The marten did not have to continue the story. He no longer had an audience. Smirre was already far away, in search of the geese.
In the meantime, Akka had flown south, while she looked for a new place to sleep. There was still a bit of daylight and in addition the half-moon was high in the sky, so that she could more or less see. By great good luck she was well at home in that area, because more than once she had been wind-driven towards Blekinge when she travelled over the Baltic in the spring.
She followed the river as long as she saw it wind ahead through the moonlit landscape like a black, shiny snake. In so doing she came all the way down to Djupafors, where the river first hides itself in an underground channel and then, clear and transparent, as if it were made of glass, rushes down in a narrow ravine, against whose bottom it breaks apart in glistening drops with foam flying around. Below the white falls were some stones, between which the water rushed away in wild rapids, and here Akka set down. This was once again a good sleeping place, especially so late in the evening when no humans are about. At sundown the geese probably could not have settled down there, because Djupafors is not in a wilderness. On one side of the falls is a wood-pulp mill, and on the other, which is steep and tree-covered, is Djupadal Park, where humans are constantly strolling around on the bare, steep paths to delight in the turbulent motion of the wild stream down in the ravine.
It was the same way here as at the previous place, that none of the travellers had the slightest thought that they had come to a beautiful, renowned place. If anything, they probably thought it was awful and dangerous to sleep on slippery, wet stones in the middle of roaring rapids. But they had to be satisfied, because they were protected from predators.
The geese fell asleep at once, but the boy was too restless to sleep, and sat beside them to watch over the gander.
In a while Smirre came running along the riverbank. He caught sight of the geese at once, where they were out in the whirling foam, and understood that he could not get at them now either. But he could not make himself abandon them. Instead he sat down on the shore and observed them. He felt very humiliated and thought that his entire reputation as a hunter was at stake.
All at once he saw an otter come crawling up out of the rapids with a fish in his mouth. Smirre went towards him, but stayed two paces away, to show that he did not want to take the prey from him. ‘You are a remarkable one, content to catch fish when there are plenty of wild geese out on the stones,’ said Smirre. He was so eager that he did not have time to choose his words as well as he usually did. The otter did not even turn his head towards the stream. He was a tramp like all otters; he had fished many times at Vombsjön and knew all about Smirre Fox. ‘I think I know how you go about getting a salmon by trickery, Smirre,’ he said.
‘I see, it’s you, Gripe,’ Smirre said happily, because he knew that this otter was a bold, skilful swimmer. ‘I’m not surprised that you don’t want to look at the wild geese, when you’re unable to get out to them.’ But the otter, who had webbed toes, a stiff tail that was as good as an oar, and fur impervious to moisture, did not want it said about him that there was a rapids he could not deal with. He turned towards the stream and as soon as he caught sight of the wild geese, he threw the fish away and rushed down the steep bank into the river.
If it had been later in the spring, so that the nightingales in Djupadal Park had been at home, they would have sung for many nights about Gripe’s struggle with the rapids. Because the otter was carried off several times by the waves and conveyed down the river, but he steadily fought his way back up again. He swam ahead in the backwater, he crawled over stones and gradually got closer to the wild geese. It was a perilous journey that deserved to be celebrated in song by the nightingales.
Smirre followed his route with his eyes as best he could. At last he saw that the otter was in the process of climbing up to the wild geese. But just then there was a shrill, wild scream. The otter fell backwards down into the water and was carried away, as if he had been a blind kitten. Immediately after that there was a hard flapping of goose wings. They took off and went away to find a different place to sleep.
The otter soon came up on land. He did not say anything and started licking one of his front paws. When Smirre mocked him because he hadn’t succeeded, he burst out, ‘There was nothing wrong with my swimming, Smirre. I made it all the way up to the geese and was about to reach them, when a little imp came running and cut me on the paw with some sharp iron. It hurt so much that I lost my footing and then the rapids took me.’
He did not need to say more. Smirre was already far away, in search of the geese.
Yet again Akka and her flock had to fly away into the night. By great good luck the moon had not gone down, and with the help of its light she succeeded in finding another of the sleeping places that she knew about in that area. She again followed the glistening river towards the south. Over Djupadal’s estate and over the dark roofs and white waterfalls of Ronneby she soared ahead without setting down. But a bit south of the city, not far from the sea, are the Ronneby mineral springs with bathhouse and well-house, with large hotels and summer lodgings for visitors. All of this is empty and deserted throughout the winter, which every bird knows, and many are the flocks of birds that seek shelter during heavy storms in the abandoned buildings’ terraces and verandas.
Here the wild geese settled down on a balcony, and as usual they fell asleep at once. The boy, on the other hand, could not sleep, because he did not want to crawl in under the gander’s wing.
The balcony faced south, so that the boy had a view of the sea. And now when he could not sleep, he sat and looked at how nice it was when sea and land met here in Blekinge.
