‘Under the covers, children!’ the Mymble cried. ‘Here he comes!’
There was a crash and a sickening wrench astern. The Sea-Hound had started with the rudder.
And then followed a terrible upheaval. The Amphibian suddenly rose tail upwards and was thrown over on its back, loose sea-weed whirled around us in the churning water, and the general rush and roar drowned our wild shouts. We were thrown head over heels, all the cupboards flew open, the crockery came crashing out and was mixed on the floor with oatmeal, rice and tea, kiddies’ boots, wool, knitting needles, and the Joxter’s tobacco. And from outside came a blood-curdling, tafl-bristling howling and roaring.
Then all was silent.
Quite silent.
‘Deaimedearmedearme,’ said the Mymble. ‘How many children have I left? Count them, dearest daughter!’
But before the Mymble’s daughter had even begun her task we heard a well-known terrible voice that shouted: ‘I see! Here you are, you dish-rags! By all that’s grokely! Did you think you could give me the slip, what? Always forgetting to tell me where you’re going, aren’t you?’
‘Who’s that, now?’ the Mymble asked.
‘I’ll give you three guesses,’ said the Joxter.
And Edward the Booble thrust his head under water and looked in at us through a port-hole. We looked back at him as composedly as possible, and then we noticed a few small pieces of Sea-Hound floating about: a bit of tail and a bit of whisker and some flat pieces. Because Edward the Booble had happened to tread on him.
‘Edward! My true friend!’ Hodgkins cried.
‘We’ll never forget this! You saved us at the last moment!’ I said.
‘Give the kind gentleman a kiss, kiddies,’ said the Mymble and started to cry.
‘What’s that?’ Edward the Booble said. ‘No kiddies, please. They always get in my ears. You gnats! I’ve stubbed my toes looking for you everywhere, and you’re talking through your hats as usual.’
‘You’ve trod on the Sea-Hound!’ the Joxter cried.
‘Eh?’ said the Booble and jumped back. ‘Somebody again? Believe me, it wasn’t my fault. And I really haven’t the money for any more funerals…’
He continued angrily: ‘Anyway, why don’t you keep
your old dogs out of harm’s way! I simply refuse to pay for it’
And Edward the Booble went wading away. He looked deeply hurt. After a while he turned round and shouted: ‘I’m coming for tea in the morning. And make it strong!’
Suddenly something happened.
All the sea lit up.
‘We’re burning,’ said little My.
A million billion fishes came swimming from everywhere with blazing lanterns, pocket lights, searchlights, bull’s-eyes, bulbs and acetylene lamps. The fishing-frog carried a bracket lamp in each ear, and everybody cheered like mad.
The bleak sea became illuminated with purple, red, and chrome-yellow sea anemones, and the serpents wheeled and turned somersaults.
We sailed home in triumph, criss-crossing over the Ocean, and we never quite knew whether the lights that shone through our port-holes were stars or fishes. Toward morning we sighted our island again, and by then most of us felt rather sleepy.
CHAPTER 8
In which I give an account of the circumstances of the Muddler’s wedding, further touch on the dramatic night when I first met Moominmamma, and finally write the remarkable closing words of my Memoirs.
TEN miles (nautical) off the coast we sighted a dinghy carrying a signal of distress.
‘It’s the Autocrat,’ I said in shocked tones. ‘Do you think there can have been a revolution so early in the morning?’
‘Revolution?’ Hodgkins said and changed to full speed ahead. ‘I hope my nephew’s safe.’
‘What’s up?’ the Mymble shouted when we reached the dinghy and it drew alongside.
‘Up? Up!’ Daddy Jones replied irritably. ‘Everything’s up. I mean, wrong. You’ll have to come home at once.’
‘Have the forgotten bones extracted their revenge at last?’ asked the Island Ghost hopefully.
‘It’s your Muddler again,’ the Autocrat panted as he climbed aboard. ‘Take care of the dinghy, somebody! We came out to meet you Ourselves because We don’t trust any of Our subjects.’
‘The Muddler?’ exclaimed the Joxter.
