Translation by Jack Hoffmann

Meet Our Main Characters

ÖffliBöffli, Pelle Pistol and Kalle Kanon are animals, but they have human characteristics and co-mingle on equal footing with people.

ÖffliBöffli is a cheerful, optimistic young pig. He is thirsty for knowledge. He spent six years in the village school in Swineburn, Sweden, where he was born. Even though he learned to read and write, it was not a very good school. His thirst had to be quenched elsewhere.  He devoured every book in the school library and many of those from the library in the nearest big town. He soon had a smattering of mathematics, physics, history, geography, anatomy and a host of other subjects. When he was older, he supplemented his learning by attending night school. However, he realised that his knowledge was superficial. He had hoped to go to university, but the family’s finances did not allow that.

ÖffliBöffli is a shy fellow. He is not very tall nor is he physically strong but what he lacks in muscle he is well compensated for by his knowledge. He can contribute to any conversation with snippets of information on a host of subjects.

Pelle Pistol is a black and white cat. He had been Master-at-Arms to the King of France.  He is always elegantly dressed in an immaculate red uniform with a wide white collar. On his head, he sports a broad-brimmed hat with an ostrich feather which quivers in the breeze. A pair of flintlock pistols nestle in their holsters at his hip. The pistol on the left is accompanied by a slim rapier. He has a fine, lush moustache which he preens constantly. He is fashion-conscious and somewhat vain. He enjoys fine wine and gourmet food. He would rather laze in the sun than work. But he is brave and is an excellent marksman.

Kalle Kanon is a tough, sturdy bulldog with a stern demeanour and a heart of gold. He had been Master of artillery in the army of the French King where he and Pelle Pistol met. They have been friends through thick and thin ever since. Kalle Kanon is enormously strong, devoid of fear and inordinately courageous.  He compensates for what he lacks in intellect with practicality and pragmatism. He is always ready for action, a good meal and a pint or two of ale. He is short-tempered and quick with his fists. He is no conversationalist. His remarks are gruff, curt and to the point. No idle chatter. No banal banter. Only the task is important. And he always gets the job done.

Their adventures bind these three diverse personalities together in mutual love, respect and loyalty.

They support each other through hell and high water. They become closer than brothers.

Chapter 1

ÖffliBöffli Leaves Home

It was a cold and windy evening. Clouds scurried across the sky. Now and then, a streak of moonlight lit the road where a small creature struggled forward against the headwind. It was wearing a winter coat which was many sizes too big for it. On its back, it bore a small duffel bag.

If you looked closely, you could see that the creature was a small pig walking on his hindlegs with a strange gait.

Now, dear Reader, you might think it strange that a pig would be wearing a coat and a duffel bag and moreover, that it was walking on its hindlegs, but that was a different world from ours. Some animals, not all, had developed human traits. They walked upright, like humans, had arms instead of forelegs, wore clothes and most miraculously of all, had the ability to speak every language in the Universe.

The piglet’s name wasÖffliBöffli. His father had been a seaman. He disappeared after a voyage across the ocean years before. His mother, Porketta, had been left alone to provide for her string of piglets of whom ÖffliBöffli was the oldest. Thus, his dream of studying at university had been shattered.

ÖffliBöffli had grown tired of the narrowness of his life and of those around him. He felt wiser and more mature than his peers. He needed to expand his horizons. He had had enough of his friends, even his teacher, calling him names like know-all, smart-aleck, clever-clogs. To them, he replied, ’I think the adjective you are seeking is ”pedantic”. However, it’s the Germans who have the perfect word – ”besserwisser”, one who ”knows better.” ’

Yes, he believed he was ready to manage on his own. It was time to make his way in the wide world.

And that is where we meet him now. ÖffliBöffli is leaving home to fulfil his dream of acquiring knowledge. He is wearing his father’s winter coat. It had hung unused in a cupboard where his father had left it. It was old, but it was warm.

He pulls its collar up over his ears and trudges onwards towards his destiny.

He had read of the great continent to the west. Many of the inhabitants of Swineburn had emigrated there and started new lives for themselves. So ÖffliBöffli had decided to go there too. But first, he needed to cross the great sea. He had not yet planned how to manage that. He would play it by ear.

Progress was slow. Night had fallen. The road curved and he saw light coming from a farmstead which lay near the road.

‘What luck!’ thought ÖffliBöffli. ‘I’ll go and ask if I may spend the night.’ He was hoping for a little warmth, especially for his feet, which felt like blocks of ice.

