Chapter 2 - Karlsson Builds a Tower - Karlsson on the Roof Fairy tale by Astrid Lindgren

“I told you his name’s Karlsson and that he lives on the roof,” said Eric. “What’s so strange about that? People can live where they like, can’t they?”

“Now then, Eric, don’t be silly,” said Mommy. “You nearly frightened the life out of us. You might have got killed when the steam engine exploded.
Don’t you realize that?”
“Yes, but all the same, Karlsson is the World’s Best Steam Engineer,” said Eric, looking solemnly at his mother. He had to make her understand that you could not say No when the World’s Best Steam Engineer offered to start your steam engine.

“You must take responsibility for your actions, Eric,” said Daddy, “and not blame someone called Karlsson-on-the-Roof, who does not exist.”

“He does exist,” said Eric.

“And he can fly, too, I suppose,” said Bobby sarcastically.

“What if he can!” said Eric. “I hope he’ll come back. Then you’ll see for yourself.”

“I sure hope he comes tomorrow,” said Betty. “I’ll give you a dime, Eric, if you let me see Karlsson-on-the-Roof.”

“I don’t think he’ll come tomorrow,” said Eric, “because he’s due to go into a garage for servicing.”

“It seems to me you need a good servicing, too,” said Mommy. “Just look at that bookshelf!”

“ ‘It’s a small matter,’ says Karlsson.”

Eric spread his hand in a superior manner, exactly as Karlsson had done, as though to say to his mother that talking about the bookshelf was a lot of fuss over nothing. But she was not impressed.

“So that’s what Karlsson says, is it? Well, you may tell Karlsson for me that if he puts his nose in here again I shall give him such a servicing that he won’t forget it in a hurry,” she said.

Eric did not answer. He thought it was terrible that Mommy could speak like that about the World’s Best Steam Engineer. But what could you expect on a day like this when it was clear that they had all made up their minds to be as difficult as possible?

Eric suddenly longed for Karlsson: Karlsson who was merry and cheerful and who spread his fingers and said that misfortunes simply were not worth bothering about. Eric longed for Karlsson very much; and at the same time he felt rather worried. Supposing Karlsson never came back!

“Calm, be calm!” said Eric to himself, just like Karlsson. He had promised to return, hadn’t he? And he was a man whom you could trust: there was no doubt about that.

Only a day or two later Karlsson turned up again. Eric was lying face down on the floor in his room, reading, when he heard the buzzing sound once more, and in through the window Karlsson buzzed like a giant bumble-bee. He hummed a happy little tune while he circled around the walls. Now and then he hovered to look at the pictures. He cocked his head to one side and his eyes narrowed.

“Fine pictures,” he said. “Very fine pictures indeed! But maybe not quite so good as mine.”

Eric jumped up from the floor and stood there, wildly excited. It pleased him very much that Karlsson had come back.

“Have you got a lot of pictures in your house?” he asked.

“Several thousand,” said Karlsson. “Paint them myself in my spare time. Masses of little roosters and birds and other pretty things. I’m the World’s Best Rooster Painter,” and he landed beside Eric with an elegant, gliding turn.

“Really!” said Eric. “Couldn’t I come up with you to look at your house and your steam engines and your pictures?”

“Of course,” said Karlsson. “Naturally! You’re most welcome to come … another day.”

“Soon, please,” begged Eric.

“Calm, be calm!” said Karlsson. “I’ve got to tidy up a bit first, but it won’t take long. The World’s Fastest Tidy-upper—guess who that is,” said Karlsson with a twinkle in his eye.

“Perhaps it’s you,” said Eric.

“Perhaps!” shouted Karlsson. “Perhaps? Don’t doubt it for a moment. The World’s Fastest Tidy-upper, that’s Karlsson-on-the-Roof, and everyone knows it.”

Eric was only too willing to believe that Karlsson was the “World’s Best” everything. He was the world’s best playmate, too; you could certainly say that. Bridget and Christopher were lots of fun, but they were not exciting like Karlsson-on-the-Roof. Eric made up his mind to tell Bridget and Christopher about Karlsson next time they walked home from school together. Christopher was always talking about his dog Joffa. Eric had been jealous of Christopher for a long time because of that dog.

