Things Said in the Rain; Things Unsaid

       Merely out of spite, the rain came on stronger, and by the time Moomin reached the tent on the riverbank, he was thoroughly soaked. Snufkin was just finishing securing the tent’s door-flap to some poles, making a tiny open veranda. Dashing around the corner, Moomin shook himself like a dog before hurrying under the awning. He didn’t clamber inside with wet paws, but settled himself beside the wanderer, careful not to touch him with his damp fur, which was a tricky task in such close quarters. For a while, they said nothing. Snufkin didn’t pick up his guitar, but watched the rain pockmarking the river’s surface in whispering circles. “The rain has its own melody,” Snufkin remarked, as if to no one in particular. Moomin listened dutifully to the orchestra of sodden nature, but his patience for such things was never very long. “Snufkin?” “Mm?” Moomin glanced back into the tent, familiar down to its last patch, inhaled the scent of tobacco and dried flowers, and exhaled. “How can you tell love apart from friendship?” Snufkin gave a soft grunt, one eyebrow lifting. “Trouble with Nonnon again, is it?” Of course, he understood at once. Moomin thought, sifting through words. It was another of the older friend’s strategies: while Moomin explained the circumstances of his latest mess, he often found the answer himself. “Well, me and her, we’ve known each other a good while now… though not as long as you and I, of course. So you’d think we’d understand each other better, but it seems the opposite. Today I went to her place to play board games and the piano, and I brought flowers, and she kissed me on the nose… and after a while she burst into tears, said I didn’t love her, and threw me out.” “Hm.” Snufkin’s gaze stayed on the river. Moomin’s stayed on him. The daisies on his hat were wilting; he must weave him a new crown. “Provided you didn’t admire other ladies in her company, or say anything along the lines of all girls being feeble cowards… You didn’t? Then I suspect it’s another book. Nonnon is an extremely sentimental creature and takes what she reads quite to heart. Remember how long she was depressed after that tale of the golden and silver horses? You, after a particularly ripping adventure story, dash off to the woods or the shore to pretend you’re a garde-marine or a noble bandit. And she transplants a scene from a romance novel into her own life. It might be a test whether you will pursue her against all odds. I daresay you ought to climb up to her balcony and ask her about the book.” Oh, that did make things clearer. He must try it… But Moomin was only just beginning to dry out and wanted to enjoy being out of bad weather for at least a few minutes. The damp air still chilled him through his short fur, but at least now he could lean comfortably against Snufkin, who was warm and solid. If Moomin grew just a little taller, he’d be able to rest his head on his friend’s shoulder; for now, he fell just a little short. “And about love and friendship? What do you think? How do I tell them apart?” Snufkin went very still, as if he’d even stopped breathing for a moment. “It’s a difficult one. Sometimes they are very close, or combined. Well… Love is deeper. With a friend, you share interests. With a beloved, you share a view of life, of the world, home and family, trust and care. You put a friend’s interests and needs on par with your own, and your love is… far above your own wishes.” He paused and stretched an arm to catch a handful of raindrops. “With a friend, it’s good to sit side by side. A beloved is someone you want to hold and never let go. You’re happy to see a friend, but a beloved fills your heart with a particular light, like no one else can. You can have many friends. Love is one thing. For a long time, sometimes for a lifetime. Friends live their separate lives alongside yours. With love, you have one life, a shared one, from waking in the morning to going to sleep, through all the everyday things. If you need an example: your Pappa is friends with the Hemulen, but he loves your Mamma.” Now it was Moomin’s turn to fall silent and think for a long while. Some of it fitted, and some of it didn’t. Fills your heart with a particular light. Yes, sometimes he felt that light when approaching Nonnon, feeling too reverent to even take her paw. But more often, it was simply joy. The same joy he felt meeting Sniff or Little Mee (though it was very hard to stay happy in the presence of the pest that was Mee, even if she was a friend). What about with Snufkin? Moomin remembered all those spring days over the years, hearing that familiar melody for the first time after hibernation and racing to the river, throwing his arms around his friend’s neck—that very neck in its red silk scarf—burying his nose in the cloth of his coat, saked