're
right, 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
72
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
73
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
74
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.
75
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,
76
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
79
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,
84
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
86
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 one could supply
an answer.
Maria, with little Rosa in her arms, got up from her seat on the far
side of the arena. 'Maybe it's like electricity,' she hazarded. 'After all,
there are machines that can record people's thought waves - I've seen one
myself, on TV. They've got gadgets that can do anything these days.'
'How about this for an idea!' squeaked Massimo, the fat boy with the
high-pitched voice. 'When you photograph something, it's down on film. When
you record something, it's down on tape. Maybe they've got a machine that
can record time. If we knew where it was, we could simply put it into
reverse and the missing time would be there again!'
'Anyway,' said Paolo, adjusting his glasses, 'the first thing to do is
find a scientist to help us. We won't get anywhere without one.'
'You and your scientists!' sneered Franco. 'Who says they can be
trusted? Suppose we found one who was an expert on time. How could we be
sure he wasn't in league with the time-thieves? Then we'd really be up the
creek!' Everyone seemed impressed by this objection. The next person to
speak up was a little girl of demure and ladylike appearance. 'If you ask
me,' she said, 'our best plan
97
would be to go to the police and tell them the whole story.'
'Now I've heard everything!' Franco scoffed. 'What could the cops do?
These aren't just ordinary thieves. Either the cops have known about them
all along, in which case they must be powerless, or they haven't noticed a
thing, in which case they'd never believe us.' A baffled silence ensued.
'Well,' Paolo said eventually, 'we've got to do something -as soon as
possible, too, before the time-thieves get wind of what we're up to.'
Guido rose to his feet again.
'My friends,' he said, 'I've already given this matter a lot of
thought. After dreaming up hundreds of schemes and rejecting them all in
turn, I finally hit on one that's guaranteed to do the trick - as long as
you all cooperate. I merely wanted to see if one of you could come up with a
better idea. Well, now I'll tell you what we're going to do.'
He paused and looked slowly around the amphitheatre. He was ringed by
fifty or sixty expectant faces, the biggest audience he'd had in a long
time.
'As you're now aware,' he went on, 'the men in grey depend for their
power on being able to work unrecognized and in secret. It follows that the
simplest and most effective way of rendering them harmless is to broadcast
the truth about them. And how are we to do that? I'll tell you. We're going
to hold a mass demonstration! We're going to paint posters and banners and
march through the streets with them. We're going to attract as much
attention as possible. We're going to invite the whole city to join us here,
at the old amphitheatre, to hear the full facts.'
A stir ran through the listening children. 'Everyone will go wild with
excitement,' Guido continued. 'Thousands and thousands of people will come
flocking in. Then, when a vast crowd has assembled, we'll reveal the whole
terrible truth. And then, my friends, the world will
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change overnight. No one will be able to steal people's time any more.
They'll all have as much as they need, because there'll be enough to go
around again. That's what we can achieve if we all work together - if we're
all in favour. Are we?'
This drew a chorus of exultant yells.
'Carried unanimously,' said Guido. 'In that case, we'll invite the
whole city here next Sunday afternoon. Till then, though, we mustn't breathe
a word of our plan. And now, let's get to work.'
For the next few days, the amphitheatre hummed with furtive but
feverish activity. Sheers of paper, pots of paint, brushes, paste,
cardboard, poles, planks and a host of other essentials appeared like magic
- where from, the children preferred not to say. Some of them made banners
and posters and placards, while others - the ones that were good at writing
- thought up catchy slogans and painted them in their neatest lettering.
Below are a few examples:
SAVE TIME? WHO FOR?
NO TIME LEFT? WHERES IT GONE? IF YOU
REALLY WANT TO KNOW PLEESE COME TO THE
OLD AMFITHEATRE NEXT SUNDAY AT 6
SUNDAY AT SIX
IMPORTANT! YOUR TIME IS AT STEAK
WHERE ITS GONE IS A BIG SECRET
BUT WE'LL LET YOU IN ON IT!
COME AMPFITH SUNDAY NEXT
DONT YOU HAVE A FUNNY PEELING SOMEBODY YOUR TIME IS STEELING?
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At last, when all was ready, the children assembled in the amphitheatre
and set off in single file with Guido, Beppo and Momo at their head. They
marched through the streets brandishing posters and banners, clattering
saucepan lids, blowing penny whistles chanting slogans and singing a song
composed specially for the occasion by Guido. The words went as follows:
Listen, folk, ere it's too late, or you'll live to rue your fate. Time
is flying every day, stolen by the men in grey.
Listen, folk, and heed our warning, or you'll wake up one fine morning
robbed of time and quite bereft, not a single minute left.
Don't save time, then, save your city, for those time-thieves have no
pity. Fight back hard, and do it soon. Be there Sunday afternoon!
Actually, there were more verses than that - twenty-eight, to be exact
- but we needn't quote them all here.
Although the police stepped in a few times and broke up the procession
when it obstructed the traffic, the children were undeterred. They simply
formed up elsewhere and set off again. Nothing happened apart from this, and
they didn't sight a single man in grey for all their vigilance.
They were, however, joined by other children who saw the demonstration
and hadn't known of the affair till now. More
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and more youngsters tagged along until the streets were filled with
hundreds or even thousands of them, all urging their elders to attend the
meeting that was to change the world.