Just before reaching the manor house, he noticed a barn. That was a lucky turn, as we will see.

At the barn door stood a tiny man. He was barely a metre tall. He had a long grey beard which reached all the way down to his knees. In his right hand, he held a long, gnarled stick against which he leaned. On his head, he wore a red knitted hat like the ones worn by gnomes.

‘Who are you who comes this late at night?’ asked the tiny fellow.

‘My name is ÖffliBöffli and I’m trying to find a place to spend this cold night.’

‘Well, hello! My name is Billy and my wife’s name is Tilly. We are barn elves. We make sure that everything runs as it should and we correct anything that doesn’t,’ said Billy proudly.

Behind him, a little old woman, even shorter than Billy, peeped with a shy smile.

‘You’re lucky that you met us first and didn’t bump into Farmer Buller,’ said the old woman.

‘Who’s that?’ asked ÖffliBöffli.

‘Buller has bats in his belfry, although he doesn’t realize it,’ answered Billy and continued. ‘He’s a very mean man. He loves roast pork with crunchy crackling. Over the years, many pigs and piglets have disappeared from the neighbouring farms without a trace. After each pig goes missing, Buller walks around patting his fat, round belly and emitting loud belches of contentment. That’s how Buller got his nickname “Belcher.” ’

ÖffliBöffli broke into a cold sweat. A deathly pallour replaced his normal merry pink.

‘Uh-oh! It sounds too dangerous for me to stop here. So, I’ll just continue my journey even though I’m freezing in this cold,’  ÖffliBöffli whispered in horror.

‘No, no! Come with us,’ said Tilly, ‘and we’ll find you a safe, warm place in the hayloft. You can have a bite to eat and rest until morning before you go on your way.’

They showed ÖffliBöffli to the far end of the hayloft. Tilly brought him a large bowl of steaming oatmeal porridge with a huge glob of butter melting deliciously on its surface. This was accompanied by an urn of full-cream milk. The three of them gathered around a barrel equipped with spoons made of horn and ate. Sated and satisfied, Billy and Tilly wiped their spoons in their armpits and hid them under a floorboard. ÖffliBöffli thought this a bit strange, but to be polite, he did the same. He felt so much better now with his stomach full of porridge and milk. His normal piggy pinkness had returned. They were now all rather drowsy and thought only of sleep. ÖffliBöffli burrowed deeply into the straw so that only his snout protruded. Soon, the three of them were snoring in pleasant harmony.

The next morning, when the sun showed its pale face just above the horizon, a noisy rooster wakened the farm’s inhabitants, both human, animal and elfish.

‘Cock-a-doodle doo! The day is newwww! Rise and shine! All of youuu!’ he crowed loudly from the top of the manure pile.

Up on the hayloft, ÖffliBöffli arose, brushed off the straw that clung to him and rubbed his eyes. He saw that Billy and Tilly were sitting at breakfast, spooning yesterday’s leftover cold porridge. Tilly had already been out milking and had filled her pail with frothy, lukewarm milk.

‘I’m glad the rooster woke me,’ said ÖffliBöffli sleepily.

‘His name is Tupolev,’ informed Billy. ‘And he’s a damned nuisance!’

‘Tupolev? That’s a Russian aircraft,’ said ÖffliBöffli. ‘It’s not a very reliable plane. It has difficulty staying in the air. Always crashing,’ he added.

Both Billy and Tilly laughed gleefully.

‘Ha-Ha! Just you wait and see!’

They watched as Tupolev flapped his wings violently and flaunted his shiny tail feathers to the hens. When a gust of wind blew air under his wings,
he began to fly. However, the journey was a short one. Tupolev crashed. A big pile of feathers lay motionless on the ground.

‘See! We told you so!’ shouted Billy and Tilly in glee.

Alarmed, all the hens started scampering aimlessly around, clucking and cackling, dimwittedly circling their fallen hero.

‘They are running around like headless chickens.’ joked ÖffliBöffli, much to the delight of the two elderly elves.

‘Oh clack-cluck! Alack! Alack! Our Tupolev is dead! How terrible! What a disaster! Who will now wake us in the morning?’ screeched the hens, desperately scratching the earth around Tupolev.

But then, Tupolev opened one eye and then the other. The cackling of the hens had revived him. No, he was not dead. He had merely blacked out when he hit the ground. Even though he was a trifle unsteadily on his feet, Tupolev stood up proudly and brushed off his plumage.

