Her father nodded, but he looked a little worried. Perhaps he thought it was going a little too far to bring in Karl and Anna-Greta’s bungalow at this stage.
Tjorven thought so too. She thought the whole thing had gone quite far enough. That Lotte, sitting there on the steps of Carpenter’s Cottage as if the whole house belonged to her!
Tjorven went and stood in front of her. “Lotte, do you know what?” she said. “I think you’re a bongalo yourself, you big fat thing!”
Lotte realized at once that she had made an enemy. And not only one. All those children who were standing staring at her were her enemies. But she didn’t care. On the contrary, she enjoyed it, for she was confident of her superiority. It was her father who could decide whether these children should be allowed to live here or not, so they had better behave. They needn’t glare at her like that as if she had no right to be there.
“I suppose people have the right to buy places if they want,” she said to no one in particular, looking straight ahead of her.
“Of course,” said Teddy. “And build bungalows like Karl and Anna-Greta’s. Go ahead by all means!”
“This old rubbish dump can easily be torn down,” said Freddy. “Just you try!”
Teddy and Freddy had arrived as soon as they heard what was happening. In the shop they knew in some supernatural way all that happened on the island almost before it had happened, and Teddy and Freddy wanted to be with their friends in their hour of need. What were friends for otherwise? Never had they seen Johan and Niklas so depressed and gloomy. And Pelle—he was still sitting at the breakfast table, his face white as chalk, and beside him sat Malin. Her arm was around Pelle and she looked quite pale too. It was all quite unbearable and then that snobby girl had to start shouting about building bungalows. Was it any wonder Teddy and Freddy were furious?
“What is a bongalo?” asked Tjorven of her older and wiser sisters.
“A crazy person, obviously,” said Freddy.
“Someone absolutely completely crazy, just like her!” said Teddy, jerking her thumb toward Lotte. It was terrible to think that perhaps they would have her as a neighbor instead of Johan and Niklas and Pelle and Malin and Uncle Melker.
“It might be a good idea to take a look inside,” said Mr. Karlberg, and for the first time he turned toward Melker. “Oh, with your permission of course, Mr. Melkerson,” he said, managing to sound both pleasant and superior.
“Yes, of course,” Mr. Melkerson consented. How could he do otherwise? He was a beaten man and he knew it, but he went in with them and so did Malin. Her father must not be left alone with these two men who wanted to take his Carpenter’s Cottage away from him. And anyhow she would not dream of allowing anyone to wander around their home and criticize everything they had loved so much. It was a home for people to live in and enjoy, and it was theirs, Malin knew that. Carpenter’s Cottage and the Melkersons belonged to each other. But now other people had arrived, who only noticed that the floors shook and the windows were a little crooked and there were patches of damp on the ceiling in one or two places. Poor old Carpenter’s Cottage! Malin felt that she had to protect it, and so she stood holding the door open for the unbidden guests and for her father. She gave him a secret, comforting nudge and he looked at her with a grateful, apologetic, miserable smile.
Lotte did not go in with them. The house was to be pulled down if Daddy bought it and she wanted to stay out here with the children and enjoy her superiority. There were six of them, but it would be exciting to see if she could manage six enemies at once. She usually managed to deal with situations like this pretty well, for she was sure of herself. It had never been difficult for her to make enemies, so she had had plenty of practice. Besides, she had Missie, her poodle, so she was not quite alone, and Missie at any rate thought exactly as she did, that Lotte Karlberg was something very grand and important. It strengthened her to feel Missie’s support.
She held the little poodle in her arms so that she would not go for Pelle’s puppy, and then, humming, she walked around the house, as if to inspect it, although her real motive was to see how far she could go in annoying those children, who stood there staring at her in absolute silence. It took courage to walk up and down in front of their hostile eyes and she could never have done it if she had not felt so absolutely superior. She did not need to bother about six country children.
“Missie, darling,” she said, “will you like living here in the summer . . . in a new house, of course, not in this rickety dump?”
