There is not much that tastes better than getting praise from those who are themselves wise and capable, and the boy had certainly never felt so happy as when the wild goose and the stork talked about him in this way.
So the boy made the trip up to Kullaberg riding on a stork’s back. Although he knew that this was a great honour, it still caused him great anxiety, because Herr Ermenrich was a master at flying and set off at quite a different speed than the wild geese. While Akka flew her direct way with even wing strokes, the stork amused himself with a lot of aerial tricks. One moment he lay quiet at an immeasurable height and floated in the air without moving his wings, the next moment he threw himself downwards at such speed that it appeared he would crash to the ground, helpless as a stone, while the next moment he amused himself by flying around Akka in big and small circles like a whirlwind. The boy had never experienced anything like this before, and although he was in constant terror, he had to admit to himself that until now he had not known what was meant by good flying.
Only a single pause was made during the flight, and that was when Akka reunited at Vombsjön with her travel companions and called to them that the grey rats had been defeated. Then they took the direct route to Kullaberg.
There they landed on top of the hill that was reserved for the wild geese, and now when the boy let his eyes wander from hill to hill, he saw that over one of them rose the many-pronged antlers of the red deer and over another the hackles of the grey herons. One hill was red with foxes, another was black and white from seabirds, one was grey with rats. One was occupied by black ravens that shrieked without ceasing, one with larks who were unable to keep still, but instead constantly threw themselves up in the air and sang with delight.
As has always been the custom at Kullaberg, it was the crows who started the day’s games and tricks with their flying dance. They divided into two flocks, which flew towards each other, met, turned and started again. This dance had many turns and, to the audience, who were not initiated in the dance rules, seemed far too monotonous. The crows were very proud of their dance, but all the others were happy when it ended. It seemed to the animals just as gloomy and meaningless as a winter storm playing with snowflakes. They became dejected from watching it and waited eagerly for something that would give them a little joy.
They did not need to wait in vain, for as soon as the crows had finished, the hares came running up. They streamed forth in a long row with no apparent order. In some ranks one came alone, in others three or four ran abreast. All of them got up on two legs and rushed ahead with such speed that their long ears swung in all directions. While they ran, they twirled around, making high leaps and thumbing their front paws against their ribs to make a thumping sound. Some did a long series of somersaults, others curled up and rolled forwards like wheels, one stood on one leg and swung around, one walked on his front legs. There was no order at all, but there was a lot of amusement in the play of the hares, and the many animals who stood and observed them began to breathe faster. It was spring now, pleasure and delight were on the rise. Winter was over. Summer was approaching. Soon living would be only a game.
When the hares had finished romping, it was the big forest birds’ turn to perform. Hundreds of male wood grouse in glistening black-brown garb with bright red eyebrows threw themselves up in a large oak in the middle of the playfield. The one who sat on the topmost branch ruffled up his feathers, lowered his wings and turned up his rear end so that the white wing coverts were seen. Then he extended his neck and sent out a couple of deep tones from the thickened throat. ‘Sheck, sheck, sheck!’ it sounded. More than that he could not get out; it gurgled only a few times deep down in his throat. Then he closed his eyes and whispered, ‘Sis, sis, sis. Listen, so pretty! Sis, sis, sis.’ And at the same time he fell into such rapture that he no longer knew what was happening around him.
While the first male grouse was still making his ‘sis’ sounds, the three who sat closest below him started singing, and before they had gone through the whole song, the ten who sat farther down started, and so it continued from branch to branch, until all hundred male grouse were singing and gurgling and making ‘sis’ sounds. They all fell into the same rapture during their song, and this intoxication in particular spread to the other animals as if it were contagious. Their blood, which had run happily and lightly, now started to move heavy and hot. ‘Yes, it is truly spring,’ the many species thought. ‘The cold of winter is gone. The fire of spring is burning over the earth.’
When the black grouse noticed that the wood grouse had such success, they could no longer keep quiet. As there was no tree where they could take up position, they rushed down on the playfield, where the heather stood so high that only their prettily swaying tail feathers and their thick beaks were visible, and started to sing: ‘Coo, coo, coo!’
Just as the black grouse began to compete with the wood grouse, something unheard-of happened. Now, while all the animals were thinking of nothing but the grouse game, a fox sneaked quite slowly towards the wild geese’s hill. He walked very carefully and got far up the hill before anyone noticed him. Suddenly a goose caught sight of him and, as if she could not believe that a fox had slipped in among the geese for any good intention, she started calling, ‘Watch out, wild geese! Watch out!’ The fox caught her by the throat, perhaps mostly to silence her, but the wild geese had already heard the call and all of them flew up into the air. And when they were flying, the animals saw Smirre Fox standing on the wild geese’s hill with a dead goose in his mouth.
