Михаил Энде. Момо (engl)
страница №3
...'reright, it's closing in — it's the same all over the city. I've noticed it
for quite a time.'
'Noticed what?' asked Momo.
Beppo thought a while. Then he said, 'Nothing good.' There was another
pause before he added, 'It's getting cold.'
'Never mind,' said Guido, putting his arm consolingly around Momo's
shoulders, 'more and more children come here, anyway.'
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'Exactly,' said Beppo, 'that's just it.' 'What do you mean?' Momo
asked. Beppo thought for a long time before replying. 'They don't come for
the sake of our company,' he said. 'It's a refuge they're after, that's
all.'
They looked down at the stretch of grass in the middle of the
amphitheatre, where a newly invented game was in progress. The children
included several of Momo's old friends: Paolo, the boy who wore glasses;
Maria and her little sister, Rosa;
Massimo, the fat boy with the squeaky voice; and Franco, the lad who
always looked rather ragged and unkempt. In addition to them, however, there
were a number of children who had only been coming for the past few days and
one small boy who had first appeared that morning. It looked as if Guido was
right; their numbers were increasing every day.
Momo would have been delighted, except that most of the newcomers had
no idea how to play. All they did was sit around looking bored and sullen
and watching Momo and her friends. Sometimes they deliberately broke up the
other children's games and spoiled everything. Squabbles and scuffles were
frequent, though these never lasted long because Momo's presence had its
usual effect on the newcomers, too, so they soon started having bright ideas
themselves and joining in with a will. The trouble was, new children turned
up nearly every day, some of them from distant parts of the city, and one
spoilsport was enough to ruin a game for everyone else.
But there was another thing Momo couldn't quite understand - a thing
that hadn't happened until very recently. More and more often these days,
children turned up with all kinds of toys you couldn't really play with:
remote-controlled tanks that trundled to and fro but did little else, or
space rockets that whizzed around on strings but got nowhere, or model
robots that waddled along with eyes flashing and heads swivelling but that
was all.
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They were highly expensive toys such as Momo's friends had never owned,
still less Momo herself. Most noticeable of all, they were so complete, down
to the tiniest detail, that they left nothing at all to the imagination.
Their owners would spend hours watching them, mesmerized but bored, as they
trundled, whizzed or waddled along. Finally, when that palled, they would go
back to the familiar old games in which a couple of cardboard boxes, a torn
tablecloth, a molehill or a handful of pebbles were quite sufficient to
conjure up a whole world of makebelieve.
For some reason, this evening's game didn't seem to be going too well.
The children dropped out, one by one, until they all sat clustered around
Guido, Beppo and Momo. They were hoping for a story from Guido, but that was
impossible because the latest arrival had brought along a transistor radio.
He was sitting a few feet away with the volume at full blast, listening to
commercials.
'Turn it down, can't you?' growled Franco, the shabby-looking lad.
The newcomer pointed to the radio and shook his head. 'Can't hear you,'
he said with an impudent grin.
'Turn it down!' shouted Franco, rising to his feet.
The newcomer paled a little but looked defiant. 'Nobody tells me what
to do,' he said. 'I can have my radio on as loud as I like.'
'He's right,' said old Beppo. 'We can't forbid him to make such a din,
the most we can do is ask him not to.'
Franco sat down again. 'Then he ought to go somewhere else,' he
grumbled. 'He's already ruined the whole afternoon.'
'I expect he has his reasons,' Beppo said, studying the newcomer
intently but not unkindly through his little steel-rimmed spectacles. 'He's
sure to have.'
The newcomer said nothing, but moments later he turned his radio down
and looked away.
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Momo went over and sat down quietly beside him. He switched off the
radio altogether, and for a while all was still.
'Tell us a story, Guido,' begged one of the recent arrivals. 'Oh yes,
do!' the others chimed in. 'A funny one - no, an exciting one - no, a fairy
tale - no, an adventure story!'
But Guido, for the first time ever, wasn't in the mood for telling
stories. At length he said, 'I'd far rather you told me something about
yourselves and your homes - how you spend your time and why you come here.'
The children relapsed into silence. All of a sudden, they looked
dejected and uncommunicative.
"We've got a nice new car,' one of them said at last. 'On Saturdays,
when my mother and father have time, they wash it. If I've been good, I'm
allowed to help. I want a car like that when I'm older.'
'My parents let me go to the cinema every day, if I like,' said a
little girl. 'They don't have time to look after me, you see, and it's
cheaper than a babysitter. That's why I sneak off here and save the money
they give me for the cinema. When I've saved up enough, I'm going to buy an
aeroplane ticket and go and see the Seven Dwarfs.'
'Don't be silly,' said another child. 'They don't exist.' 'They do so,'
retorted the little girl. 'I've even seen pictures of them in a travel
brochure.'
'I've got eleven books on tape,' said a little boy, 'so I can listen to
them whenever I like. Once upon a time my dad used to tell me stories when
he came home from work. That was nice, but he's hardly ever home these days,
and even when he is he's too tired and doesn't feel like it.' 'What about
your mother?' asked Maria. 'She's out all day too.'
'It's the same with us,' said Maria. 'I'm lucky, though, having Rosa to
keep me company.' She hugged the little girl on her lap and went on, 'When I
get home from school I heat up our supper. Then I do my homework, and then'
- she
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shrugged her shoulders — 'then we just hang around till it gets dark.
