Archive of Our Own ^beta

A cold rain starting
And no hat -
So?

Matsuo Basho

The wind was rising off the sea. Moomintroll and Snufkin crouched together, watching it bend the tall meadow grass so it nearly lay flat. A film of orange gauze hung over the late afternoon sky, and the burgeoning clouds on the horizon stretched from one end to the other, like a castle wall.

“I’ve never seen such a wind,” Moomintroll remarked.

“It will be a strong storm,” said Snufkin. “Maybe even a tornado.”

“Even when I squint, my eyes sting.”

“The clouds are moving very fast.”

Moomintroll’s instinct was to head for home, but Snufkin didn’t seem too alarmed. He laughed and marveled at the rippling grass, the bowing trees. The world’s colors had gone strange, shadowy and bright and hazy at once. All quivered with trepidation and awe. The storm was coming, there was no escape.

When a gust ripped a sapling straight out of the earth and flung it on its side, they agreed it was time to leave. They ran toward Moominhouse, pushing, almost digging through the wind like thick snowfall. It seemed determined to hamper them as much as possible, and cackled mischievously amid the black rustling leaves. Moomintroll spared a thought for Little My and hoped she hadn’t gone tumbling off in the updraft.

Snufkin no longer laughed, but ran with one paw clutching his hat. Of the two of them he was the faster, but now he lagged behind, looking this way and that way. The river surged with white-flecked swells as if desperate to reach the open sea. A flock of birds decided to make for a safer roost too late, emerging from the treetops only to be blown off-course.

“Can you imagine if we were swept away, what part of the world we might end up in?” Snufkin called with gleeful wonder, having to project his voice over the wind’s howl quite a bit.

“The middle of the sea, probably,” Moomintroll replied, anxious and not in the mood for fancies. Watching the storm brew had been exciting and mystical, right up until it descended on them.

The planks of the bridge creaked as their feet pounded across. Half of the house remained in the fading sun, but on the other side cobwebby darkness had already climbed up to the frantically twisting weathervane. It draped over the roof like a widow’s veil. The window shutters rattled like the wings of some heavy, cumbersome butterfly. Never had home looked so meek and vulnerable, and never had Moomintroll wanted so much to get inside.

The front door opened, and Moominpappa came out on the porch.

“Good timing!” he shouted. “Help me to cover the rose bushes. Snufkin, Moominmamma’s in the garden trying to find a way to save the vegetables.”

Moomintroll and his father shrugged large burlap sacks over the roses in the flower beds. After securing them, they continued to the vegetable garden, where Moominmamma and Snufkin had covered as many of the smaller plants as they could with buckets and barrels. Right then the roof groaned, and there was a terrible scraping sound. They looked on in horror as a few red shingles were suddenly torn off the roof and sent spinning.

Moominmamma snatched one last hanging plant from the veranda. “Inside,” she instructed, and no one hesitated to follow.

They had just made it up the steps when Snufkin let out a cry. “My hat!”

He had kept it tucked into his coat while he worked in the garden, but somehow it had slipped out. Moomintroll turned and saw the old green hat sailing off like a frisbee. It did not fall, caught by a gale that lifted it higher and higher. Snufkin made a move as if to race after it, and reflex alone allowed Moomintroll to grab his arm before he could.

“You can’t, Snufkin, you’ll just get blown over!” he pleaded.

Snufkin’s hair fluttered and coiled, its lively red undertone sapped away by the vast charcoal cloud which now loomed overhead. The tension in his shoulders eased. When Moomintroll tugged him up the steps, he came without protest, and soon they were all gathered in the drawing room - Moomintroll, his parents, Snufkin, Snorkmaiden, Little My, and Sniff. Moominpappa bolted the door, and the relentless howling was finally shut out.

After that it seemed that night fell with unusual speed. They spread out on the floor in the middle of the room, far from the windows. It wasn’t safe to light a fire, but Moominmamma gave them blankets and tea, and they huddled together around a candle.

Sniff was badly frightened, and shook so hard that Moomintroll the tea would spill. Little My’s mocking insults did not do much to help matters. When Snorkmaiden recalled that her brother had gone to his workshop today, and worried that he was alone in the storm, Moomintroll hugged her and tried to reassure her as best he could. Just then something struck the side of the house, making them jump. Her lip trembled worse than ever.

Moomintroll glanced over at Snufkin for help, but found him unusually subdued. At times like these, when everyone else was nervous and afraid, Snufkin would play them a song on his mouth-organ, or tell a story from his travels. But the mouth-organ had yet to make an appearance. Snufkin had barely spoken a word since they came inside, and sat with his blanket tight around him, staring ahead with a pensive brow. The glow of the candle reflected soft in his midnight eyes.

Leaning in, Moomintroll kept his voice to a low whisper. “Alright, Snuf?”

He didn’t move, except to give the smallest of nods. Fidgeting with discomfort, Moomintroll tried again.

“We might find your hat when the storm breaks. I bet it’s caught on the lilac bush. It kind of looked like it might fly in that direction.”

“No, it’s gone,” Snufkin sighed, letting the blanket drop off his shoulders. “It’s alright. It was so full of holes I could barely use it anymore. Time for a new one, I think.”

“That’s the spirit,” Moomintroll said encouragingly. Despite his statement, Snufkin didn’t appear at all cheered. It was odd to see him with his head bare, Moomintroll thought. Funny how much one got used to seeing someone a certain way. Not a day went by that his friend didn’t have that tattered hat with the caved-in point pulled down over his ears. It was as synonymous with Snufkin as music and dry humor. Moomintroll hardly recognized him without it. They were a pair, Snufkin and his hat.

