Tove Jansson - Moominpappa at Sea

PUFFIN BOOKS

Tove Jansson was born in Helsingfors, Finland, in 1914. Her mother was a caricaturist (and designed 165 of Finlands stamps) and her father was a sculptor. Tove Jansson studied painting in Finland, Sweden and France. She lived alone on a small island in the gulf of Finland, where most of her books were written.

Tove Jansson died in June 2001.

COMET IN MOOMINLAND

FINN FAMILY MOOMINTROLL

THE EXPLOITS OF MOOMINPAPPA

MOOMINSUMMER MADNESS

MOOMINLAND MIDWINTER

TALES FROM MOOMINVALLEY

MOOMINPAPPA AT SEA

MOOMINVALLEY IN NOVEMBER

ONE afternoon at the end of August, Moominpappa was walking about in his garden feeling at a loss. He had no idea what to do with himself, because it seemed everything there was to be done had already been done or was being done by somebody else.

Moominpappa aimlessly pottered about in his garden, his tail dragging along the ground behind him in a melancholy way. Here, down in the valley, the heat was scorching; everything was still and silent, and not a little dusty. It was the month when there could be great forest fires, the month for taking great care.

He had warned the family. Time and time again he had explained how necessary it was to be careful in August. He had described the burning valley, the roar of the flames, the white-hot tree trunks, and the fire creeping along the ground underneath the moss. Blinding columns of flame flung upwards against the night sky! Waves of fire, rushing down the sides of the valley and on towards the sea

Sizzling, they throw themselves into the sea, finished Moominpappa with gloomy satisfaction. Everything is black, everything has been burned up. A tremendous responsibility rests on the smallest creature who can lay his paws on matches.

The family stopped what they were doing and said: Yes. Of course. Yes, yes. Then they took no more notice of him, and got on with what they were doing.

They were always doing something. Quietly, without interruption, and with great concentration, they carried on with the hundred-and-one small things that made up their world. It was a world that was very private, and self-contained, and to which nothing could be added. Like a map where everything has been discovered, everywhere inhabited, and where there are no bare patches left any longer. And they said to each other: He always talks about forest fires in August.

Moominpappa climbed up the veranda steps. His paws got stuck in the varnish as usual, making little sucking sounds all the way up and across the floor, right up to the wicker chair. His tail got stuck, too; it felt as though someone was pulling it.

Moominpappa sat down and shut his eyes. That floor ought to be revarnished, he thought. The heat makes it like that, of course. But a good varnish shouldnt start melting just because its hot. Perhaps I used the wrong sort of varnish. Its an awful long time since I built the veranda, and its high time it was revarnished. But first itll have to be rubbed with sandpaper, a rotten job that no one will thank me for doing. But theres something special about a new white floor, painted with a thick brush and shiny varnish. The family will have to use the back door and keep out of the way while Im doing it. And then Ill let them come in, saying: There you are! Look, your new veranda! Its much too hot. Id love to be out sailing. Sailing right out to sea, as far as I can go

Moominpappa felt a sleepy feeling in his paws. He shook himself and lit his pipe. The match went on burning in his ash-tray, and he watched it, fascinated. Just before it went out he tore up some bits of newspaper and put them on the flame. It was a pretty little fire, hardly visible in the sunshine, but it was burning nicely. He watched it carefully.

Its going out again, said Little My. Put some more on! She was sitting in the shade on the veranda railings.

Oh, its you! said Moominpappa, and he shook the ash-tray until the fire went out. Im just watching the way fire burns. Its very important.

Little My laughed, and went on looking at him. Then he pulled his hat down over his eyes and took refuge in sleep.

*

Pappa, said Moomintroll. Wake up! Weve just put out a forest fire!

Both Moominpappas paws were stuck firmly to the floor. He wrenched them loose with a strong feeling of reluctance. It wasnt fair. What are you talking about? he said.

A real little forest fire, Moomintroll told him. Just behind the tobacco-patch. The moss was on fire, and Mamma says that it might have been a spark from the chimney

Moominpappa leaped into the air and in a flash became a determined man-of-action. His hat rolled down the steps.

We put it out! Moomintroll shouted. We put it out straightaway. Theres nothing for you to worry about!

Moominpappa stopped dead. He was feeling very angry. Have you put it out without me? he said. Why didnt anybody tell me? You just let me go on sleeping without saying anything!

But, dearest, said Moominmamma leaning out of the kitchen window, we didnt think it was really necessary to wake you up. It was a very small fire, and it was only smoking a little. I happened to be going by with some buckets of water, so all I had to do was to sprinkle a few drops on it in passing

In passing, cried Moominpappa. Just sprinkle. Sprinkle, indeed! What a word! And leaving the fire to burn under the moss unguarded! Where is it? Where is it?

Moominmamma left what she was doing and led the way to the tobacco-patch. Moomintroll stayed on the veranda gazing after them. The black spot in the moss was a very small spot indeed.

Dont imagine, said Moominpappa at last, very slowly, that a spot like this isnt dangerous. Far from it. It can go on burning under the moss, you see. In the ground. Hours and perhaps even days may go by, and then suddenly, whoof! The fire breaks out somewhere quite different. Do you see what I mean?

Yes, dearest, answered Moominmamma.

So Im going to stay here, Moominpappa went on, sulkily digging in the moss. I shall stand guard over it. Ill stay here all night if necessary.

Do you really think, Moominmamma began. Then she just said, Yes. Thats very good of you. One never knows what will happen with moss.

Moominpappa sat all the afternoon watching the little black spot, first pulling up the moss for quite a way round it. He wouldnt leave it to go indoors for his dinner. He really wanted the others to think he was offended.

Do you think hell stay out there all night? asked Moomintroll.

Its quite possible, said Moominmamma.

If youre sore, youre sore, observed Little My, peeling her potatoes with her teeth. You have to be angry sometimes. Every little creep has a right to be angry. But Pappas angry in the wrong way. Hes not letting it out, just shutting it up inside him.

My dear child, said Moominmamma, Pappa knows what hes doing.

I dont think he does, said Little My simply. He doesnt know at all. Do you know?

Not really, Moominmamma had to admit.

*

Moominpappa dug his nose in the moss and was aware of the sour smell of smoke. The ground wasnt even warm any longer. He emptied his pipe into the hole and blew on the sparks. They glowed for a moment or two and then went out. He stamped on the fatal spot and then walked slowly down the garden to have a look in his crystal ball.