NINE
The Trial
The great moment had come and gone.
It was over, and not a single grown-up had appeared. The children's
demonstration had passed almost unnoticed by the very people it was aimed
at. All their efforts had been in vain.
The big red sun was already sinking into a sea of purple cloud, so low
in the sky that its rays lit only the topmost tier of steps in the
amphitheatre, where so many hundreds of children had been waiting for so
long. No cheerful hum of voices broke the sad and disconsolate silence.
The shadows were lengthening fast. It would soon be dark, and the
children began to shiver in the chill evening air. Somewhere in the distance
a church clock struck eight. Doubt gave way to certainty: the whole scheme
had been a complete fiasco.
One or two children got up and drifted off. Others followed suit. None
of them said a word - their disappointment was too great.
Eventually, Paolo came over to Momo and said, 'It's no use waiting any
longer - no one'll turn up now. Good night.' And he walked off too.
Franco was the next to leave. 'It's hopeless,' he said. 'We can't count
on the grown-ups, we know that now. I never did trust them anyway. As far as
I'm concerned, they can stew in their own juice from now on.'
More and more children left. It was dark by the time the last of them
gave up and went home, leaving Momo alone with Guido and Beppo.
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The old roadsweeper stood up. 'Are you going, too?' Momo asked. 'I've
got to,' Beppo told her with a sigh. 'I'm on night duty.' 'Night duty?'
'Yes, unloading garbage at the municipal dump. I'm due there in half an
hour.'
'But it's Sunday. Besides, you've never had to do that before.'
'No, but we've been told to report there. They say it's only temporary.
There's too much garbage to handle, apparently. Shortage of staff, and so
on.'
'What a shame,' said Momo. 'I'd have liked you to stay a while.'
'Yes, I don't want to go myself, but there it is -- I've got to.' And
Beppo mounted his squeaky old bicycle and pedalled off into the darkness.
Guido was whistling a soft and melancholy tune. He could whistle very
sweetly, and Momo was listening with pleasure when he suddenly broke off.
'Heavens,' he exclaimed, 'I must go, too. Today's when I start my new
job - night watchman, didn't I tell you? I'd forgotten the time.'
Momo just stared at him and said nothing. 'So our plan didn't work
out,' he went on. 'Never mind, Momo. It didn't work out the way I hoped,
either, but it was fun all the same - tremendous fun.'
When Momo still said nothing, he stroked her hair sooth-ingly and
added, 'Don't take it so hard, Momo. Everything'll look quite different in
the morning. We'll just have to come up with a new idea -- a new game, eh?'
'It wasn't a game,' Momo said in a muffled voice. Guido stood up.
'Look, I know how you feel, but we'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? I have
to go now - I'm late enough as it is. Anyway, it's time you went to bed.'
And he walked off whistling his melancholy tune.
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So Momo remained sitting forlornly in the great stone bowl of the
amphitheatre. Clouds had veiled the sky and blotted out the stars. A
peculiar breeze had sprung up, light but persistent and singularly cold. If
breezes can be said to have a colour, this one was grey.
Far away beyond the outskirts of the city loomed the massive municipal
garbage dump. It was a veritable mountain of ash, cinders, broken glass and
china, tin cans, plastic containers, old mattresses, cardboard canons and
countless other objects discarded by the city's inhabitants, all waiting to
be fed, bit by bit, into huge incinerators.
Beppo and his workmates toiled for hours, shovelling garbage out of a
long line of trucks. The trucks crept forward, headlights blazing, but the
more they emptied the longer the line became.
'Faster!' the foreman kept shouting. 'Hurry it up, or we'll never be
through!'
They didn't finish the job till midnight, by which time Beppo's shirt
was clinging to his back. Being older than the rest and not the most robust
of men, he flopped down wearily on an upturned plastic bucket and struggled
to get his breath back.
'Hey, Beppo,' one of his workmates called, 'we're off home now.
Coming?'
'In a minute,' wheezed Beppo. He clasped one hand to his aching chest.
'Feeling all right, old man?' called someone else.
'I'm fine,' Beppo called back. 'Just taking a little breather, that's
all. Don't wait for me.'
'Okay,' said the others, 'good night.' And off they went.
It was quiet when they'd gone, except for an occasional rustle and
squeak from rats scrabbling in the garbage. Beppo pillowed his head on his
folded arms and dozed off.
He didn't know how long he'd been asleep when he was
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roused by a gust of cold air. One look was enough to jolt him awake in
an instant.
All over the huge mound of garbage stood grey figures attired in smart
grey suits and grey bowler hats, steel-grey briefcases in their hands and
small grey cigars in their mouths. They were gazing fixedly, silently, at
the summit of the mound. There, ensconced on a sort of magistrates' bench,
sat three men identical to the others in every respect.
Beppo was frightened for a moment. He had no business to be there - he
sensed that instinctively - and the prospect of discovery scared him. Very
soon, however, he realized that the army of grey figures had eyes for no one
but the three-man tribunal. Either they had failed to notice him at all, or
they had mistaken him for some discarded object. Whatever the explanation,
he resolved to keep as still as a mouse.
Then the silence was broken by a voice from the judges' bench. 'The
Supreme Court is now in session,' announced the central figure. 'Call Agent
No. BLW/553/c.'
