Everyone knew very well where the island was, but they did their best to mislead each other. ‘Look at those long-tailed ducks!’ voices sounded in the fog. ‘They’re flying back to the North Sea!’
‘Watch out, greylags!’ another shrieked from a different direction. ‘If you continue that way, you’ll go all the way to Rügen!’
There was, as said, no danger that the birds who were used to travelling here would let themselves be fooled into going in the wrong direction. But what made it difficult was the wild geese. The practical jokers noticed that they were not sure about the way and did everything they could to confuse them.
‘Where are you going, good folk?’ called a swan. He came right up to Akka and looked sympathetic and serious.
‘We’re travelling to Öland, but we’ve never been there before,’ said Akka. She thought that this was a bird that could be trusted.
‘That’s too bad,’ said the swan. ‘They’ve lured you astray. You’re on your way to Blekinge. Come with me now, I’ll show you the right way!’
And then he set off with them, and when he had led them so far away from the main thoroughfare that they heard no calls, he disappeared in the fog.
Now they flew around for a while completely at random. They had barely managed to find the birds again, before a duck came up to them. ‘It’s best that you settle down on the water, until the fog goes away,’ the duck said. ‘It shows that you aren’t used to finding your way while travelling.’
It cannot be denied that the rogues succeeded in making Akka dizzy. As far as the boy could tell, the wild geese flew around a long time.
‘Watch out! Don’t you see that you’re flying upside down?’ called a diver as he rushed past. The boy involuntarily took hold of the gander’s neck. That was something he had feared for a long time.
No one can say when they would have got there if a muffled rolling shot had not been heard far away.
Then Akka stuck out her neck, flapped her wings hard and hurried up. Now she had something to be guided by. The grey goose had just told her that she should not settle down at the far end of Öland’s south cape, because there was a cannon there that the humans use to shoot at the fog. Now she knew the direction and no one in the world could lure her astray.
Eleven
The South Cape of Öland
3–6 April
At the southernmost part of Öland is an old royal estate called Ottenby. It is quite a large property, extending straight across the island from shore to shore, and remarkable because it has always been a refuge for large groups of animals. In the seventeenth century, when the kings used to come over to Öland to hunt, the whole property was nothing but one large deer park. In the eighteenth century there was a stud farm where thoroughbred race-horses were raised, and a sheep farm where several hundred sheep were kept. In our days at Ottenby there are neither thoroughbreds nor sheep. Living there in their place are several large herds of young horses, which will be used by our cavalry regiments.
There is surely no farm in the whole country that can be a better place for animals to stay. Along the east coast lies the old sheep meadow, which is ten kilometres long, the largest meadow on all of Öland, where the animals can graze and play and roll over and over as free as in the wild. And there is the renowned Ottenby grove with the hundred-year-old oaks, which provide shade from the sun and shelter from the harsh Öland wind. And then you can’t forget the long Ottenby wall, which goes from shore to shore and divides Ottenby from the rest of the island, so that the animals know how far the old royal estate extends and can avoid going on to other land, where they are not as well protected.
But it is not enough that there are plenty of domestic animals at Ottenby. You might almost believe that the wild animals also had a sense that on an old crown estate animals both wild and domestic ought to be able to count on kindness and protection, and that is why they venture there in such large groups. Besides the fact that deer are still there from the old breed and that hares and shelducks and partridges love living there, in the spring and late summer it constitutes a resting place for many thousands of migratory birds. Mainly it is on the marshy eastern shore below the sheep meadow that the migratory birds settle down to graze and rest.
When the wild geese and Nils Holgersson had finally found their way to Öland, like all the others they landed on the shore below the sheep meadow. The fog was dense over the island as it had been over the sea. But the boy was still astonished at all the birds that he could make out on the little patch of shore that he could look out over.
It was a low seashore with stones and pools of water and a lot of washed-up seaweed. If the boy could have chosen, he never would have thought about setting down there, but the birds seemed to consider it a real paradise. Ducks and grey geese walked and grazed on the meadow, sandpipers and other shore birds ran closer to the water. The divers were in the sea, fishing, but the most life and movement was on the long banks of seaweed along the coast. There the birds stood close beside each other and gathered up larvae, of which there must have been a limitless quantity, because no complaints were heard about lack of food.
The great majority would travel on and had settled down simply to get some rest, and as soon as the leader of a flock thought that his comrades had revived sufficiently, he said, ‘If you’re ready, then we should probably take off.’
‘No, wait, wait! We’re far from being full yet,’ the followers said.
‘You don’t think I intend to let you eat so much that you can’t move, do you?’ said the leader, flapping his wings and setting off. But it happened more than once that he had to turn around, because he could not get the others to follow him.
