goal, and all because of the girl you propose to eliminate!'
A deathly hush had descended on the boardroom. 'That's all very well,'
protested someone, 'but you know it's impossible to lie to the girl.
Remember what happened to Agent No. BLW/553/c. We'd all end up like him.'
'Who said anything about lying to her?' retorted the seventh speaker.
'We'd tell her all about our plan, naturally.'
'Then she'd never go along with it,' the sceptic persisted. 'The whole
idea's preposterous.'
'Don't be too sure, my friend,' a ninth speaker broke in. 'We'd have to
make her a tempting proposition. For instance, we could promise her as much
time as she wants.'
'And break our promise later, of course,' said the sceptic.
The ninth speaker gave an icy smile. 'Of course not,' he said. 'If we
didn't mean what we said, she'd sense it at once.'
'No, no!' cried the chairman, banging the table. 'I couldn't agree to
that. If we really gave her all the time she wanted it would cost us a
fortune.'
'Hardly that,' the ninth speaker said blandly. 'How much time can one
child consume, after all? True, it would be a minor drain on our resources,
but think what we'd be getting in return: the time of everyone else in the
world! Momo would consume very little, and the little she did consume would
simply have to be charged to overheads. Consider the advantages, gentlemen!'
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The ninth speaker resumed his seat while everyone weighed the pros and
cons.
'All the same,' the sixth speaker said eventually, 'it wouldn't work.'
'Why not?'
'For the simple reason, I'm afraid, that the girl already possesses all
the time she wants. There'd be no point in trying to bribe her with
something she has plenty of.'
'Then we'd have to deprive her of it first,' the ninth speaker replied.
'We're talking in circles,' the chairman said wearily. 'The child's
beyond our reach, that's the whole trouble.'
A sigh of disappointment ran the length of the boardroom table.
'May I venture a suggestion?' asked a tenth speaker.
'The floor is yours,' said the chairman.
The tenth speaker gave the chairman a little bow before proceeding.
'This girl,' he said, 'is fond of her friends. She loves devoting her time
to others. What would become of her if there were no one left to share it
with her? If she won't assist us of her own free will, we must concentrate
on her friends instead.'
He produced a folder from his briefcase and flipped it open. 'The
principal persons concerned are named as Beppo Roadsweeper and Guido Guide.
I also have here a list of the children who pay her regular visits. I
suggest we simply lure these people away, so she can't get in touch with
them. What will Momo's abundance of time amount to when she's all on her
own? A burden -- a positive curse! Sooner or later she won't be able to
stand it any more, and when that time comes, gentlemen, we shall present her
with our terms. I'll wager a thousand years to a microsecond that she'll
show us the way, just to get her friends back.'
Downcast till now, the men in grey raised their heads.
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Every face broke into a thin-lipped smile of triumph, every pair of
hands applauded. The sound reverberated along the interminable passages and
corridors like an avalanche of stones rattling down a mountainside.
TWELVE
Nowhere House
Momo was standing in the biggest room she'd ever seen. It was bigger
than the biggest cathedral or concert hall in the world. Massive columns
supported a roof that could be sensed rather than seen in the gloom far
above. There were no windows anywhere. The golden light that wove its way
across this immense hall came from countless candles whose flames burned so
steadily that they looked like daubs of brilliant paint requiring no wax at
all to keep them alight.
The thousandfold whirring and ticking and humming and chiming that Momo
had heard on entering came from innumerable clocks of every shape and size.
They reposed on long tables, in glass cabinets, on golden wall brackets, on
endless rows of shelves.
There were dainty, bejewelled pocket watches, cheap tin alarm clocks,
hourglasses, musical clocks with pirouetting dolls on top, sundials, clocks
encased in wood and marble, glass clocks and clocks driven by jets of water.
On the walls hung all manner of cuckoo clocks and other clocks with weights
and pendulums, some swinging slowly and majestically and others wagging
busily to and fro. All around the room at first-floor level ran a gallery
reached by a spiral staircase. Higher still was another gallery, and above
it another, and above that yet another.
