Travelling Light

by Tove Jansson

“Don’t you believe me? It happens.” Tom sat down and rested his chin in his hand. “I don’t want to scare you, but sometimes they find human skeletons on beaches around here. Best not to think about it. They probably just sat there waiting and waiting and no one ever came.”

  “But he’s got a map with him,” Elis said.

  “Does he? Come to think of it, he left the charts at home… and that could be bad.” Tom sighed and glanced quickly at Elis through his fingers. He had a violent urge to giggle. How’s this for one of your catastrophes? And I can make it worse. You wait and see.

  Elis went and sat down behind a rock. The sun wandered on toward afternoon, the blackflies sang, and the seabirds quietly returned to their nests.

  When Tom got hungry, he had a good idea. He went to Elis and told him they had a problem. They had nothing to eat – just like all those poor people all over the world. “Of course, you can eat crowberries,” he said. “But they can give you a really bad stomachache. And, if you’re thirsty there’s a rock pool right behind you, although the water’s so salty and stagnant that even the water lice have died.” He decided to improve on this. “You can strain off their dead bodies through your teeth,” he said, but he knew at once he was overdoing it, getting too personal, losing his touch. Elis gave him a long, sharp look and turned away.

  The sea-water was taking on a deeper tone. The hours passed; Axel should have been back long ago. And there was nothing to do but scare Elis. Why had Axel not come? What did he mean by making him uneasy and wasting his whole day this way? It was starting to feel ominous, and he didn’t like it.

  “Elis!” he yelled. “Where are you? Come here a minute!”

  Elis came and looked at him furtively.

  “Listen,” said Tom, “there’s something I should tell you. This weather’s not normal. There’s a storm coming up.”

  “It’s absolutely calm,” said Elis, distrustful.

  “The eye of the storm,” Tom explained. “You know nothing about the sea. It can happen suddenly – bang. Waves can sweep over the whole island.”

  “But what about the lighthouse?”

  “It’s locked. We can’t get in.” Tom couldn’t stop. “And snakes come out at night…”

  “You’re making it up.”

  “Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not. What are you going to do?”

  Elis said slowly, “You don’t like me.”

  * * *

  The worst part of all was having nothing to do. Tom took out his sheath knife and went in among the windfalls to cut some twigs for a hut like the ones he used to build for Oswald when they went on expeditions. He whittled and worked until sweat ran down his neck, and it was all completely pointless, but he couldn’t stand Elis looking at him all the time, and it was getting on towards evening and still no boat… And now Elis wanted to know if he was making a distress signal.

  “No! Anyway we don’t have any matches.” Tom lifted the roof section of his hut and anchored it in the thicket. It was totally stupid, the whole thing was stupid, and still no boat… If there was a problem with one of the beacons – no, in that case he would have turned back right away. It must be something else, something serious… And then the whole roof section collapsed and he swung round on Elis, shouting, “How do you know what it’s like when a storm comes up? You’ve never been in a storm! Everything goes dark… And you hear a strange sound coming closer and closer – and all the birds go all quiet…”

  This was clearly making an impression, so he went on. “Sometimes before a storm the water level rises, but sometimes it falls. Catastrophically! You can see how low it is! Nothing but green slime everywhere. Then the waves come in like a wall and everything gets swept away – everything!”

  “Why are you doing this?” Elis whispered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why don’t you like me?”

  “Well, why do you go on and on at me? I’m sick and tired of all of this; it’s no fun any more! Go and find somewhere to sleep.”

  “But what about the snakes? I’m scared!”

  “Oh all right, there aren’t any snakes,” Tom burst out impatiently. “There aren’t ever any snakes on these little skerries. I’m worn out! I’ve tried, I’ve tried everything I can think of, but you just don’t get any better. All you do is say weird stuff and you’re making me almost as weird as you are. And Dad hasn’t come, and he should have been here a long time ago!”

