Forest grew relatively high up on the sides of Taberg, but the very top was bare, and from there you could see far in all directions. If you looked to the east, to the south or to the west, there was almost nothing to see other than poor highland with dark spruce forests, brown bogs, ice-covered lakes and mountain ridges turning blue. The boy could not help thinking that it was true that whoever had created this had not taken great pains with his work, but instead had hacked it out in haste. But if you looked to the north, it was quite a different thing. Here the country looked as if it had been shaped with the greatest love and care. In that direction nothing but beautiful hills, gentle valleys and winding rivers were seen up to the large Lake Vättern, which was ice-free and dazzlingly clear and shone as if it were not filled with water but with blue light.
It was just Vättern that made it so beautiful to look towards the north, because it seemed as if a blue shimmer had risen up from the lake and also spread out over the land. Groves and heights and the roofs and spires of the city of Jönköping, which was glimpsed on the shore of Vättern, were wrapped in a light blue that caressed the eye. If there were countries in heaven, they would probably also be this blue, the boy thought and felt that he had a little glimpse of what it looked like in Paradise.
When towards day the geese continued their flight, they went up the blue valley. They were in the very best spirits, shrieking and making noise, so that no one who had ears could avoid noticing them.
Now this happened to be the first really beautiful spring day they had had in this area. Up until now spring had done its work under rain and foul weather, and now when the weather had suddenly become beautiful, the humans were filled with such a longing for summer warmth and green forests that they had a hard time tending to their chores. And when the wild geese came past, free and merry, high over the earth, there was not a single person who did not drop what they were doing to watch them.
The first ones who saw the wild geese that day were the mineworkers on Taberg, who were extracting ore from the rock surface. When they heard them cackling, they stopped drilling their blasting holes, and one of them called to the birds, ‘Where are you going? Where are you going?’ The geese did not understand what he was saying, but the boy leaned out over the gander’s back and answered in their stead, ‘To where there is neither pickaxe nor hammer!’
When the mineworkers heard those words, they thought it was their own longing that made the goose cackling sound like human speech. ‘Let us go with you! Let us go with you!’ they called.
‘Not this year!’ the boy shouted. ‘Not this year!’
The wild geese followed the Taberg River down towards a lake called Munksjö, and they still made the same noise. Here on the narrow strip of land between Munksjö and Vättern was Jönköping with its large factories. The wild geese first flew over Munksjö paper mill. The midday break was just over then and large groups of workers were streaming towards the factory gate. When they heard the wild geese they stopped a moment to listen to them. ‘Where are you going? Where are you going?’ one worker called. The wild geese did not understand what he was saying, but the boy answered in their place, ‘To where there are neither machines nor boilers!’
When the workers heard this response, they thought it was their own longing that made the goose cackling sound like human speech. ‘Let us go with you!’ a whole group of them called. ‘Let us go with you!’
‘Not this year!’ the boy answered. ‘Not this year!’
Next the geese travelled over the renowned match factory on the shore of Vättern, as big as a fortress, raising its tall chimneys towards the sky. No people were moving on the courtyards, but some young female workers were sitting in a large hall, filling matchboxes. They had opened a window because of the beautiful weather, so the calls of the wild geese made their way in to them. The woman sitting closest to the window leaned out with a matchbox in her hand and called, ‘Where are you going? Where are you going?’
‘To the land where neither candles nor matches are needed!’ the boy said. The girl probably assumed that what she heard was only goose cackling, but because she thought she made out a few words, she called in response, ‘Let me go with you! Let me go with you!’
‘Not this year!’ the boy answered. ‘Not this year!’
East of the factories, Jönköping rises up on the most delightful place that any city can occupy. Narrow Lake Vättern has high, steep sand beaches both on the eastern and western side, but right to the south the sand walls are broken down, as if to make room for a large gate through which you can reach the lake. And in the middle of the gate, with hills to the right and hills to the left, with Munksjön behind it and Vättern before it, is Jönköping.
The geese travelled over the long, narrow city, making the same noise here as out in the countryside. But in the city there was no one to answer them. It was not to be expected that city-dwellers would stand out on the street and call at the wild geese.
The journey continued on towards the shore of Vättern, and in a while the geese came to the Sunna nursing home. Some of the patients had gone out on a veranda to enjoy the spring air and thus got to hear the geese cackling. ‘Where are you going? Where are you going?’ one of them asked in such a weak voice they could scarcely be heard.
‘To the land where there is neither sorrow nor sickness!’ the boy answered.
‘Let us go with you!’ the sick people said.
‘Not this year!’ the boy answered. ‘Not this year!’
When they had gone yet another stretch, they came to Huskvarna. It was in a valley. The hills stood steep and beautifully formed around it. A river came rushing down the height in long, narrow falls. Large workshops and factories were under the rock walls, while over the valley bottom workers’ homes were spread out, surrounded by garden plots, and in the middle of the valley were the schoolhouses. Just as the wild geese came along, a bell rang and a lot of children marched out, row by row. There were so many that the schoolyard was filled with them. ‘Where are you going? Where are you going?’ the children called when they heard the wild geese.