Beyond the outermost seaweed banks was a flock of swans. They did not care to go ashore, but instead they rested by rocking on the water. Now and then they stuck their necks down and gathered food from the seabed. When they got hold of something really good, they let out loud shouts, which sounded like trumpet blasts.
When the boy heard that there were swans on the shoals, he hurried out on the seaweed banks. He had never seen wild swans close up before. He was lucky, so that he came right up to them.
The boy was not the only one who had heard the swans. Wild geese and grey geese and ducks and divers all swam out between the banks, placing themselves like a ring around the flock of swans and staring at them. The swans puffed up their feathers, raised their wings like sails and lifted their necks high in the air. Sometimes one or two of them swam up to a goose or black-throated diver or sea duck and said a few words. And then it seemed as if the one addressed hardly dared to raise his beak to answer.
But then there was a red-throated diver, a little black mischief-maker, who could not put up with all this solemnity. He dived suddenly and disappeared under the surface of the water. Right after that one of the swans let out a shriek and swam away so quickly that the water foamed. Then he stopped and started looking majestic again. But soon another shrieked the same as the first, and then a third shrieked.
Now the red-throated diver was unable to stay underwater any longer and he appeared on the surface, small and black and spiteful. The swans rushed towards him, but when they saw what a little wretch he was, they turned abruptly, as if they considered themselves too good to quarrel with him. Then the red-throated diver dived again and nipped them on the feet. It must have hurt, and the worst thing was that they could not maintain their dignity. Suddenly they settled the matter. They started whipping the air with their wings so that it thundered, moved ahead a long way as if running on the water, finally got air under their wings and took off.
When the swans were gone, their absence was greatly felt, and t
he ones who had been amused by the red-throated diver’s pranks now criticized him for his insolence.
The boy went back towards land. There he placed himself to watch how the sandpipers played. They resembled tiny, tiny cranes; like them they had small bodies, long legs, long necks and made light, hovering movements, but they were not grey, but brown. They stood in a long row on the shore, where it was washed by the waves. As soon as a wave streamed in, the whole row ran backwards. As soon as it was drawn out, they followed. And they kept on like that for hours.
The showiest of all the birds were the shelducks. They were probably related to common ducks, because like them they had a heavy, squat body, broad beak and webbed feet, but they were much more splendidly dressed up. Their plumage itself was white; around their necks they wore a broad yellow band; the speculum shone in green, red and black; the wing tips were black; and the heads were black green and changed like silk.
As soon as any of them appeared on the shore, the other birds said, ‘Look at them! They know how to dress up!’
‘If they weren’t so showy, they wouldn’t need to dig their nests down into the ground, instead they could stay in the daylight like anyone else,’ said a brown mallard.
‘However hard they try, they’re never going to get anything out with a beak like that,’ said a grey goose. And this was really true. The shelducks had a large bump on the root of the beak that spoiled their appearance.
Beyond the shore, seagulls and terns passed over the water and fished. ‘What kind of fish are you bringing up?’ a wild goose asked.
‘It’s stickleback. Öland’s stickleback. It’s the best stickleback in the world,’ a gull said. ‘Would you like a taste?’ And he flew towards the goose with his mouth full of the small fish and wanted to give her some.
‘Yuck! Do you think I want to eat anything so disgusting?’
The next morning it was still just as foggy. The wild geese grazed on the meadow, but the boy had gone down to the shore to gather mussels. There were plenty of them, and when he thought that the next day perhaps he would be at a place where he could not get any food at all, he decided that he would try to make himself a little pouch that he could fill with mussels. On the meadow he found old sedge that was tough and strong, and from it he started weaving a knapsack. He worked on this for several hours, but he was very satisfied with it when it was finished.
At noon all the wild geese came running and asked if he had seen the white gander. ‘No, he hasn’t been with me,’ said the boy.
‘We had him with us until just recently,’ said Akka, ‘but now we don’t know where he is.’
The boy jumped up and was terribly afraid. He asked if any fox or eagle had appeared, or if any human had been seen in the area. But no one had noticed anything dangerous. The gander had probably simply got lost in the fog.
But however the white gander had got lost, it was just as great a misfortune for the boy and he took off at once to search for him. The fog protected him, so that he could run unseen anywhere at all, but it also prevented him from seeing. He ran south along the coast all the way down to the lighthouse and the mist cannon on the outermost cape of the island. Everywhere was the same throng of birds, but no gander. He ventured up to Ottenby Farm, and he searched through every one of the old hollow oaks in Ottenby Grove, but found no trace of the gander.
He searched until it started to get dark. Then he had to make his way back to the eastern shore. He walked with heavy steps and was in a dreadfully gloomy mood. He did not know what would become of him if he did not find the gander. There was no one he needed more.