Then Snufkin scooted further into the pool of light. “Do you know about the North Wind and the Sun?”

Every ear perked up. Snufkin was about to begin a story.

“Well, they’re very competitive, you see. The Sun who burns brighter than any star.” He made a circle with his fingers and held out his arm so the shadow fell on the floor. “And the North Wind whose gusts carelessly here and there.” With his other paw, he mimicked an undulating gale. “The Wind was boastful, and said to the Sun, ‘I travel to every corner of the earth, I move rock and water, and what do you do except sit there? And the Sun replied, I remain fixed so that I may see all, as the earth turns and brings each living thing to visit with me.”

“This sounds a little different from the tale I know,” Moominpappa interjected, but Moominmamma gave him a nudge.

“Let us have a contest, the Sun suggested. Whoever can blow the hat off that tramp is the winner.”

“I thought it was a cloak,” Sniff said.

Snorkmaiden put a finger to her lips and hissed at him. “Shh!”

“I like it better as a hat anyway,” Moomintroll said, resting his chin on Snufkin’s shoulder.

“Well,” Snufkin paused to sip his tea. Then he turned two fingers down and moved them back and forth, like a traveler walking down a path. The circle moved directly above it. “The Sun beamed and shone, but although the tramp shed his scarf, and coat, and finally even his boots and socks, the hat remained where it was atop his head. Growing impatient, the Sun burned its brightest and hottest, and at last, the tramp reached for his hat - but instead of taking it off, he snipped off the crowd with a pair of scissors until all he had left was the brim, set that back on his head and carried on his way.”

“How silly he must have looked!” Little My sneered. “Imagine wearing Moominmamma’s serving platter on one’s head!”

“I can’t believe he’d cut up his poor hat,” Moomintroll said pityingly, but Snufkin shushed them all with a look.

“It was just a hat. Anyway, where was I? So the North Wind laughed and said to the Sun: You failed! Now for my turn.” And Snufkin puffed up his cheeks and blew, making his two fingers back and forward again, only to again get pushed back. Each time, the candle flickered. “The tramp held on to his hat as best he could, but he was getting quite cold now, and wished he hadn’t left his coat and scarf behind. ‘Those would be useful to have,’ he thought, ‘but this hat, with the big hole in it, is just a nuisance. Take it if you want it so much!’ And he threw it into the air. The Wind caught it, but aggravated that the game ended before it had a chance to show off, it took the hat straight to the sun with such a terrific gale that caused a windstorm across the whole planet.”

This time he blew so hard that the candle went out. In the drawing room, it was instant mayhem.

“I can’t see! I can’t see!” shrieked Sniff, grabbing on to the nearest object, which happened to be Snorkmaiden’s tail, who yanked it away with an indignant glare.

“What’s there to see? You know where we are as well as I do.”

“The Wind blew so hard it put out the Sun,” Little My cackled. “I like that sort of story!”

“Something’s off about it,” Moominpappa stroked his chin and hmmed while Moominmamma relit the candle. “Yes, I’m sure I’ve heard this story before, and it’s the Sun who’s the victor, not the Wind.”

For a couple minutes nobody spoke, sitting in contemplative silence, except for the wind violently beating the house.

After a bit, Moominmamma stood. “Goodness, we haven’t eaten dinner yet. Sniff, how could you not remind me?”

“I tried to, but I was so scared that the words got stuck in my throat,” Sniff replied.

They had a cold dinner of vegetable sandwiches and cheese, with one toffee each from the tin on the mantel for dessert. Then, because no one felt equal to sleeping through the storm alone, they moved couches and sofas into a horseshoe and made up beds. Most drifted off with ease despite the racket outside.

Moomintroll rolled to the edge of the couch and looked down at Snufkin, curled up in his sleeping bag on the floor.

“I think the tramp won, not the Sun or Wind,” he whispered. He couldn’t see Snufkin’s face, but somehow felt his smile.

“Maybe nobody won,” Snufkin said. “The Sun who lost the bet, the Wind who lost its pride, or the tramp who lost each of his sparse possessions, forgetting why he carried them.”

Mulling this over, Moomintroll drew the blanket up to his chin. Something about it didn’t sit right with him. Snufkin’s tone was light and droll, as if sharing some philosophical observation. But that couldn’t be the way he really felt. He couldn’t put his finger on why, when Snufkin had never placed much value in material things. Though he took good care of those belongings he had, when they needed discarding, he did so without hesitation.

When he finally fumbled out a reply, it had been so long that he feared Snufkin had fallen asleep. He spoke anyway.

“But the tramp can get a new hat, you know. If he wants one. You always say, it’s the memory that we carry with us.”

There was a long pause, and Moomintroll came to the conclusion that his friend indeed could no longer hear him. He had begun to yawn himself when there came a quiet mumble, so low that he couldn’t be quite sure of the words.

“I know, Moomin. But I need to be sad for a little, before it becomes a memory.”

~~🍃~~🍃~~🍃~~

The next day they took stock of the damage to the house. All things considered, it wasn’t too terrible. Some missing roof shingles and a hole in the siding where a tree had collapsed (the source of the loud bang the night before). Fortunately, it was a smallish tree, and they planted it right back in the ground. The bridge had a crack in the parapet. The garden was mostly unscathed, the buckets had done their duty well. In the end, the greatest loss was the hammock, which had torn at both knots and became entangled in the branches. From Moominpappa there was much lamentation, but at least there had been no flood.