But because he had broken the peace of the play day in this way, Smirre got such a harsh punishment, so that for all the days of his life he must regret that he could not control his desire for revenge, but instead tried to finally get at Akka and her flock in this manner. He was surrounded at once by a band of foxes and convicted according to ancient custom, which enjoins that whosoever disturbs the peace on the great play day must go into exile. No fox wanted to reduce the sentence, because they all knew that the moment they tried anything like that, they would be driven away from the playfield and never be permitted to set foot on it again. Thus the sentence of exile was incontestably pronounced over Smirre. He was prohibited from staying in Skåne. He was exiled from wife and kinsfolk, from hunting grounds, home, sleeping places and hiding places, which he had heretofore owned, and must try his luck in foreign lands. And so that all foxes in Skåne would know that Smirre was an outlaw in the province, the oldest among the foxes bit off the tip of his right ear. As soon as this was done, all the young foxes started to howl with bloodthirstiness and threw themselves over Smirre. For him nothing remained other than to take flight, and with all the young foxes at his heels he hurried away from Kullaberg.
All this happened while black grouse and wood grouse were busy with their game. But these birds become so absorbed in their song that they neither hear nor see. They did not let themselves be disturbed either.
The forest birds’ competition was barely finished when the red deer from Häckeberga made their appearance to show their battle game. Several pairs of red deer fought at the same time. They rushed at each other with great force, struck their antlers together, thundering, so that the tines were interlaced, and tried to force each other backwards. Tufts of heather were torn up under their hooves, their breath was like smoke, awful bellowing came out of their throats, and the foam flowed down their shoulders.
All around on the hills breathless silence prevailed while the battle-hardened red deer fought each other. And new emotions were aroused in all the animals. Each and every one of them felt brave and strong, enlivened by returning strength, born again by spring, hearty and ready for all types of adventure. They felt no anger to
wards each other, yet everywhere wings were lifted, neck hairs raised, claws sharpened. If the Häckeberga red deer had continued a moment longer a wild struggle would have arisen on the hills, because everyone had been seized by a burning desire to show that they too were full of life, that the powerlessness of winter was over, that strength was seething in their bodies.
But the red deer stopped fighting just at the right moment, and at once a whisper went from hill to hill: ‘Now the cranes are coming.’
And then came the grey, dusk-clad birds with plumes in their wings and red feather jewels on their necks. The big birds with their long legs, their slender necks, their small heads came gliding along the hill in a mysterious delirium. As they glided forward, they turned around, half-flying, half-dancing. With their wings gracefully raised they moved at inconceivable speed. There was something strange and alien about their dance. It was as if grey shadows were playing a game that the eye was barely able to follow. It was as if they had learned from the mists that hover over the lonely bogs. There was magic in this; everyone who had not been at Kullaberg before understood why the whole meeting took its name from the cranes’ dance. There was wildness in it, but the feeling that it aroused was nonetheless a sweet longing. No one thought about fighting any more. Instead everyone, both those with wings and those without wings, wanted to rise up above the clouds, seek what was beyond there, leave the heavy body that pulled down towards the earth, and soar away towards the unearthly.
Such longing for the unreachable, for what is hidden behind life, the animals felt only once a year, and it was on that day when they saw the Great Crane Dance.
Six
In Rainy Weather
Wednesday, 30 March
It was the first rainy day during the journey. As long as the wild geese had stayed in the area of Vombsjön, the weather was beautiful, but on the day they set off on their expedition northwards it started to rain, and for several hours the boy had to sit on the goose’s back soaked and shaking with cold.
In the morning when they left it was clear and calm. The wild geese flew high up in the air, evenly and without haste, in strict order with Akka in the lead and the others in two diagonal rows behind her. They did not give themselves time to call out spiteful remarks to the animals on the ground, but as they were not capable of staying completely silent, they sang out their usual call unceasingly in tempo with their wing strokes: ‘Where are you? Here I am! Where are you? Here I am!’
Everyone took part in this persistent calling, and they interrupted it now and then only to show the white gander the signposts by which they were setting course. During this journey the signs consisted of the barren hills of Linderödsåsen, the estates of Ovesholm, the church steeples of Kristianstad, the crown lands of Bäckaskog on the narrow isthmus between Oppmann Lake and Ivö Lake and the steep precipices of Ryssberg.
It had been a monotonous trip, and when the rain clouds started to appear, the boy thought it was a real diversion. Before, when he had seen rain clouds only from below, he thought they were grey and boring, but it was quite different to be up among them. Now he saw clearly that the clouds were enormous freight wagons driving up in the air with sky-high loads: some of them were loaded with massive, grey sacks, some with barrels so large they could hold an entire lake, and some with big tubs and bottles that were stacked to a tremendous height. And when so many of them had driven by that they filled all of space, it was as if someone had given a sign, because all at once – out of tubs, barrels, bottles and sacks – water started flooding down over the earth.