  “I’m scared,” said Elis again. “Do something… you know how to do stuff!” Suddenly he grabbed hold of Tom’s shirt and kept whining on about how scared he was. “You scared me,” he shouted. “Do something. You know how to do everything!”

  Tom tore himself free so violently that Elis was thrown backwards. He sat there on the moss staring. His big eyes had shrunk to slits and he said slowly in a very low voice, “Yes, absolutely, your father should have been here a long time ago. Why hasn’t he come? I’m sure it’s not because he can’t find us. You only said that to scare me. Something’s happened to him.”

  Elis waited a moment and then went on triumphantly, “Perhaps he’s broken his leg and he’s just lying there. And we’ll wait and wait, but he’ll never come…”

  “Bull!” said Tom, in a rage. “That sort of thing only happens in winter, when there’s ice on the rocks.” Then he suddenly remembered the time they sat waiting last autumn when Dad went out to the lighthouses with Oswald and the gas caught fire and shattered a lens right in his face, half blinding him, and he got them home as best he could, getting directions from Oswald, who just cried and cried…

  Elis went on talking, never taking his eyes off Tom’s face. “They don’t know anything back home. It gets to be late. Finally they realise that something’s happened. Does that sound right?”

  “I say you’re a sissy!” Tom yelled. “You’re scared! You’re so scared I can smell it…”

  Suddenly, with incredible speed, Elis leaped to his feet and threw himself at Tom, who only had time to see two flashing rows of small teeth behind a desperate grimace before he was hurled to the ground in a grip that was bone-hard and blind with fury. They rolled in under the evergreen thicket where the light had almost gone, and fought under a low ceiling of tangled branches – you damned summer child, you little bastard, if you let go I don’t know what I’ll do to you, I’ll hit you and keep hitting you. The skinny bony body under him seemed tense to the point of bursting; it was clear that defeat was impossible, unthinkable for either one of them. They had to keep going. They fought in total silence, soundlessly, breathlessly. Tom threw Elis aside and they separated, but they couldn’t get up because there was no room under the branches, so they crawled back together and went on fighting, it was all they could do.

  The eider hen sat quite still on her nest; she was the same colour as the ground. She did not move even when they caught sight of her and when they very carefully crept out from under the tangle of branches and went off in different directions.

  Now it was night. The western sky was still burning like a rose down at the horizon, but it was definitely night. Tom walked down toward the beach where Axel usually came ashore. His whole body was shaking wildly and he was trying not to think, not think about anything. Let it be peaceful, please, let it be peaceful. All he wanted was to sit on the slope with his clenched fists pressed hard against his eyes and let it be peaceful. After a long time, a memory burst through and he let it come and it came. It was about the time the gas had exploded in the lighthouse. Mum asked, “Axel, what did you do?” Dad said, “I crawled for a bit till I could see again a little and got Oswald into the boat and tried to calm him down. At least there was no wind and that was good. You have to take things as they come.” That’s what he said – you have to take things as they come. And then I said, “Dad can get through anything and he’s never scared.” And Dad said, “You’re wrong. I was never so scared in my life.” That’s just what he said – I was never so scared in my life.

  Now came the midnight hour
when the light in the western sky gives over to the dawn breaking from the other side. It was horribly cold. When Tom walked back in the half-light he could just make out Elis silhouetted against the sea, so he said, “He’ll be coming now. He’s been busy with something important, something he couldn’t put off.”

  “You don’t say,” Elis said.

  “I do say. And there’s no wind and that’s good. You have to take things as they come.”

  They stood a moment looking out to sea. Some gulls flew up from the headland and screamed for a while, and then it was quiet again.

  Tom said, “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll wake you when he comes.”

  * * *

  Axel came back at daybreak. First they heard the motor like a weak pulse, then it grew stronger, then the boat appeared as a little black speck on the grey morning sea and then they could see the white moustaches thrown up by the bow. Axel rounded the reef, reduced speed, and landed. He saw them standing there waiting and he knew at once. One had an improbably swollen and completely altered nose; the other could barely see out of one eye. Moreover, their clothes were torn.