The cry was repeated further down the slope and repeated again some
distance away, like an echo. Threading his way slowly through the crowd and
up the mound of garbage came a man in grey, distinguishable from his fellows
only by the pallor of his face, which was almost white.
At last he reached the tribunal.
'You are Agent No. BLW/553/c?' asked the man in the centre.
'I am.'
'How long have you been employed by the Timesaving Bank?'
'Ever since I came into existence. Your Honour.'
'That goes without saying - kindly spare us such irrelevancies. When
did you come into existence?'
'Eleven years, three months, six days, eight hours, thirty-two minutes
and - at this precise moment - eighteen seconds ago.'
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Oddly enough, although this exchange was being conducted a long way off
and in low, monotonous voices, Beppo didn't miss a word of it.
'Are you aware,' the man in the centre went on, 'that a substantial
number of children paraded through the streets today with placards and
banners, and that they even entertained the outrageous notion of inviting
the whole city to attend a briefing on our activities?'
'It hadn't escaped me,' replied the agent.
'How do you account for the fact that these children knew about us and
our activities?' the senior inquisitor pursued remorselessly.
'It's a mystery to me. Your Honour,' said the agent. 'If I may venture
a personal observation, however, I would urge the Supreme Court not to take
this incident more seriously than it deserves. It was a piece of childish
nonsense, that's all. I would also urge the court to bear in mind that we
easily managed to scotch the scheduled meeting by leaving people no time to
attend it. Even had we failed to do so, however, I'm confident that everyone
would have dismissed the children's information as a cock-and-bull story. In
my opinion, we would have done better to let the meeting go ahead, because
that would -'
'Defendant!' the judge broke in sharply. 'Do you realize where you
are?'
The agent wilted. 'Yes,' he whispered. 'This is no human court,' the
judge continued. 'You are being tried by your own kind. Lying to us is
futile, you know that perfectly well, so why bother to try?'
'It's - it's an occupational habit,' the agent stammered. 'It is for
this court to decide how seriously to take the children's intentions.
However, I need hardly remind you that children present a greater threat to
our work than anyone or anything else.'
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i know, the agent conceded meekly. 'Children,' declared the judge, 'are
our natural enemies. But for them, mankind would have been completely in our
power long ago. Adults are far easier to turn into timesavers. That's why
one of our most sacred commandments states, "Leave the children till last."
Are you familiar with that commandment, Defendant?'
'Yes indeed, Your Honour,' said the agent, puffing hard at his cigar.
It was a peculiar fact that, despite the solemnity of the occasion, all
present - judges, defendant and spectators -- were smoking incessantly.
'And yet,' the judge retorted, 'we have incontrovertible proof that one
of us - I repeat, one of us -- not only got into conversation with a child
but betrayed us. Do you happen to know who that certain person was?'
Agent No. BLW/553/c wilted still more. 'It was me. Your Honour.'
'And why did you break our most sacred commandment?' 'Because the child
in question has been seriously impeding our work by turning people against
us. I had the interests of the Timesaving Bank at heart. My intentions were
of the best.'
'Your intentions don't concern us,' the judge said icily. 'Results are
all that count here, and the result of your unauthorized action has been to
gain us no time and acquaint a child with some of our most vital secrets. Do
you admit that?'
The agent hung his head. 'I do,' he whispered. 'So you plead guilty?'
'Yes, Your Honour, but I would draw the court's attention to an
extenuating circumstance: I was genuinely bewitched -- lured into betraying
us by the way the child listened to me. I can't explain how it happened, but
I swear that's the way it was.'
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'Your excuses are irrelevant and immaterial. This court takes no
account of extenuating circumstances. The law is quite categorical on this
point and allows of no exceptions. However, we shall certainly devote some
attention to this unusual child. What is its name?'
'Momo, Your Honour.'
'Male or female?'
'She's a girl.'
'Place of residence?'
'The ruined amphitheatre.'
'Very well,' said the judge, who had recorded all these details in his
notebook. 'You may rest assured. Defendant, that this child will never harm
us again - we shall neutralize her by every available means. Let that
thought console you, now that sentence is about to be passed and carried
out.'
The agent began to tremble. 'What is the sentence?' he whispered.
The three judges put their heads together and conferred in an
undertone. Then they nodded, and their spokesman turned to face the prisoner
again.
Agent No. BLW/553/c having pleaded guilty to a charge of high treason,
this court unanimously sentences him to pay the penalty prescribed by law.
He is to be deprived of all time forthwith.'
'Mercy, mercy!' shrieked the agent, but his steel-grey briefcase and
small cigar had already been snatched away by two grey figures standing
beside him.
And then a very strange thing happened. No sooner had the condemned man
lost his cigar than he started to become more and more transparent. His
screams grew fainter, too, as he stood there with his head in his hands,
dissolving into thin air. The last that could be seen of him was a little
flurry of ash eddying in the breeze, but that soon vanished too.
Silently the men in grey dispersed, judges and spectators alike Once
the darkness had swallowed them up, the sole
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reminder ot their presence was a chill, grey wind that swirled around
the dismal and deserted garbage dump.
Beppo continued to sit spellbound on his upturned bucket, staring at
the spot where the condemned man had been standing. He felt as if his limbs
had turned to ice and were only just beginning to thaw. The men in grey
existed; he had seen them for himself.
