2005-02-13

Mouse Tales

I wrote a letter to someone this evening who is having troubles with mice and is using the WRONG KIND OF TRAP. It became a story, in Swedish, which I rather liked, so I translated it into (slightly stilted) English. I could do better if I spent more time on it, but here it is, in both languages. It is entirely true.

En Sann Berättelse om en Mus

När mina föräldrar bodde i Sverige, hyrde de ett äldre hus med många fina äppelträd på tomten. De njöt, och samlade äpplena i förråd i ett ouppvärmt rum i huset. Kunskapen om dessa äpplen spred sig som en löpeld bland områdets möss, och mina föräldrar fick ofta besök under småtimmarna. Mina föräldrar känner, som jag, en stor generositet och medlidande för alla naturens barn, och hade mössen valt ut ett eller några äpplen att förtära hade alla kunnat dela skörden utan oro eller avund. Men möss har en stor aptit på livet och dess variation, och de nöjde sig inte utan att de måste smaka lite på alla äpplen. De gnagde på frukten lite här och var, och dessutom uträttade de sina behov till synes var och varannan minut medan och där de åt. Situationen blev ohållbar. Mina föräldrar, blödiga som de och jag är, kunde inte avrätta några möss om inte de var tvungna. De letade rätt på en ofarlig fälla som liknade en bur, och en efter en fångade de besökarna, som nog var ganska så trötta på äpplen, med hjälp av jordnötsmör och solrosfrön. De körde iväg med mössen till ett närliggande stall, där en mus mer eller mindre inte skulle ställa till några problem, och där det fanns ett garanterat matförråd att samla från urspillt havre och dylik. Det var frid och fröjd bland möss och människor.

Något eller några år senare befann sig min mor på Hötorget i Stockholm. Det var mitt på dagen. Det var, som alltid, mycket folk och liv och rörelse. På ett ställe, nära tunnelbaneingången, stod en klunga människor och tittade på något på marken. Min mor blev nyfiken, och tryckte sig in i mot klungans center. Hon tittade ner och såg, mitt i det öppna området framför sig, en liten och tydligen skrämd mus. Den satt och stirrade runt sig på alla dessa människor som stod i ring några meter bort och betraktade den. När musen fick syn på min mor, rusade den bort och ställde sig vid hennes fötter. Efter en mäktig stund av häpnad och under bland åskådarna kilade den vidare förbi henne och försvann genom ett galler.

Min mor, och jag, när jag fick höra detta, var övertygade om att hon bar på något för oss omärkbar sken eller doft som identiferade henne som Musvän par excellance. Hon hade tagit ställning, och det syntes. Om hon någon gång skulle finna sig bunden med rep och redlös, och synbart bortom hopp om befrielse, är jag personligen övertygad om att hon inte skulle ha något att frukta. Fanns det bara möss inom räckhåll, och det gör det ju alltid, vore hon snart den fria kvinnan hon har visat sig väl förtjäna att vara.

A True Story of a Mouse

When my parents were living in Sweden, they rented an old house with many wonderful apple trees in the yard. They greatly enjoyed the apples, and gathered and stored them in one of the house’s unheated rooms. The rumour of those apples spread like wildfire among the mice in the immediate area, and my parents’ home recieved frequent nocturnal visits. My parents feel, as I do myself, great generosity towards and compassion for all of nature’s children, and if the mice had chosen to confine their consumption to one apple, or even a few apples, they would have all been able to share the harvest with no element of envy or anxiety. But mice have a voracious apetite for life in all its variety, and they were not satisfied unless they tasted all the apples. They gnawed on the fruit here and there, and were, moreover, inclined to relieve themselves, every minute or so it seemed, just while and where they were eating. The situation became precarious. My parents, soft-hearted as they and I are, were unable to execute mice unless forced to. They managed to procure a cage-like trap, and one by one they captured their visitors, who were probably quite tired of apples, by means of peanut butter and sunflower seeds. They drove away with the mice to a nearby stable where a mouse more or less wouldn’t make any difference, and where there was a guaranteed supply of food that could be gathered from spilled oats and such. Peace reigned between mice and men.

