Little Tuk

Tieu Tu! It’s a strange name! However, that is not the boy’s real name. His real name is Carl, But when he was young, he couldn’t speak clearly, so he often called himself Tuk. It’s hard to say why because it doesn’t look like “Carl” at all, but the name is as good as any name if one knows it.

Young Tuk is left at home to care for his sister Gustava, who is much younger than him, and he must learn his lesson, too. These are two things that have to be done at the same time, and they are different from one another. The poor boy sat with his sister in his arms, singing to her all the songs he knew but occasionally glancing at the geography unfolding beside him. By tomorrow morning, he should know the names of all the towns in Seeland by heart and be able to tell about them all that can be said.

Finally, his mother arrived and hugged baby Gustava. Tuk dashed to the window and read it repeatedly until he almost finished reading it – because it was getting darker and darker, and his mother couldn’t afford to buy candles.

“An old washerwoman is coming down the alley,” the mother said as she looked out the window. “She can hardly drag herself along, poor thing, and now she had to carry that heavy barrel away from the pump. Be a good boy, little Tuk, and run over to help that poor creature, will you?”

Little Tuk dashed and helped support the weight of the box. But when he returned to the room, it was already dark. One does not say anything about a candle, and there is no point in wishing for one; he had to go to his little trundle bed made from an old mattress.

He lay there, still thinking about the geography lesson, about Seeland, and about everything the teacher had said. He couldn’t read that book again, which he should have done, because of the lack of light. So he put the geography book under his pillow. Someone once told him that it would help him remember lessons wonderfully, but he had never found that one could rely on it.

He lay there, thinking and thinking, until suddenly, he felt like someone was gently covering his mouth and eyes with a kiss. He fell asleep but was not yet asleep because he seemed to see the gentle, kind regards of the old washerwoman fixed on him and heard her say: “Truly, it would be a pity if you did not know the lesson of the day.” my apricot, baby Tu. You helped me; now I will help you and our God will help us both.”

Suddenly, the book’s pages rustled under little Tuk’s head, and he heard something crawling under his pillow.

“Clack, clack, clack!” cried a hen as she crawled towards him. (She comes from the town of Kjöge.) “I’m the Kjöge hen,” she said. Then she told him how many inhabitants this little town had and about the battle that had once taken place there and that now it was hardly worth mentioning; there were so many more incredible things.

In a moment, he was on his horse and kept galloping, galloping! Scratch, scratch! Crab Kribbley! And now a large wooden bird jumped onto the bed. It’s popinjay from the shooting range in Præstö. He calculated the number of inhabitants in Præstö and discovered that there were as many as there were nails on his body. He is a proud bird. “Thorwaldsen lives on the corner of Præstö, near me. Am I not a beautiful bird, a happy bird?”

And now, little Tuk is no longer lying in bed. In a moment, he was on his horse and kept galloping, galloping! A splendid knight with a shining helmet and fluttering feather—a knight of old—carried him on his horse; together, they rode through the woods of the ancient city of Vordingborg, and it became once more a great and bustling town. The tall towers of the king’s castle rose against the sky, and bright lights shone through the windows. Inside is music and fun. King Waldemar is leading the ladies of his court to dance with him.

Suddenly, dawn broke, the lights grew pale, the sun rose, the outlines of the buildings faded, and finally, only a tall tower remained that marked the spot where the royal castle once stood. The large city has shrunk into a poor, insignificant small town. The schoolboys who had just come out of school with geography books said: “Two thousand inhabitants”; that’s just a boast because the city doesn’t have that many people.

And baby Tuk is lying on the bed. He didn’t know if he was dreaming or not, but there was someone next to him.

“Little Tuk! Little Tuk!” let out a cry; it was the voice of a sailor boy. “I have come to bring you greetings from Korsör. Korsör was a new town, a livable town with steamships and mail coaches. In the past, people called it a vile and ugly place, but now it’s no longer like that.

Korsör said: “‘I live by the sea; ‘I have wide streets and pleasure gardens; and I gave birth to a poet, a poet wittier than all poets. I have been thinking of sending a ship around the world, but I did not do that, although I might have done so. I live comfortably near the harbour, and I smell of perfume, for the loveliest roses bloom around me, near my gate.'”

Baby Tuk can smell the roses and see them and their bright green leaves. But in a moment, they were gone; the green leaves spread wide and thick – a perfect forest had grown above the clear waters of the bay, and above the forest rose the two pointed towers of a glorious old church. From the grassy side of the hill sprang a fountain with a rainbow-coloured stream, with a merry, melodious voice, and near it stood a king, wearing a golden crown in his long black hair.

This is King Hroar ​​of the stream, and nearby is Roskilde (Hroar ​​Fountain). And up the hill, on a wide road, all the kings and queens of Denmark wore golden crowns. They held hands and walked into the church, the deep music of the organ mixed with the clear ripples of the fountain. Because almost all of Denmark’s kings and queens are buried in this beautiful church. And baby Tuk saw and heard it all.

“Don’t forget the towns,” said King Hroar.

Then it all disappeared, although where it went, he did not know. It’s like turning the pages of a book.

And now standing before him was an old peasant woman from Sorö, a quiet little town where grass grew right in the market square. Her green linen apron was draped over her head and back, and it was very wet, as if it were raining heavily.

“And it was,” she said. She told many good things from Holberg’s comedies and recited the ballads of Waldemar and Absalon because Holberg had established an academy in her hometown.

Suddenly, she bent down and shook her head like a frog about to jump. “Koax!” she cried; “It was damp, always damp, and still as a tomb in Sorö.” She turned into a frog. “Koax!” and once again, she was an old woman. “One must dress appropriately for the weather,” she said.

“It’s wet! It’s wet! My hometown is like a bottle; people go in with corks and have to go out with corks. In the past, we had the best fish; now, we have rosy-cheeked boys fresh at the bottom of the bottle. There, they learned wisdom—Greek, Greek, and Hebrew! Koax!”

It sounded like a frog croaking or as if someone was walking through a large swamp with heavy boots. Her tone was tired. All the same, little Tuk was fast asleep, and that was a perfect thing for him.

But even in sleep, there is a dream, or whatever else you might call it. His sister, Gustava, with blue eyes and flaxen curls, had grown into a tall, beautiful girl who, although wingless, could fly, and now they flew over Seeland—over green forests and clear waters.

“Listen! Do you hear the cock crowing, little Tuk? ‘Cock-a-doodle-do!’ The chickens are flying from Kjöge, and you will have a farmyard, a wonderful poultry yard, you’re own excellent! You will never suffer hunger or want. The golden goose, the bird of good omen, will be yours; you will become prosperous and happy. Your house will be high-rising like the towers of King Waldemar and richly decorated with statues like that of Thorwaldsen at Præstö.

“Understand me; Your fame will spread throughout the world, like the ship that sailed from Korsör, and at Roskilde, you will speak and give advice wisely and kindly, little Tuk, like King Hroar; and when at last, you lie in your peaceful grave, you will sleep quietly—”

“It was as if I was sleeping in Sorö,” Tuk said and woke up. It was a bright morning, and he couldn’t remember his dream, but he didn’t need to. One does not need to know what one will live to see.

And now he quickly jumped out of bed and looked for the book under his pillow. He read his lessons and found that he knew the towns very well.

And the old washerwoman stuck her head in the door and nodded amicably and said: “Thank you, good child, for your help yesterday. May God fulfil your brightest and most beautiful dreams! I know he will.”

Tieu Tuk had forgotten what he had dreamed about, but that didn’t matter. Someone above knows it all.

The short fairy tales has been changed to be suitable for kids by Miuorini