Chapter 1 - Karlsson on the Roof Fairy tale by Astrid Lindgren

On a perfectly ordinary street in Stockholm, in a perfectly ordinary house, lives a perfectly ordinary family called Ericson. There is a perfectly ordinary Daddy and a perfectly ordinary Mommy and three perfectly ordinary children—Bobby, Betty, and Eric.

“I’m not at all an ordinary Eric,” says Eric. But he is wrong there. Of course he is ordinary. The world is full of boys of seven with blue eyes and pug noses—boys who have not washed behind their ears and who are forever wearing holes in their trousers. So, of course, Eric is perfectly ordinary—there can be no doubt about that.

Bobby is fifteen and is fond of football and does not do extra well at school, so he is perfectly ordinary too. Betty is fourteen and wears her hair in a long bob, exactly like other perfectly ordinary girls.

There is only one person in the entire house who is not ordinary—and that is Karlsson-on-the-Roof. He lives on the roof, Karlsson does. This alone is out of the ordinary. Things may be different in other parts of the world, but in Stockholm people hardly ever live in a little house of their own on top of a roof. But Karlsson does. He is a very small, very round, and very self-possessed gentleman—and he can fly! Anybody can fly by airplane or helicopter, but only Karlsson can fly all by himself. He simply turns a button in the middle of his tummy and, presto, the cunning little engine on his back starts up. Karlsson waits for a moment or two to let the engine warm up; then he accelerates, takes off, and glides on his way with all the dignity and poise of a statesman; that is, if you can picture a statesman with a motor on his back.

Karlsson is very contented in his little house on top of the roof. In the evenings he sits on his front doorstep, smoking a pipe and watching the stars. Naturally, you can see the stars much better from the roof than from anywhere else in the house, so it is really surprising that more people do not live on roofs. But the occupants of the house don’t know that you can live on a roof; they don’t even know that Karlsson has a cottage up there, it is so well hidden behind the big chimney.

Besides, most people don’t notice little houses like Karlsson’s, not even if they trip over them.
A chimney sweep once caught sight of Karlsson’s house when he was about to sweep the chimney. He was astonished. “It’s odd,” he said to himself. “There’s a house here. It’s hard to believe, but there’s actually a house on the roof! How could it have got here?”

But then he began to sweep the chimney and forgot all about the house and never gave it another thought.

It was nice for Eric to become acquainted with Karlsson, because, whenever Karlsson flew past, life became adventurous and exciting. Maybe Karlsson was pleased to make the acquaintance of Eric, too, for it must be a little dull sometimes to live all alone in a house which nobody knows is there. It must be pleasant to hear somebody calling out, “Hi-ho, Karlsson!” when you fly past.

This is what happened when Karlsson and Eric first met.

It was one of those days when everything went wrong and when it was no fun at all to be Eric. As a rule, it was quite nice to be Eric. He was the darling and pet of the whole family, and they spoiled him for all they were worth. But there were days when things kept going wrong. Then you were scolded by Mommy because you had worn a hole in your trousers, and Betty would say, “Blow your nose, child,” and Daddy would make a fuss because you were late coming home from school.

“Why do you hang around the street corners?” asked Daddy.

“Hang around the street corners?” Of course, Daddy didn’t know that Eric had met a dog—a nice, beautiful, friendly dog, who had sniffed at Eric and wagged his tail and looked as if he would very much like to be Eric’s own dog.

If Eric had had any choice, it would certainly have become his at once. But the difficulty was that Daddy and Mommy did not want a dog in the house. And also a lady had suddenly appeared, shouting, “Rickey, come here!” and then Eric knew that this dog could never belong to him.

“It doesn’t look as if I’ll ever have a dog as long as I live,” said Eric bitterly that day when everything seemed to go wrong.

You, Mommy—you’ve got Daddy; and Bobby and Betty always stick together; but I—I’ve got nobody.”
“But darling Eric, you’ve got us all,” said Mommy.

“I haven’t,” said Eric more bitterly still, feeling suddenly that he was quite alone in the world.

He had one thing, though. He had a room of his own, and that was where he went.

It was a light and beautiful spring evening, and the window was wide open. The white curtains blew gently in and out as if waving to the pale little stars in the spring sky. Eric went to the window and stood there, looking out. He thought about the friendly dog and wondered what it was doing now … maybe lying in a dog basket in a kitchen somewhere, and maybe a boy (another boy, not Eric) was sitting on the floor beside it, patting its shaggy head, saying, “Rickey! Good dog, Rickey!”

Eric sighed heavily. Then he heard a little buzzing sound. The buzzing got louder and louder, and he suddenly saw a fat little man slowly flying past the window. It was Karlsson-on-the-Roof! But, of course, Eric did not know that.
Karlsson merely gave Eric a quick glance and sailed on. He circled over the rooftop of the house opposite, rounded the chimney, and then steered back toward Eric’s window. By now he had got up speed and he whizzed past Eric, almost like a jet plane. Several times he shot past. Eric stood silently watching, but he had butterflies in his tummy from the excitement. After all, it isn’t every day that a fat little man flies past your window. At last Karlsson slowed down close to the window ledge.

“Hi-ho!” he said. “May I take a seat?”

“Oh, please do,” said Eric. “Isn’t it difficult to fly like that?” he added.

“Not for me,” said Karlsson importantly. “For me it is not at all difficult, because I am the World’s Best Stunt Flyer. But I wouldn’t advise any old sack of hay to try.”

Eric felt that he was probably “any old sack of hay” and decided on the spot not to try and copy Karlsson’s flying antics.

“What’s your name?” asked Karlsson.

“Eric,” he replied.