‘To where there are neither books nor lessons!’ the boy answered.
‘Take us with you!’ the children shouted. ‘Take us with you!’
‘Not this year, but next year!’ the boy shouted. ‘Not this year, but next year!’
Nineteen
The Great Bird Lake
Jarro the Mallard
On the eastern shore of Vättern is Omberg. East of Omberg is Dagsmosse, and east of Dagsmosse is the Lake Tåkern. Around Tåkern the large, level Östgöta plain spreads out.
Tåkern is a rather large lake, and it seems to have been even bigger in the past. But then the humans thought it covered much too large a portion of the fruitful plain and they tried to drain the water from it to be able to sow and harvest on the lakebed. They were not successful, however, in draining the whole lake, which was probably their intention, because it still covers a lot of ground. But after draining the lake, it became so shallow that almost nowhere is it more than a few metres deep. The beaches have become marshy, muddy meadows and all over the lake small islands of sludge stick up above the surface of the water.
Now there is one thing that likes to stand with its feet in the water, as long as it gets its body and head up in the air, and that is the reed. It cannot find a better place to grow than along the shallow shores of Tåkern and around the small sludge islands. It thrives so well that it gets to more than a man’s height and so dense that it is almost impossible to push a boat through it. It forms a broad, green enclosure around the whole lake, so that it is only accessible in a few places where people have removed the reeds
.
But if the reeds keep out the humans, they also give shelter and protection to a lot of other things. Inside the reeds there are numerous small ponds and canals with green, still water, where duckweed and pondweed flourish, and where mosquito larvae, fry and warty newts are hatched in countless swarms. And by the shores of these small ponds and canals there are a number of concealed places where seabirds can hatch their eggs and raise their chicks without being disturbed either by enemies or by food concerns.
An incredible number of birds also live in the Tåkern reeds, and more gather there year by year, as it becomes known what a fine habitat it is. The first to settle down there were the mallards, and they still live there by the thousands. But they no longer own the whole lake, instead they have to share the space with swans, grebes, coots, divers, shovelers and a whole host of others.
Tåkern is certainly the largest and finest bird lake to be found in the whole country, and the birds must count themselves fortunate as long as they have such a refuge. But it is uncertain how long they will maintain dominion over clumps of reeds and muddy shores, because the humans have not forgotten that the lake extends over a great amount of good, fertile land, and time and again proposals come up among them that they should drain it. And if these proposals were carried out, the many thousands of water birds would be forced to move from the area.
At the time when Nils Holgersson was travelling around with the wild geese, at Tåkern there was a mallard whose name was Jarro. This was a young bird who had lived only one summer, one autumn and one winter. Now it was his first spring. He had just come home from East Africa and reached Tåkern in such good time that there was still ice on the lake.
One evening when he and the other young drakes were amusing themselves by shuttling back and forth across the lake, a hunter fired a couple of shots at them and Jarro was struck in the chest. He thought he was going to die, but to prevent the man who had shot him from getting him in his power, he continued to fly as long as he possibly could. He did not think about where he was heading, he simply strove to get far away. When his strength failed him, so that he could fly no further, he was no longer over the lake. He had flown some distance over land and now sank down in front of the entrance to one of the big farms that rise up on the shores of Tåkern.
Shortly after that a young farmhand walked across the yard. He caught sight of Jarro and came and picked him up. But Jarro, who wanted nothing more than to die in peace, summoned the last of his strength and nipped the farmhand hard on the finger so that he would let him go.
Jarro did not succeed in getting free, but the good thing about that attack anyway was that the farmhand noticed that the bird was alive. He carried him into the cottage very carefully and showed him to the mistress, a young woman with a gentle face. She immediately took Jarro from the farmhand, petted him on the back and wiped away the blood that was trickling through the down on his neck. She inspected him very carefully, and when she saw how beautiful he was with his dark green, shining head, his white neckband, his brownish-red back and his blue speculum, she thought it was a shame that he should die. She quickly arranged a basket where she bedded down the bird.
Jarro had been flapping and struggling to get loose the whole time, but when he understood that the humans did not intend to kill him, he settled into the basket with a sense of satisfaction. Only now did he notice how exhausted he was from pain and loss of blood. The mistress carried the basket across the floor to place it in the corner by the stove, but even before she set it down Jarro had closed his eyes and fallen asleep.
In a while Jarro woke up, because someone was gently prodding him. When he opened his eyes he was in such great terror that he almost lost consciousness. Now he was doomed, because here stood the one who was more dangerous than humans and birds of prey. It was no less than Caesar himself, the long-haired gun dog, who was nosing him with curiosity.