At about the same time - the distant church clock had already struck
twelve - Momo was still sitting on the steps of the amphitheatre. She was
waiting. For what, she didn't know, but some instinct had dissuaded her from
going to bed.
All of a sudden, something lightly brushed against her bare foot.
Peering hard, for it was very dark, she saw a big tortoise looking up at
her. Its mouth seemed to curve in a mysterious smile, and there was such a
friendly light in its shrewd, black eyes that Momo felt it was about to
speak.
She bent down and tickled it under the chin. 'Who might you be?' she
said softly. 'Nice of you to come and keep me company, Tortoise, even if
nobody else will. What can I do for you?'
Momo wasn't sure whether she'd failed to notice them before, or whether
they'd only just appeared, but she suddenly spotted some letters on the
tortoise's back. They were faintly luminous and seemed to follow the natural
patterns on its shell.
'FOLLOW ME,' she slowly deciphered.
Astonished, she sat up with a jerk. 'Do you mean me?' she asked.
But the tortoise had already set off. After a few steps it paused and
looked back. 'It really does mean me!' Momo said to herself. She got up and
went over to the creature. 'Keep going,' she told it softly, 'I'm right
behind you.'
And step by step she followed the tortoise as it slowly, very slowly,
led her out of the amphitheatre and headed for the city.
TEN
More Haste Less Speed
Old Beppo was pedalling through the darkness on his squeaky bicycle -
pedalling with all his might. The grey judge's words still rang in his ears:
'We shall certainly devote some attention to this unusual child ... You may
rest assured that this child will never harm us again ... We shall
neutralize her by every available means ...'
Momo was in dire peril, of that there could be no doubt. He must go to
her at once, warn her and protect her from the men in grey. He didn't know
how, but he'd find a way. Beppo pedalled even faster, his tuft of white hair
fluttering in the breeze. He still had a long way to go.
The ruined amphitheatre was ablaze with the headlights of a whole fleet
of smart grey cars, which hemmed it in on every side. Dozens of men in grey
were scurrying up and down the grass-grown steps. At last, after peering
into every nook and cranny, they came upon the hole in the wall. Some of
them scrambled through it into Memo's room. They looked under the bed - they
even looked inside the little brick stove. Then they reappeared, patted the
dust from their smart grey suits and shrugged.
'The bird appears to have flown,' said one.
'It's exasperating,' said another. 'Children should be safely tucked up
in bed at this hour, not gallivanting around in the dark.'
'I don't like the look of this,' said a third. 'It's almost as if
someone had tipped her off just in time.'
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'Impossible,' said the first. 'He couldn't have known of our intention
before we knew it ourselves - or could he?'
The three of them eyed each other in dismay.
'If someone really did tip her off,' the third pointed out, 'she'll
have made herself scarce. We'll only be wasting time if we go on looking for
her here.'
'What do you suggest, then?'
'I say we should notify headquarters at once, so they can launch a
full-scale manhunt.'
'The first thing they'll ask us - and quite rightly so - is whether
we've made a thorough search of the immediate neighbourhood.'
'Very well,' said the first speaker, 'let's search the area first, but
if the girl's well clear of it already, we'll be making a big mistake.'
'Nonsense,' snapped his colleague. 'Even if she is, headquarters can
still launch a full-scale manhunt using, every available agent. The girl
won't escape - she doesn't stand a chance. Right, gentlemen, let's get
going. You all know what's at stake.'
Many of the local inhabitants lay awake that night, wondering why so
many cars kept racing past their windows. Even the narrowest side streets
and roughest farm tracks resounded until daybreak with a roar of traffic
more usually heard on major roads. No one could sleep a wink.
All this time, Momo was trudging slowly through the city in the wake of
her new-found friend, the tortoise. The city never slept nowadays, however
late the hour. Interminable streams of people surged through the streets,
jostling and elbowing each other aside. The roads were choked with cars and
big, noisy, overcrowded buses. Neon signs blazed down from every building,
intermittently bathing passers-by in their multicoloured glare.
Momo, who had never seen any of this before, followed
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the tortoise in a kind of wide-eyed, waking dream. They made their way
across broad squares and down brightly lit streets. Cars flashed past them
and pedestrians milled around them, but no one looked twice at the child and
the tortoise.
They never had to get out of anyone's way, either. Nobody bumped into
them, nor did any driver have to brake to avoid them. The tortoise seemed to
know precisely when there would be no car or pedestrian in their path, so
they never had to vary their pace, never had to hurry or to stop and wait.
Momo began to wonder how any two creatures could walk so slowly but travel
so fast.
When Beppo finally reached the amphitheatre, the feeble glow of his
bicycle lamp showed him, even before he dismounted, that the ground around
it was a mass of tyre tracks. He left his bicycle in the grass and ran to
the hole in the wall.
'Momo!' He whispered the name at first, then spoke it aloud. 'Momo!' he
repeated.
No answer.
Beppo swallowed hard, his throat felt so dry. He climbed through the
hole into the pitch-black room, stumbled over something, and wrenched his
ankle. Striking a match with tremulous fingers, he peered in all directions.
The crude little table and chairs were overturned, the blankets and
mattress stripped off the bed. Of Momo herself, there was no sign at all.