She grabbed hold of a window to show Missie how rickety it was, but that window belonged to the larder and it was loose. The Melkerson children knew that, but Lotte did not and she was a little taken aback when she suddenly found herself standing with the window in her hand. She made totally useless efforts to put it back until Niklas came and took it from her. He fixed it up and said coldly, “You could at least wait to begin tearing down the rickety old dump until you’ve bought it.”
Lotte stuck her nose in the air. She did not feel quite as happy as before and to hide her embarrassment she tried to get into conversation with Pelle. He had a dog too, and dogs were something you could always talk about.
“I see you’ve got a cocker spaniel,” she said. Pelle did not answer. What he had was no business of hers and just now he was in such despair that it was hardly his business either.
“They’re very sweet, of course, but not particularly intelligent,” said Lotte. “Poodles are much more intelligent.”
Pelle remained silent, which made Lotte feel awkward. All this silence was making her feel unsure of herself so she turned to Tjorven instead.
“You would like to have a little dog too, I expect, wouldn’t you?”
Tjorven had stared at Lotte with more hostility than anyone, but now she smiled broadly. “I’ve got a little dog. Would you like to see him?”
Lotte shook her head. “No, don’t bring another dog. Missie will only get angry and go for him.”
“Then she’s a bongalo too,” said Tjorven. “But I bet you she wouldn’t go for my dog.”
“That’s what you think,” said Lotte. “You don’t know Missie.”
“Would you like to bet?” said Tjorven. “Bet you a crown!” She held up one of the coins that Lotte’s father had given her.
“All right,” said Lotte. “But you’ll only have yourself to blame.”
She noticed that a sort of sigh of expectation went through the crowd of children. Oh, well, if they were really so keen on dogfights, she would show them! Missie was certainly small but she was very quick-tempered and she often got herself into fights with dogs much bigger than herself—and smaller too, of course. The ladies in Norrtälje called her “the terror of the town.” “She goes around as if she thought she were a great Dane,” one of them had said only yesterday, when Missie had gone for her big boxer. So if these brats wanted to see a dogfight, they could. Missie always won.
“Keep your puppy out of the way,” said Lotte to Pelle. “I’m letting Missie go!” And she did. She put Missie on the ground, and then all they had to do was wait for the dog to attack.
Bosun, back from his walk, was lying asleep behind the lilac hedge, but he got up willingly when Tjorven woke him. He rose to his feet and in all his towering hugeness he came around the corner.
There was a shriek. It came from Missie’s owner. Missie herself stood stock-still for one dreadful moment, looking at the monster that was approaching. Then she gave a howl and raced out of the gate like a streak of white smoke.
Bosun looked after her in surprise. Why was she in such a hurry? She might at least have said how-do-you-do. Bosun himself, polite dog that he was, came forward to greet Lotte, but Lotte gave another shriek and ran behind the whitebeam.
“Take your dog away,” she shouted wildly. “Take him away!”
“What are you screaming about?” said Tjorven. “Bosun doesn’t attack anyone. He’s not a bongalo!”
Johan was lying on his face in th
e grass, groaning with laughter. He might just as easily have been crying. In fact that would have been more understandable, but now he was laughing and he could not stop.
“Oh, Tjorven!” he moaned. “Oh, Tjorven!”
Tjorven gave him a surprised glance, but then she turned to Lotte. “I won! You owe me a crown!”
Lotte had emerged from behind the tree when she heard that Bosun was not dangerous, but now she was both shy and angry and did not want to stay with the children any more. Grudgingly, she fished out her purse and gave Tjorven her crown.
“Thank you,” said Tjorven. She stood with her head on one side, gazing at Lotte. “People like you shouldn’t make bets,” she said. “That’s only for people like me and Uncle Melker.”
Lotte looked impatiently toward the door of the Carpenter’s Cottage. Wasn’t her father ever coming so that they could go? She did not want to stay here any longer.
“Guess what Uncle Melker had a bet about once,” said Tjorven. “Although it was years ago, of course.”