After they had cleaned up a bit, Snufkin left to search for his hat. Moomintroll thought that was a good sign. But he set off with such an air of resignation hanging about him that Little My couldn’t resist a crack.

“What’s the point in looking for something you don’t expect to find? Might as well borrow Snorkmaiden’s mirror and get accustomed to the sight of your own radish face.”

“His face looks nothing like a radish,” Moomintroll protested, although Snufkin made no reply, continuing down the hill.

Cocking an eyebrow, Little My shifted the brunt of her attention to him. “You’re one to talk, with your big lumpy head like a hubbard squash.”

“Squash!” Seething, he tried to chase her around the garden, but she hopped down a rabbit hole and he was forced to give it up. Moominmamma wanted his help about the pole beans anyway.

Snufkin was gone the whole day. When he returned at dusk, Moomintroll scampered away from the window so it wouldn’t look as if he was waiting up for him (although he was) and went out on the porch. His clothes were even more disheveled than usual, as if he’d been crawling through ditches on his hands and knees. There was no sign of the hat.

“Didn’t find it?” Moomintroll asked, although it felt rather pointless.

Sure enough, Snufkin shook his head, and jerked his chin at the pack on his shoulders, so overstuffed it had him slightly off balance. “Found a lot of lost things. Brought them here so maybe you can find who they belong to. Shawls and umbrellas. A basket of blackberries. Even someone’s nightie.”

“Really?” Moomintroll peered at the loot with amused curiosity. “But no hat?”

“No hat.”

His tone was as calm and even as ever, and Moomintroll might have been tricked, if he hadn’t noticed the way his brows were drawn with disappointment. Disappointment that might have been concealed by something like a hat.

“It will turn up,” Moomintroll said, striving for confidence he didn’t feel.

Snufkin looked at him.

“No, it will. Look at all the missing things you picked up! Someone’s bound to find your hat. They probably took it back with them to look for the owner, just like you did.”

“Maybe,” Snufkin said, smiling.

Moomintroll reached for his paw.

“Come in to dinner. We’ll have a hot meal tonight.”

“No thanks. I missed my tent last night. I would like to lie in the grass and count the stars as they come out.”

“Well, if you change your mind.”

“Yes, yes.”

Moomintroll started up the path. From the rooftop came a colorful string of curses punctuated by the swing of Moominpappa’s hammer nailing shingles in place. On the veranda, Moominmamma sat in the rocking chair, calmly stitching up the holes in the hammock.

“Moomin.”

He stopped quickly and glanced back.

Snufkin hadn’t moved from the spot where he’d left him. “Thank you,” he said.

“For?”

“For believing I’ll find it. My hat.”

Moomintroll waved a paw to say oh, it’s no trouble. Inside he felt quite moved. The simple expression of gratitude Snufkin wore was filled with warmth, which normally would be half-hidden under the shade of a large hat brim. Today he felt the full brunt of it, and it left him quite flattered and flustered, as if he’d done some honorable deed. But there had been no grand gesture, only care.

Then Snufkin walked off to his solitary night in his tent. The tip of Moomintroll’s tongue tingled with unasked questions. One had to be careful how one phrased questions to Snufkin. If answering was troublesome, he’d wriggle away through any loophole. Getting a Hobgoblin to come down from the moon was an easier task than convincing Snufkin to talk about himself.

Before bed, Moomintroll stood at his window and peeked down at the small green tent pitched by the river, and in front of it, the small green figure perched in front of a crackling fire. The sky was dark with only a few clouds, and many twinkling stars. Even now, Snufkin had his eye on those distant lights just as Moomintroll did from his second floor window.

Perhaps Snufkin admired those stars for their freedom, drifting with the somnambulant galaxy at their own steady pace, unable to be claimed by anyone. No one could put a star in his pocket, much as they might like to. They were the unattainable dream. They belonged to everyone and no one at the same time. And so Snufkin loved them above all else.

A hat, however, was not like a star.

A hat could be worn and held. Made of green felt, which someone had matted together from wool, and which someone else had stitched into a shape that could fit snug atop one’s head. Decorated with a feather or a flower. It was tangible, practical, expressive.

Moomintroll looked at the bedspread, which his mother had hand-embroidered for him. The oak bed frame, which his father had built, and where he had scratched tally marks one year when he awoke early from hibernation, to keep track of the days until spring.

On the window sill sat his collection of shells and rocks. On the desk, books and photos; on the wall, drawings of maps and adventures.

Everywhere he turned, he was met with more things. There were ever so many that the walls seemed almost to close in on him, with an energy less like his old room and more like a funhouse. He had never noticed before just how much stuff he had.

“I could probably afford to clean out some of it,” he muttered. But deciding what should go was difficult. Some of these things he might still have a use for. Others brought back treasured memories. He wouldn’t like to forget them.

A bright streak crossed the sky like an ink brush. “Oh,” Moomintroll gasped, rushing back to the window. A shooting star. Quickly he bowed his head and clasped his paws together.

“I wish for Snufkin to find his hat.”

The star was gone when he opened his eyes again. At the campsite, Snufkin was on his feet, silhouetted against the fire. Moomintroll wondered if he had also seen the shooting star, and made the same wish.