If he comes out with stories about his old Joffa tomorrow, I shall tell him about Karlsson, thought Eric.

What’s Joffa next to Karlsson-on-the-Roof?” I’ll say.
And yet—there was nothing in the world that Eric longed for so much as to have a dog of his own.

Karlsson interrupted his thoughts.

“I feel like having some fun,” he said, and looked around searchingly. “Have you got another steam engine?”

Eric shook his head. The steam engine … hmm! Well, Karlsson was here; Mommy and Daddy could see that he really did exist—and Bobby and Betty, too, if they were home.

“Will you come along to meet Mommy and Daddy?” asked Eric.

“Delighted,” said Karlsson. “It’ll be a treat for them to meet such a wise and handsome fellow as I!”

Karlsson strutted back and forth across the floor, looking very pleased with himself.

“Not too fat and not too thin, either,” he added. “A Man in his Prime. It’ll be a treat for your Mommy to meet me.”

At this precise moment the first faint smell of cooking reached Eric’s nose from the kitchen, and he knew that very soon now it would be dinnertime. Eric decided to wait until after dinner before he introduced Karlsson to Mommy and Daddy. It is never good policy to disturb mothers when they are cooking. Besides, Mommy or Daddy might take it into their heads to talk to Karlsson about the steam engine and the stain on the bookshelf. And that must be prevented. While they were having dinner Eric could probably, in a tactful way, make his parents realize how one should behave toward the World’s Best Steam Engineer. All he needed was a little time. After dinner—yes, then it would be all right; and he would take the whole family to his room.

“There you are!” he would say. “Here’s Karlsson-on-the-Roof.” How astonished they would be; it was going to be fun seeing their surprise!

Karlsson had stopped his pacing. He was standing motionless, sniffing like a setter.

“Meatballs!” he said. “Tasty little meatballs I like ver-ry much.”

Eric felt rather embarrassed. There was really only one thing you could say in answer to that: Will you stay and have dinner with us? That’s what he ought to say.

But he dared not bring Karlsson to dinner without any warning. It was quite a different matter in the case of Bridget and Christopher. Then he could ask at the last moment (if he wanted to), even when the rest of the family had already sat down, “Could Bridget and Christopher possibly stay for dinner, Mommy?”
But a completely unknown, fat little man who had broken a steam engine and made stains on the bookshelf! No, it wouldn’t do at all.

But this fat little man had just said that he liked tasty little meatballs very much. It was up to Eric to see that he got them, or else perhaps Karlsson would not come and see him again. Oh, so much depended on Mommy’s meatballs!

“Wait a minute,” said Eric. “I’ll go out in the kitchen and fetch some.”

Karlsson nodded approvingly.

“Good!” he said. “Good! But hurry! You don’t get less hungry by looking at pictures—without roosters or anything in them.”

Eric darted out into the kitchen. Mommy was standing by the stove in a checked apron, surrounded by the most delicious smell of fried onions. She was shaking the big frying pan over the flame, and in the pan jostled lots and lots of nicely browned, little meatballs.

“Hello, Eric,” said Mommy. “We’re going to eat in a minute.”

“Mommy, could I have some meatballs on a saucer to take to my room?” asked Eric in his most persuasive voice.

“But we’re going to have dinner in a minute or two, darling,” said Mommy.

“Oh, please!” said Eric. “After dinner I’ll tell you why.”

“Very well,” said Mommy, “just a few then.”

She placed six meatballs on a small plate. Oh, how good they smelled and they were small and brown and round, just as they should be. Eric carried the plate carefully in both hands as he hurried back to his room.

“Look, Karlsson!” he called, opening the door.

But Karlsson had disappeared. Eric stood there with the meatballs, and Karlsson was not there. Eric was terribly disappointed—everything suddenly seemed very cheerless. “He’s gone away,” he said aloud to himself. But then …

“Squeak,” he suddenly heard a voice saying.