We come here, usually.'
From the way the children nodded, it was clear that they all fared much
the same.
'Personally, I'm glad my parents don't have time for me these days,'
said Franco, who didn't look glad in the least. 'They only quarrel when
they're home, and then they take it out on me.'
Abruptly, the boy with the transistor looked up and said, 'At least I
get a lot more pocket money than I used to.'
'Sure you do,' sneered Paolo. 'The grown-ups dish out money to get rid
of us. They don't like us any more - they don't even like themselves. If you
ask me, they don't like anything any more.'
'That's not true!' the newcomer exclaimed angrily. 'My parents like me
a lot. It isn't their fault, not having any time to spare, it's just the way
things are. They gave me this transistor to keep me company, and it cost a
lot. That proves they're fond of me, doesn't it?'
No one spoke, and suddenly the boy who'd been a spoilsport all
afternoon began to cry. He tried to smother his sobs and wiped his eyes with
his grubby fists, but the tears flowed fast, leaving pallid snail tracks in
the patches of grime on his cheeks.
The other children gazed at him sympathetically or stared at the
ground. They understood him now. Deep down, all of them felt as he did: they
felt abandoned.
'Yes,' old Beppo repeated after a while, 'it's getting cold.'
'I may not be able to come here much longer,' said Paolo, the boy with
glasses.
Momo looked surprised. 'Why not?'
'My parents think you're a bunch of lazy good-for-nothings,' Paolo
explained. 'They say you fritter your time away. They say there are too many
of your son around. You've got so much time on your hands, other people have
to
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make do with less and less - that's what they say - and if I keep
coming here I'll end up just like you.'
Again there were nods of agreement from the other children, who had
been told much the same thing.
Guido looked at each of them in turn. 'Is that what you think of us,
too?' he asked. 'If so, why do you keep on coming?'
It was Franco who broke the short silence that followed. 'I couldn't
care less. My old man says I'll end up in prison, anyway. I'm on your side.'
'I see,' Guido said sadly. 'So you do think we're stealing time from
other people.'
The children dropped their eyes and looked embarrassed. At length,
gazing intently into Beppo's face, Paolo said, 'Our parents wouldn't lie to
us, would they?' In a low voice, he added, 'Aren't you time-thieves, then?'
At that the old roadsweeper rose to his full but diminutive height,
solemnly raised his right hand, and declared, 'I have never, never stolen so
much as a second of another person's time, so help me God.'
'Nor have I,' said Momo.
'Nor I,' Guido said earnestly.
The children preserved an awed silence. If the three friends had given
their solemn word, that was good enough.
'And while we're on the subject,' Guido went on, 'let me tell you
something else. Once upon a time, people used to like coming to see Momo
because she listened to them and helped them to know their own minds, if you
follow my meaning. Nowadays they seldom stop to wonder what they think. They
used to enjoy listening to me, too, because my stories helped them to forget
their troubles, but they seldom bother with that either. They don't have
time for such things, they say, but haven't you noticed something odd? It's
strange the things they don't have time for any more.'
Guido surveyed the listening children with narrowed eyes
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and nodded before continuing. 'The other day,' he said, "I bumped into
an old friend in town, a barber by the name of Figaro. We hadn't met for
quite a while, and I hardly recognized him, he was so changed - so irritable
and grumpy and depressed. He used to be a cheerful type, always singing,
always airing his ideas on every subject under the sun. Now, all of a
sudden, he hasn't got time for anything like that. The man's just a shadow
of his former self - he isn't good old Figaro any more, if you know what I
mean. But now comes the really strange part: if he were the only one, I'd
think he'd gone a bit cracked, but he isn't. There are people like Figaro
wherever you look - more and more of them every day. Even some of our oldest
friends are going the same way. I'm beginning to wonder if it isn't
catching.'
Old Beppo nodded. 'You're right,' he said, 'it must be.' 'In that
case,' said Momo, looking dismayed, 'our friends need help.'
They spent a long time that evening debating what to do. Of the men in
grey and their ceaseless activities, none of them yet had the faintest
suspicion.
Momo, who couldn't wait to ask her old friends what was wrong and why
they'd stopped coming to see her, spent the next few days looking them up.
The first person she called on was Salvatore, the bricklayer. She knew
the house well - Salvatore lived in a little garret under the roof — but he
wasn't at home. According to the other tenants, he now worked on one of the
big new housing developments on the far side of town and was earning a lot
of money. He seldom came home at all these days, they said, and when he did
it was usually in the small hours. He'd taken to the bottle and was hard to
get along with.
Momo decided to wait for him just the same, so she sat down on the
stairs outside his door. When it grew dark, she fell asleep.
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It must have been long past midnight when she was woken by the sound of
unsteady footsteps and raucous singing. Salvatore came blundering upstairs,
caught sight of Momo, and stopped short, looking dumbfounded.
'Momo!' he said hoarsely, clearly embarrassed to be seen in his present
condition. 'So you're still around, eh? What on earth are you doing here?'
'Waiting to see you,' Momo replied shyly. 'You're a fine one, I must
say!' Salvatore smiled and shook his head. 'Fancy turning up to see your old
pal Salvatore in the middle of the night! I'd have paid you a visit myself,
ages ago, but I just don't have the time any more, not for - well, personal
things.' He gestured vaguely and flopped down on the stairs beside her.
