A Winter Book by Tove Jansson

Author:Tove Jansson [Jansson, Tove]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780141337968
Amazon: 0141337966
Publisher: Puffin Books
Published: 2011-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

The Boat and Me

WHEN I WAS TWELVE I GOT A ROWING BOAT OF MY OWN. It was two metres thirty long and clinker-built. When they asked me its name I said it’s just called the boat. I had a plan for the boat and me: to row round the whole of Pellinge archipelago, uninhabited rocks and all, both the inner and outer parts, sort of encircle the lot and then it would be done. I don’t know why it was important. The trip could take me twenty-four hours, so it was a good idea to take a sleeping-bag, but otherwise nothing but hard bread and fruit juice. As Dad says, you should never keep a single inessential object in your boat.

The start was fixed for the twentieth of August and it had to be kept absolutely secret.

I don’t know how it was that Mum got wind of the project; maybe she noticed I’d taken the sleeping-bag out of the tent. She didn’t say anything but somehow she let me know she knew about it and that she was on my side as far as deceiving Dad went. He would never have let me go. And I’m pretty sure Mum would never have managed to deceive her own father, who never let her sleep in a tent or even wear a sailor-suit collar. A terrible century.

Anyway, the boat and I were ready to start. The wind had been in the south-west for a couple of days, blowing the waves in and making them long. The boat was in high water, which reached up to the grass line, and when I launched her the keel slid out as if over velvet. As soon as she reached the sea she met the swell by the shore, but I held her steady by the gunwale and waited. The sky was white and empty as it usually is before sunrise and the gulls were alive in the heavens. Presently Mum hurried up with a cardigan over her nightdress, bringing sandwiches and a bottle of appleade: “Quick,” she said, “Get going before he wakes!”

Departures are seldom what you expect.

We met heavy seas, there was a direct tailwind and, struggling to keep my balance, I pressed my feet against the floor and made good speed; Mum stood a long time waving from the shore.

Dad never waves at sea; it’s something you should never do unless you’re in distress.

I was taking the waves stern on but very soon realised this was a mistake: we needed to turn completely round pretty damn quick so as to be able to ride over them, so I waited till we were in a suitable trough, then drove the left oar straight down and pulled like mad on the right one, and in a moment we had wheeled round and the motion of the sea had taken charge of us as if it was entirely the obvious thing to happen.

While we were running on before the wind towards the outermost promontory, it occurred

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