Surely, with both of them wishing as hard as they could, it must come true.

~~🍃~~🍃~~🍃~~

“My dad?” Snufkin blinked at him. “Why do you want to know?”

“Didn’t you tell me once that you were found in a basket?” asked Moomintroll. “With your hat and not much else?”

Turning his attention to the river, where he’d cast his fishing line, Snufkin took a few moments to reply. “I suppose I did tell you that.”

“Did your dad leave you the hat?”

“Maybe.”

Moomintroll waited, but his friend made no move to elaborate. Gingerly he took a seat next to him on the lip of the bridge.

“It would make sense,” he continued, scratching his nose. “The Joxter wears a hat of just the same kind. It’s a useful thing for a traveler to have, wandering around exposed to the elements.”

“So is a compass,” Snufkin countered with total indifference. “So is a sturdy pair of boots.”

“But you love your hat, I know you do. There must be a reason.”

Snufkin colored. The red smudge suited him, putting roses in his full cheeks. He tilted his head down, then seemed to remember something, and buried his face into his arm instead.

“Does one need a reason to love something?” he asked, muffled and quiet.

Moomintroll had not thought about that. “Well, I don’t know.”

“What about the things you love, Moomin?”

“Some of them were gifts,” he said. “And I love the people who gave them to me. And some of them have been with me so long, I can’t imagine them not being there.”

“There you go, then.” Snufkin reeled in his line, but his wily catch had escaped. He dropped the hook back in the water. “My whole life, I’ve had that hat. Wearing it is like spending time with an old friend. It makes me happy.”

It lets me hide, he didn’t say out loud, but Moomintroll heard him nonetheless. It protects and comforts me. And so far, it’s always come back. Whether I lost it, or gave it away, it came back.

“Don’t worry about it anymore, Moomintroll,” Snufkin cut in suddenly. “I’m getting a new hat. I already decided.”

“What!” Moomintroll exclaimed.

Snufkin only dipped his chin into his scarf. “Yes. I did like my hat very much, but nothing lasts forever. I knew one day I’d have to throw it away. Partings are sad, but there’s no avoiding them. And on the practical side, I do need something for my head.” He reached up and brushed back the fluffy red bangs over his forehead. “I’m getting a sunburn.”

“Ah,” Moomintroll dropped his gaze to his friend’s paws, holding the fishing rod in a relaxed grip.

“... What sort of hat will you get?”

“One that isn’t too new,” Snufkin replied. “I like it when it’s already broken in, and doesn’t have that stale shop smell. One with a wide brim, to keep off the sun and make a bench for Little My.”

“So, pretty much the twin of your old hat. Will it also be green?”

Snufkin shrugged. “I guess so. Even if it isn’t green to start with, it’s bound to change colors after it’s rolled in the grass a bit.”

They talked a little longer, and then Moomintroll left to pick apples for a pie. As he trudged through the orchard, he went over each phase of the conversation.

It didn’t surprise him that Snufkin refused to talk about the Joxter. He had rather expected it.

As for the hat, at least Snufkin seemed at peace with his choice. But Moomintroll couldn’t feel happy for him. He tried to imagine Snufkin in a different hat, but it was impossible. He didn’t look like Snufkin at all.

I suppose I’ll get used to it. Hopefully whatever hat Snufkin picked out wouldn’t be too wide. Moomintroll didn’t like the idea that his friend’s face would be even more obscured. He’d never get to see the pretty flush in his cheeks. But neither could it be too thin, or it would make Snufkin uneasy, being unable to retreat from view whenever emotions ran high. He would probably start retreating altogether more often, and Moomintroll definitely didn’t want that.

How regrettable to have to hunt down a new hat when Snufkin already had a perfectly good one, which suited his needs in every particular. Sure, it was rather threadbare, and frayed all along the edge - and didn’t get washed much, for that matter - but still. Such a shame.

A chill breeze cut through him. It’s nearly autumn, he thought, dropping red and green apples into his basket. Snufkin must be planning to head south soon.

He shouldn’t go without his hat.

One of the largest apples hung on a branch just out of reach. It was a lot shinier and a richer hue than the others, and would make a perfect apple-picking trophy. He stretched, lengthening his round body as much as he could, and managed to snap the twig it dangled from. But then it toppled out of his paw, falling into the grass below.

He jumped down and crawled toward it on his belly. The apple had rolled to a stop in front of a rotting tree trunk, perhaps one which had been knocked over in the big storm. Before Moomintroll could grab it, a pair of tiny, furry paws reached out of the hollow and snatched it away.

“Hey!” Moomintroll cried. “That was mine!”

“It’s mine now,” returned a squeaky, timorous voice, which nonetheless contained enough pluck to suggest Moomintroll might lose a fingertip should he try to steal his prize back. “Go away and leave us alone.”

“But you can have any of the apples here. I worked hard to get that one.”

“The windfalls are ours,” the little voice said contemptuously.

“But that wasn’t a windfall! I picked it off a branch!”

“Yes, it’s lovely, big and red without a single bruise. We like it muchly.”

“Well, so do I,” Moomintroll huffed with impatience. “Look, if you give it to me I’ll pick another for you, any one you choose.”

“No, no. We like this one.”

“But I saw it first!”

The voice snipped, “We saw it second,” and began trying to squeeze the oversized apple into his hole. Whoever it was appeared to have difficulty not pinching his fingers between the apple and the tree bark. With a scowl, Moomintroll crossed his arms and watched him, tapping his toe.