'You've no idea the kind of life I lead these days. Things aren't the way
they used to be - times are changing. Over where I'm working now,
everything's done in double-quick time. We all work like fury. One whole
floor a day, that's what we have to sling together, day after day. Yes, it
isn't like it used to be. Everything's organized — every last move we make
. ..'
Momo listened closely as he rambled on, and the longer she listened the
less enthusiastic he sounded. Suddenly he lapsed into silence and massaged
his face with his work-roughened hands.
'I've been talking rubbish,' he said sadly. 'I'm drunk again, Momo,
that's the trouble. I often get drunk these days, there's no denying it, but
that's the only way I can stomach the thought of what we're doing over
there. To an honest bricklayer like me, it goes against the grain. Too
little cement and too much sand, if you know what that means. Four or five
years is all those buildings will last, then they'll collapse if anyone so
much as blows his nose. Shoddy workmanship from top to bottom, but that's
not the worst of it. Those tenements we're putting up aren't places for
people to live in,
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they're - they're hen coops. It's enough to make you sick. Still, why
should I care as long as I get my wages at the end of the week? Yes, times
are changing all right. It used to give me a kick when we built something
worthwhile, but now ... Someday, when I've made enough money, I'm going to
quit this job and do something different.'
He propped his chin on his hands and stared mournfully into space. Momo
still said nothing, just went on listening. When Salvatore spoke again, he
sounded a little brighter.
'Maybe I should start coming to see you again and telling you my
troubles — yes, I really should. What about tomorrow or the day after? I'll
have to see if I can fit it in, but I'll come, never fear. Is it a date?'
Momo nodded happily. Then, because they were both very tired, they said
good night and she left.
But Salvatore never turned up, neither the next day nor the day after
that. He never turned up at all.
The next people Momo called on were Nino the innkeeper and his fat wife
Liliana. Their little old tavern, which had damp-stained walls and a vine
growing around the door, was on the outskirts of town.
Momo went around to the back, as she used to in the old days. Through
the kitchen door, which was open, she could hear Nino and Liliana
quarrelling violently. Liliana, her plump face shiny with sweat, was
clattering pots and pans around on the stove while Nino shouted and
gesticulated at her. Their baby was lying in a baskerwork crib in the
corner, screaming.
Momo sat down quietly beside the baby, took it on her lap, and rocked
it gently to and fro until it stopped crying. The grown-ups interrupted
their war of words and glanced in her direction.
'Oh, it's you,' said Nino, with a ghost of a smile. 'Nice to see you
again, Momo.'
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'Hungry?' Liliana inquired rather brusquely.
Momo shook her head.
'So what do you want?' Nino demanded. He sounded grumpy. 'We're rather
pressed for time just now.'
'I only wanted to ask why it's been so long since you came to see me,'
Momo said softly.
Nino frowned. 'Search me,' he said irritably. 'I've got enough worries
as it is.'
'Yes,' snapped Liliana, 'he certainly has. Getting rid of our regular
customers, that's all he worries about these days. Remember the old men who
always used to sit at the corner table in the bar, Momo? Well, he sent them
packing — he chucked them out!'
'No, I didn't,' Nino protested. 'I asked them, quite politely, to take
their custom elsewhere. As landlord of this inn, I was perfectly within my
rights.'
'Your rights, your rights!' Liliana said angrily. 'You simply can't act
that way - it's mean and cruel. You know they'll never find another inn as
easygoing as ours. It wasn't as if they were disturbing anyone.'
'There wasn't anyone to disturb, that's why!' retorted Nino. 'No
decent, well-heeled customers would patronize this place while those
stubble-chinned old codgers were lolling about in the corner. Besides,
there's little enough profit in one measly glass of cheap red wine, which
was all they could afford in an evening. We'll never get anywhere at this
rate.'
Liliana shrugged. 'We've done all right so far.'
'So far, maybe,' Nino said fiercely, 'but you know yourself we can't go
on like this. They've just raised our rent — I've got to pay thirty per
cent more than before and everything's getting more expensive all the time.
How am I going to find the money if I turn this place into a home for
doddering old down-and-outs? Why should I go easy on other people? No one
goes easy on me.'
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Liliana banged a saucepan down on the stove so hard that the lid
rattled. 'Let me remind you of something,' she said, putting her hands on
her mountainous hips. 'One of those doddering old down-and-outs, as you call
them. is my Uncle Enrico, and I won't have you insulting my relations.
Enrico's a decent, respectable man, even if he doesn't have much money to
splash around, like those well-heeled customers you've set your heart on.'
'But Enrico's free to come here any rime,' Nino said with a lordly
gesture. 'I told him he could stay if he wanted, but he wouldn't.'
'Without his cronies? Of course he wouldn't! What did you expect him to
do, sit in a corner by himself?'
'That settles it, then,' Nino shouted. 'In any case, I've no intention
of ending my days as a small-time innkeeper just for your Uncle Enrico's
benefit. I want to get somewhere in life. Is that such a crime? I aim to
make a success of this place, and not just for my own sake. I'm thinking of
you and the baby as well, Liliana, don't you understand?'
'No, I don't,' Liliana said sharply. 'If being heartless is the only
way you can get somewhere in life, count me out. I warn you: sooner or later
I'll pack up and leave you, so suit yourself!' On that note, she took the
baby from Momo - it had started crying again - and flounced out of the
kitchen.
