hattie settles into the chair. Tufts. That’s what her mother has, she’s sure of it. Grass tufts that stick out in all directions. She glances at Mama, who nods encouragingly.

  “Yes,” says Hattie. “Tufts, please.”

  Ben takes the scissors and starts gossiping with her mother. They have lots of friends in common to talk about. Hattie enjoys being part of it.

  Snip, snip, go Ben’s scissors. Hattie looks at herself in the mirror.

  But he’s cutting her hair strangely! It looks nothing like her mother’s fringe. It’s starting to look more like a shaggy lawn.

  Tussocks! thinks Hattie. She wanted tussocks like Mama’s. This looks horrible!

  Her mother looks happy. But inside Hattie tears are starting to bubble up. She tries to hold them in so she won’t hurt Ben’s feelings, but the more she realizes that she looks like a stupid tennis player, the harder it is.

  In the end she can’t hold it in any longer. Her mouth flies open and tears rush out.

  Ben almost faints. “What? What is it?” he cries, because he thinks he’s cut her.

  “It’s ugugug-ly!” sobs Hattie.

  Ben stares at her.

  Her mother doesn’t understand. “You wanted tuft,” she squeaks.