The boy had grown so giddy that it was a long while before he came to
himself. The winds howled and beat against him, and the rustle of
feathers and swaying of wings sounded like a whole storm. Thirteen geese
flew around him, flapping their wings and honking. They danced before
his eyes and they buzzed in his ears. He didn't know whether they flew
high or low, or in what direction they were travelling.
After a bit, he regained just enough sense to understand that he ought
to find out where the geese were taking him. But this was not so easy,
for he didn't know how he should ever muster up courage enough to look
down. He was sure he'd faint if he attempted it.
The wild geese were not flying very high because the new travelling
companion could not breathe in the very thinnest air. For his sake they
also flew a little slower than usual.
At last the boy just made himself cast one glance down to earth. Then he
thought that a great big rug lay spread beneath him, which was made up
of an incredible number of large and small checks.
"Where in all the world am I now?" he wondered.
He saw nothing but check upon check. Some were broad and ran crosswise,
and some were long and narrow--all over, there were angles and corners.
Nothing was round, and nothing was crooked.
"What kind of a big, checked cloth is this that I'm looking down on?"
said the boy to himself without expecting anyone to answer him.
But instantly the wild geese who flew about him called out: "Fields and
meadows. Fields and meadows."
Then he understood that the big, checked cloth he was travelling over
was the flat land of southern Sweden; and he began to comprehend why it
looked so checked and multi-coloured. The bright green checks he
recognised first; they were rye fields that had been sown in the fall,
and had kept themselves green under the winter snows. The yellowish-gray
checks were stubble-fields--the remains of the oat-crop which had grown
there the summer before. The brownish ones were old clover meadows: and
the black ones, deserted grazing lands or ploughed-up fallow pastures.
The brown checks with the yellow edges were, undoubtedly, beech-tree
forests; for in these you'll find the big trees which grow in the heart
of the forest--naked in winter; while the little beech-trees, which grow
along the borders, keep their dry, yellowed leaves way into the spring.
There were also dark checks with gray centres: these were the large,
built-up estates encircled by the small cottages with their blackening
straw roofs, and their stone-divided land-plots. And then there were
checks green in the middle with brown borders: these were the orchards,
where the grass-carpets were already turning green, although the trees
and bushes around them were still in their nude, brown bark.
The boy could not keep from laughing when he saw how checked everything
looked.
But when the wild geese heard him laugh, they called out--kind o'
reprovingly: "Fertile and good land. Fertile and good land."
The boy had already become serious. "To think that you can laugh; you,
who have met with the most terrible misfortune that can possibly happen
to a human being!" thought he. And for a moment he was pretty serious;
but it wasn't long before he was laughing again.
Now that he had grown somewhat accustomed to the ride and the speed, so
that he could think of something besides holding himself on the gander's
back, he began to notice how full the air was of birds flying northward.
And there was a shouting and a calling from flock to flock. "So you came
over to-day?" shrieked some. "Yes," answered the geese. "How do you
think the spring's getting on?" "Not a leaf on the trees and ice-cold
water in the lakes," came back the answer.
When the geese flew over a place where they saw any tame, half-naked
fowl, they shouted: "What's the name of this place? What's the name of
this place?" Then the roosters cocked their heads and answered: "Its
name's Lillgarde this year--the same as last year."
Most of the cottages were probably named after their owners--which is
the custom in Skåne. But instead of saying this is "Per Matssons," or
"Ola Bossons," the roosters hit upon the kind of names which, to their
way of thinking, were more appropriate. Those who lived on small farms,
and belonged to poor cottagers, cried: "This place is called
Grainscarce." And those who belonged to the poorest hut-dwellers
screamed: "The name of this place is Little-to-eat, Little-to-eat,
Little-to-eat."
The big, well-cared-for farms got high-sounding names from the
roosters--such as Luckymeadows, Eggberga and Moneyville.
But the roosters on the great landed estates were too high and mighty to
condescend to anything like jesting. One of them crowed and called out
with such gusto that it sounded as if he wanted to be heard clear up to
the sun: "This is Herr Dybeck's estate; the same this year as last year;
this year as last year."
A little further on strutted one rooster who crowed: "This is Swanholm,
surely all the world knows that!"
The boy observed that the geese did not fly straight forward; but
zigzagged hither and thither over the whole South country, just as
though they were glad to be in Skåne again and wanted to pay their
respects to every separate place.
They came to one place where there were a number of big, clumsy-looking
buildings with great, tall chimneys, and all around these were a lot of
smaller houses. "This is Jordberga Sugar Refinery," cried the roosters.
The boy shuddered as he sat there on the goose's back. He ought to have
recognised this place, for it was not very far from his home.
Here he had worked the year before as a watch boy; but, to be sure,
nothing was exactly like itself when one saw it like that--from up
above.
And think! Just think! Osa the goose girl and little Mats, who were his
comrades last year! Indeed the boy would have been glad to know if they
still were anywhere about here. Fancy what they would have said, had
they suspected that he was flying over their heads!
Soon Jordberga was lost to sight, and they travelled towards Svedala and
Skaber Lake and back again over Görringe Cloister and Häckeberga. The
boy saw more of Skåne in this one day than he had ever seen before--in
all the years that he had lived.
Whenever the wild geese happened across any tame geese, they had the
best fun! They flew forward very slowly and called down: "We're off to
the hills. Are you coming along? Are you coming along?"
But the tame geese answered: "It's still winter in this country. You're
out too soon. Fly back! Fly back!"
The wild geese lowered themselves that they might be heard a little
better, and called: "Come along! We'll teach you how to fly and swim."
Then the tame geese got mad and wouldn't answer them with a single honk.
The wild geese sank themselves still lower--until they almost touched
the ground--then, quick as lightning, they raised themselves, just as if
they'd been terribly frightened. "Oh, oh, oh!" they exclaimed. "Those
things were not geese. They were only sheep, they were only sheep."
The ones on the ground were beside themselves with rage and shrieked:
"May you be shot, the whole lot o' you! The whole lot o' you!"
When the boy heard all this teasing he laughed. Then he remembered how
badly things had gone with him, and he cried. But the next second, he
was laughing again.
Never before had he ridden so fast; and to ride fast and
recklessly--that he had always liked. And, of course, he had never
dreamed that it could be as fresh and bracing as it was, up in the air;
or that there rose from the earth such a fine scent of resin and soil.
Nor had he ever dreamed what it could be like--to ride so high above the
earth. It was just like flying away from sorrow and trouble and
annoyances of every kind that could be thought of.