Nino said nothing for a long time. He lit a cigarette and twiddled it
between his fingers while Momo sat watching him.
'As a matter of fact,' he said eventually, 'they were nice old boys --
I was fond of them myself. I feel bad about them, Momo, but what else could
I do? Times have changed, you see.' His voice trailed off, and it was a
while before he went on. 'Maybe Liliana was right all along. Now that the
old men don't come here any more, the atmosphere seems strange -cold,
somehow. I don't even like the place myself. I honestly don't know what to
do for the best. Everyone acts the same
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way these days, so why should I be the odd man out?' He hesitated. 'Or
do you think I should?'
Momo gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Nino caught her eye and nodded too. Then they both smiled.
'I'm glad you came,' Nino said. 'I'd quite forgotten the way we always
used to say, "Why not go and see Momo?" Well, I will come and see you again,
and I'll bring Liliana with me. The day after tomorrow is our day off. We'll
turn up then, all right?'
'All right,' said Momo, and went on her way, but not before Nino had
presented her with a big bag of apples and oranges.
Sure enough, Nino and Liliana turned up two days later, complete with
their baby and a basketful of goodies.
'Just imagine, Momo,' said Liliana, beaming, 'Nino went to see Uncle
Enrico and the other old men. He apologized to them, one after the other,
and asked them to come back.'
Nino smiled, too, and scratched his ear in some embarrassment. 'Yes,'
he said, 'and back they all came. I can say goodbye to my plans for the inn,
but at least I like the place again.'
He chuckled, and Liliana said, 'We'll get by, Nino.'
It turned out to be a lovely afternoon, and before leaving they
promised to come again soon.
So Momo went the rounds of all her old friends, one by one. She called
on the carpenter who had made her little table and chairs out of packing
cases, and on the women who had brought her the bedstead. In short, she
called on all the people whom she had listened to in the old days and who,
thanks to her, had grown wiser, happier or more self-assured. Although some
of them failed to keep their promise to come and see her, or were unable to
for lack of time, so many old faces did turn up that things were almost as
they used to be.
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Not that Momo knew it, she was upsetting the plans of the men in grey,
and that they couldn't tolerate.
Soon afterwards, one exceptionally hot and sultry afternoon, Momo came
across a doll on the steps of the old amphitheatre.
It wasn't uncommon for children to forget all about expensive toys they
couldn't really play with and leave them behind by mistake, but Momo had no
recollection of seeing such a doll - and she would certainly have noticed
it, because it was a very unusual one.
Nearly as tall as Momo herself, the doll was so lifelike that it might
almost have been mistaken for a miniature human being, though not a child or
a baby. Its red minidress and high-heeled sandals made it look more like a
shop-window dummy or a stylish young woman about town.
Momo stared at it, fascinated. After a while she put out her hand and
touched it. Instantly, the doll blinked a couple of times, opened its
rosebud mouth, and said, in a metallic voice that sounded as if it were
issuing from a telephone, 'Hello, I'm Lola, the Living Doll.'
Momo jumped back in alarm. Then, automatically, she replied, 'Hello,
I'm Momo.'
The doll's lips moved again. 'I belong to you,' it said. 'All the other
kids envy you because I'm yours.'
'You aren't mine,' Momo said. 'Someone must have left you here by
mistake.'
She picked the doll up. Again the lips moved. 'I'd like some nice new
things,' said the metallic voice.
'Would you?' Momo thought for a moment. 'I doubt if I've got anything
you'd care for, but you're welcome to look.'
Still holding the doll, Momo clambered through the hole in the wall
that led to her underground room. All her most treasured possessions were in
a box beneath the bed. She pulled it out and lifted the lid.
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'Here,' she said, 'this is all I've got. If you'd like anything, )ust
tell me.' And she showed the doll a colourful bird's feather, a pebble with
pretty streaks in it, a brass button and a fragment of coloured glass. The
doll said nothing, so she nudged it.
'Hello,' it said. 'I'm Lola, the Living Doll.'
'I know,' said Momo, 'but you told me you wanted something. How about
this lovely pink seashell? Would you like it?'
'I belong to you,' the doll replied. 'All the other kids envy you
because I'm yours.'
'You told me that, too,' said Momo. 'All right, if you don't want any
of my things, perhaps we could play a game together. Shall we?'
'I'd like some nice new things,' the doll repeated.
'I don't have anything else,' Momo said. She took the doll and climbed
back outside again. Then she put Lola, the Living Doll, on the ground and
sat down facing her.
'Let's pretend you've come to pay me a visit,' Momo suggested.
'Hello,' said the doll. 'I'm Lola, the Living Doll.'
'How nice of you to call,' Momo replied politely. 'Have you come far?'
'I belong to you,' the doll said. 'All the other kids envy you because
I'm yours.'
'Look,' said Momo, 'we'll never get anywhere if you go on repeating
yourself like this.'
'I'd like some nice new things,' said the doll, fluttering its
eyelashes.
Momo tried several games in turn, but nothing came of them. If only the
doll had remained silent, she could have supplied the answers herself and
held an interesting conversation with it. As it was, the very fact that it
could talk made conversation impossible.
Before long, Momo was overcome by a sensation so
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entirely new to her that she took quite a while to recognize it as
plain boredom. Although her inclination was to abandon Lola, the Living
Doll, and play some other game, she couldn't for some reason tear herself
away. So there she sat, gazing at the doll, and the doll, with its glassy
blue eyes fixed on hers, gazed back. It was as if they had hypnotized each
other.