“Fine,” he groaned after a while. “Keep it then. It’s not worth the fuss.”

He turned to pick up his basket, then heard a thud.

The someone had tossed the large apple onto the ground. “Too much fuss,” he grumbled - as if in agreement.

Moomintroll waited, but the someone only scuttled about in their hole. He didn’t think this was a trap. Carefully, he reached for the apple. “Are… are you sure?” he asked once it was in his paw. “You seemed to want it quite a bit.”

“Do you want it?”

“Well, yes.”

“Then we want it,” the someone said softly, and peered out with big, voracious eyes.

“I guess… we could share.” Moomintroll sat down and took out his knife. He made a cut along the center of the apple, which was smooth and white inside. With the point of the knife he knocked out the seeds and then offered one half to the someone. “Here you are.”

A whiskered nose poked through the hole and gave the apple half a sniff. Two quivering paws began to drag it closer. Then the someone shimmied their entire upper body onto the grass, happily gazing down at his treat.

“Oh, thank you, thank you. It’s the most beautiful apple ever!”

“You’re welcome.” Moomintroll took a bite of his half. “Who are you, by the way? I guess you’re living in the orchard now?”

“Well, my home fell down in that great wind, so I moved in here. I’m the Greeling.”

“Nice to meet you. You’re welcome to any of the apples here, you know. The orchard belongs to everybody. It’s just that I wanted to pick this apple in particular.”

“I know,” nodded the Greeling. “That’s why I wanted it more than any other.”

“Huh?” Moomintroll cocked his head. “You wanted it because I wanted it?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because, if someone wants it so much, then it must be better and more special than any other.”

“Not really. I bet there are others just as red and juicy that I haven’t found yet. It’s only the start of the season, after all.”

“But this is the one you wanted,” argued the Greeling. “And you even fought with me over it! We are like two gentlemen in a duel for a fair maiden’s paw.”

For one so small, the Greeling dreamed grandly.

“Do you mean to say, if I hadn’t fought you over the apple, you’d have let me have it?” Moomintroll asked in wonder. “You only lost interest because I lost interest?”

“It is so much nicer to have things that someone else wants,” the Greeling declared with deep feeling. “I never would have noticed this delicious apple if you hadn’t seen it first. And look at this!” The squat little Greeling padded back into the hole and came out dragging a worn piece of felt. “I found it a while back. Isn’t it beautiful? So soft and cozy. It makes a perfect bed.”

“You’re telling me you fought with someone over that scrap of fabric?” Moomintroll raised a skeptical brow.

“Oh! He fought bravely, yes indeed. He sat outside my home all day, playing dreadful songs on some instrument. I couldn’t sleep a wink for the racket! When the sun dipped low and the orchard filled with twisted shadows, he tried to make me give it to him again, but I wouldn’t. Then he left. I thought he would come back, but he hasn’t,” the Greeling ended ruefully, as if he had been eagerly anticipating round two.

Midway through the story, the gears in Moomintroll’s brain had begun to turn.

“Wait - is that - it is!” Before the Greeling could do anything to stop him, Moomintroll tugged the felt out of the hole and shook it hard. Leaves and dirt fell away in loose clumps, but then he was holding it in his own two paws - Snufkin’s hat, he had found it.

It was dirtier than ever, and crushed beyond recognition, probably due to weeks of serving as a Greeling’s bed. There were so many holes that it might be put to better use as a sieve. But no doubt about it. It was Snufkin’s hat.

All friendly good will departed in moments. Moomintroll was filled with anger.

“This is my friend’s!” he roared at the stunned Greeling. “Do you have any idea how miserable he’s been without it?”

“Yes, he’s miserable, because he wants it,” the Greeling grumbled, stamping a stubby paw. “He wants it terribly, so it must be terribly special. That’s why I kept it.”

“But it’s just a hat!” Moomintroll protested. “A hat that he’s had since his earliest memories. Look how ripped it is, and how the color has faded! No one would pay you a penny for it, it’s nothing but trash!”

“I wasn’t going to sell it.” The Greeling grimaced as if offended. “And if it was trash, your friend wouldn’t care about it so much, would he?”

Moomintroll’s jaw tightened. “He keeps it near him always. It’s his friend. He… he loves it.”

“Hmm. No wonder it makes such a comfy home.”

“That’s it,” Moomintroll snapped. “I’m taking this back with me.”

He began to stomp off, forgetting his basket of apples.

“Oh no you don’t!”

Before he had gone two paces, the Greeling leapt with astounding speed and dug his teeth into the hat.

“Let go!” Moomintroll cried.

“No!” growled the Greeling, pulling with all his might.

Moomintroll pulled as well. But though the Greeling may be small, he is unstoppable when he’s really determined. Each dug their heels into the ground. Between them, the hat ruffled in the breeze like a flag, caught in a game of tug-of-war.

There’s no way I’m going home without Snufkin’s hat, Moomintroll resolved, making use of muscles which leisure-loving moomins generally paid little attention to.

All of a sudden, there was a

riiiiiiiiiiiipppppp…!

Moomintroll keeled over one way. The Greeling fell in the other.

Head spinning, Moomintroll lay prostrate for a few seconds to catch his breath. He lifted the paw which held the hat. Well, which held half of it.

The hat had ripped in two, right down the seam.

His heart sank right into his stomach. Trembling, he examined it from every angle, hoping it might not be as bad off as it looked. Maybe he could patch it up.