Lotte was not interested about what Uncle Melker had done years ago, but Tjorven did not worry about that. “He bet with a friend that he wouldn’t eat for fourteen days or sleep for fourteen nights. What do you think of that?”
“Crazy,” said Lotte. “He couldn’t.”
“Yes, he could,” said Tjorven dramatically. “Because he slept in the day and ate at night! What do you say now?”
“Oh, Tjorven,” groaned Johan.
But then he stopped laughing for Mr. Karlberg had come out with Mattsson, and Johan had heard the awful thing he said. All of them had heard.
“The house is worthless, but I’ll buy it nevertheless. I don’t think one could go wrong with this site. I’ll just talk it over with my wife,” he said. “Shall we arrange that I come to your office tomorrow at four o’clock? Would that suit you?”
“Splendid,” said Mattsson.
They all sat in the kitchen of Carpenter’s Cottage that evening, the Grankvists and the Melkersons.
They had sat there so many evenings but they had never been so depressed or subdued before. For what could they say? Melker was silent. He could not speak because of the awful ache in his chest. Nisse and Marta looked shyly at him. They had tried to convey to him how sorry they were about it all and how they would miss him and his family, but Melker looked so upset that they gave up. Now they sat in silence, while the summer dusk sank mercifully over the kitchen. In its darkness everyone could devote himself to his gloomy thoughts, quite undisturbed.
What a strange summer, thought Malin. She remembered the first one as calm, peaceful, and uneventful. But what had happened to this one? At one moment Petter, bringing complete and unbounded happiness; the next, tears and despair. First the business of Pelle and Yoka and now this last bitter, unendurable affair, which would be the end of everything. Yes, it was truly a bitter end!
Tjorven lay on the floor with Bosun beside her, and Pelle sat with his back against the woodbin and Yum-yum on his knee. As far as Pelle was concerned, life, even in the ordinary way, was something of a switchback ride, with enormous jerks between what was fun and what was sad, and just now, in spite of Yum-yum, he was as low as he could possibly be.
Worst of all was that Daddy was in such despair. He could endure anything but seeing Daddy so sad. Or Malin. Or Johan or Niklas. They must not be so miserable. Pelle could not bear it. He held Yum-yum against his cheek and sought a little comfort from his warmth and softness, but it did not help much.
Tjorven was crying quietly and furiously. This morning she had been brave because she had not really understood what it was all about. Now she knew and it was enough to make one burst! She was very sorry for herself too. Why should people make such a muddle of things? First it was Westerman, and now this old Karlberg and his stupid Lotte. To blazes with all of them. Poor Pelle, she wanted to give him something to make him happy. She had no seal to give this time. She had nothing.
Then she heard Freddy say, over in her corner, “Money, money, money. It’s not fair that it should mean so much. Blast Karlberg!”
And suddenly Tjorven remembered. Who didn’t have money? She had a whole pocketful of it! Why, she had three crowns!
“Pelle, I’m going to give you something,” whispered Tjorven so that no one else would hear, and she smuggled the three crowns over to him. She was almost ashamed to give it, for even if it was a very large sum of money it would not go very far when anyone was as miserable as Pelle was.
“How nice you are, Tjorven,” said Pelle in a hoarse little voice. He did not think that three crowns were all that much help when one was as unhappy as this, but it helped that Tjorven wanted to give them to him.
The secret four sat together in a corner. They were not secret any more, only gloomy. They had planned so much for this summer. They were going to repair the hut on Knorken Island again. They were going to build a new and much bigger raft. They were going to go around the islands with tents and be away for a whole week. They were going to borrow the motor and go right out to Cat Point and look at the Great Cave there, and then Björn had promised to take them on a fishing trip. And they had thought they would make a headquarters for the secret club in the attic of Carpenter’s Cottage. Of course, it was not too late even now, for Johan and Niklas were still at Carpenter’s Cottage, so they could do a good deal of what they wanted to do. But it did not seem fun any more. The desire had gone.
