The Wonderful Adventure of Nils Holgersson

by Selma Lagerlof

  Two

  Akka from Kebnekaise

  Evening

  The big tame gander, who had followed them up in the air, felt very proud about roaming back and forth over Söderslätt in the company of the wild geese and making fun of the domestic fowl. But no matter how happy he was, he could not help starting to get tired towards afternoon. He tried taking deeper breaths and flapping his wings faster, but no matter what he did, he was still several goose-lengths behind the others.

  When the wild geese who were flying at the back saw that the domestic bird could not keep up, they started calling to the goose at the tip of the angle who led the parade: ‘Akka from Kebnekaise! Akka from Kebnekaise!’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ the lead goose asked.

  ‘The white one’s behind! The white one’s behind!’

  ‘Tell him it’s easier to fly fast than slow!’ the lead goose called and kept on flapping like before.

  The gander tried to follow the advice and pick up speed, but in doing so he became so exhausted that he sank all the way down towards the pruned willow trees that lined the fields and meadows.

  ‘Akka, Akka, Akka from Kebnekaise!’ called the ones who were flying at the back and saw what a hard time he was having.

  ‘What do you want now?’ the lead goose asked, sounding dreadfully cross.

  ‘The white one is falling to the ground! The white one is falling to the ground.’

  ‘Tell him it’s easier to fly high than low!’ the lead goose called. And she did not slow down in the slightest, but instead kept on flapping like before.

  The gander tried to follow this advice too, but when he wanted to rise, he was so out of breath that his chest was about to burst.

  ‘Akka, Akka!’ the ones who were flying at the back called then.

  ‘Can’t you let me fly in peace?’ the lead goose asked, sounding even more impatient than before.

  ‘The white one is about to crash! The white one is about to crash!’

  ‘Tell him that anyone who isn’t able to keep up with the flock can turn around and go home!’ the lead goose called. And it did not occur to her to reduce speed, but instead she kept on flapping like before.

  ‘I see, so that’s how it is,’ the gander thought. He immediately understood that the wild geese never intended to take him with them up to Lapland. They had only lured him away from home in jest.

  He felt really annoyed that his strength would fail him now, so that he would not be able to show those tramps that a domestic goose was also good for something. And the most annoying thing of all was that he had encountered Akka from Kebnekaise. For domestic goose that he was, he had heard about a lead goose whose name was Akka and who was more than a hundred years old. She had such great prestige that the best wild geese to be found would join up with her. But no one had such contempt for domestic geese as Akka and her flock, and he would have liked to show them that he was their equal.

  He flew slowly after the others, while he debated with himself whether he should turn around or continue. Then suddenly that imp he was carrying on his back said, ‘Dear Martin Gander, you do understand that it’s impossible for you, who have never flown before, to go with the wild geese all the way up to Lapland. Shouldn’t you turn around and go home before you destroy yourself?’

  But the farmer’s boy was the worst thing the gander knew, and no sooner did he realize that the poor thing believed he couldn’t make the journey than he decided to hold out. ‘If you say one more word about it, I’ll throw you down into the first marl-pit we go over,’ he said and at the same time got such energy from his aggravation that he started flying almost as well as any of the others.

  He probably couldn’t have continued that way for long, but it wasn’t necessary either, because now the sun was setting quickly and just at sunset the geese set off straight downwards. And before the boy and the gander knew what was happening, they were standing on the shore of a lake called Vombsjön.

  ‘I guess the idea here is that we should stay overnight,’ the boy thought, jumping down from the gander’s back.

  He was standing on a narrow, sandy beach and before him was a rather large lake. It was horrid to look at, because it was almost completely covered by a crust of ice, which was blackened and uneven and full of cracks and holes, the way spring ice usually is. But the ice probably did not have much time left. It was already landless and had a broad belt of black, shiny water around it. Yet it was still there, spreading cold and the ghastliness of winter across the area.

  On the other side of the lake there seemed to be open, light countryside, but where the geese had landed was a large plantation of pine. And it looked as if the pine forest had the power to bind winter to it. Everywhere else the ground was bare, but under the scrubby branches there was snow that had thawed and frozen, thawed and frozen, so that it was as hard as ice.

  The boy thought he had come to a land of wilderness and winter, and he felt so anxious that he wanted to scream out loud.

  He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything all day. But where would he get food? Nothing edible grows on the ground or on trees in the month of March.

  Yes, where would he get food, and who would give him shelter, and who would make his bed, and who would warm him by their fire, and who would protect him from the wild animals?

  For now the sun was gone, and now the cold came from the lake, and darkness sank down from the sky, and terror crept up in the tracks of twilight, and in the forest there started to be creaking and rustling.

  Now there was no more good cheer, as the boy had felt while he was up in the air, and in his anxiety he looked around for his travel companions. He had no one else to turn to.