But there was hardly enough fabric left to make a handkerchief, let alone a hat.

Across from him, the Greeling speedily dragged his portion of Snufkin’s hat into his hole. With an angry hiss, he disappeared inside, and Moomintroll heard him kicking up dirt to cover the opening.

Staring after him in dejection, Moomintroll thought about going after the rest of the hat. But how could he, after what had happened? He felt ashamed for fighting. Now Snufkin’s hat wasn’t just lost, it was ruined. How had he managed to mess up this badly?

Snufkin would never see his hat again, and it was all Moomintroll’s fault.

~~🍃~~🍃~~🍃~~

He took the hat home with him anyway. What was left of it.

Of course, he couldn’t show it to Snufkin. When he passed the tent, he ducked and shuffled over the bridge as quick as a hare. The tent flap fluttered, Snufkin coming out to say hello to him, but Moomintroll hurried on up the hill as if he hadn’t noticed. He held the hat in the crook of his arm so no one could see.

He didn’t stop until he made it to his room with the door shut behind him.

What was he to do?

“I hate stars,” he sobbed, burying his snout in his pillow. “I hate wind. I especially hate mean little Greelings who only want what others have. Most of all…”

Pausing, he slowly tugged the hat out and spread it on the bed, all crumpled and shredded.

“Most of all, I hate myself,” he sniffled, “for being the worst friend in the whole world.”

“The whole world? I don’t think you know how big it is, if you can say that.”

Moomintroll jerked up. There, in the window, was Snufkin, nose poking through the open glass. Moomintroll’s mouth went dry. This was a disaster. Snufkin could not be here right now. Moomintroll had never wanted him far away more.

“You didn’t answer my hello,” Snufkin said simply. He hopped into the room and drew up the desk chair.

“Yeah, sorry.” Moomintroll glanced at the floor. “I had things on my mind.”

He balled the hat into his fist and kept it clutched behind his back.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He shook his head.

“Well, they can’t have been worth that much anyway, if they made you believe a lie like that you’re not a good friend.”

“Because I’m not!” Moomintroll burst out, unable to control how large his feelings were. They filled the whole room and everything in it. The bedspread, the desk, the dresser. Suddenly he hated them all.

“All these useless things,” he snarled, gesticulating aimlessly. “Taking up space. Showing off.”

“Moomins do have a lot of furniture,” Snufkin drawled.

“They’re gaudy and I have no patience for them.”

“Really? I quite like the flowers Moominmamma embroidered on the blanket. And this rug. It feels nice to dig one’s toes in it.”

Snufkin was still wearing boots. Moomintroll wondered when he’d ever gone barefoot in his room.

“You don’t care for having many things,” he said suspiciously.

Shrugging one shoulder, Snufkin picked a shell off the window sill and turned it in his paw. “No. Don’t care much for houses, either. But that’s me, and you’re you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it’s strange to hear you talk like me. It makes me want to talk like you.”

Moomintroll couldn’t think of an answer to that. He stared at the stripes in the rug, absently brushing his foot over it. Snufkin watched him, and they sat in silence for a spell, which Moomintroll didn’t mind most of the time, but the pressure against his sternum built with every passing second. Finally he could take it no longer.

“You might as well know,” he muttered, feeling wretched and crude. “I… I found it.”

“Found it?”

Without speaking, Moomintroll pulled out the remains of the hat. He let the pitiful scrap of fabric fall into Snufkin’s lap.

From the way Snufkin’s expression went stony, he could tell that he knew just what it was. He stared at it for a long time. Moomintroll watched him, chest clenching even tighter. Sitting across from him, he could count every freckle on his friend’s face. There were even freckles on his ears. One didn’t notice them with his hat on.

“I see,” Snufkin murmured. “So you met the Greeling.”

“He’s a horrid little beast,” Moomintroll spat.

Snufkin hmmed. “No more horrid than most.”

“He steals people’s beloved things because they love them!”

“He wants what everyone wants.” Snufkin rubbed the fabric between two fingers with a tiny, fond smile. “He can’t get it on his own, so he has to take it. I pitied him, so in the end I decided to let him keep my hat. Though I can’t say I did it with a generous heart,” he added with an uncharacteristic note of bitterness.

Moomintroll reflected on that for a minute. The Greeling had dumped the apple the minute Moomintroll decided it wasn’t important to him anymore. “You still wanted it,” he realized. “That’s why the Greeling didn’t throw it away when you stopped trying to take it.”

Stretching out in the chair, Snufkin tucked his arms behind his head and rested his chin on his chest. All that was missing to complete the picture was the hat that would have slid over his nose. “Something like that.”

There was another lull. “I’m sorry, Snufkin.” Moomintroll scratched his knees. “It’s my fault your hat ended up like this. I should have just let the Greeling have it.”

“You didn’t know. It’s kind of a relief, to be honest. I think now I can stop longing for my hat and move on. So, in that way, you did me a favor.”

Leave it to Snufkin to twist Moomintroll’s folly into a deed worth praising. He really didn’t know what to say. There ought to be something. But the words wouldn’t come.

“I wish…” He faltered, the tight feeling twice as strong. “I wish I could have gotten your hat for you, Snufkin. I wanted to be the one to find it for you so much.”

“I know.”

Tears stung Moomintroll’s eyes.