You see, it is the case that sea and land can meet in many different ways. In many places the land comes down to the sea with flat, grassy meadows, and the sea meets the land with drift sand which it sets up in walls and dunes. It is as if they both thought so badly of each other, that they only wanted to show the worst they have. But it can also happen that when the land comes down towards the sea, it raises up a wall of rock in front of it, as if the sea were something dangerous; and when the land does that, the sea comes against it with angry breakers, whipping and roaring and striking against the rocks and looking as if it wants to tear apart the shore.
But in Blekinge it is completely different when sea and land meet. There the land splits apart in promontories and islands and islets, and the sea divides itself into fjards and bays and sounds, and perhaps it is because of this that it looks as if they are meeting in joy and concord.
Now think first and foremost about the sea! Far out it is deserted and empty and large and has nothing to do other than roll its grey waves. When it comes in towards land, it encounters the first skerry. This it takes possession of at once, tearing off everything green and making it just as bare and grey as itself. Then it meets another skerry. It does the same with this one. And yet another. Yes, it does the same with this one too. It is disrobed and plundered, as if it has fallen into the hands of pirates. But then the skerries become ever denser and then the sea must understand that the land is sending out its smallest children to move it to leniency. It becomes more and more friendly too, the farther in it comes, rolling its waves less high, subduing its storms, leaving the greenery alone in cracks and crevasses, dividing itself into small sounds and bays and at last near land becoming so harmless that small boats venture out on it. It can certainly not recognize itself, so light and friendly has it become.
And then think about the land! It is monotonous and the same almost everywhere. It consists of flat fields with an occasional meadow covered with birches between them or else of extended forest
ridges. It looks as if it only thinks about oats and turnips and potatoes and spruce and pine. Then comes a bay, which cuts far into it. It does not care about that, but instead borders it with birch and alder, as if it were an ordinary freshwater lake. Then another bay makes an entry. The land does not bother to make a fuss about this either, instead it gets the same covering as the first one. But then the fjards start to expand and break up. They split up the fields and forests, and then the land cannot avoid noticing them. ‘I think it’s the sea itself that is coming,’ says the land, and then it starts to dress up. It wreathes itself with flowers, goes up and down in hills and casts islands out into the sea. It no longer wants to hear about spruce and pine, instead it casts them aside like old everyday clothes and shows off with oak trees and linden and chestnut and with flowering meadows and becomes as grand as a country estate. And when it meets the sea, it is so transformed that it cannot recognize itself.
You cannot really see all that until it is summer, but the boy noticed anyway how mild and friendly nature was, and he started to feel calmer than earlier in the night. Then suddenly he heard a loud and awful howl from down in the bathhouse park. And when he jumped up he saw a fox standing in the white moonlight on the open area under the balcony. For Smirre had followed the geese yet again. But when he found the place where they had settled down, he understood that now it was impossible for him to get at them in any way, and then he could not keep from howling in frustration.
When the fox howled like that, old Akka, the lead goose, woke up and, although she could see almost nothing, she thought she recognized the voice. ‘Is that you, Smirre, who is out tonight?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Smirre, ‘it’s me, and now I want to ask you geese what you think about the night that I’ve arranged for you.’
‘Do you mean to say that you’re the one who sent both the marten and the otter?’ Akka asked.
‘A good deed should not be denied,’ said Smirre. ‘Once you played the goose game with me. Now I’ve started playing the fox game with you, and I am of no mind to stop, as long as a single one of you is alive, if I am forced to follow you all over the country.’
‘Smirre, you ought to think about whether it is right of you, who is armed with both tooth and claw, to persecute us, who are defenceless, in this way,’ said Akka.
Smirre thought that Akka sounded scared, and he said quickly, ‘Akka, if you want to throw that Thumbkin down to me, who has opposed me so many times, then I promise to make peace with you. I will never again persecute either you or any of yours.’
‘I cannot give you Thumbkin,’ said Akka. ‘From the youngest to the oldest of us we will gladly give our lives for his sake.’
‘If you’re so fond of him,’ said Smirre, ‘then I promise you that he will be the first among you that I take revenge on.’
Akka said no more, and after Smirre had let out a few more howls, everything was silent. The boy was still awake. Now it was Akka’s words to the fox that kept him from sleeping. He never would have thought that he would hear something so grand, that someone would risk their life for his sake. From that moment it could no longer be said of Nils Holgersson that he did not like anyone.
Nine
Karlskrona
Saturday, 2 April
It was a moonlit evening in Karlskrona, beautiful and calm. Earlier in the day it had stormed and rained, and the humans must have thought that the bad weather still continued, because hardly any of them had ventured out on to the street.