‘Enough now of all your silly cackling. I’m alive and everything is fine,’ said Tupolev.

The hens returned to their nests and began to lay their daily batch of eggs.

‘Where do you plan to go?’ asked Tilly

‘I have read about the great continent in the west where I hope to expand my horizons,’ replied ÖffliBöffli. ‘But I don’t know how I’ll get there.’

‘Well, you must certainly start by travelling south where you’ll have to cross Porkland Strait,’ advised Billy. ‘I don’t know much more than that as I’ve never been outside this parish. I’m sure you’ll find a ship that’ll take you to your promised land.’

ÖffliBöffli finished his breakfast and put on his oversized coat as the new day was again cold and windy. They accompanied him to the barn door where ÖffliBöffli looked nervously around for any trace of Farmer Buller, the Belcher.

‘No, no! Don’t worry!’ reassured Tilly, guessing the reason for his discomfort. ‘He’s a lazy devil and never rises this early.’

Relieved, ÖffliBöffli hugged Billy and Tilly, thanked them sincerely for their kindness and set off on the next stretch of his journey.

Despite the cold, it was a lovely day with clear blue skies and only a few clouds far off on the horizon. The winding dirt road meandered along but progressed gradually in the right direction. After a brisk walk, ÖffliBöffli approached Porkland Strait. He knew that he should not use the bridge that spanned it. It was guarded. He had no documents. If caught on it, he would be arrested as a vagrant. ÖffliBöffli veered off the road towards the water’s edge well away from the bridge. He saw that most of the strait was covered with ice. But in the middle, he noticed a narrow channel of flowing water.

‘How am I going to cross?’ he thought.

Just then he spied a large ice floe floating slowly down through the channel.

‘If I jump onto the ice floe, maybe I can manage to reach the other side,’ he said to himself.

He hopped onto the ice floe, and it floated away. Off he drifted, slowly but surely. His makeshift raft approached the opposite bank. ÖffliBöffli was about to jump off. But then the inevitable happened. He stumbled on the slippery ice and fell into the ice-cold water. He tried to heave himself back onto the ice but in vain. His trotters could find no toehold. He splashed around in panic. It was terrifyingly cold. Soon stiffness began spreading through his body.

He thought, ‘Is this how I am to end my great adventure before it’s even begun?’

But suddenly help came from an unexpected quarter. In the river’s depths lived the mysterious River Fairy who was infamous for enticing young people to him with his enchanting violin playing. Once the children entered the river, they were never seen again. But for some inexplicable reason, the river Fairy took pity on ÖffliBöffli. Perhaps he didn’t eat pork. With a strong arm on ÖffliBöffli’s rump, he shoved him back onto the ice.

ÖffliBöffli was never to learn where the help had come from. Shivering with cold, he scrambled to his feet and began to walk. He had made it to the other shore! He was frozen, but he was alive. He started jogging at a furious pace to regain his body heat. Luck was again on his side.

In the middle of nowhere, a shed appeared. ÖffliBöffli stumbled in. It looked abandoned. Quickly he removed his wet clothes. Fortunately, his duffel bag had remained watertight. He took out dry clothes. He lit a small fire to warm himself and dry his wet clothes.  As he sat there philosophising about his narrow escape, straw rustled and a head appeared. A very large rat advanced and glared at ÖffliBöffli. Incongruously, he was wearing a golden crown.

‘Who are you?’ asked the rat rudely.

‘My name is ÖffliBöffli. I come from a small village called Swineburn. I’m trying to find a ship to take me to the big continent to the west. Who are you?’

‘I am Ratafaria,’ replied the grinning rat, hissing through two sharp protruding front teeth and twitching his long whiskers menacingly.

‘I’m the king of this realm and it’s me who decides everybody’s fate. I’m no ordinary household rat, you see. I’m an extremely distinguished muskrat. You can’t just spend the night here without paying, so let me see what you have in your duffel bag.’

Ratafaria started rummaging through ÖffliBöffli’s bag looking for something of value. Out rolled one round yellow cheese that Porketta had given ÖffliBöffli amongst his provisions for the road.

ÖffliBöffli had no choice but to say, ‘Help yourself!’ as he was suddenly surrounded by an entire army of evil-looking rat soldiers. They stood drooling at the cheese.

‘OK then. You may stay,’ said Ratafaria. ‘But make sure to be out of here by tomorrow morning.