Beppo bit his lip to stifle the hoarse sob that racked his chest at the
sight of this desolation. 'My God,' he muttered, 'I'm too late. She's gone -
they've spirited the poor girl away. What shall I do now? What can I do?'
Just then the match began to burn his fingers, so he dropped it and stood
there in the dark.
Making his way outside as fast as his twisted ankle would allow, he
hobbled over to his bicycle, struggled back into the
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saddle and pedalled off again. 'Guido must help,' he kept repeating, '-
he must! Pray heaven I can find him!'
He knew that Guido planned to earn some extra money by spending Sunday
nights in the storeroom of a car breaker's junkyard. Serviceable parts had
been disappearing of late, and it was Guide's job to see that this pilfering
ceased.
When Beppo ran him to ground in a shed beside the junkyard and hammered
on the door with his fist, Guido at first mistook him for a would-be stealer
of spare parts and kept mum. Then, recognizing the old man's voice, he
unlocked the door.
'What's the matter?' he grumbled.
'It's Momo,' Beppo told him breathlessly. She's in danger.'
'What are you talking about?' asked Guido, flopping down on his camp
bed. 'Momo? Why, what's happened to her?'
'I don't know, exactly,' Beppo panted, 'but it doesn't look good.'
And he told Guido all he'd seen, from the trial on the garbage dump, to
the tyre tracks around the amphitheatre, to Memo's ransacked and deserted
room. He took quite a while to get it all out, of course, because not even
the concern and anxiety he felt for Momo could make him speak any faster
than he usually did.
'I knew it all along,' he concluded. 'I knew it would end in disaster.
Well, now they've taken their revenge - they've kidnapped her. We've got to
help her, Guido, but how. How?'
The blood had slowly drained from Guide's cheeks while Beppo was
speaking. He felt as if the ground had given way beneath him. Till now, he'd
regarded the whole affair as a splendid game and taken it neither more or
less seriously than he took any game or story. Now, for the first time ever,
a story had escaped his control. It had taken on a life of its own, and all
the imagination in the world would be insufficient to halt it. He felt numb.
'You know, Beppo,' he said after a while, 'Momo may
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simply have gone for a walk. She does that occasionally - like the time
she went roaming around the countryside for three whole days and nights. We
may be worrying for no good reason.'
'What about the tyre tracks?' Beppo demanded angrily. 'What about the
state of her room?'
Guido refused to be drawn. 'Suppose they really did come looking for
her,' he said. 'Who's to say they found her? Perhaps she'd gone by the time
they got there. Why else would they have searched the place and turned it
upside down?'
'But what if they did find her?' Beppo shouted. 'What then?' He gripped
his young friend by the lapels and shook him. 'Don't be a fool, Guido. The
men in grey are real, I tell you. We've got to do something, and fast!'
'Steady on,' Guido said soothingly, startled by the old man's
vehemence. 'Of course we'll do something, but not before we've thought it
over carefully. After all, we don't even know where to look for her.'
Beppo released him. 'I'm going to the police,' he announced.
'You can't do that!' Guido protested with a look of horror. 'Have some
sense, Beppo. Suppose they found her. Don't you know what they'd do with her
- don't you know where waifs and strays end up? They'd stick her in a home
with bars over the windows. You wouldn't want that, would you?'
'No,' Beppo muttered helplessly, 'of course not. But what if she's
really in trouble?'
'What if she isn't?' Guido argued. 'What if she's only gone for a bit
of a ramble and you set the police on her? I wouldn't like to be in your
shoes then. She might never want to see you again.'
Beppo subsided on to a chair and buried his face in his hands. 'I just
don't know what to do,' he groaned, 'I just don't know.'
'Well,' said Guido, 'I vote we wait till tomorrow or the day
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after before we do anything at all. If she still isn't back, okay,
we'll go to the police. My guess is, everything will have sorted itself out
long before then, and the three of us will be laughing at the whole silly
business.'
'You think so?' muttered Beppo, suddenly overcome with fatigue. The
day's excitements had been a bit too much for a man of his age.
'Of course,' Guido assured him. He eased Beppo's boots off and wrapped
his sprained ankle in a damp cloth, then helped him on to the camp bed.
'Don't worry,' he said softly, 'everything's going to be fine.'
But Beppo was already asleep. Sighing, Guido stretched out on the floor
with his jacket under his head in place of a pillow. Sleep eluded him,
though. He couldn't stop thinking about the men in grey, all night long, and
for the first time in his happy-go-lucky life he felt frightened.
The Timesaving Bank had launched a full-scale manhunt. Every agent in
the city was instructed by headquarters to drop everything else and
concentrate on finding the girl known as Momo.
Every street teemed with grey figures. They lay in wait on rooftops and
lurked in sewers, staked out the airport and railway stations, kept an
unobtrusive watch on buses and trams -- in short, they were everywhere at
once.
But they still didn't find the girl known as Momo.
'I say, Tortoise,' said Momo, as the pair of them made their way across
a darkened courtyard. 'Aren't you going to tell me where you're taking me?'
Some letters took shape on the tortoise's shell. 'DON'T В ESCAPED,'
they read.
'I'm not,' said Momo, when she'd deciphered them, though she said it
more to boost her courage than anything else. Truth to tell, she did feel
rather apprehensive. The tortoise's
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route was becoming steadily more tortuous and erratic. It had already
taken them across parks, over bridges and through subways, into buildings
and along corridors - even, once or twice, through cellars.