in sun and wind. To hold and never let go. But Nonnon? He loved sitting side by side with her like this too, holding her paw, blushing and bristling his tail when she pecked him on the cheek. And if Snufkin were to kiss him, what then? A sudden heat rushed to the troll’s snout, and the tuft on his tail fluffed out behind him. But that wouldn’t happen. The wanderer always kept his distance and was only tolerating his younger companion now because there was nowhere else to go in the rain. A shared life? Yes, Moomin had often imagined, especially as a child, living in the same house as Nonnon and a couple of their own children. If only he knew for certain where children came from… …Or travelling with Snufkin, walking silently beside him on a mountain path, admiring the majestic cliffs and sunset colours his friend so often sang about. Being quiet together, because no words were needed. Like when Moomin played a reed pipe or a harmonica, and Snufkin would quietly appear beside him, his guitar strings weaving into their shared melody. It was like playing the piano four-handed with Nonnon, his ears twitching with pleasure at the neat music… Oh dear. He was thoroughly mixed up now. But in any confusing situation, he went to Snufkin for advice, and right now, he didn’t even have to go anywhere. “But is it really impossible to love two people at once?” Snufkin let out a careful sigh. Had something upset him? Moomin glanced sideways at his friend. No, he seemed his usual serene self. “In youth, love is often hard to recognise, to distinguish from a simple infatuation or friendship,” Snufkin said gently. “Just as a child learns to master their body, an adolescent learns the movements of their soul, and there’s no harm in making a mistake. You’ll work it out in time. You’re a clever fellow. Remember when the circus came? You understood then who truly mattered more to you, didn’t you? The beautiful acrobat lady, or Nonnon?” “Well, yes,” Moomin agreed, as the memory of a foaming mountain torrent, sweeping away the magnificent Madame Laguna and his own small, fragile, dear Nonnon, swirled before his mind’s eye. But his imagination, no less swift than a mountain river, raced on, changing the picture… “But if I ever had to choose, to save Nonnon, or… or you, I wouldn’t be able to!” Snufkin seemed to give a tiny shudder. Moomin looked at him again, but saw only the brim of his hat and lips pressed tight. A moment later, however, Snufkin smiled. “Don’t you ever doubt it. Save Nonnon. I’m a grown-up; I can take care of myself. Don’t ever doubt it…” He added, very quietly: “Besides, love… that’s between a man and a woman. Your pappa and mamma, remember?” “Well, yes,” Moomin had to agree. In Nonnon’s books, noble knights and fair maidens always loved each other and suffered in separations. In his own adventure books, real men went through storms and jungles together, risked their lives for one another, and then swore eternal friendship. Moomin remembered the clasp of a narrow, sun-browned hand each autumn, when Snufkin left for the south to lead his own, separate life. But he always came back! And he promised never to forget his friend! Was that still friendship, or was it…? Moomin was thoroughly muddled now. But of course, Snufkin couldn’t be wrong. He was the wisest traveller in the world, and he would never lie, no matter how silly the question. “And what about you and me…?” He wouldn’t lie. He would just pause first, swallow, and then answer after a particularly heavy drop fell from the edge of the awning and snapped in two on his boot with a clean, final sound. “We’re friends.” At this, he finally looked out from under his hat, smiling that unique soft smile of his. “Now, run along to Nonnon before the rain stops. No girl can resist a suitor dripping wet on her balcony.” Yes, of course. Nonnon! If Snufkin said so, then that’s how it must be.       *** He watched the figure of Moomin running off until the rain-darkened, pale-grey back vanished into the woods. His hand moved of its own accord to his chest, where, beneath his cloak and scarf, close to his heart, an amulet hung on a cord. A gift from Moomin, long ago. Snufkin pressed the amulet until it hurt, anchoring himself in the quiet pain of this chosen answer. No, this was right. Not a lie but a smaller, safer truth. Some boundaries mean protection, not rejection. He shouldn’t go breaking a child’s life. Young moomintrolls were always drawn to adventures and experiments in their youth, but they’d settle down in the end, build a home and a proper family. They didn’t need gossip and sideways glances from the neighbours. The residents of Moominvalley were a superstitious, old-fashioned lot. And he was a grown-up. He was capable of keeping his distance and maintaining his composure, even if he was incapable of leaving his Moomin for good.