“It’s strange,” said Johan. “I don’t care about anything any more.”
“Neither do I,” said Niklas.
Teddy and Freddy sighed.
When the Grankvists had gone home and the boys were asleep, Melker and Malin still sat on in the kitchen. It was dark now. They could barely see anything more than the light square of the window in the wall and the glow from the fire, which shone behind the grating of the kitchen stove. They could hear the wood burning and crackling, but otherwise all was quiet. Malin remembered when Melker had lit the first fire in that stove. What a long time ago it was and what fun everything had been then!
Melker had been silent the whole evening, but now he began to speak. All the bitterness in his heart welled out of him. “I’m a failure, I know. An absolute failure. Tjorven never spoke a truer word when she said I didn’t have the right knack!”
“What nonsense,” said Malin. “You do have the right knack. I know that very well.”
“No, I haven’t,” Melker assured her. “If I had, I wouldn’t be sitting here this evening, unable to do a thing when something like this happens. A failure as an author! Why didn’t I go into business instead—then perhaps I could have bought Carpenter’s Cottage.”
“I don’t want a businessman in the house,” said Malin. “None of us does. We want you!”
Melker laughed bitterly. “Malin, what good am I to you? I can’t even give my children a summer holiday in peace. And I’ve always longed to give them so much. I’ve always wanted to give you all that is wonderful and happy in life.”
His voice broke and he could not continue.
“But that’s exactly what you have done, Daddy,” said Malin gently. “You have given us all that’s fun and wonderful in life. It has all come from you, and no one but you. You’ve cared about us, and that’s really the only thing that matters.”
Then Melker cried. It was just what Malin had said that morning. He was crying before the evening was out!
“Yes, I have,” he sobbed. “I have cared about you, if that means anything. . . .”
“It means everything,” said Malin. “I don’t want to sit here listening to any more of this nonsense about a father who’s failed—whatever happens to Carpenter’s Cottage.”
In the Uttermost Parts of the Sea
THEY ALL awoke next morning with one single thought in their minds: today at four o’clock Mr. Karlberg was going to Mattsson’s office in Norrtälje to buy Carpenter’s Cottage!
Nevertheless, they tried to behave normally and pretend that this was a per
fectly ordinary day. An ordinary day which began with breakfast at the table in the garden in the usual way and with the usual wasps buzzing round the marmalade jar. Poor wasps. Pelle was sorry for them and said, “When Mr. Karlberg tears down the cottage he’ll tear down the wasps’ nest too.”
“Yes, that’s the only way of getting rid of them,” said Melker drily. “You tear down the whole house. Why didn’t we think of that?”
A long, thoughtful silence ensued, and in the middle of it Tjorven arrived.
“Uncle Melker, are you deaf? How many more times must I tell you that you’re wanted on the telephone?”
The Melkersons had no telephone of their own but used the one in the shop. Melker put down his coffee cup and ran. Tjorven ran after him.
But she was soon back again, looking quite frightened. “Malin, I think you had better come. I think something else awful has happened. Uncle Melker seems upset.”
Malin ran and so did Johan, Niklas and Pelle.
They found their poor father standing in the middle of the shop surrounded by Nisse, Marta, Teddy and Freddy in an anxious ring. He was obviously upset, and tears were running down his cheeks. “It can’t be true. No, it can’t be true!”
“Daddy, what is it?” said Malin in despair. She felt she could not cope with any more upsets just now.
Melker sighed deeply. “It’s just that,” he said, and stopped. And then he pulled himself together. “It’s just that I have been given a State Grant for twenty-five thousand crowns.”
There was silence for a long time in the Grankvist shop. They all stood as if someone had hit them on the head. Tjorven was the only one who had any sense left. “Why have you been given that—that thing you said?”
Melker looked at her and he smiled triumphantly. “I’ll tell you exactly why, young Tjorven. It’s because I have got the right knack after all. See? What do you say to that?”
“Did they say that, those people who rang?”
Seacrow Island Page 21