‘Exactly,’ replied the Autocrat. ‘Of course We have nothing whatever against the marriage, but We won’t stand for seven thousand Niblings and a savage Aunt in Our kingdom.’
‘Who’s marrying?’ the Mymble asked.
‘The Muddler, silly,’ replied the Autocrat.
‘Impossible,’ Hodgkins said.
‘Impossible or not, the wedding’s today,’ Daddy Jones answered.
‘Who’s the girl?’ I cried, unable to hide my surprise.
‘A Fuzzy,’ said the King. ‘Full speed ahead, please! Well, they fell head over heels in love at first sight, and they’ve been swapping buttons and running about holding hands and being generally silly ever since, and now they’ve sent a telegram to an aunt (but the Muddler says she’s possibly eaten) and to seven thousand Niblings and invited them all to the wedding. And of course Our kingdom’s in grave danger. The Niblings eat anything! Give Us a glass of wine, please!’
‘Could it be that they’ve invited the Hemulen Aunt?’ I asked, greatly shocked, and handed the Autocrat his drink.
‘I suppose so,’ he replied. ‘An aunt with only half a snout and ill-tempered into the bargain. We are all for surprises but We like to make them Ourselves.’
We were nearing the coast.
At the end of the pier the Muddler was standing with the Fuzzy at his side.
‘Well?’ Hodgkins said and put in at the pier.
‘Excuse me!’ the Muddler cried. ‘I’m married!’
‘Me too!’ the Fuzzy said and dropped a curtsey.
‘But We told you to wait until the afternoon, didn’t We?’ exclaimed the Autocrat. ‘Now you’ve spoiled the big wedding party!’
‘Excuse us, please, we couldn’t wait,’ said the Muddler. ‘We’re so much in love!’
‘Oh dear me, dear me!’ cried the Mymble and rushed over the gangway. ‘The best of luck to you both! What a sweet little Fuzzy! Give them three cheers, kiddies, they’re married already!’
‘They’re past helping now,’ said little My.
*
At this point Moominpappa was cut short by Sniff who sat up in his bed and cried: ‘Stop!’
‘Father’s reading about his youth,’ said Moomintroll reproachingly.
‘And about my daddy’s youth,’ replied Sniff with unexpected dignity. ‘I’ve heard a lot about the Muddler so far. But this is the first time I have heard about a Fuzzy!’
‘I’ve forgotten to tell you,’ said Moominpappa unhappily.
‘You forgot my mother!’ Sniff cried.
The door to the bedroom opened and Moominmamma looked in.
‘Still awake?’ she said. ‘Did I hear somebody cry for mother?’
‘It was me,’ Sniff said and jumped out of his bed. ‘Just think of it! Here we’ve heard lots and lots about daddies, and then suddenly one learns that one has had a mother as well!’
‘But that’s natural, isn’t it?’ replied Moominmamma blandly. ‘Aren’t you glad to learn it, Sniff?’
‘Glad?’ Sniff said and stopped in the middle of the floor. His frown disappeared. He stared at Moominpappa and suddenly he cried: ‘Of course I’m happy! Did she have a button collection too?’
‘She had,’ Moominpappa said.
‘A moment, please,’ said Snufkin. ‘Did I possibly have a-er-mother also?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ exclaimed Moominpappa. ‘I was just coming to it. Dear me, yes. The Mymble, of course!’
‘Then little My’s my sister,’ Snufkin said wonderingly.
‘Certainly, certainly,’ replied Moominpappa. ‘But dearest children, please let me finish this chapter. Still, they’re my m
emoirs, you know, and I’m not very keen on genealogy.’
‘May he?’ Moomintroll asked.
‘Well,’ Sniff and Snufkin consented.
‘Thanks,’ said Moominpappa and continued his reading.
*
The Muddler and the Fuzzy received wedding presents all through the day. At last the coffee tin was filled to the brim, and the rest of the buttons, stones, shells, door-knobs, and other things (too many to enumerate) had to be heaped beside it.
The happy couple sat holding hands on the heap. ‘It’s grand to be married,’ the Muddler exclaimed.
‘Possibly,’ Hodgkins remarked. ‘But listen, please. Just a detail. Why did you invite the Hemulen Aunt? And why the Niblings?’