When, at long last, Momo did manage to drag her eyes away from the
doll, she gave a little start of surprise. Parked close by, not that she had
heard it drive up, stood a smart grey car. In it sat a man wearing a suit as
grey as a spider's web and a stiff, round bowler hat of the same colour. He
was smoking a small grey cigar, and his face, too, was as grey as ashes.
He must have been watching Momo for some time because he nodded and
smiled at her; and although the day was so hot that the air was dancing in
the sunlight, Momo suddenly began to shiver.
The man opened the car door and came over, carrying a steel-grey
briefcase.
'What a lovely doll you have there,' he said in a peculiarly flat and
expressionless voice. 'It must be the envy of all your playmates.'
Momo just shrugged and said nothing.
'I'll bet it cost a fortune,' the man in grey went on.
'I wouldn't know,' Momo mumbled, feeling rather embarrassed. 'I found
it lying around.'
'Well, I never!' said the man in grey. 'You are a lucky girl, and no
mistake!'
Momo remained silent and hugged her baggy jacket tightly to her. It was
growing colder and colder.
'All the same,' said the man in grey with a thin-lipped smile, 'you
don't seem too pleased.'
Momo shook her head. She suddenly felt as if happiness had fled the
world for ever - or rather, as if happiness had never existed and all her
ideas of it had been merely figments
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ot her own imagination. At the same time, she had a presentiment of
danger.
'I've been watching you for quite a while,' pursued the man in grey.
'From what I've seen, you don't have the first idea how to play with such a
marvellous doll. Shall I show you?'
Momo stared at him in surprise and nodded. 'I'd like some nice new
things,' the doll squawked suddenly.
'You see?' said the man in grey. 'She's actually telling you herself.
You can't play with a marvellous doll like this the way you'd play with any
old doll, that's obvious. Anyway, it isn't what she's meant for. If you
don't want to get bored with her, you have to give her things. Look here!'
He went back to the car and opened the boot. 'In the first place,' he
said, 'she needs plenty of clothes - like this gorgeous evening gown, for
instance.'
He pulled out a gown and tossed it to Momo. 'And here's a genuine mink
coat, and a tennis dress, and a skiing outfit, and a swimsuit, and a riding
habit, and some pyjamas, and a nightie, and another dress, and another, and
another, and another . . .'
One by one, he tossed them over till they formed a huge heap on the
ground between Momo and the doll.
'There,' he said with another thin-lipped smile, 'that should keep you
happy for a while, shouldn't it? Or are you going to get bored again after a
couple of days? Very well, you'll just have to have some more nice things
for your doll.' And he reached inside the boot again. 'Here, for instance,
is a real little snakeskin purse with a real little lipstick and powder
compact inside. Here's a miniature camera, and a tennis racket, and a doll's
TV set that really works. Here's a bracelet, a necklace, some earrings, a
doll's gold-plated automatic, some silk stockings, a feather boa, a straw
hat, an Easter bonnet, some miniature golf clubs,
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a little chequebook, perfume, bath salts, body lotion .. .' He broke
off and glanced keenly at Momo, who was sitting amid this clutter of toys
with a stunned expression on her face.
'You see,' he said, 'it's quite simple. As long as you go on getting
more and more things, you'll never grow bored. I know what you're going to
say: Sooner or later, Lola will have everything, and then I'll be bored
again. Well, there's no fear of that. Here we have the perfect boyfriend for
Lola.'
This time, when he reached into the boot, he produced a boy doll. It
was the same size as Lola and just as lifelike. 'Look,' he said, 'this is
Butch. He has any number of nice things, too, and when you get bored with
him we can supply a girlfriend for Lola with masses of outfits that won't
fit anyone but her. Butch has a friend, too, and his friend has friends of
his own, and so on ad infinitum. So you see, you need never get bored
because the game can go on for ever. There's always something left to wish
for.'
As he spoke, the man in grey took doll after doll from the boot, whose
contents seemed inexhaustible. Momo continued to sit there, watching him
rather apprehensively, while he arrayed them on the ground beside her.
'Well,' he said at length, expelling a dense cloud of smoke from his
cigar, 'now do you see how to play with dolls like these?'
'Yes,' said Momo, who was positively shaking with cold.
Satisfied, the man in grey nodded and took another pull at his cigar.
'You'd like to keep all these nice things, wouldn't you? Of course you
would. Very well, I'll make you a present of them. You can have them - not
all at once, of course, but one at a time — and lots of other things as
well. You don't have to do anything in return, just play with them the way
I've shown you. What do you say?'
He fixed Momo with an expectant smile. Then, when she still said
nothing, just returned his gaze without smiling back, he went on quickly,
'You won't need your friends any more,
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don't you see? You'll have quite enough to amuse you when all these
lovely things are yours and you keep on getting more, won't you? You'd like
that, wouldn't you? Surely you want this marvellous doll? I'll bet you've
already set your heart on it!'
Momo dimly sensed that she had a fight on her hands -indeed, that she
was already in the thick of the fray — but she didn't know why she was
fighting or with whom. The longer she listened to this stranger, the more
she felt as she had felt with the doll: she could hear a voice speaking and
hear the words it uttered, but she couldn't tell who was actually saying
them. She shook her head.