  “Well, well,” said Axel. “So everything seems to be under control. Engine trouble, broken fuel line. I’m sorry about that, but you have to take things as they come. Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” said Elis.

  “Come on, then. Jump in and we’ll get home. But don’t wake the kids, they’re tired.”

  They sat down near the engine cover, where it was warmer, and Axel covered them with a tarp.

  “Here’s the lunchbag,” said Axel. “Finish the lot or Hanna will be cross. There’s coffee in the Thermos.”

  As the boat crossed the bay the sky in the east lightened and turned pink, and the first tiny glowing shard of the new sun appeared over the horizon. It was cold.

  “Don’t go to sleep just yet,” said Axel. “I’ve got something for Elis that he’s going to like. Look. Have you ever seen such a beautiful bird skeleton? You can bury it with pomp and circumstance.”

  “It’s unusually pretty,” said Elis. “And it was very kind of you to bring it to me, but I’m sorry to say I don’t think I want it.”

  And he curled up next to Tom on the floor of the boat and they both fell instantly asleep.

  A Foreign City

  MY GRANDSON AND HIS WIFE had long been trying to persuade me to go south and pay them a visit. “You need to get away from the cold and the dark,” they said, “and the sooner the better.” Meaning: before it’s too late.

  I don’t particularly like travelling, but I thought it best to accept their friendly offer and get it done. Moreover, they wanted to show off a daughter who’d come into the world a month or so earlier. No, maybe it was a year earlier. Whatever. They explained that the long flight would be too strenuous for me. They thought I should break the journey somewhere, spend the night in a comfortable hotel and continue the next day. Unnecessary. But I let them make the arrangements.

  It was already dark when we landed for my stopover.

  In the arrival lounge I realised I’d left my hat on the plane and tried to go back but they wouldn’t let me through passport control. My legs hurt; I’d been sitting still for too long. I drew a hat on the cover of my ticket but they didn’t understand and just waved me on to the next window, where I handed over all the papers my well-organised son had given me. Most had already been checked and stamped but I showed them all again to be on the safe side. I was disconcerted by this business about my hat, and in any case I hate flying. It gradually got through to me that they wanted to know how much money I had with me, so I pulled out my wallet and let them count it for themselves, then found some more in my pockets. The whole thing took a terribly long time, and by the time it was over nearly all the other passengers had vanished and I was afraid of missing the bus into town. They motioned me to another window, where I’d clearly already been. By now I was nervous and may have seemed impatient. Whatever the reason, they took me behind a counter and went through my suitcase. I had no way of explaining to them that I was only nervous because of my missing hat and my fear of missing the bus. Yes, and my insurmountable hatred of flying – well, I’ve already mentioned that.

  Finally I drew another picture of a hat, lots of hats, pointed to my head and tried to smile. They called over an elderly man who seemed very calm. He looked at me and my drawings and said something that might have been, “Don’t you understand? This gentleman has lost his hat.” At last I had the feeling I’d been understood and wasn’t the least bit surprised when they directed me to the next window, where there was a little room full of hats, gloves, umbrellas and the like. I took out my drawing and, to make things clearer, shaded in the hat with black. By now all the passengers had gone and they’d begun turning off the lights in the arrivals hall; the luggage trolleys had been rolled away and I realised they wanted to be rid of me. I pointed at a hat up on a shelf and thumped the floor with my stick. They gave me the hat; it wasn’t mine but I was so tired of the whole business I just put it on my head and signed a form. Of course, I wrote on the wrong line and had to do it all over again.