Had Momo known that she was being hunted by a whole army of men in
grey, she would probably have felt uneasier still, but she didn't, so she
followed the tortoise patiently, step by step, as it continued to meander
along.
It was lucky she did. Just as the creature had previously threaded its
way through traffic, so it now seemed to know exactly where and when their
pursuers would appear. There were times when the men in grey reached a spot
only moments after they themselves had passed it, but hunters and hunted
never actually bumped into each other.
'It's a good thing I've learned to read so well,' Momo remarked
casually, 'isn't it?'
Instantly, the tortoise's shell flashed a warning: 'SSSH!'
Momo couldn't understand the reason for this injunction, but she obeyed
it. Then she saw three dim, grey shapes flit past a few feet away.
They had now reached a part of the city where each building looked
drabber and shabbier than the last. Towering tenements with peeling walls
flanked streets pitted with potholes full of stagnant water. The whole
neighbourhood was dark and deserted.
At long last, word reached the headquarters of the Time-saving Bank
that Momo had been sighted.
'Excellent,' said the duty officer. 'Have you taken her into custody?'
'No, she disappeared before we could nab her - she seemed to vanish
from the face of the earth. We've lost track of her again.'
'How did it happen?'
'If only we knew! There's something fishy going on.'
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'Where was she when you sighted her?'
'That's the odd thing. She was in a part of the city completely unknown
to us.'
'There's no such place,' said the duty officer.
'There must be. It seems to be - how shall I put it? - right on the
very edge of time, and the girl was heading that way.'
'What?' yelped the duty officer. 'After her again! You've got to catch
her before she gets there - at all costs, is that clear?'
'Understood, sir,' came the ashen-voiced answer.
Momo might almost have imagined that day was breaking, except that the
strange glow appeared so suddenly -- just as they turned a corner, to be
exact. It wasn't dark any more, nor was it light, nor did the glow resemble
the half-light of dawn or dusk. It was a radiance that outlined every object
with unnatural crispness and clarity, yet it seemed to come from nowhere -
or rather, from everywhere at once. The long, black shadows cast by
everything, even the tiniest pebble, ran in all directions as if the tree
over there were lit from the left, the building over there from the right,
the monument over there from dead ahead.
The monument, if that was what it was, looked weird enough in itself.
It consisted of a big square block of black stone surmounted by a gigantic
white egg, nothing more.
The houses, too, were unlike any Momo had ever seen, with dazzling
white walls and windows cloaked in shadows so dark and dense that it was
impossible to tell whether anyone lived inside. Somehow, though, Momo sensed
that these houses hadn't been built for people to live in, but for some
mysterious and quite different purpose.
The streets were completely empty, not only of people but of dogs and
cats and birds and cars. Not a movement or breath of wind disturbed the
utter stillness. The whole district might have been encased in glass.
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although the tortoise was plodding along more slowly than ever, Momo
again found herself marvelling at their rate of progress.
Beyond the borders of this strange part of town, where it was still
night-time, three smart grey limousines came racing down the potholed street
with headlights blazing. Each was manned by several agents, and one of them,
who was in the leading car, caught sight of Momo just as she turned into the
street with the white houses and the unearthly glow coming from it.
When they reached the corner, however, something quite incomprehensible
happened: the convoy came to a sudden stop. The drivers stepped on their
accelerators. Engines roared and wheels spun, but the cars themselves
refused to budge. They might have been on a conveyor belt travelling at
exactly the same speed but in the opposite direction, and the more they
accelerated the faster it went. By the time the men in grey grasped the
truth, Momo was almost out of sight. Cursing, they jumped out and tried to
overtake her on foot. They sprinted hard, grimacing with rage and exertion,
but much the same thing happened. When they were finally compelled to give
up, they had covered a mere ten yards. Meanwhile, Momo had disappeared among
the snow-white houses and was nowhere to be seen.
'That's that,' said one of the men in grey. 'It's no use, we'll never
catch her now.'
'Why were we rooted to the spot?' demanded another. 'I just don't
understand it.'
'Neither do I,' said the first. 'The only question is, will they take
that into our favour when we come back empty-handed?'
'You mean they may put us on trial?'
'Well, they certainly won't give us a pat on the back.'
All the agents looked downcast. Perching on the wings and
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bumpers of their grey limousines, they brooded on the price of failure.
There was no point in hurrying, not now.
Far, far away by this time, somewhere in the maze of deserted,
snow-white streets and squares, Momo continued to follow the tortoise.
Despite their leisurely progress, or because of it, the streets and
buildings seemed to flash past in a white blur. The tortoise turned yet
another corner and Momo, following close behind, stopped" short in
amazement. The street ahead of them was unlike all the rest.
It was really more of an alleyway than a street. The close-packed
buildings on either side were a mass of little turrets, gables and
balconies. They resembled dainty glass palaces which, after lying on the sea
bed since time out of mind, had suddenly risen to the surface. Draped in
seaweed and encrusted with barnacles and coral, they shimmered gently with
all the iridescent, rainbow hues of mother-of-pearl.
The narrow street ended in a house detached from all the others and
standing at right angles to them. Its big bronze front door was richly
decorated with ornamental figures.
Momo glanced up at the street sign immediately above her. It was a slab
of white marble and on it, in gold lettering, were the words 'NEVER LANE'.