“But that’s not all. I wanted to find it for you. I wanted it to be me. I kept imagining handing it to you and seeing you overcome with joy. And thanking me, and -” There was more after “and,” but he didn’t have the right to voice that part, not yet. “I got carried away,” he finished, shame-faced.

“We all do from time to time,” Snufkin said kindly. “That doesn’t make you a bad friend.”

“I want you to have anything you want. You never ask for anything, even though all I want is to give it to you.” He blinked hard. “That’s why it upsets me that you can’t have this one thing when you finally do ask.”

“Oh, Moomin,” Snufkin sighed, but not in annoyance. His voice cut off at the end, as if something were blocking his throat. And he looked at Moomintroll as if seeing him for the first time.

Moomintroll found he had more to say after all.

“No matter how much I wish it were different, I have nothing to give you. All I have is… is… Wishes.”

There was a shuffling noise as Snufkin pushed out of the chair. But he didn’t come over to the bed. Instead, to Moomintroll’s astonishment, he got down on the rug, wrapped his arms around Moomintroll’s legs, and pressed his cheek into his fur. He didn’t move, only knelt there, holding him in a loose hug. Meanwhile Moomintroll looked down at the corkscrew of hair on top of his head, and his heart fluttered every which way inside his chest, like it had no idea where to settle itself.

“What… uh, what are you doing?” he asked eventually, when his body buzzed and burned from his ears to the tuft of his tail.

Snufkin made an indiscernible noise. “Am I a bother?”

“N-no - not at all!” he insisted. “... Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s just, um. Unexpected.”

“Well, I was thinking. What you said, about wishes. It’s not bad. I rather like it.”

“... You do?”

“Yes. You know I’m not much for houses. The only roof I ever intended to have was my hat. But the sun isn’t too hot for you, is it, Moomin. Nor will the wind blow you away.”

“Eh, what,” Moomintroll stammered, “what’s that? The story? About the tramp, and the Sun and the Wind?”

A slow, enigmatic smile stretched across Snufkin’s lips. “A foolish tramp, who had no Moomintroll to run and pick up the belongings he dropped on the road. I feel sorry for him.”

Moomintroll didn’t understand everything his friend was getting at, but he figured he understood enough. Besides, he felt pleasantly warm and tingly, and worrying was too much trouble.

“Are you planning on moving any time soon?”

“No. I’m comfortable,” Snufkin said, nestling his head in Moomintroll’s lap.

And Moomintroll stroked the unprotected head, fine wisps of hair curling around his fingers, and wondered how he could have been so unhappy mere minutes ago, when clearly the world was such a wonderful, wonderful place, and his room the most perfect room, his bed the nicest of beds, and Snufkin the most precious person in the entire world.

~~🍃~~🍃~~🍃~~

“Here you are,” seethed the Greeling. “We can’t believe you ripped up our hat and left without so much as an apology.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it,” Moomintroll said, surprised to see the Greeling so far from his home in the orchard. Right away, he noticed the scrap of green felt bunched in the Greeling’s paws.

“Well, you were right about one thing. This,” the Greeling said, holding up the other half of the hat, “is nothing but trash. We don’t want it. No one wants it. We have to go find a new bed, thanks to you.”

He flung the hat with such force that it smacked Moomintroll in the center of his snout. Moomintroll was quick to take it and store it out of sight, so the Greeling wouldn’t be tempted to change his mind.

“Really sorry about that too,” he said. “If you want, I can ask Moominmamma to make up a bed for you. With eiderdown blankets, and crocheted pillows the color of eggshells -”

“No, no, thank you very much.” The Greeling shook his head, and then the rest of him. “We can’t sleep on just any bed. We will search until we find one we want.”

By which he means, one someone else wants, Moomintroll thought in reproach.

“But, if you happen to have any more apples to share, we won’t say no to that,” added the Greeling.

Moomintroll promised that he would come by later with a slice of the pie Moominmamma was baking. He waited for the Greeling to leave, and then launched himself through the door at top speed.

“Watch where you’re going!” Little My snapped as he tripped over her.

Moomintroll ignored her, thumping up the stairs into his room. He rummaged in his chest for the rest of the hat. He had suggested holding a funeral for it, but Snufkin had laughed hard at that. He’d asked Moomintroll to keep it for him instead.

“If I take the remains back with me, I’ll just linger over what’s already gone. But I don’t like the thought of just tossing it either. So will you hold on to it for me, Moomintroll? I wouldn’t ask, but holding on to my important things seems to be a special skill of yours.”

And Moomintroll had said he would give Snufkin whatever he wanted.

Now he grabbed both scraps of fabric and went back down the stairs, still at the speed of a raging bull.

“Goodness, Moomintroll, has something happened?” Moominmamma asked in surprise when he found her knitting in the armchair.

“Look, Mamma. I found it. Snufkin’s hat.”

He held his paws out to her. Perplexed, Moominmamma picked up each half of the hat, the original shape almost totally lost. “Are you sure this used to be his hat?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Can you fix it?”

“Fix it… Oh, Moomintroll… I don’t know so much about mending hats…”

“But can you try?” he pleaded. “It’s alright, I won’t tell Snufkin unless it turns out well.”

“Last time we talked, he said he was planning to get a new one.” Moominmamma wouldn’t quite meet his eye. “Moomintroll… don’t you think he might be better off with a replacement?”

“No,” said Moomintroll firmly.

She paused, but after a beat, she smiled. “I’ll see what I can do,” was all she said.