Clocks were standing or hanging wherever Momo looked - not only
conventional clocks but spherical timepieces showing what time it was
anywhere in the world, and sidereal clocks, large and small, complete with
sun, moon and stars.
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Arrayed in the middle of the hall were countless bigger clocks - a
forest of clocks, as it were - ranging from grandfather clocks to full-size
church clocks.
Not a moment passed but one of these innumerable timepieces struck or
chimed somewhere or other, for each of them showed a different time. Far
from offending the ear, they combined to produce a sound as pleasant and
harmonious as the rustle of leaves in a wood in springtime.
Momo roamed from place to place, gazing wide-eyed at all these
curiosities. She had paused beside a lavishly ornamented clock on which two
tiny dancers, a man and a woman, were standing with hands entwined, and was
just about to prod them to see if they would move, when she heard a friendly
voice behind her. 'Ah, so you're back, Cassiopeia,' it said. 'Did you bring
Momo with you?'
Turning, Momo looked along an avenue between the grandfather clocks and
saw a frail old man with silvery hair stooping over the tortoise. He was
wearing a gold-embroidered frock coat, blue-silk knee breeches, white hose
and shoes with big gold buckles. Lace frothed from the cuffs and collar of
his coat, and his silver hair was braided into a pigtail at the back. Momo
had never seen such a costume before, though anyone less ignorant would at
once have recognized it as the height of fashion two centuries earlier.
'Well,' said the old gentleman, still bending over the tortoise, 'is
she here? Where is she, then?'
He donned a small pair of eyeglasses like old Beppo's, except that
these were gold-rimmed, and peered about him.
'Here I am!' called Momo.
The old gentleman came towards her with a beaming smile, both hands
extended, and the nearer he drew the younger he seemed to become. By the
time he had reached Momo's side, seized her hands and shaken them cordially,
he looked little older than herself.
'Welcome,' he said delightedly, '- welcome to Nowhere
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House. Permit me to introduce myself, Momo. My name is Hora, Professor
Secundus Minutus Hora.'
'Were you really expecting me?' Momo asked in surprise.
'But of course. Why else would I have sent Cassiopeia to fetch you?' He
produced a diamond-studded fob watch from his pocket and nipped the lid
open. 'In fact, you're uncommonly punctual,' he said with a smile, holding
out the watch for her inspection.
There were no hands or numerals on the watch face, Momo saw, just two
very fine superimposed spirals rotating slowly in opposite directions. Every
now and then, minute dots of light appeared where the spirals intersected.
'This watch,' said Professor Hora, 'is known as a crisimo-graph. It
accurately records crises in the history of mankind, and one of these rare
occurrences has just begun.'
'What's a crisis?' asked Momo.
'It's like this,' the professor explained. 'At certain junctures in the
course of existence, unique moments occur when everyone and everything, even
the most distant stars, combine to bring about something that could not have
happened before and will never happen again. Few people know how to take
advantage of these critical moments, unfortunately, and they often pass
unnoticed. When someone does recognize them, however, great things happen in
the world.'
'Perhaps one needs a watch like yours to recognize them by,' said Momo.
Professor Hora smiled and shook his head. 'No, my child, the watch by
itself would be no use to anyone. You have to know how to read it as well.'
He snapped the watch shut and replaced it in his pocket. Then, noticing
Momo's ill-concealed surprise at his personal appearance, he looked down at
himself and frowned. 'Ah,' he said, ''you may be punctual, but I seem to be
rather behind the times - in fashion, I mean. How unobservant of me. I must
put that right at once.'
And he clicked his fingers. In a flash, his costume changed
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to a black frock coat, stovepipe trousers and a stand-up collar.
'Is that any better?' he inquired doubtfully, but Momo's look of
astonishment was answer enough in itself. 'No, of course not,' he went on
quickly. 'What am I thinking of!'
Another click of the fingers, and he instantly appeared in an outfit
the like of which Momo had never seen. Nor had anyone else, since it dated
from a hundred years in the future.