Although she had taken only a second or two to look at the sign and
read it, the tortoise was already far ahead and had almost reached the house
at the end of the lane.
'Wait for me. Tortoise!' she called, but for some strange reason she
couldn't hear her own voice.
The tortoise seemed to have heard, though, because it paused and looked
around. Momo tried to follow, but no sooner had she set off down Never Lane
than a curious sensation gripped her. She felt as if she were toiling
upstream against a mighty torrent or battling with an inaudible tempest that
threatened to blow her backwards. Bent
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almost double, she braced her body against the mysterious force,
hauling herself along hand over hand or crawling on all fours.
She could just make out the little figure of the tortoise waiting
patiently at the end of the lane. 'I'm getting nowhere!' she called at last.
'Help me, can't you?'
Slowly the tortoise retraced its steps. When it came to a halt in front
of her, its shell bore the following advice:
'WALK BACKWARDS.'
Momo tried it. She turned around and walked backwards, and all at once
she was progressing up the lane with the utmost ease. At the same time,
something most peculiar happened to her. While walking backwards, she was
also thinking, breathing and feeling backwards - living backwards, in fact.
At length she bumped into something solid. Turning, she found she was
standing outside the last house of all, the one that stood at right angles
to the rest. She gave a little start because, seen at this range, the ornate
bronze door looked enormous.
'I wonder if I'll ever get it open,' she thought, but at that moment
the massive door swung open by itself.
She paused again, distracted by the sight of another sign above the
door. This one, which was supported by the figure of a unicorn carved in
ivory, read: 'NOWHERE HOUSE'.
Because she was still rather slow at reading, the door had begun to
close again by the time she'd finished. She slipped hurriedly inside, and it
shut behind her with a sound like muffled thunder.
Momo found herself in a long, lofty passage flanked at regular
intervals by marble statues whose apparent function was to support the
ceiling. There was no sign here of the mysterious current that prevailed
outside in the lane. Momo followed the tortoise as it waddled ahead of her
down the
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long corridor. At the far end it stopped outside a little door
just big enough for Momo to duck through.
WE'RE THERE,' the tortoise's shell announced. There was a little sign
on the door. Kneeling down so that
it was on a level with her nose, Momo read the inscription.
'PROFESSOR SECUNDUS MINUTUS HORA', it
said.
She drew a deep breath and boldly lifted the latch. As soon as the
little door opened, her ears were assailed by a melodious chorus of tinkling
and chiming and ticking and humming and whirring. She followed the tortoise
inside, and the larch clicked into place behind them.
ELEVEN
The Conference
Innumerable figures were scurrying around the headquarters of the
Timesaving Bank, a grey-lit labyrinth of passages and corridors, passing on
the latest news in agitated whispers:
every member of the directional board had been summoned to attend an
extraordinary general meeting.
Some surmised that this portended a dire emergency, others that new and
untapped sources of time had been discovered.
The directors were already closeted in the boardroom. They sat side by
side at a conference table so long that it seemed to go on for ever, each
with his steel-grey briefcase and small grey cigar. They had removed their
bowler hats for the occasion, and every last one of them had a bald head as
grey as the rest of him. Their mood, if such bloodless creatures could be
said to have feelings at all, was universally dejected.
The chairman rose from his place at the head of the long table. The hum
of conversation died away, and two interminable rows of grey faces turned
towards him.
'Gentlemen,' he began, 'the situation is grave. I feel bound to
acquaint you at once with the unpalatable but inescapable facts of the
matter.
'Every available agent was assigned to hunt down the girl named Momo.
This operation lasted a total of six hours, thirteen minutes and eight
seconds. While engaged on it, all the said agents were inevitably compelled
to neglect the true purpose of their existence, namely, time-gathering. To
this loss of revenue must be added the time expended during the
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manhunt by our agents themselves. Accurate computations disclose that
the sum of these two debit entries amounts to three billion, seven hundred
and thirty-eight million, two hundred and fifty-nine thousand, one hundred
and fourteen seconds.
'That, gentlemen, is more than a whole human lifetime. I need hardly
tell you what such a deficit means to us.'
Here he pointed dramatically to a huge steel door, bristling with
combination locks and safety devices, set in the wall at the far end of the
boardroom.
'Our reserves of time are not inexhaustible, gentlemen,' he pursued in
a louder voice. 'If the manhunt had paid off, well and good. As it is, we
wasted time to no purpose. The girl eluded us.
'There must be no repetition of this disastrous affair. I shall
strongly oppose any more such time-consuming operations from now on. Time
must be saved, not squandered. I would therefore urge you to frame your
future plans accordingly. That is all I have to say, gentlemen. Thank you
for your attention.'
He sat down, blowing out a dense cloud of smoke. Agitated whispers ran
the length of the boardroom.
Then, at the other end of the table, a second speaker rose to his feet.
Every head turned in his direction.
'Gentlemen,' he said, 'we all have the interests of the Timesaving Bank
at heart. However, I find it quite unnecessary for us to view this affair
with alarm, still less to regard it as a catastrophe. Nothing could be
further from the truth. We all know that our reserves of time are so immense
that our position would not be endangered, even by a loss many times greater
than the one we have just sustained. What is a human lifetime, after all? By
our standards, a mere pinprick.