How pitifully scared Jarro had been last summer, when he was still a little yellow fledgling, every time it sounded over the clumps of reeds, ‘Caesar is coming! Caesar is coming!’ When he had seen the brown-and-white-spotted dog with a mouth full of teeth come wading through the reeds, he thought he had seen Death itself. He had always hoped that he would never have to meet Caesar eye to eye.
But to his misfortune he had chanced to fall on to the very farm where Caesar lived, for now the dog was standing over him. ‘What sort of thing are you?’ he growled. ‘How did you get into the cottage? Don’t you belong down in the clumps of reeds?’
Jarro was barely able to work up the courage to answer. ‘Don’t be angry at me, Caesar, because I’ve come into the cottage!’ he said. ‘It’s not my fault. I’ve been shot. It’s the humans who put me in this basket.’
‘I see, it’s the humans who have placed you here,’ said Caesar. ‘Then it’s surely their intention to heal you, although for my part I think they would be wiser to eat you up, since you’re in their power. But in any event you are protected in the cottage. You don’t need to look so scared. We’re not at Tåkern now.’
With that, Caesar went and lay down to sleep in front of the roaring stove fire. As soon as Jarro understood that this frightful danger was past, a great fatigue came over him and he fell asleep again.
The next time Jarro woke up, he saw that a bowl of grain and water was in front of him. He was still rather sick, but he felt hungry anyway and started to eat. When the mistress saw that he was eating, she came up and petted him and looked happy. After that Jarro fell asleep again. For several days he did nothing but eat and sleep.
One morning Jarro felt so healthy that he got up out of the basket and walked along the floor. But he had not gone far before he fell over and remained lying there. Then Caesar came, opened his large mouth and took hold of him. Jarro thought naturally that the dog intended to kill him, but Caesar carried him back to the basket without injuring him. In this way Jarro gained such trust in Caesar that at the next outing in the cottage he went up to the dog and lay down beside him. After this he and Caesar became good friends, and every day Jarro lay down and slept for several hours between Caesar’s paws.
Jarro felt even greater devotion for the mistress than for Caesar. For her he did not feel the slightest fear, instead he stroked his head against her hand when she came and gave him food. When she went out of the cottage, he sighed from sorrow, and when she returned, he welcomed her back in his own language.
Jarro completely forgot how afraid he had been earlier of both dogs and humans. He thought that they were gentle and good and he loved them. He wished that he was healthy, so that he could fly down to Tåkern and tell the mallards that their old enemies were not dangerous and that they did not need to fear them at all.
He had noticed that the humans as well as Caesar had calm eyes and that it did you good to look into them. The only one in the cottage whose eyes he did not like to meet was Klorina, the cat. She did not do him any harm either, but he could not gain any confidence in her. Besides, she constantly teased him, because he loved humans. ‘You think they are caring for you because they like you,’ said Klorina. ‘Just wait until you get fat enough! Then they’ll wring your neck. I know them, I do.’
Jarro had a tender, loving heart like all birds and was unspeakably distressed when he heard this. He could not imagine that the mistress would want to wring his neck, nor could he believe any such thing about her son, the little boy who would sit for hours beside his basket and babble and chatter. He thought he understood that they both felt the same love for him as he did for them.
One day, when Jarro and Caesar were in their usual place in front of the stove, Klorina sat up on the top of the stove and started teasing the mallard.
> ‘I wonder, Jarro, what you mallards will do next year, when Tåkern is drained and turned into fields,’ Klorina said.
‘What is that you’re saying, Klorina?’ Jarro called and leaped up, quite terrified.
‘I always forget, Jarro, that you, unlike Caesar and me, don’t understand the humans’ language,’ the cat answered. ‘Otherwise you probably would have heard that the men who were in the cottage yesterday were saying that all the water would be drained out of Tåkern and that next year the lakebed would be as dry as a cottage floor. And now I’m wondering where you mallards will go.’
When Jarro heard this speech, he became so angry that he hissed like a snake. ‘You are as mean as a coot!’ he screamed at Klorina. ‘You just want to get me worked up against the humans! I don’t think they want to do any such thing. They must know that Tåkern is the mallards’ property. Why would they make so many birds homeless and unhappy? You must have made this up to frighten me. You should be torn apart by Gorgo, the eagle. The mistress should cut off your whiskers.’
But Jarro could not silence Klorina with this outburst. ‘I see, you think I’m lying,’ she said. ‘So ask Caesar! He was also in the cottage last evening. Caesar never lies.’
‘Caesar,’ said Jarro, ‘you understand the humans’ language much better than Klorina. Say that she didn’t hear right! Think how it would be if the humans drained Tåkern and transformed the lakebed to fields! Then there would no longer be pondweed or duckweed for the grown ducks and no fry or tadpoles or mosquito larvae for the ducklings. Then the clumps of reeds would vanish too, where the ducklings can now stay hidden until they can fly. All ducks would be forced to move away from here and search for another place to live. But where will they find a refuge like Tåkern? Caesar, say that Klorina didn’t hear right!’
The Wonderful Adventure of Nils Holgersson Page 21