Read Online The Summer Book by Tove Jansson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tove Jansson
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shouted. “He doesn’t want anything to eat! We have to get started right away. We’re supposed to put on warm clothes and he’s in a terrible rush!”
Grandmother staggered to her feet and found her sweater and her warm trousers and her walking stick and at the last minute stuffed the Lupatro in her pocket. The others were running back and forth, and she could hear Eriksson’s motor running down at the shore. It was lighter outside. The wind had gone over to the west and there was a fine, drizzling rain. Suddenly Grandmother was wide awake. She walked down to the water alone and climbed aboard. Eriksson didn’t greet her. He was keeping a sharp watch out to sea, and not a word was spoken as they set off. Grandmother sat on the floor. As the boat moved along, she saw the rising and falling sea in brief glimpses over the railing, and she noticed the first Midsummer bonfires being lit along the coast to the north. There were not very many, and they were barely visible through the rain and fog.
Eriksson headed straight south for Outer Skerry. There were a lot of other boats going the same way. More and more of them appeared out of the darkness, like shadows. Wooden crates with a heavy load of lovely rounded bottles were bobbing on the grey sea with only their upper edges showing black against the choppy water. Black, too, were the boats that sailed in at full speed, slowed down to haul the crates aboard, and then swept on again. The salvage went on like a neatly balanced dance. The Coast Guard were driving about in their powerful boats and salvaging what they could, turning a blind eye to everyone else.
All the boats in the area were out at sea, ignoring one another. Eriksson held the rudder, and Sophia’s father hung over the rail and lifted the crates on board. They stepped up the pace, cutting down on each motion so as not to lose a second, until finally they were working together in such perfect harmony with the moving boat that it was a joy to watch. Grandmother watched it, and appreciated and remembered. And all the time, there seemed to be more and more of this Midsummer bounty tossing in the waves around the Gulf of Finland. Off towards the mainland a few feeble rockets rose in the air, dreamers shooting their arrows of light against the grey Midsummer sky. Sophia had fallen asleep.
Everything was salvaged, some by the right hands and some by the wrong, but nothing was simply lost. Towards morning the makeshift fleet split up. The boats floated farther and farther apart, each one setting off by itself to its own home. By dawn, the sea was empty. The wind died. The rain stopped. A clear and lovely Midsummer morning arranged its colours in the sky, and it was very cold. When Eriksson landed at the island, the terns began to scream. He left the motor running and set off again as soon as the others had climbed out.
For a while, it seemed to Papa that Eriksson might have shared the booty, but that was a hasty, passing thought. He made sandwiches for everyone and dragged Eriksson’s box of fireworks out onto the veranda. He put the rockets in their launching cradles. The first one wouldn’t light, nor the second. None of them would light; they had all been ruined by the water. Only the very last one went off and sailed up towards the sunrise in a shower of blue stars. The terns started screaming again, and that was Midsummer.
Eriksson had sailed back south to make sure nothing had been missed.
The Tent
S OPHIA’S GRANDMOTHER HAD BEEN a Scout leader when she was young, and, in fact, it was thanks to her that little girls were even allowed to be Scouts in those days. The girls never forgot what good times they had had, and they often wrote to Grandmother and reminded her of this or that incident, or quoted a verse of some song they used to sing around the campfire. It all seemed a little out of date to Grandmother now, and she thought the old girls were being just a bit sentimental, but she would think
Grandmother staggered to her feet and found her sweater and her warm trousers and her walking stick and at the last minute stuffed the Lupatro in her pocket. The others were running back and forth, and she could hear Eriksson’s motor running down at the shore. It was lighter outside. The wind had gone over to the west and there was a fine, drizzling rain. Suddenly Grandmother was wide awake. She walked down to the water alone and climbed aboard. Eriksson didn’t greet her. He was keeping a sharp watch out to sea, and not a word was spoken as they set off. Grandmother sat on the floor. As the boat moved along, she saw the rising and falling sea in brief glimpses over the railing, and she noticed the first Midsummer bonfires being lit along the coast to the north. There were not very many, and they were barely visible through the rain and fog.
Eriksson headed straight south for Outer Skerry. There were a lot of other boats going the same way. More and more of them appeared out of the darkness, like shadows. Wooden crates with a heavy load of lovely rounded bottles were bobbing on the grey sea with only their upper edges showing black against the choppy water. Black, too, were the boats that sailed in at full speed, slowed down to haul the crates aboard, and then swept on again. The salvage went on like a neatly balanced dance. The Coast Guard were driving about in their powerful boats and salvaging what they could, turning a blind eye to everyone else.
All the boats in the area were out at sea, ignoring one another. Eriksson held the rudder, and Sophia’s father hung over the rail and lifted the crates on board. They stepped up the pace, cutting down on each motion so as not to lose a second, until finally they were working together in such perfect harmony with the moving boat that it was a joy to watch. Grandmother watched it, and appreciated and remembered. And all the time, there seemed to be more and more of this Midsummer bounty tossing in the waves around the Gulf of Finland. Off towards the mainland a few feeble rockets rose in the air, dreamers shooting their arrows of light against the grey Midsummer sky. Sophia had fallen asleep.
Everything was salvaged, some by the right hands and some by the wrong, but nothing was simply lost. Towards morning the makeshift fleet split up. The boats floated farther and farther apart, each one setting off by itself to its own home. By dawn, the sea was empty. The wind died. The rain stopped. A clear and lovely Midsummer morning arranged its colours in the sky, and it was very cold. When Eriksson landed at the island, the terns began to scream. He left the motor running and set off again as soon as the others had climbed out.
For a while, it seemed to Papa that Eriksson might have shared the booty, but that was a hasty, passing thought. He made sandwiches for everyone and dragged Eriksson’s box of fireworks out onto the veranda. He put the rockets in their launching cradles. The first one wouldn’t light, nor the second. None of them would light; they had all been ruined by the water. Only the very last one went off and sailed up towards the sunrise in a shower of blue stars. The terns started screaming again, and that was Midsummer.
Eriksson had sailed back south to make sure nothing had been missed.
The Tent
S OPHIA’S GRANDMOTHER HAD BEEN a Scout leader when she was young, and, in fact, it was thanks to her that little girls were even allowed to be Scouts in those days. The girls never forgot what good times they had had, and they often wrote to Grandmother and reminded her of this or that incident, or quoted a verse of some song they used to sing around the campfire. It all seemed a little out of date to Grandmother now, and she thought the old girls were being just a bit sentimental, but she would think
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