'Still no good?' he asked. 'Never mind, I'll get it right in the end.'
And he clicked his fingers a third time. At long last, he stood there
attired in an ordinary suit of the kind men wear today.
'That's more like it, eh?' he said, eyes twinkling. 'I hope I didn't
alarm you, Momo - it was just a little joke of mine. But now, my girl, come
with me. You've a long journey behind you, and I'm sure you'd enjoy a hearty
breakfast.'
He took her by the hand and led her off into the clock forest with the
tortoise following at their heels. After twisting and turning like a maze,
the path eventually came out in a small room whose walls consisted of
gigantic grandfather clocks. In one corner stood a bow-legged table, and
beside it a dainty little sofa and some matching armchairs. Here as
elsewhere, everything was bathed in the golden glow of a myriad motionless
candle flames.
Set out on the table were a pot-bellied jug and two small cups,
together with plates, spoons and knives - all of solid, gleaming gold. There
were also two little dishes, one containing golden-yellow butter, the other
honey like liquid gold, and a basket piled high with crusty, golden-brown
rolls. Professor Hora filled both cups with hot chocolate from the
pot-bellied jug and made a gesture of invitation. 'There, little Momo,
please tuck in.' Momo needed no second bidding. Chocolate you could drink
she'd never heard of before. As for rolls spread with butter and honey, they
were a rare delicacy, and these rolls
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tasted more delicious than any she'd eaten in her life. Completely
wrapped up in her wonderful breakfast, she feasted on it with her cheeks
bulging and her mind devoid of every other thought. Although she hadn't
slept a wink all night long, the food banished her weariness and made her
feel fresh and lively. The more she ate, the better it tasted. She felt as
if she could have gone on eating like this for days on end.
Professor Hora, who watched her benevolently, was tactful enough not to
cut short her enjoyment too soon by engaging in conversation. He realized
that his guest had years of hunger to make up for. Perhaps this was why,
while watching her, he gradually looked older and older until he became a
white-haired old gentleman again. When he noticed that Momo wasn't too handy
with a knife, he spread the rolls for her and put them on her plate. He
himself ate little - just enough to keep her company.
At last, even Momo could eat no more. She drank up her chocolate,
studying her host over the rim of the golden cup and wondering who or what
he could possibly be. He was no ordinary person, that much was obvious, but
all she really knew about him so far was his name. She put her cup down and
cleared her throat.
'Why did you send the tortoise to fetch me?'
'To protect you from the men in grey,' Professor Hora replied gravely.
'They're searching for you everywhere, and you're only safe from them here
with me.'
Momo looked startled. 'You mean they want to hurt me?'
'Yes, my child,' the professor sighed, 'in a manner of speaking.'
But why?'
'Because they're afraid of you -- because no one could have done them
greater harm.'
'I haven't done anything to them,' Momo protested.
'Oh, yes you have. You not only persuaded one of them to betray
himself, you told your friends about him. What's more,
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you and your friends tried to broadcast the truth about the men in
grey. Isn't that enough to make you their mortal enemy?'
'But we walked right through the city, the tortoise and I,' Momo said.
'If they were searching for me everywhere, they could easily have caught us.
We weren't going fast.'
The tortoise had stationed herself at the professor's feet. He took her
on his lap and tickled her under the chin. 'Well, Cassiopeia,' he said with
a smile, 'what's your opinion? Could they have caught you?'
The word 'NEVER!' appeared like lightning on Cas-siopeia's shell, and
the letters flickered so merrily that Momo almost thought she detected a dry
little chuckle.
'The thing is,' said the professor, 'Cassiopeia can see into the
future. Not far -- just half an hour, or thereabouts - but still.'
'CORRECTION!' flashed the shell. 'Pardon me,' said the professor, 'I should
have said half an hour precisely. She knows for certain what will happen in
the next thirty minutes, like whether or not she's going to bump into the
men in grey, for instance.'