‘Excuse me, but I was so afraid to hurt their feelings,’ the Muddler said.
‘But the aunt?’ I cried.
‘Well,’ answered the Muddler, ‘to be frank I haven’t missed her terribly. But excuse me! I’ve such a guilty conscience! Remember I wished somebody would be kind enough to eat her?’
‘Mphm,’ Hodgkins said. ‘Yes. I see.’
On the following day, when the packet boat was due to arrive, the pier, the hills, and the beaches were thronged with the Autocrat’s subjects. Daddy Jones’s throne was placed on the highest hill, and the Hemulic Brass Band were polishing their instruments.
The Muddler and the Fuzzy sat holding hands in a special wedding boat, designed as a swan.
Everybody was feeling excited and a little uneasy, because the rumours of the Hemulen Aunt’s energy and terrific sense of duty had spread like wild-fire over the kingdom. And moreover everybody wondered if the Niblings would undermine the country and gnaw the woods to pieces. But nobody said a word about their apprehensions to the newly-wedded couple who sat peacefully sorting buttons in their boat.
‘Perhaps she could be scared off with thread and resin?’ asked the Island Ghost. He was embroidering skulls on a teacosy for the Fuzzy.
‘Not she,’ I replied.
‘We’ll have a multiplication contest before evening,’ the Joxter prophesied. ‘And very possibly she’ll remain over winter and make us ski!’
‘What’s that?’ the Mymble’s daughter asked.
‘It’s a way of overcoming the friction of atmospheric precipitation,’ Hodgkins explained.
‘Dear me,’ the Mymble said.
‘We’ll die of it,’ said little My.
A great shout rose from the crowd.
The packet boat was coming nearer.
The Hemulic Band launched into the anthem ‘Save Our Silly People’ and the wedding swan put out to sea. Two Mymble kiddies fell into the water from pure excitement, the fog horns blared, and the Joxter lost his nerve and fled.
Only then we noticed that the packet boat was empty, and it dawned upon us that it couldn’t have held as many as seven thousand Niblings. Cries of relief mixed with disappointment were heard along the beach.
One single little Nibling jumped down in the wedding swan that now turned back towards the quay.
“What’s this?’ the Autocrat said. He hadn’t been able to remain on his throne. ‘Another party’s spoiled! One single Nibling!’
‘It’s our own old Nibling,’ I said. ‘He’s carrying a big parcel.’
‘So she was eaten after all,’ Hodgkins said.
‘Silence! Silence! Silence!’ shouted Daddy Jones and blew his pocket fog horn. ‘Make way for the Nibling ambassador!’
The crowd made room for the bridal couple and the Nibling who shyly waddled up to us and laid his parcel on the ground. The edges and corners were slightly gnawed but in good condition.
‘Well?’ said the Autocrat.
‘The Hemulen Aunt sends her compliments…’ said the Nibling, wildly searching his pockets.
Everybody jumped with impatience.
‘Hurry, please,’ said the King.
Finally the Nibling found a crumpled letter, straightened it out and began laboriously to read as follows:
‘Dear Children,
It is with the deepest regret, with a guilty conscience and a feeling of having failed in my Duty, that I write you this letter. I am really not able to come to your wedding, and I understand that I can hardly hope for your forgiveness. Believe me, I felt happy and quite flattered to hear that you longed to see me again, and I have shed torrents of happy tears, I was so moved to hear about the little Muddler’s decision to take one of the most serious steps there are in life. Dear children, I really do not know how to thank you, first that you saved me from the Groke, and secondly that you acquainted me with the delightful Niblings. It is my Duty to tell you the bare truth: the Niblings and I have such fun together that not even a wedding party can draw us away from home. We are holding quizzes and multiplication contests every day for several hours at a stretch, and we are expectantly looking forward to the winter with its healthy exercise in the snow. To console you in your disappointment, I am, however, sending you a valuable wedding present, and hope it shall find a permanent place in the Muddler’s tin.
With 6,999 greetings from my friends!
Yours very, very gratefully,
Hemulen Aunt.’
There was a long silence when the Nibling had finished.