But as he wandered across the sheep meadow, what kind of large white object was coming towards him in the fog, if not the gander? He was completely unscathed and very happy that he had finally been able to make his way back to the others. The fog made him so dizzy, he said, that he had walked around the big meadow all day. The boy threw his arms around his neck in happiness and asked him to watch what he was doing and not go away from the others. And he promised firmly that he would never do so again. No, never again.
But the next morning, when the boy went down to the water’s edge to look for mussels, the geese came running and asked if he had seen the gander.
No, he had certainly not. Yes, the gander was gone again. He had got lost in the fog in the same way as the day before.
The boy ran off in great dismay and started searching. He found a place where the Ottenby wall was so crumbling that he could climb over it. Then he walked around both down at the water’s edge, which gradually widened and became so large that there was room for fields and meadows and farms, and up on the flat highland that occupied the middle of the island, where there were no buildings other than windmills, and where the ground cover was so thin that the white limestone was visible below.
He could not find the gander, however, and as evening approached and the boy had to return to the shore, he could only believe that his travelling companion was lost. He was so dispirited that he did not know what he should do.
He had already climbed over the wall again, when he heard a stone slide down right beside him. When he turned around to see what it was, he thought he could make out something moving on a pile of stones by the wall. He crept closer and then saw the white gander come laboriously up the pile of stones with several large root bundles in his mouth. The gander did not see the boy and the boy did not call to him, but instead thought that he should first find out why the gander disappeared like this again and again.
He soon found out the reason too. Up on the mound of stones was a young grey goose, who shouted with joy when the gander came. The boy sneaked closer, so that he heard what they said, and then found out that one of the grey goose’s wings was injured so that she could not fly, and that her flock had departed and left her behind. She had been close to dying from hunger when the day before the white gander heard her call and found her. Ever since he had been occupied with carrying food to her. Both of them hoped that she would get healthy before he left the island, but she could still neither fly nor walk. She was very distressed about this, but he consoled her that he would not be leaving for a long time. At last he bade her good night and promised he would come back the next day.
The boy let the gander go, and as soon as he was gone, he in turn sneaked up to the mound of stones. He was angry that he had been fooled and now he wanted to tell that grey goose that the gander was his property. He was going to take the boy up to Lapland, and there could be no talk of him staying here for her sake. But now when he saw the young goose close up, he understood both why the gander had carried food for her for two days and why he had not wanted to tell anyone that he was helping her. She had the most beautiful little head, her plumage was like soft silk, and her eyes were gentle and pleading.
When she saw the boy she wanted to run away. But her left wing was out of joint and dragged against the ground, so that it obstructed all her movements.
‘You shouldn’t be afraid of me,’ the boy said, not looking angry at all, as he had intended to. ‘I am Thumbkin, Martin Gander’s travelling companion,’ he continued. And then he stood there not knowing what he should say.
Sometimes there is something about an animal that makes you wonder what kind of being they are. You almost feel afraid that they could be a transformed human. There was something like that about the grey goose. As soon as Thumbkin said who he was, she lowered her neck and her head very gracefully before him and said in a voice so beautiful that the boy could not believe it was a goose speaking, ‘I am very happy that you have come here to assist me. The white gander has told me that no one is as wise and as good as you.’
She said this with su
ch dignity that the boy became very shy. ‘This can’t be a bird,’ he said. ‘This must be an enchanted princess.’
He had a great desire to help her and stuck his little hands under her feathers and felt along the wing-bone. The bone was not broken, but there was something out of order with the joint. He got his finger down in an empty joint socket. ‘Watch out now!’ he said, took firm hold of the bone shaft and set it in where it should be. He did this very fast and well, considering it was the first time he had attempted something like that, but it must have hurt a lot, because the poor young goose let out a single shrill shriek, and then she sank down among the stones without giving any sign of life.
The boy was terribly frightened. He had wanted to help her, but now she was dead. He took a long leap from the mound of stones and ran away. He thought it was as if he had killed a human.
The next morning was clear and free of fog and Akka said that now they would continue the journey. All the others were willing to leave, but the white gander made objections. The boy understood that he did not want to leave the grey goose. But Akka did not listen to him and took off.
The boy jumped up on the gander’s back and the white bird followed the flock, though slowly and unwillingly. The boy was really happy that they could leave the island. He had pangs of conscience about the grey goose and did not want to tell the gander what had happened when he tried to treat her. It was probably best if Martin Gander never found out, he thought. At the same time he wondered that the white bird had the heart to leave the grey goose.
But suddenly the gander turned. The thought of the young goose was too much for him. Never mind the Lapland journey, he could not follow the others when he knew that she was lying alone and sick and would starve to death.
The Wonderful Adventure of Nils Holgersson Page 13