'What!' exclaimed the man in grey, raising his eyebrows. 'You modem
children are never satisfied, honestly! Lola's perfect in every detail. If
there's anything wrong with her, perhaps you'd care to tell me.'
Momo stared at the ground and thought hard. Then she said, very
quietly, 'I don't think anyone could love it — her, I mean.'
The man in grey didn't answer for some time. He stared into space with
eyes as glassy as the doll's. At last he pulled himself together. 'That's
not the point,' he said coldly.
Momo met his eye. What scared her most about him was the icy chill that
seemed to emanate from his body, yet in some strange way — she couldn't
have said why - she felt sorry for him as well as scared.
'But I do love my friends,' she said.
The man in grey grimaced as if he'd bitten into a lemon, but he quickly
recovered his composure and gave her a razor-sharp smile. 'Momo,' he said
smoothly, 'I think we should have a serious talk, you and I. It's time you
learned what matters in life.' He produced a little grey notebook from his
pocket and leafed through it until he found what he was looking for. 'Your
name is Momo, isn't it?'
Momo nodded. The man in grey shut his notebook with a
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snap and pocketed it again. Then, with a faint grunt of exertion, he
sat himself down on the ground at Momo's side. He said no more for a while,
just puffed thoughtfully at his small grey cigar.
'All right, Momo,' he said at last, 'listen carefully.' Momo had been
trying to do this all the time, but the man in grey was far harder to listen
to than anyone she'd ever heard. She could understand what other people
meant and what they were like by getting right inside them, so to speak, but
with him this was quite impossible. Whenever she tried to read his thoughts
she seemed to plunge headlong into a dark chasm, as if there were nothing
there at all. It had never happened to her before.
'All that matters in life,' the man in grey went on, 'is to climb the
ladder of success, amount to something, own things. When a person climbs
higher than the rest, amounts to more, owns more things, everything else
comes automatically:
friendship, love, respect, et cetera. You tell me you love your
friends. Let's examine that statement quite objectively.'
He blew a few smoke rings. Momo tucked her bare feet under her skirt
and burrowed still deeper into her oversize jacket.
'The first question to consider,' pursued the man in grey, 'is how much
your friends really gain from the fact of your existence. Are you any
practical use to them? No. Do you help them to get on in the world, make
more money, make something of their lives? No again. Do you assist them in
their efforts to save time? On the contrary, you distract them - you're a
millstone around their necks and an obstacle to their progress. You may not
realize it, Momo, but you harm your friends by simply being here. Without
meaning to be, you're really their enemy. Is that what you call love?'
Momo didn't know what to say. She'd never looked at things that way.
She even wondered, for one brief moment, whether the man in grey might not
be right after all.
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'And that,' he went on, 'is why we want to protect your friends from
you. If you really love them, you'll help us. We have their interests at
heart, so we want them to succeed in life. We can't just look on idly while
you distract them from everything that matters. We want to make sure you
leave them alone - that's why we're giving you all these lovely things.'
Momo's lips had begun to tremble. 'Who's "we"?' she asked.
'The Timesaving Bank,' said the man in grey. 'I'm Agent No. BLW/553/c.
I wish you no harm, personally speaking, but the Timesaving Bank isn't an
organization to be trifled with.'
Just then, Momo recalled what Beppo and Guido had said about timesaving
being infectious, and she had an awful suspicion that this stranger had
something to do with the spread of the epidemic. She wished from the bottom
of her heart that her friends were with her now. She had never felt so
alone, but she was determined not to let fear get the better of her.
Summoning up all her courage, she plunged headlong into the dark chasm in
which the stranger concealed his true self.
He had been watching her out of the corner of his eye, so the change in
her expression did not escape him. He lit a fresh cigar from the butt of the
old one.
'Don't bother,' he said with a sarcastic smile. 'You're no match for
us.'
But Momo stood firm. 'Isn't there anyone who loves youY she whispered.
The man in grey squirmed a little. 'I must say,' he replied in his
greyest voice, 'I've never met anyone like you before, truly I haven't, and
I've met a lot of people in my time. If there were many more like you
around, we'd have nothing left to live on. We'd have to close down the
Timesaving Bank and dissolve into thin air.'
He broke off, staring at Momo as if she were something he could neither
understand nor cope with. His face turned a shade greyer. When next he
spoke, it was as if he were doing so against his will - as if the words were
pouring forth despite him. At the same time, his face became more and more
convulsed with horror at what was happening to him. At long last, Momo heard
his real voice, which seemed to come from infinitely far away.
'We have to remain unrecognized,' he blurted out. 'No one must know of
our existence or activities. We make sure no one ever remembers us, because
we can only carry on our business if we pass unnoticed. It's a wearisome
business, too, bleeding people of their time by the hour, minute and second.
All the time they save, they lose to us. We drain it off, we hoard it, we
thirst for it. Human beings have no conception of the value of their time,
but we do. We suck them dry, and we need more and more time every day,
because there are more and more of us. More and more and more ...'
The last few words were uttered in a sort of death rattle. The man in
grey clapped his hands over his mouth and stared at Momo with his eyes
bulging. Little by little, he seemed to emerge from a kind of trance.
'W-what happened?' he stammered. 'You've been spying on me! I'm ill,
and it's all your fault!' His tone became almost imploring. 'I've been
talking nonsense, Momo. Forget it -forget me like everyone else. You must,
you mustV
He grabbed hold of Momo and shook her. Her lips moved, but she couldn't
get a word out.
