© Alex Nuller, 2016

© Thomas O'Gara, translation, 2016

© Marie van der Leck, cover design, 2016

© Александр Иванович Волосенко, illustrations, 2016

Created with intellectual publishing system Ridero

Foreword

This is an adventure book. It’s all about the sea, ships, wild animals, pirates and Flying Dutchmen. And about friendship, and home. Because home is the place we go back to with our friends after all our sojourns.

But I should warn you straight off that this book is a bit unusual. You see, I wanted to please all my readers at the same time, both big and small. Adults usually get bored reading books out loud to children. So I decided to help them, by writing a book in which adults will find something to laugh at too. But it’s hard to please adults; what’s more, they like long, educated words.

So I wish to beg the forgiveness of those youngest readers among you for using so many complicated words that you don’t know. But there are explanations for most of the hard words at the bottom of the page. Those of you who want to read them can read them; those of you who don’t, don’t have to.

And now, full speed ahead!

Chapter 1. Moosie

Moosie had always lived in the house. Mike didn’t remember how he got there or where he came from. Moosie himself said he came from the North.

“And where is the North?” little Mike would ask.

“It’s that way!” Moosie said, pointing behind him with his paw, so that north was always behind his back.

Moosie had long soft horns. Moosie called them his “handlers’. Mike would explain to him that they’re not “handlers’, but “antlers’, but Moosie would answer that other animals may have antlers, but he had “handlers’. He had soft little hooves at the end of his legs. Moose usually have four hooves, but Moosie had only two, so he walked on his hind legs. His front legs had short paws that barely reached around his belly. And he had a long, soft nose. Moosie loved to stick his nose about and smell everything around him.

Moosie had white fur, especially in his younger days. He got a little greyer as he got older, but when he talked about himself he still said “I’m little white Moosie”, even though he was hardly little; together with his “handlers’, he reached Mike’s nose.

Moosie wore a blue hooded jacket that hardly reached the middle of his belly. The jacket had white fur on the cuffs and bottom, and Moosie was quite fond of it. He almost never took it off, except when he took a bath. And Moosie didn’t like to take baths. He was afraid that he would get wet all through and never dry off. So he only took a bath once a month, and even then he didn’t dip himself all the way in the water, but rubbed himself down with a soft white sponge using baby shampoo. And then he would spend all day drying off on the radiator, wrapped in a clean bath towel.

Generally speaking, Moosie was nice fellow, but a worrywart. He was always worrying about catching cold and getting sick. As soon as it started to rain outside, Moosie would crawl under a blanket and say that he would not go out, since his “handlers’ might catch a chill and his hooves would get all wet. Mike was used to him acting like that and he never asked Moosie to go out when it was raining.

Mike and Moosie were very good friends and never quarrelled. Well, almost never. Whenever Moosie got upset with Mike, he would puff up his cheeks, climb on the sofa and hide under a throw blanket, horns and all. Mike would go to him right away to apologize, saying: “Moosie please forgive me!” And Moosie would stick his nose out from under the blanket, thrust out his lower lip and grumble “You hurt my feelings – me, so little and so white! And I’m not Moosie, I’m Theodorus Moosovich.”

That was is full name. But Moosie almost never used it. That is, he kept it in reserve for when somebody hurt his feelings, or when he felt like showing off. How he ever got that name Mike never knew. What’s more, Moosie couldn’t properly explain how he got it either, and would say “That’s my name, that’s all.”

Moosie ate only lichen. That is, he ate everything – vegetables and fruit, but he called it all lichen. For example, apples were “apple lichen”; carrots were “carrot lichen”. And when he saw a melon on the table, he cried “That’s lichen. Melon lichen!” Then he would add “Only Moosie eats lichen, so it’s for me!” But Moosie wasn’t greedy; he always shared a piece of “lichen” with Mike, and sometimes he gave him two or three pieces.

Mike wondered why Moosie called all the food lichen. After all, reindeer eat lichen, and Moosie wasn’t a reindeer, he was a moose. And his horns were almost like the kind a real moose has.

One day, Mike decided to get Moosie to tell him what he did before he came to live at the house. That evening, after Mike washed up and brushed his teeth, Moosie went to bed with him, as usual.

“Moosie, tell me a story”, Mike asked.

“I don’t know any stories”, Moosie said.

“Then tell me something about yourself”, Mike suggested. “What did you do before you came here?”

“I migrated”, Moosie said, rather unhelpfully.

“And where did you migrate?” Mike asked.

That way, up North”, with his paw, Moosie pointed behind himself, at the closet.

“And what was there around there up North?” Mike pressed on.

“Up North there was the tundra”, Moosie said, adding “I migrated around the tundra!”

“And what did you do there?” Mike asked.

“I dug up lichen”, Moosie explained.

“And how did you dig it up?” Mike asked

“I dug under the snow with my hoof, pushed the snow away and ate up the lichen under it”.

“Did you migrate by yourself?”

“No”, Moosie said, “I was with a pack.”

“A pack of moose?”

“No, a pack of reindeer.”

And you were Moosie then?”

“No”, Moosie said, “I was a reindeer then.”

This surprised Mike. “Moosie, how did you change from a reindeer into a moose?

“I didn’t change”, Moosie said, “I just grew up and became Moosie.”