As soon as the first spring showers pattered against the ground, such cries of joy were raised by all the small birds in groves and pastures that the whole air resounded with them, and the boy jumped high up from where he sat. ‘Now we get rain, rain gives us spring, spring gives us flowers and green leaves, green leaves and flowers give us larvae and insects, larvae and insects give us food; good and plentiful food is the best there is,’ the small birds sang.
The wild geese too were happy about the rain, which came to waken the plants out of their slumber and poke holes in the icy covering on the lakes. They were unable to stay as serious as they had been so far, so they started sending humorous calls down over the region.
As they were flying over the large potato fields, of which there are so many in the area around Kristianstad and which were still bare and black, they shrieked, ‘Wake up and be useful! Here comes something to waken you! Now you’ve been lazing long enough!’
When they saw humans hurrying to get out of the rain, they admonished them and said, ‘Why are you in such a hurry? Don’t you see that it’s raining rye loaves and layer cakes, rye loaves and layer cakes?’
There was a big, thick cloud that moved quickly towards the north and followed close behind the geese. They seemed to imagine that they were pulling the cloud with them, and just now when they saw large gardens below, they cried quite proudly, ‘Here we come with anemones! Here we come with roses! Here we come with apple blossoms and cherry buds! Here we come with peas and beans and turnips and cabbage! Whoever wants can take! Whoever wants can take!’
That is how it sounded while the first showers fell, when everyone was still happy about the rain. But when it continued to fall all afternoon, the geese became impatient and called to the thirsty forests around Ivö Lake, ‘Haven’t you had enough soon? Haven’t you had enough soon?’
The sky became a more solid grey and the sun hid itself so well that no one could see where it was. The rain fell heavier, hammering hard against their wings and working its way between the oiled outer feathers all the way into their bodies. The earth was concealed by fog; lakes, hills and forests flowed together in a blurred jumble, and the signposts could not be made out. The trip went slower and slower, the happy shouts fell silent, and the boy felt the cold more and more bitterly.
But he still kept up his courage, as long as he was riding through the air. And in the afternoon, when they settled down under a little knotty pine tree out in the middle of a large bog, where everything was wet and everything was cold, where some tufts were covered with snow and others were sticking up naked out of a pool of half-melted ice, he had not felt dispirited either, but instead ran around pluckily looking for cranberries and frozen lingonberries. But then came evening and the darkness sank down so densely that even eyes like the boy’s could not see through it, and the wilderness became so strangely awful and terrifying. The boy was tucked in under the gander’s wing, but could not sleep, because he was cold and wet. And he heard so much rustling and whispering and stealthy steps and threatening voices that he felt such terror he did not know where he should go. He had to get near fire and light, if he was not going to be frightened to death.
‘What if I were to venture up to the humans just for this one night?’ the boy thought. ‘Just so I could sit by a fire and get a bite of food. I could always come back to the wild geese before sunrise.’
He crawled out from under the wing and slid down to the ground. He did not waken the gander or any of the other geese, but instead slipped away, quietly and unnoticed, over the bog.
He did not know exactly where in the world he was, if it was in Skåne, in Småland or in Blekinge. But right before he had come down on the bog he had seen a glimpse of a large village and now he directed his steps there. It did not take long either before he found a road and soon he was on the village street, which was long and tree-lined and edged with farm after farm.
The boy had come to one of the large villages with a church that are so common higher up in the country, but which you don’t see at all down on the plain.
The houses were wooden and very neatly built. Most had gables and front
ispieces lined with carved edging and glassed-in porches with an occasional coloured pane. The walls were covered with light oil paint, doors and windowsills gleamed in blue and green or even in red. While the boy walked, observing the houses, he heard all the way out on the road how the people inside the warm cottages were talking and laughing. He could not make out the words, but he thought it was lovely to hear human voices. ‘I really wonder what they would say if I pounded on the door and asked to be let in?’ he thought.
This was what he intended to do, but now his fear of the dark had passed, since he saw the illuminated windows. Instead he again felt that shyness that always came over him in the vicinity of humans. ‘I’ll look around the village a while longer,’ he thought, ‘before I ask to come in to someone’s house.’
On one house there was a balcony. And just as the boy walked past, the balcony doors were opened and a yellow light streamed out through fine, light curtains. Then a beautiful young woman came out on the balcony and leaned over the railing. ‘It’s raining, soon it will be spring,’ she said. When the boy saw her, he felt a strange anxiety. It was as if he wanted to cry. For the first time he became a bit worried that he had cut himself off from the humans.
Shortly after that he went past a store. Outside the store stood a red seed-drill machine. He stopped and looked at it and finally crept up on to the driver’s seat and sat down there. Once he was there, he smacked his lips and pretended he was driving. He thought about how much fun it would be to get to drive such a fine machine across a field. For a moment he forgot what he was like now, but then he remembered, and then he quickly jumped down from the machine. He felt even more worried. Someone who always had to live among animals would probably miss out on a lot. Humans were ever so remarkable and capable.
The Wonderful Adventure of Nils Holgersson Page 9