The man in grey jumped to his feet. He peered in all directions like a
cornered beast, then snatched up his briefcase and sprinted to the car. The
next moment, something very strange happened. Like an explosion in reverse,
all the dolls and their scattered belongings flew back into the boot, which
slammed shut. The car roared off at such speed that grit and pebbles spurted
from its wheels.
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Momo sat there for a long time, trying to make sense of what she had
heard. As the dreadful chill seeped slowly from her limbs, so her thoughts
became steadily clearer. Now that she had heard the real voice of the man in
grey, she could remember everything.
From the sun-baked grass in front of her rose a slender thread of
smoke. The trampled butt of a small grey cigar was smouldering away to
ashes.
EIGHT
The Demonstration
Late that afternoon, Guido and Beppo turned up. They found Momo sitting
in the shade of a wall, still rather pale and upset, so they sat down beside
her and anxiously inquired what the matter was. Momo began to tell them what
had happened, haltingly at first, but she ended by repeating her entire
conversation with the man in grey, word for word.
Old Beppo watched her gravely and intently throughout, the furrows in
his wrinkled brow growing deeper by the minute. He said nothing, even when
she had finished.
Guido, by contrast, listened to her with mounting excitement. His eyes
began to shine as they so often did when he himself was telling a story and
got carried away. He gripped Momo by the shoulder.
'Well,' he said, 'this is our big moment. You've discovered something
no one else knew. Now we can rescue everyone from their clutches - not just
our friends but the whole city! It's up to the three of us - you, me and
Beppo!'
He jumped up and stood there with his arms outflung. In his mind's eye
he could see a vast crowd of people hailing him as their saviour.
'Yes,' said Momo, looking rather baffled, 'but how?'
'What do you mean, "how"?' Guido demanded irritably.
'I mean,' said Momo, 'how do we beat the men in grey at their own
game?'
Guido shrugged. 'I can't say exactly, of course, not right this minute.
We'll have to work something out first, but one
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thing's for sure: now we know they exist and what they're up to, we
must tackle them - or are you scared?'
Momo nodded uneasily. 'I don't think they're ordinary men. The one that
was here looked different, somehow, and the air around him was dreadfully
cold. If there are a lot of them, they're bound to be dangerous. Yes, I'm
scared all right.'
'Don't be silly,' Guido said briskly. 'The whole thing's quite simple.
They can only do their dirty work as long as nobody recognizes them - your
visitor said so himself. Well, then! All we have to do is make sure they're
recognizable. Once people recognize them they'll remember them, and once
they remember them they'll know them again at a glance. The men in grey
won't be able to harm us then - we'll be safe as houses.'
'You really think so?' Momo said, rather doubtfully.
Guide's eyes were alight with confidence. 'Of course,' he assured her.
'Why else would your visitor have taken to his heels like that? They're
terrified of us, 1 tell you.'
'What if we can't find them?' Momo asked. 'They may go and hide.'
'They may well,' Guido conceded. 'If they do, we'll simply have to lure
them out into the open.'
'But how?' asked Momo. 'They're pretty clever, it seems to me.'
'That's easy,' Guido said with a chuckle. 'We'll take advantage of
their own greed. If you can catch mice with cheese, you can catch
time-thieves with time - and that we've got plenty of. For instance, Beppo
and I could lie in wait while you sat here twiddling your thumbs. When they
took the bait, we'd jump out and overpower them.'
'But they know me already,' Momo objected. 'I don't think they'd fall
for it.'
'All right,' said Guido, who was brimming over with bright ideas, 'then
we'll try something else. Your man in grey
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mentioned something about a Timesaving Bank. That means it's a building
somewhere in town. All we have to do is find it, and find it we will,
because it's bound to be a very special-looking place. I can see it now -
grey, sinister and windowless, like a gigantic concrete safe. Once we find
it, we'll walk straight in. We'll all be armed with pistols, one in each
hand. "You!" I'll say "Hand over the time you've stolen, and make it
snappy!" And they'll -'
'But we don't have any pistols,' Momo broke in, anxiously.
Guido grandly dismissed this objection. 'Then we'll do it unarmed.
That'll impress them even more. They'll panic at the very sight of us.'
'It might be better if there were a few more of us,' Momo said. 'I
mean, we'd probably find the Timesaving Bank quicker if other people went
looking for it too.'
'Good idea,' said Guido. 'We must mobilize all our friends - and all
the kids who spend so much time here nowadays. I vote we get started right
away, the three of us. Tell as many people as you can find, and tell them to
pass the word. We'll all meet up here at three tomorrow afternoon, for a
grand council of war.'
So they all set off at once, Momo in one direction, Beppo and Guido in
another.
The two men had gone some distance when Beppo, who still hadn't spoken,
came to a sudden stop. 'Know something, Guido?' he said. 'I'm worried.'
Guido turned to look at him. 'About what?' Beppo regarded his friend in
silence for a moment. Then he said, 'I believe Momo.'
'So do I,' said Guido, puzzled. 'What of it?' 'I mean,' Beppo went on,
'I believe that what she told us is true.'
Guido couldn't understand what the old man was getting at. 'Of course,'
he said. 'So what?'