  Then he could see that the gander was faring even worse than he was. He was still lying in the same place where he had landed and it looked as if he were about to die. His neck lay slack along the ground, his eyes were closed and his breathing came as only a faint hissing.

  ‘Dear Martin Gander!’ the boy said. ‘Try to get a sip of water! It’s not two steps to the lake.’

  But the gander did not move at all.

  The boy no doubt would have been harsh to all animals before, and to the gander too, but now he thought the gander was the only support he had, and he became dreadfully afraid of losing him. He started shoving and pushing him at once to get him down to the water. The gander was big and heavy, so it was a hard task for the boy, but at last he succeeded.

  The gander came down into the lake head first. For a moment he lay quietly in the mud, but soon he stuck up his beak, shook the water out of his eyes and snorted. Then he swam proudly among the reeds and bulrushes.

  The wild geese were in the lake before him. They had not looked around for the gander or the goose rider, but instead rushed down into the water at once. They had bathed and cleaned themselves, and now they were slurping up half-rotten pondweed and buckbean.

  The white gander had the good fortune to catch sight of a small perch. He seized it quickly, swam up to the shore with it and set it in front of the boy. ‘Here you go, as thanks for helping me down into the water,’ he said.

  It was the first time all day that the boy had heard a friendly word. He was so happy that he wanted to throw his arms around the gander’s neck, but he could not bring himself to do it. And he was happy about the gift too. At first he thought it would probably be impossible to eat raw fish, but he wanted to try anyway.

  He felt for whether he had brought the sheath knife with him, and, as it was, it was still hanging behind him on the trouser button, although it was so reduced in size it was no longer than a matchstick. Well, it would do in any event to scale and clean the fish, and
it did not take long before the perch was eaten.

  When the boy was full, he felt ashamed that he could eat something raw. ‘It seems like I’m not human any more, but a gnome,’ he thought.

  The whole time that the boy was eating, the gander stood silently beside him, but when he had swallowed the last bite, he said in a low voice, ‘It seems we’ve fallen into the hands of a stuck-up crew of geese who despise all domestic fowl.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed that,’ said the boy.

  ‘It would be very honourable for me if I could go with them all the way up to Lapland and show them that a domestic goose is good for something too.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the boy and smiled a little, because he did not believe the gander could pull this off, but he did not want to contradict him.

  ‘But I don’t think I can manage alone on such a trip,’ the gander said. ‘Instead I want to ask if you would come along and help me.’

  The boy of course had not thought of anything other than turning around for home as soon as possible, and he was so surprised that he didn’t know how to answer. ‘I thought we were enemies, you and me,’ he said. But the gander seemed to have forgotten this completely. He only remembered that just now the boy had saved his life.

  ‘I suppose I should go home to Father and Mother,’ said the boy.

  ‘Yes, I’ll probably bring you back to them towards autumn,’ said the gander. ‘I won’t leave you until I can set you down on the threshold at home.’

  The boy thought that it might be a good thing not to show himself to his parents for a while yet. He was not disinclined to the proposal, and he was about to say that he would go along with it when they heard a loud booming behind them. It was the wild geese who had come up out of the lake, all at once, and stood shaking off the water. Afterwards they arranged themselves in a long row with the lead goose in front and came up to them.

  When the white gander now observed the wild geese, he did not feel at ease. He had expected that they would be more like domestic geese and that he would feel more kinship with them. They were much smaller than him and none of them was white, instead they were all grey with a brown moire pattern. And he was almost afraid of their eyes. They were yellow and shone as if there were a fire burning behind them. The gander had always been taught that it was most appropriate to walk slowly and waddle, but they did not walk, instead they almost ran. However, he became most anxious when he looked at their feet. They were big with worn, tattered soles. It was noticeable that the wild geese never questioned what they stepped on. They made no detours. They were very neat and well-cleaned otherwise, but on their feet you saw that they were poor, wilderness folk.

  The gander did not have time to more than whisper to the boy, ‘Now answer quickly for yourself, but don’t say who you are!’ before they were there.

  When the wild geese had stopped in front of them, they curtsied with their necks many times, and the gander did too, even more times than them. As soon as they were done greeting, the lead goose said, ‘Now we’d like to hear what sort of thing you are.’

  ‘There’s not much to say about me,’ said the gander. ‘I was born in Skanör last spring. Last autumn I was sold to Holger Nilsson in Västra Vemmenhög and I’ve been there ever since.’

  ‘You don’t seem to have any family to pride yourself on,’ said the lead goose. ‘So what is it that makes you so bold that you want to be mixed up with wild geese?’

  ‘That could be because I want to show you wild geese that we domestic geese are also good for something,’ said the gander.

  ‘Yes, it would be good if you could show us that,’ said the lead goose. ‘We’ve already seen how knowledgeable you are about flying, but perhaps you’re more skilled in other sports. It may be that you are strong in distance swimming.’

