Fair Play by Tove Jansson Page B

an ad, unfortunately an older model that didn’t make the stars very much bigger.
    All of that was a very long time ago.
    It was now already the end of August, and the sun was setting far south of Tom’s island. There were no small boats on the water, only fishing boats, morning and evening, passing by with their black salmon flags fluttering at their sterns. But Tom was often out for the fun of it. Mari would see his boat heading straight out to sea, early and late.
    â€œJonna, listen to me. In those days we used to row, Tom and I. We rowed out to every skerry, the tiniest rocks, farther and farther out. Don’t you ever want to go off to other islands?”
    â€œBut we’re already on an island. They’re all pretty much the same. And you can’t go and waste a whole work day playing picnic.”
    One morning Tom came to get putty and window paint. He’d brought spring water and the mail. Mari had a letter from Johannes, one of the very few he’d ever written her.
    â€œJonna,” she said, “Johannes wants to come and visit. You remember Johannes. Just for two days.”
    â€œBut you know the cottage is too small. And the tent blew to pieces.”
    â€œI know, I know, but he doesn’t want to stay in the cottage. He wants to sleep on an uninhabited island in a sleeping bag. He used to talk about it, but we never did it.”
    Tom thought of saying something but kept quiet.
    Jonna said, “Don’t you think Johannes is too old for a sleeping bag? And it’s almost autumn. When is he coming?”
    â€œTomorrow,” Tom said. “On the eleven o’clock bus from town. He called the store. I can go in and pick him up.”
    They thought about it.
    â€œHave you got sleeping bags?” Tom said.
    â€œOf course we have,” Jonna said. She put the cans of putty and window paint in the basket and walked Tom down to his boat. They agreed that the best uninhabited island was VästerbÃ¥dan, where it was easy to go ashore. The radio had promised clear weather.
    Jonna said, “I’ll pack some food for them.”
    â€œGood,” Tom said. “As I recall, he doesn’t think of stuff like that. So long.”
    â€œBye.”
    That evening, Mari told Jonna things Jonna had long known but that now seemed important again.
    â€œYou know, Johannes and I had big plans and ideas, and one of the biggest was to live a natural life, peel away everything unnecessary, live in a cave or some such place—and try to grasp essentials. I know what you’re going to say, but don’t say it. Anyway, Johannes had his ideas long before the flower children came along!”
    â€œThis was in the fifties?”
    â€œEnd of the forties, I think. But he never had time to live the natural life. And that time we collected money for that abandoned house in southern France and were going to invite friends who wrote or painted and needed a place to work in peace—but every time we’d got some money together, he’d give it to some strike fund ... And the whole time we had this idea of living on an uninhabited island.”
    â€œWhere do you sleep on an uninhabited island?” Jonna asked.
    â€œDon’t be dumb. I said sleeping bags.”
    â€œDid he believe all that stuff?”
    â€œOf course! Naturally. But we never had the time.”
    â€œAnd now he’s got the time?”
    â€œNo. No, I don’t think so.”
    â€œI hope it goes well,” Jonna said. “Anyway, I’m sending along sandwiches and coffee and some canned goods. Is there anything he specially likes?”
    Mari answered immediately. “Baked beans. And he doesn’t like coffee with powdered milk.”
    â€œExcellent, we’re out of powdered milk. I’ll go and look in the cellar.”
    Mari went out on the granite slope.
    I know. I remember what he wants. To lie on his back in the heather and look at the stars a whole autumn