She worked on the hat for a while, and kept the unfinished piece in her room. No one was allowed to see it. Moomintroll began to grow antsy, knowing winter was right around the corner, and that Snufkin could head south at any time.

They were spending at least a few hours together nearly every day now, and Moomintroll tried his best to hint for him to put off leaving a while longer. Whether the hints were understood or not, he couldn’t tell, but anyway Snufkin’s tent was still there every morning when he checked the campsite from his window.

Finally, one day in mid-October, Moominmamma called him into her room.

“Well, tell me what you think,” she said, taking the cover off a tall hat stand.

There it was. Snufkin’s hat. A little taller than before (Moominmamma had fixed the collapsed point), a little more colorful (she had also patched the holes with bits of leftover fabric, each a slightly different shade of green than the rest), and with some extra stitches in the seams. It had a very hand-made sort of look. No milliner’s would have it in their shop window, that much was certain.

Moomintroll pronounced it perfect.

“I hope it fits him,” Moominmamma said, rubbing her paws anxiously. “I had to fit it with a new band. It’s a little heavier now too, because I added some extra wool, so he’ll stay warm in the winter…”

“If it doesn’t fit, we’ll adjust it,” Moomintroll told her. “And we can take the wool out again in summer. It’s perfect, Mamma.”

“It’s ugly, is what it is,” Little My put in, jumping onto the bedside table with her fists planted on her sides. “But then, it always looked like it had been chewed up and regurgitated by some humongous tropical bird. That’s not Moominmamma’s fault. Here.”

She thrust a wreath of blue and yellow flowers in Moomintroll’s arms.

“Snorkmaiden and Sniff picked them, to go around Snufkin’s hat. You make sure he thanks them. This time of year it took forever to find enough.”

“I suppose you had nothing to do with it,” Moomintroll commented, settling the wreath around the middle of the hat.

“Well, I didn’t help them pick the flowers,” she sniffed. “But it was my idea.”

Snufkin was out gathering mushrooms. Moomintroll hesitated, trying to decide what was the best way to get the hat to him. He could take it over now. He had a rough idea of where he might be. Or he could wait until he came back.

Or…

~~🍃~~🍃~~🍃~~

The wind was so cold it cut one right through. It was a wintry wind, a call to travel. Snufkin stood on a rock, watching the waves crash one over the other and roll back out to sea. A waning silver moon hung in the sky, distant but benevolent. But as much as Snufkin loved the moon, tonight he had come mainly for the stars.

Constellations danced and glittered above him. The stars were said to be uncountable. They stretched through a universe too big to comprehend. If he did try to understand all of it, Snufkin thought his head might bubble up and spill over, like a pot forgotten on the hob.

So he didn’t try to understand them. The stars were beautiful, whatever they were. Balls of burning gas or spirits in the heavens. And how comforting that there were more of them than could be counted in a lifetime! He would never run out of stars. They would always be there, beautiful, indifferent, free. Falling into an odd, broody mood, he felt strangely like thanking them. But thank them for what? Being stars? That was all they could ever be.

After a few minutes, he began the climb down to the beach, and followed the path to Moominhouse. Tomorrow he might leave for the winter. Moomintroll had been not-so-subtly hinting for him to stay longer, but although he had obliged so far, the year was getting on. And wanderlust tugged at his heart. He might leave tomorrow, or perhaps next week. As he told Moomintroll, “It all depends.”

Then he would get a new hat on the road. No wanderer should be without one. But it was alright. The sense of loss had gone, thanks to his friend. It had become a fond memory.

Leaving his basket of mushrooms by a log, Snufkin went into his tent.

He froze. The lantern in his paw flickered, chasing shadows into corners.

Finally, he sank to his knees, and reached out to pick up the hat that had been placed atop his bedroll.

He did not have to look closely to know it was well and truly his hat. A little worse for the wear, but that had never been a problem for Snufkin. Around it was a thin circle of flowers, looking like the decorations on the table at a Moominhouse party. Charming and cheerful.

“Imagine, making my old hat into something so fancy,” he muttered with a chuckle.

There was no note with the hat, but he didn’t need one to know whose work this was. That Moomintroll, whatever was he to do with him? He never knew when to leave well enough alone. Never could stop himself dreaming.

With a smile so wide it hurt his cheeks, Snufkin clasped his precious hat to his chest, and hugged it fiercely while his whole body quaked.

~~🍃~~🍃~~🍃~~

This is the true story of the Sun and the North Wind. Not the same one Snufkin told, and not the one Moominpappa heard in his youth either. Everyone leaves out the best bit, which has nothing to do with the Sun or the North Wind.

The tramp never felt the heat of the sun, in fact, because while it blazed its hottest, the East Wind swept by and soothed him with a cool ocean breeze. And when the North Wind brought down an arctic blast that put icicles on the tramp’s lashes, the South Wind sent up a gust and warmed his heart with thoughts of balmy islands.

And when his hat had blown away, and his scarf, and his coat, when the poor tramp was left with nothing but the skin upon his back, in came the West Wind, to carry them all back to him.

It’s not that the North Wind is so cruel, or the Sun so unfeeling. The North Wind can be kind to travelers when it remembers them. And no matter how grumpy and out of sorts it feels, the Sun makes sure to shine down on the world every day.

So the tramp doesn’t shake his fist, and walks on, but makes sure to keep the things he doesn’t want to lose a little closer. Still, he doesn’t worry too much.

He knows the wind will carry him back too, whenever he loses his way.

༺♥༻