  When I finally got out of the building, the road was empty. The formless desolation so characteristic of airport surroundings stretched away on all sides. The night was cold and misty. When I listened I could hear the city far away and had an impression of absolute unreality. But I said to myself, this is absolutely no cause for alarm, this is simply an unfortunate situation that is never likely happen again. Calm down. Just wait. For a while I thought about going back and asking someone to ring me a taxi. “Taxi” must be more or less the same in all languages, and of course I could always draw a little car. But somehow I didn’t feel like going back into the dark arrivals hall. Perhaps the last plane had taken off and there were no more due to arrive that night; what did I know about their big – well, their flying machines as we called them when I was young! My legs hurt and I was very vexed. The road seemed endless, with long dark spaces between the street lamps. I remembered that they were short of electricity.

  So I waited. I began tormenting myself again with the fact that my memory is getting worse, an annoying insight that often afflicts me whenever I have to wait. And I can’t help noticing that I often repeat myself, say the same things to the same person several times and realise it only afterwards, always with a sense of shame. And words disappear as easily as hats, as easily as faces and names.

  As I stood there waiting for a taxi, a terrible realisation began to dawn on me. At first I pushed it aside, but it wouldn’t go away, and in the end I was forced to face the disagreeable fact that I’d forgotten the name of my hotel. Completely. I took out my papers and went through them all. Nothing. I spread them out on my suitcase under a streetlamp and got down on my knees so as not to miss the tiniest little scribbled note. I searched my pockets yet again. Nothing. Back home, my methodical son must have given me some sort of confirmation that the hotel had been paid for, but where had I left it – somewhere in the arrivals lounge or back on the plane? No. I’d have to remember. But the harder I cudgelled my brain for the name of the hotel, the emptier it became. And I knew it was impossible to get a hotel room in this city unless you’d booked it far in advance.

  Now I was afraid to get a taxi. I began sweating and took off the hat, which was in any case too small and pinched my head. And then, as I stood there in the uncertain light of the street lamp with this strange hat in my hand, I noticed there was a name in it; the owner had written his name in the hat. I put on my glasses; yes, unquestionably a name and an address. It was a comfort, a foothold. A genuine communication. I tried to shake off my fatigue. When I get tired, everything slips away from me. I want to be attentive, aware, decisive, not slow down and lose my way. And not repeat myself. People notice that immediately; they become polite and embarrassingly sympathetic. I know at once when I’ve been repeating myself. Unfortunately, just the tiniest bit too late… But I’ve already said that.

 
And now here came a taxi, at first far away down the long road, then nearer, headlights dimmed, it drew up and stopped in front of me. What could have been more natural than to show the driver the address in the hat? Without a word he began driving towards the city. I let my thoughts rest. It was a long way; the buildings around us were dark, and if anything the mist had grown thicker. When the car stopped I took out my wallet while he sat still, his taxi meter switched off. “Dollars,” he said finally. I handed them to him, one after another. It was quite impossible to tell when the man had received enough, he just lifted his shoulders and looked straight ahead. Rest assured that by the time I finally got out of the car with my suitcase, I was thoroughly sick and tired of the whole journey. The house in front of me was very old; it looked medieval. The square was totally deserted.

  I opened the front door and only then realised how lucky I was; it could so easily have been locked. Stairs and high corridors, numbers on the doors but no names. I changed into my strongest glasses, the ones I use for stamp collecting, and read what was written in the hat. It is so reassuring that there are people in the world who still take the trouble to write out a long address in clear handwriting. Number twelve, it said. I knocked and the door opened immediately.

  Somehow I’d expected an older man – I mean, someone who might be expected to forget a hat, but this man was very young, tall and strongly built with a mass of shiny black hair. Of course, I ought to have learned at least a couple of phrases: good evening, excuse me, I’m so sorry but I don’t speak your language… As it was, I just held the hat out to him and said, “Sorry”. He hesitated, perhaps thinking I expected him to put something in the hat, so I quickly turned it crown upwards and said “Sorry” again.

  At that he smiled and said in English, “Can I help you?”

  My relief was enormous.

  “I think this is your hat,” I said. “I’m terribly sorry, I’m afraid I took it by mistake… Look, this is your name and address, isn’t it?”