Eric Ericson.”

“It’s queer how different things can be— I’m called Karlsson,” said Karlsson. “Only Karlsson, nothing else. Hi-ho, Eric!”
“Hi-ho, Karlsson,” said Eric.

“How old are you?” asked Karlsson.

“Seven,” said Eric.

“Good! Stay at seven,” said Karlsson. Quickly he swung one of his fat little legs over Eric’s window ledge and stepped into the room.

“And how old are you?” asked Eric, because he thought Karlsson had a childish appearance for a man.

“I?” said Karlsson. “I’m a Man in his Prime, that’s all I can say.”

Eric did not quite know what this meant, to be a Man in his Prime. He wondered if he himself was perhaps also a Man in his Prime without knowing it, so he asked cautiously, “Which years are one’s prime?”

“All of them,” said Karlsson in a satisfied voice. “At least as far as I’m concerned. I am handsome, remarkably wise, and just plump enough—in fact a Man in his Prime,” he said.

Then he took down Eric’s steam engine from the bookshelf.

“Shall we start it?” he suggested.

“Daddy won’t let me,” said Eric. “Either Daddy or Bobby must be here when I want to work it.”

“Daddy or Bobby or Karlsson-on-the-Roof,” said Karlsson. “The World’s Best Steam Engineer, that’s Karlsson-on-the-Roof. Tell that to your Daddy for me.”

He seized the bottle of alcohol which was standing beside the steam engine, filled the little alcohol lamp, and put a match to it. In spite of being the World’s Best Steam Engineer, he managed to spill a little lake of alcohol on the bookshelf, and lively blue flames danced around the steam engine when the lake caught fire. Eric cried out and rushed forward.

“Calm, be calm!” said Karlsson, and he put up a chubby hand to stop him.

But Eric could not be calm when he saw the fire. He caught hold of an old rag and choked the flames. Where they had danced, there were now two big ugly stains on the varnish.

“Oh, look at the bookshelf!” he said with concern. “What will Mommy say?”

“It’s a small matter,” said Karlsson-on-the-Roof. “Two tiny spots on a bookshelf—a small matter; you tell your Mommy.

He crouched down beside the steam engine and his eyes were shining. “Now it’ll soon begin to chuff,” he said.

And it did. The steam engine began working. Chuff-chuff-chuff, it went. Oh, it was the most splendid steam engine you could wish for, and Karlsson looked as proud and happy as if he had made it himself.

“I must adjust the safety valve,” said Karlsson, fiddling eagerly with a little gadget. “Accidents always happen if you don’t adjust the safety valve.”

Chuff-chuff-chuff, said the steam engine. It went faster and faster and faster: Chuff-chuff-chuff. In the end it sounded as if in full gallop, and Karlsson’s eyes shone. Eric stopped bothering about the stains on the bookshelf, he felt so very happy about his steam engine and about Karlsson, who was the World’s Best Steam Engineer, and who had adjusted the safety valve so well.

“You see, Eric,” said Karlsson, “this is what you might call chuff-chuff-chuff! The World’s Best Steam Eng—”

He got no farther, for at that moment there was a dreadful bang, and suddenly there was no more steam engine—only pieces of steam engine, scattered all over the room.

“It’s exploded,” said Karlsson with delight, as if it was the finest performance you could possibly expect of a steam engine. “Indeed, it’s exploded! A super bang, wasn’t it?”

But Eric could not bring himself to feel quite so happy. Tears came into his eyes. “My steam engine,” he said. “It’s broken!”

“It’s a small matter,” said Karlsson, and he waved his chubby little hand in the air. “You can soon have another steam engine.”

“How?” asked Eric.

“I’ve got several thousand up at my house.”

“Where’s that?” Eric asked.

“Up at my house on the roof,” said Karlsson.

“Have you got a house on the roof?” said Eric. “With several thousand steam engines in it?”

“Yes, I should think there are about two hundred, anyway,” said Karlsson.

“Oh! I would like to see your house,” said Eric. It sounded like a miracle that there could be a house on top of the roof, and that Karlsson lived there.

Think of it! A house full of steam engines,” said Eric, “several hundred steam engines!”
“Well, I haven’t actually counted how many there are left, but I think there are several dozen,” said Karlsson. “Every now and then one explodes, of course, but I am pretty sure there are two dozen left, anyway.”

“Perhaps I could have one?” said Eric.

“Of course,” said Karlsson, “of course!”

“Right away?” asked Eric.

“Well, I’ve got to look it over first,” said Karlsson. “Adjust the safety valve and things like that. Calm, be calm! You shall have it another day.”

Eric began to collect the pieces of what had once been his steam engine. “What will Daddy say?” he murmured in a worried voice.

Karlsson raised his eyebrows in surprise. “About the steam engine?” he said. “It’s a small matter. Tell him for me he needn’t worry. I would tell him myself if I had time to stop and see him. But I think I’d better go home now and attend to my house.”

“I’m glad you came,” said Eric, “even though the steam engine … Will you come back another time?”

“Calm, be calm!” said Karlsson, and he turned the button in his middle. The engine began to cough, and Karlsson stood waiting for power to take off. Then he rose and flew twice around the room.

“The engine is coughing,” he said. “I think I will have to go to a garage for servicing. Could do it myself, of course,” he said, “because I’m the World’s Best Steam Engineer, but I haven’t time… no, I think I’ll go to a garage.”

Eric, too, thought it would be the wisest thing to do.

Karlsson steered out through the open window, and his fat little body looked beautiful against the star-spangled spring sky.

“Hi-ho, Eric!” he said, waving his chubby hand.

And Karlsson was gone.