Squeak!”
Eric looked all around. Far down at one end of the bed—underneath the blankets—he saw a fat little lump, moving. That was where the squeak came from. Then Karlsson’s red face peeped out from between the sheets.

“Haha,” said Karlsson. “ ‘He’s gone,’ you said, ‘he’s gone’—haha, I haven’t gone at all. I was only pretending.”

Then he caught sight of the meatballs. Presto, he turned the button, the engine started buzzing, and Karlsson glided from the bed straight past the plate. He snatched a meatball on his way, rose rapidly up to the ceiling, and circled round the light, contentedly munching the meatball.

“Delicious! Excellent!” he said. “You’d almost think the World’s Best Meatball-Maker had cooked it, but it’s obvious he hasn’t,” said Karlsson. And he made a sudden dive toward the plate and seized another.

Mommy was calling from the kitchen, “Eric, it’s dinnertime. Hurry up and wash your hands and come along!”

“I have to go,” said Eric and put the plate down. “But I’ll soon be back. Promise you’ll wait for me!”

“All right, but what shall I do while you’re away?” said Karlsson, landing beside Eric with a reproachful little thud. “I must have some fun while you’re away. Haven’t you really got any more steam engines?”

“No,” said Eric, “but you can borrow my box of building blocks.”

“O.K.,” said Karlsson.

Eric fetched his box of building blocks from the cupboard where he kept his toys. It was indeed a fine kit of blocks, with various parts that could be screwed together to make a large number of different things.

“Here you are,” he said. “You can build cars and cranes and all sorts of things …”

“And you don’t suppose that the World’s Best Building-Erector doesn’t know what you can build and cannot build?” said Karlsson. Rapidly he popped yet another meatball into his mouth and proceeded to investigate the box.

“Let’s see, let’s see,” he said, emptying out all the pieces on to the floor.

Eric had to go, although he would much rather have stayed to watch the World’s Best Building-Erector at work.

The last thing he saw as he turned around in the doorway was Karlsson, sitting on the floor, singing happily to himself, “Hooray, how clever I am … hooray, how sensible I am … and just plump enough … hmm!”

The last part was hummed a second after he had swallowed the fourth meatball.

Mommy and Daddy, Betty and Bobby were already sitting at the table. Eric slipped into his place and unfolded his napkin.

“Promise me something, Mommy—and you, too, Daddy,” he said.

“What do you want us to promise?” asked Mommy.

“Promise first,” said Eric.

Daddy was rather reluctant to make a vague promise. “Who knows? Perhaps you want me to give you a dog again,” he said.

“No, it isn’t a dog,” said Eric, “though I wouldn’t mind if you promised me one. No, it’s something else, and it’s easy. Promise that you promise!”

“Very well, we promise,” said Mommy.

“All right. Now you’ve promised not to say anything to Karlsson-on-the-Roof about the steam engine,” said Eric, pleased.

“Ha,” said Betty. “How could they say anything to Karlsson when they never see him?”

“They will,” said Eric triumphantly. “After dinner. He’s in my room.”

“Gosh, I think a meatball got stuck in my throat,” said Bobby. “Karlsson’s in your room, did you say?”

“He certainly is.”

This was the hour of triumph for Eric. If only they would hurry up and finish eating, then they would see …

Mommy smiled a little.

“It will be a pleasure for us to meet Karlsson,” she said.

“That’s what Karlsson said, too,” Eric told her.

At last they had finished dessert. Mommy rose from the table. This was the great moment.

“Come along, all of you,” said Eric.

“You don’t have to ask us twice,” said Betty. “I can’t wait to see Karlsson.”

Eric went on ahead.

“Remember what you promised,” he said before he opened the door to his room. “Not a word about the steam engine!”

Then he turned the handle and opened the door.

Karlsson was gone. Karlsson was gone. There was not even a fat little lump underneath the blankets in Eric’s bed.

But in the middle of the floor there rose, out of the medley of building blocks, a tower—a very tall and very thin tower.

Although Karlsson could, of course, build cranes and other things, this time he had contented himself with putting one block on top of another, making this very tall and very thin tower. The top of the tower had been decorated with something which was evidently meant to look like a dome. It was a little round meatball.