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'Well,' said Beppo, 'if it's true what she told us, we shouldn't rush
into anything. We don't want to tangle with a bunch of crooks just like
that, do we? If we provoke them, it may land Momo in trouble. I don't mind
so much about us, but we may endanger the children if we bring them into it
too. We must think very carefully before we act.'
Guido threw back his head and laughed. 'You and your eternal worrying!'
he scoffed. 'The more of us there are, the better. That's obvious.'
'From the sound of it,' Beppo said gravely, 'you don'l believe that
Memo's story was true at all.'
'Depends what you mean by "true",' Guido retorted. 'You've no
imagination, that's your trouble. The whole world's one big story and we're
all part of it. Sure I believe what Momo told us, Beppo - every word of it,
just like you.'
Beppo could find no suitable response to this, but Guide's optimism did
nothing to allay his fears.
Then they parted company, Guido with a light heart, Beppo filled with
foreboding, and went off to spread the news of tomorrow's meeting.
That night Guido dreamed he was being feted as one of the city's
saviours. He saw himself in a dress suit, Beppo in a smart tailcoat and Momo
in a snow-white silk gown. The mayor draped gold chains around their necks
and crowned them with laurel wreaths. Stirring music rang out, and the
citizens honoured their deliverers with a torchlight procession longer and
more impressive than any that had ever been seen before.
Meanwhile, old Beppo was tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The more
he thought about what lay ahead, the more clearly he perceived its dangers.
He wouldn't let Guido and Momo brave them alone. He would stand by them
whatever happened - that went without saying - but he must at least attempt
to dissuade them.
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By three the next afternoon, the amphitheatre resounded to excited
cries and the hum of many voices. Although it saddened Momo that none of her
grown-up friends had appeared - except, of course, for Beppo and Guido -
some fifty or sixty children had come from near and far. They were all
shapes and sizes, rich and poor, well-behaved and rowdy. Some, like Maria,
were holding younger members of the family by the hand or in their arms -
tiny little children who sucked their thumbs and gazed wide-eyed at this
unusual gathering.
Franco, Paolo and Massimo were there too, naturally, but most of the
other children were relative newcomers to the amphitheatre, and they had a
special interest in the subject under discussion. Among them was the owner
of the transistor radio, who had turned up without it. Seating himself next
to Momo, he told her straight away that his name was Claudio, and that he
was glad to have been invited.
When it became clear that the last of the children had arrived, Guido
rose to his feet and, with a sweeping gesture, called for silence. The buzz
of conversation died away, and an expectant hush descended on the
amphitheatre.
'My friends,' Guido began, 'you all have a rough idea why we're here -
you were told when you received your invitations to this secret meeting.
More and more people are finding themselves with less and less time to
spare, even though they're saving it for all they're worth. The truth is,
they've lost the very time they meant to save. Why? We now know, thanks to
Momo. People are being robbed of their time - and I mean robbed - by a gang
of time-thieves! That's why we need your help: so as to put a stop to the
activities of this cold-blooded, criminal fraternity. Our city is in the
grip of a nightmare. With your cooperation, we can banish it at a stroke.
Isn't that a cause worth fighting for?' He paused while the children
applauded. 'We'll discuss what to do in due course,' he went on 'Meantime,
Momo is going to describe her encounter
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with a member of the gang and how he gave himself away.'
'One moment,' said Beppo, getting up. 'Listen, children! I say Momo
shouldn't tell you her story. It's a bad idea. If she does, she'll endanger
herself and all of you.'
'No,' cried several voices, 'let her speak! We want Momo!' More and
more voices joined in until all the children were chanting 'Momo, Momo,
Momo!' in unison.
Old Beppo sat down again. He took off his little steel-rimmed
spectacles and wearily rubbed his eyes.
Momo stood up, looking perplexed. She didn't know whose wishes to
comply with, Beppo's or the children's. At length, while her audience
listened attentively, she recounted what had happened.
A long silence fell when she finished. The children had grown rather
uneasy during her recital. They hadn't imagined that time-thieves could be
so sinister. One tiny tot burst into tears but was quickly comforted.
The silence was broken by Guido. 'Well,' he said, 'how many of you have
the guts to join our campaign against the men in grey?'
'Why didn't Beppo want Momo to tell us what happened?' Franco inquired.
Guido gave him a reassuring smile. 'He thinks the time-thieves feel
threatened by those who know their secret, so they try to hunt them down.
Myself, I think it's the other way around. I'm convinced that knowing their
secret makes a person invulnerable: once you know it they can't lay a finger
on you. That's logical, wouldn't you say? Come on, Beppo, admit it!'
But Beppo only shook his head, and the children remained silent.
'One thing's certain, anyway,' Guido pursued. 'From now on we must
stick together come hell or high water. We've got to be careful, but we
mustn't get scared. All right, I'll ask you again. Who's prepared to join
us?'
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'I am!' said Claudio, getting to his feet. He looked a trifle pale.
Others followed suit, hesitantly at first, then more and more
resolutely, until everyone present had volunteered.
'Well, Beppo,' said Guido, pointing to the forest of raised hands,
'what do you say now?'
Beppo nodded sadly. 'I'm with you too, of course.' 'Good.' Guido turned
back to the children. 'So now let's decide what to do. Any suggestions?'
They all thought hard. Paolo, the boy with glasses, finally said, 'But
how do they do it? I mean, can they really steal time?'
'Yes,' Claudio chimed in. 'What "s time, anyway?' No o...