‘Do you like multiplication?’ Hodgkins asked cautiously.
‘Enormously!’ replied the Nibling.
I sat down and didn’t know what to say.
‘Open it, please!’ the Muddler cried.
The Nibling solemnly gnawed at the string and produced a full-size photograph of the Hemulen Aunt dressed as Nibling Queen.
‘Her snout’s all there!’ the Muddler cried. ‘I’m so glad!’
‘Darling, look at the frame,’ said the Fuzzy.
We all looked at the frame.
It was made of pure Spanish gold set with small roses of topaz and chrysolite in the corners. Small diamonds formed an inner fringe around the photograph. The back was all turquoises.
‘Do you think they can be prised loose?’ the Fuzzy asked
Surely!’ replied the Muddler ecstatically. Didn’t somebody give us a pricker?’
And at that moment a terrible voice was heard by the shore and it said: ‘Well! You grokely dish-rags! I’ve waited and waited for my morning tea at the island, but not a soul seemed to remember old Uncle Edward!’
*
A couple of days after Moominpappa had read about the Muddler’s wedding he was sitting on the verandah with his family. It was a windy August night. Moominmamma had made them some hot rum punch and treaclebread, and all were dressed in their very best and had combed their tails.
‘Well?’ asked Moominmamma expectantly.
‘The Memoirs were finished today,’ Moominpappa announced in a thick voice. ‘At six-forty-five. And the closing sentence – it’s – well, you’ll hear.’
‘Haven’t you written anything about your wicked life with the Hattifatteners?’ Snufkin asked.
‘No,’ replied Moominpappa. ‘I want this to be an instructive book.’
‘Exactly,’ Sniff cried.
‘Hush, hush,’ Moominmamma said. ‘But won’t I come into the picture at all?’ And she flushed pink.
Moominpappa took three large swigs from his glass and answered:
‘You certainly do. Listen carefully, my son, because this last part tells of how I found your mother.’
*
Autumn came.
The gales began to howl around our lonely island and the weather was cold. All of us now lived in my house where there was naturally a good porcelain stove and where we intended to sleep through the winter.
The singular event I am about to relate took place one evening when the weather was really terrific.
The building creaked and groaned, the rain came rushing over the verandah roof with a patter like small running feet, and at times the roaring south-western gale puffed a little cloud of smoke back down the chimney and out into the room where we sat in front of the fire.
; ‘Please read to us, mother!’ said the Mymble kiddies from their beds.
‘Yes,’ said the Mymble. ‘Where did we stop?’ ‘Inspector-Twiggs-silently-crept-to-the-door,’ the kid dies chorused.
‘All right,’ said the Mymble. ‘Inspector Twiggs silently crept to the door. He was barely able tocatch the gleam from a pistol in the moonlight. Coldly determined he advanced on the feet of Avenging Justice, stopped dead, and.…’
Abstractedly I listened to the Mymble’s tale. I had heard it many times.
‘I like that story,’ said the Island Ghost. He was embroidering a pen-wiper (crossbones on black flannel) while keeping an eye on the clock.
The Muddler and the Fuzzy sat nearest to the fire holding hands as usual.
It could hardly have been cosier. But I was intrigued by a strange and uneasy feeling.
Every now and then a gust of foam from the sea washed over the black and rattling window panes.
‘To be out at sea on a night like this…’ I said.
‘A good hundred and fifty yards a second,’ Hodgkins concurred.
‘I’m going out for a breath of air,’ I mumbled and opened one of the leeward doors.
For a moment I stood listening on the doorstep.
The dark night was filled with the menacing crash and tumble of the surf. I sniffed at the wind, turned back my ears and went over to the windward side.
The gale rushed at me with a devilish howl and I closed my eyes to avoid seeing all the fiendish things that are on the move on such nights. Things that are better ignored…
I stumbled down to the beach that was made faintly visible by the gleaming edge of white foam. When the moon appeared through the flying clouds it made the wet sand shine like a metal disc. The sharp-edged waves came rolling in with a deafening roar, rose high with claws and fangs bared, crashed blindingly down and crept crackling and hissing back into the dark again.