While the city was so deserted, Akka, the wild goose, and her flock came flying down towards it over the islands of Vämmön and Pantarholmen. They were out in the late evening to find a safe place to sleep in the archipelago. They could not stay on land, because they were harassed by Smirre Fox wherever they settled down.
As the boy now rode along high up in the air and looked at the sea and the archipelago spread out in front of him, he thought that everything seemed strange and spooky. The sky was no longer blue, but instead arched over him like a cover of green glass. The sea was milky white. As far as he could see small white waves were rolling with a silver shimmer at their tops. In the midst of this whiteness the numerous archipelago islands were completely coal black. Whether they were large or small, even if they were like meadows or full of cliffs, they appeared equally black. Yes, even houses and churches and windmills, which are usually white or red, were outlined in black against the green sky. The boy thought that it was as if the earth had been exchanged below him, and that he had come to another world.
He was just thinking that this night he would stay brave and not be afraid, when he saw something that really frightened him. It was a high rocky island covered with large, angular blocks, and between the black blocks were shining flecks of bright, shimmering gold. He could not keep from thinking about Maglestenen at Trolle-Ljungby, the big stone the trolls sometimes raised up on high gold pillars, and he wondered whether this was something along the same lines.
But it probably would have been all right anyway with the stones and the gold, if there hadn’t been so many monsters in the water around the island. They looked like whales and sharks and other large sea creatures, but the boy understood that it was the sea trolls who had gathered around the island and intended to crawl up on it to fight with the land trolls who lived there. And the ones on land were probably afraid, because he saw how a large giant stood at the very top of the island and raised his arms, as if in despair at all the misfortune that would befall him and his island.
The boy became more than a little terrified when he noticed that Akka started to descend right over this island. ‘No, not that! We can’t very well land there!’ he said.
But the geese continued to descend, and soon the boy was surprised at how he could have been so wrong. For one thing, the big stone blocks were nothing more than buildings. The whole island was a city, and the shining gold patches were lanterns and illuminated rows of windows. The giant that stood at the top of the island, reaching out his arms, was a church with two steep towers, and all the trolls and monsters of the sea that he thought he saw were boats and vessels of every type moored all around the island. On the side that was towards land were mostly rowboats and sloops and small coastal steamers, but on the side that faced towards the sea were armour-clad warships, some broad with enormously thick, backward-leaning chimneys, others long and narrow and shaped so that they could glide through the water like fish.
What kind of city could this be? Well, the boy could figure that out because he saw the many warships. He had been interested in ships his whole life, although he had not dealt with any other than the galleons he sailed in the ditch by the road. He knew very well that the city where there were so many warships could be none other than Karlskrona.
The boy’s grandfather had been an old sailor, and as long as he lived every day he talked about Karlskrona, about the big naval shipyard and about everything else there was to see there in the city. Here the boy felt completely at home and he was happy to be able to see everything he had heard so much about.
But he got only a glimpse of the towers and the fortifications that closed the entrance to the harbour, and of the many buildings at the shipyard, before Akka settled down on one of the flat church towers.
It was probably a safe place for anyone who wanted to get away from a fox, and the boy started to wonder if he dared to creep in under the gander’s wing for this one night. Yes, he definitely did; it would be good for him to sleep a bit. He would try to see a little more of the shipyard and the vessels when it was light.
The boy thought that it was strange that he could not stay still and wait until the morning to see the ships. He had proba
bly not slept for five minutes before he slid out from under the wing and climbed down the lightning rod and the gutters all the way to the ground.
He was soon standing on a large square that spread out in front of the church. It was paved with cobblestones and just as difficult for him to walk across as it is for big people to walk on a brush-covered meadow. Those who are used to being in the wilderness or who live far out in the country always feel anxious when they come into a city, where the buildings stand straight and stiff and the streets are open, so that each and every one can see anyone who is walking there. And it was the same way now for the boy. As he stood on the big Karlskrona square and looked at the German church and city hall and the big church he had just come down from, he wished for nothing more than to be back up on the tower with the geese.
It was fortunate that the square was completely empty. There was not a person, if you didn’t count a statue that stood there on a tall pedestal. The boy looked for a long time at the statue, which depicted a large, burly man in a three-cornered hat, long coat, knee breeches and rough shoes, and wondered what kind of person he was. He held a long stick in his hand and looked as if he was about to make use of it too, because he had a dreadfully stern face with a big, crooked nose and an ugly mouth.
‘What’s this long-lip doing here?’ the boy said at last. He had never felt so little and pitiful as that evening. He tried to cheer himself up by saying an impertinent word. Then he thought no more about the statue, but instead turned on to a broad street that led down to the sea.
But the boy had not walked far before he heard that someone was coming after him. Someone was walking behind him who stamped on the stone pavement with heavy feet and struck the ground with a tipped cane. It sounded as if the bronze fellow himself up on the square had gone out for a walk.
The Wonderful Adventure of Nils Holgersson Page 11