Mike thought this over and then asked “So, are you going to change into somebody else?”

Moosie sat silent for a moment.

“No”, he said, “probably not.”

Mike thought about this. He thought about whether one type of animal could really turn into another type. He wondered if Moosie might keep growing and become an elephant. How big would he be, and how could we put him up here? And then he imagined Moosie digging his soft hooves into the sharp crusty ice, getting to the lichen, wandering around the tundra in the Arctic night and not being afraid of his “handlers” catching a chill. And then he decided to think about who Moosie’s mommy and daddy were. But he never quite did, because he fell asleep.

Chapter 2. Camel

On the very day before Christmas, a camel showed up at the house. He was sitting on the floor under the Christmas tree and attentively scrutinizing the room with his tiny eyes under his frizzy brows. He sported a small knit cap, with clumps of ruddy fur sticking out from underneath.

Mike came into the living room. It was dark; the only light came from the string of lights on the Christmas tree, and the star on top.

“Mommy, daddy!” Mike cried. “Come quick, look at what Santa Claus brought me!”

But mommy and daddy were in no hurry to come to the living room. Instead, the camel started to talk. His voice was singsong and nasally, as if he was memorizing what he was saying.

“First of all, young man, I’m not a ‘what’, but a ‘who’”.

“Secondly, by your leave I shall blandly ignore your speculation¹ regarding Santa Claus”.

“Now then, allow me to introduce myself: Dromedary Camel, which would signify a ‘one-humped camel’. You may call me Dromedary”.

Mike stood there popeyed with his mouth hanging open. He understood almost nothing of what the Camel had said to him.

“Your name is Dreama what? Mike asked.

“Hmpf…,” the Camel sniffed. “Young man, I can see that you are as of yet not conversant with complex lexical constructions². Hence, I am obliged to repeat that my name is Dromedary Camel”.

“Camel”, Mike said, “I didn’t quite understand everything you said. Can I just call you “Dreamer”?

The camel put all four of his hooves in front of himself, put his head on them and thought for a moment.

“On one hand”, Camel began, “addressing me as ‘Dreamer’ smacks of a certain familiarity³. On the other hand, if one wishes to remain in a home and to make a favourable impression⁴, it won’t do to be too fastidious⁵ in such matters. Hence, I have no objection to you calling me ‘Dreamer’, young man”.

Mike was beginning to understand some of what Camel was saying.

“And I’m Mike!” Mike said. “You can call me Mike.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mike”, Dreamer said, “however, allow me to observe that the use of nicknames is somewhat questionable in a formal relationship⁶”.

“You don’t need to be questionable with me”, Mike said. “I’m still a kid”.

“Very well”, Camel said. “We shall refer to each other on intimate terms, even though such forms of address presuppose an amicable relationship⁷ between the parties involved”.

“There’s no need for us to be amicable either. We can be friends instead”, Mike said. “We’re all friends here in this house. Let’s be friends!”

Camel considered this briefly. “I am afraid that you’re not taking my meaning precisely, young man.

“However, although a proposal such as yours may be somewhat premature⁸, it is nonetheless quite gratifying⁹ for a lonely camel. Therefore”, Camel said, raising his head to Mike, “I am pleased to accept it. And allow me to mark the commencement¹¹ of our friendship by referring to you as ‘my young friend’”.

“You can call me that, if you want to,” Mike said. “It’s okay with me”.

Mike took Camel in his arms and sat him on the sofa.

“Dreamer,” said Mike, “why do you talk so funny?”

“And what is it that you find humorous about my speech, my young friend?” Camel asked.

“Well, it’s not easy to understand what you say. Can you say things a little simpler?”

Once again Camel stopped to think this over.

“I shall try,” he said, “but I can’t promise”.

Mike wanted to know as much as he could about his new acquaintance.

“Where do you come from, Dreamer?” Mike asked.

“I come from Africa, from the desert”.

“And what did you do there?”

“I once worked in a caravan as a camel.”

“And what kind of work did you do as a camel?”

“I busted my hump carrying lots of heavy things across the desert”, Camel said.

“And where did you learn to talk like that?”

“I subsequently studied for a long time and completed the curriculum in applied linguistics¹⁰ at the University of Alexandria¹¹, where I graduated with a first.”

“With a first what?” Mike asked.

“First honours,” Camel said patiently. “Summa cum laude¹².”

“Ah!” Mike said. “So you went to summer school.”

“My young friend”, Camel said, “it is no simple thing to conduct a conversation with you, given your primitive command of the language. Furthermore, I am quite tired from my journey. Would you happen to have some saksaul sprigs for your new friend?”

“What’s six-all?” Mike asked.

“Not six-all, saksaul”, the camel corrected. “It is a plant of the Amaranthaceae family, a shrub or small tree with forked branches and segmented shoots, which camels use for food.”

Mike thought about this and said:

“It sounds like you’re hungry, Dreamer. But we only have one tree in the house, and that’s the Christmas tree, and you can’t eat that now. There are ornaments on it. And we don’t have any saksaul, either.”

“Perhaps you have some camel thorn in the house?” asked Camel.

“No”, Mike said sadly. “We only have thorns on the cactus”.

“Very well”, Camel sighed. “Bring on the cactus. One must adapt one’s self to a new environment”, as Darwin¹³ said.