'I fully agree with our chairman that there must be no repetition of
this incident. On the other hand, nothing like it
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has ever happened betore, and the chances of its happening again are
very remote.
'The chairman was right to reproach us for allowing the girl to escape.
On the other hand, our sole purpose was to render her harmless, and that we
have successfully done. The creature has disappeared - she has fled beyond
the borders of time. We are rid of her, in other words. Personally, I feel
we have every reason to congratulate ourselves.'
The second speaker sat down with a complacent smile. The smattering of
applause that greeted his remarks was cut short when a third speaker rose,
this time from a seat halfway along the great table.
'I shall be brief,' he said sourly. 'In my opinion, the last speaker's
soothing words were thoroughly irresponsible. This Могло is no ordinary
child. We all know she possesses powers capable of presenting a serious
threat to us and our activities. The fact that no such incident has ever
occurred before is no guarantee that it won't occur again. We must remain on
our guard. We must not rest content until the child is in our power, because
only then can we be sure she will never harm us again. Having managed to
leave the realm of time, she may re-enter it at any moment -- and she will,
you mark my words!'
He sat down. The other directors winced and bowed their heads in
silence.
'Gentlemen,' said a fourth speaker, who was sitting across the table
from the third, 'pardon me for being blunt, but we're dodging the issue. We
must face the fact that an alien power has been meddling in our business.
After carefully examining every aspect of the situation, I find that the
odds against any creature crossing the borders of time, alive and unaided,
are precisely forty-two million to one In other words, it's a near
impossibility.'
Another buzz of agitation ran around the boardroom. 'Everything
suggests,' the fourth speaker continued, when
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the murmurs had subsided, 'that someone helped the girl to elude us.
You all know who I mean. The person in question titles himself Professor
Нога.'
At the sound of this name, most of the men in grey flinched as if they
had been struck. Others jumped to their feet, shouting and gesticulating.
The fourth speaker raised his arms for silence. 'Gentlemen, gentlemen,'
he cried, 'a little self-control, if you please! I'm well aware that any
mention of that name is - well, not quite proper. I utter it with extreme
reluctance, I assure you, but we mustn't blind ourselves to the facts. If
the girl received assistance from - from the Aforesaid, he must have had his
reasons, and those reasons cannot be other than detrimental to us. In short,
gentlemen, we must allow for the possibility that the Aforesaid may not only
send the girl back but arm her against us in some way. She will then be a
mortal danger to us. We must therefore be prepared not merely to sacrifice
another human lifetime or lifetimes. No, gentlemen, in the last resort we
must stake everything we possess - I repeat, everything! - because, if the
worst happens, thrift could spell our destruction. I think you know what I'm
getting at.'
The directors' agitation mounted, and they all started talking at once.
A fifth speaker jumped on to his chair and waved his arms wildly.
'Quiet!' he bellowed. 'It's all very well for the last speaker to hint
at a host of dire possibilities, but he obviously doesn't know how to deal
with them himself. He says we must be prepared for any sacrifice: well and
good. We must stop at nothing: well and good. We mustn't stint our
resources: well and good. But these are just empty words. Let him tell us
what practical steps to take. None of us knows how the Aforesaid will arm
the girl against us. We shall be confronted by a wholly unknown danger:
that's the problem we have to solve!' The boardroom was in uproar now. Some
of the directors.
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shouted incoherently, others drummed on the table with their fists,
others buried their heads in their hands. All were overcome with panic. A
sixth speaker strove hard to make himself heard above the din.
'Gentlemen, please!' he kept repeating in a soothing voice until peace
was finally restored. 'I implore you to take a calm and commonsense view of
this matter. Even assuming that the girl comes back from the Aforesaid, and
even assuming that he arms her against us in some way, there will be
absolutely no need for us to do battle with her ourselves. We aren't
particularly well equipped for such a confrontation, as the lamentable fate
of our late employee. Agent No. BLW/553/c, has so amply demonstrated. But
that won't be necessary. We have human accomplices in plenty, gentlemen.
Provided we make discreet and skilful use of them, we shall be able to
dispose of the girl Momo and the threat she represents without ever having
to intervene in person. Such a method of procedure would, I feel sure, be
not only economical but safe and highly effective.'
A sigh of relief went up from the assembled throng. The directors found
this a sensible suggestion and would probably have adopted it on the spot
had not the floor been claimed by someone seated near the head of the table.
'Gentlemen,' he began, 'we keep debating how best to get rid of the
girl Momo. Our motive -- let's be honest -- is fear, but fear is a bad
counsellor. I feel we're missing a golden opportunity - a unique
opportunity. There's a saying: If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Well, why
shouldn't we persuade the girl to join MS? Why not get her on our side?'
'Hear, hear!' cried a number of voices. 'Go on!'
'It seems clear,' the seventh speaker continued, 'that this child has
found her way to the Aforesaid. In other words, she got there via the route
that has eluded us for so long. If she can find it again, as she probably
can, with ease, she can lead
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us there. We shall then be able to deal with the Aforesaid in our own
way - very speedily, too, I feel sure.
'Once that is done, we need no longer toil at gathering time by the
hour, minute and second - no, gentlemen, because we shall have captured
mankind's whole store of time at a stroke, and possessing the whole of time
means wielding absolute power. Just think, gentlemen: we shall have attained
our