  ‘No, I can’t pride myself on that,’ said the gander. He seemed to notice that the lead goose had already decided to send him home, and he did not care how he answered. ‘I’ve never swum farther than straight across a marl-pit,’ he continued.

  ‘Then I expect you’re a champion at running,’ said the goose.

  ‘I’ve never seen a domestic goose run and I’ve never done so either,’ said the gander, making the matter worse.

  The big white bird was now certain that the lead goose would say that in no way could she take him with them. He was very surprised when she said, ‘You answer questions bravely, and anyone who has courage can be a good travel companion, even if he is unskilled to start with. What do you say about staying with us a couple of days, until we see what you are good for?’

  ‘I’m very satisfied with that,’ said the gander, completely happy.

  Then the lead goose pointed with her beak and said, ‘But who is it you have with you? I’ve never seen anyone like him before.’

  ‘That’s my friend,’ said the gander. ‘He’s been a goose-herder all his life. I’m sure it will be useful to have him along on the journey.’

  ‘Yes, that may be good for a domestic goose,’ the wild one answered. ‘What do you call him?’

  ‘He has several names,’ the gander said hesitantly, thinking on his feet, because he did not want to give away that the boy had a human name. ‘Yes, his name is Thumbkin,’ he said at last.

  ‘Is he a gnome?’ asked the lead goose.

  ‘At what time do you wild geese usually settle down to sleep?’ the gander said quickly, trying to avoid answering the last question. ‘My eyes close on their own at this time of day.’

  It was easy to see that the goose who was speaking with the gander was very old. All of her plumage was ice-grey with no dark streaks. Her head was larger, her legs were rougher and her feet more worn than anyone else’s. Her feathers were stiff, her shoulders bony and her throat was thin. All this was the work of age. It was only her eyes that time had not got the better of. They shone more clearly, as if younger than any of the others.

  She now turned very arrogantly towards the gander. ‘You should know, gander, that I am Akka from Kebnekaise, and that the goose who flies closest to me on the right is Yksi from Vassijaure, and the one to the left is Kaksi from Nuolja! You should also know that the second goose to the right is Kolme from Sarjektjåkko, and that the second goose to the left is Neljä from Svappavaara, and that behind them fly Viisi from Oviksfjällen and Kuusi from Sjangeli! And know that these, like the six goslings who fly last, three to the right and three to the left, are all high-mountain geese of the best family! You should not take us for tramps, who strike up company with just anyone, and you should not think that we let anyone share our sleeping place who does not know what family he is from.’

  When Akka, the lead goose, spoke in this way, the boy quickly stepped forwards. It distressed him that the gander, who answered so quickly for himself, gave such evasive answers where he was concerned. ‘I don’t want to keep who I am a secret,’ he said. ‘My name is Nils Holgersson and I’m the son of a farmer, and until this day I have been a human, but this morning—’

  The boy got no farther. As soon as he said that he was a human, the lead goose recoiled three steps backwards and the others even more. And they all extended their necks and hissed angrily at him.

  ‘I suspected as much, ever since I first saw you here on the shore,’ said Akka. ‘And now you must be off at once. We tolerate no humans among us.’

  ‘It can’t be possible,’ the gander intervened, ‘that you wild geese can be afraid of someone so little. Tomorrow he will probably head for home, but you must let him stay here with us overnight. None of us can be responsible for letting such a poor little thing manage on his own with weasels and foxes at night.’

  The wild goos
e now came closer, but it showed clearly that she had a hard time controlling her fear. ‘I was taught to be afraid of everything to do with humans, be they big or small,’ she said. ‘But if you, gander, will be responsible that he doesn’t do us any harm, then he can stay with us tonight. But I don’t believe our sleeping arrangements will please either you or him, because we intend to settle down to sleep on the landless ice out here.’

  She probably thought that the gander would be doubtful when he heard this. But he did not let anything bother him. ‘You are wise who understands to choose such a safe place to sleep,’ he said.

  ‘But you are responsible for him taking off tomorrow to his own home.’

  ‘Then I too will have to leave you,’ the gander said. ‘I’ve promised not to abandon him.’

  ‘You are free to fly wherever you want,’ the lead goose said.

  With that she raised her wings and flew out over the ice, and one after another of the wild geese followed her.

  The boy was distressed that his Lapland journey was not going to happen, and he was also afraid of the cold night quarters. ‘It’s getting worse and worse, gander,’ he said. ‘First of all we’re going to freeze to death out on the ice.’

  But the gander was in good spirits. ‘There’s no danger,’ he said. ‘I’ll only ask you to quickly gather together as much chaff and grass as you can carry.’

  When the boy had his arms full of dry grass, the gander took hold of his neckband, lifted him and flew out on to the ice, where the wild geese were already sleeping with their beaks under their wings.