A year or two later, my mother was in Hötorget, the Hay Square, in Stockholm. It was the middle of the day. There was, as usual, a crowd there, and a considerable amount of movement and activity. In a spot near the subway entrance, a group of people were standing and looking at something on the ground. My mother became curious, and pushed her way towards the center of the group. She looked down and saw, in the middle of the open space in front of her, a small and clearly frightened mouse. There it sat, staring at all those people who stood a few yards away in a ring, watching it. When the mouse caught sight of my mother, it rushed over and sat down at her feet. After a short but powerful period during which wonder and amazement spread through the crowd, the mouse scurried on past her and disappeared behind a grate.

My mother, and I when I heard about it, were convinced that she, completely unawares, exuded some sort of glow, or odor, that identified her as a Friend of Mice of the Highest Order. She had taken a stand, and it showed. If at any point she should happen to find herself bound by ropes, helpless, and seemingly beyond the hope of rescue, I am quite certain that she has nothing to fear. As long as there are mice at hand, and there always are, she will soon be once again the free woman she has proven that she deserves to be.

11 Comments:

Blogger Greg Akers said...

Wow, that's amazing. How far is Stockholm from the apple house? What is the life expectancy of a common barn mouse? Could this actually be one of the original mice? My only knowledge of mice and their travels comes from the movie "An American Tail," and that was one world-travelin' mousey.

5:21 AM, February 14, 2005  
Blogger Jeanne said...

I should have mentioned the distance, of course. For any particular mouse to have travelled form the stable to the center of Stockholm would have entailed hitching a ride with a car about 15 kilometers, and then walking about eight blocks from the closest parking area, or jumping from the car at a crosswalk and walking about two blocks, or riding in a car from the stable to the train station, and switching from the train to the subway, and climbing the escalator. Considering all of this, and the fact that there are probably a few million mice in Stockholm, I think that meeting a mouse aquaintance would be nearly as inexplicable as the proposed mouse-aura. I think we must accept this as one of life's lessons, and learn from it.
I'm sure the mice would approve.

5:16 PM, February 14, 2005  
Blogger Greg Garvin said...

Great story! I suspect that mice aren't peculiar in this ability ... we just don't pay attention to it as we get older.

2:32 PM, February 15, 2005  
Blogger Allison said...

What I want to know is, what are the circumstances in which your mother might one day find herself "bound by ropes, helpless"?

Ah, you Swedes, with your ropes, and your heroic mice.

3:01 AM, February 18, 2005  
Blogger brendar said...

I like the Swedish version better, it seems more folkish. It also sounds better and has more rythem. I only wish I knew what it said. I'll just asume it's the same as the Enlish version. I'm trying not to imagine your mother bound with ropes.

8:09 PM, February 18, 2005  
Blogger Jeanne said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

9:14 PM, February 18, 2005  
Blogger Jeanne said...

Dudley Doright,of the canadian mounties, is responsible for what I mistakenly assumed was a general symbol of a damsel in distress. Who says childhood television isn't formative?
I see the train approaching, my mother bound and kicking on the tracks, the villian twirling his long mustaches in glee and anticipation....

I hate the moment when I have to disappoint people by saying I'm American. 20 years here has not changed that basic fact. Please read my blog, even if I'm not Swedish. I'll try to write with a swedish accent.

9:15 PM, February 18, 2005  
Blogger Jeanne said...

And, of course,and even more so, the famous Aesop's lion and mouse. You remember, I'm sure, the lion who couldn't imagine how a eensie weensie mouse could ever repay a favor?

I am a gentle poet, generally, and quite innocent of unsavoury inuendos.

9:21 PM, February 18, 2005  
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