'My goodness,' exclaimed Momo, 'how useful! So if she knew in advance
she'd meet the men in grey at such and such a spot, would she simply take a
different route?'
'No,' Professor Hora replied, 'I'm afraid it's not as easy as that. She
can't undo anything she knows in advance because she knows what is actually
going to happen. If she knew she was going to meet the men in grey at a
certain spot, she'd meet them there. She'd be powerless to prevent it.'
Memo's face fell. 'I don't understand,' she said. 'In that case,
there's no advantage in knowing anything in advance after all.'
'There is sometimes,' said the professor. 'In your case, for example,
she knew you were going to take a certain route and not meet any men in
grey. That was an advantage, wasn't it?' Momo didn't reply. Her thoughts
were as tangled as a skein of wool.
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'But to return to you and your friends,' the professor went on. Ч must
congratulate you. Your posters and placards were most impressive.'
'You mean you read them?' Momo asked delightedly.
'Every last word,' the professor assured her.
'Nobody else did, from the look of it,' said Momo.
The professor nodded sympathetically. 'I'm afraid not. The men in grey
saw to that.'
'Do you know them well?' Momo asked.
He nodded again and sighed. 'As well as they know me,' he said.
Momo didn't know what to make of this reply. 'Do you often go to see
them?'
'No, never. I never set foot outside this house.'
'What about the men in grey - do they ever come here?'
The professor smiled. 'Never fear, Momo, they can't get in. They
couldn't even if they knew the way to Never Lane, which they don't.'
Momo thought a while. Though reassured by Professor Hora's remarks, she
was eager to learn more about him. 'How do you come to know all this,' she
asked, '- I mean, about our posters and the men in grey?'
'I keep a constant watch on them and everything connected with them,'
the professor told her, 'so I've naturally been watching you and your
friends as well.'
'I thought you said you never left the house.'
'I've no need to,' said the professor, rapidly growing younger again as
he spoke, 'thanks to my omnivision glasses.' He took off his little
gold-rimmed spectacles and held them out. 'Would you care to try them?'
Momo put them on. 'I can't make out anything at all,' she said,
screwing up her eyes and blinking. All she could see was a whirl of colours,
lights and shadows. It made her feel positively dizzy.
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'Yes,' she heard the professor say, 'it's always the same to begin
with. Seeing through omnivision glasses isn't as easy as all that. You'll
soon get used to them, though.'
He stood behind Momo's chair and gently adjusted the position of the
frame. At once, everything sprang into focus.
The first thing Momo saw was the men in grey and their three limousines
on the edge of the district where the strange white buildings began. They
were in the process of pushing their cars backwards.
Then, looking further afield, she saw more grey figures in the city
streets. They were talking and gesticulating excitedly as though passing on
information of some kind.
'It's you they're talking about,' Professor Hora explained. 'They can't
understand how you managed to escape.'
'Why are they all so grey in the face?' Momo asked, still watching
them.
'Because they feed on dead matter,' the professor told her. 'They live
in people's time, as you know, but time dies -literally dies -- once it has
been wrested away from its rightful owners. All human beings have their own
share of time, but it survives only for as long as it really belongs to
them.' 'So the men in grey aren't human?' 'No. Their human appearance is
only a disguise.' 'What are they, then?' 'Strictly speaking, they're
nothing.' 'So where do they come from?'
'They exist only because people give them the opportunity to do so.
Naturally, they seize that opportunity. Now that people are giving them a
chance to rule their lives, they're naturally taking advantage of that too.'
'What would happen if they couldn't steal any more time?'
'They'd disappear into thin air, which is where they come from.'
Professor Hora took his glasses back and pocketed them. 'Unfortunately,' he
continued after a pause, 'they
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already have plenty of human accomplices. That's the worst part.'
'Well, nobody's going to steal any of my time,' Momo said stoutly.
'I should hope not,' said the professor. From one moment to the next,
he looked like an old man again. 'Come along, Momo, I want to show you my
collection.'
Taking her by the hand, he led her back into the great hall, where he
showed her all sorts of timepieces and made them chime for her, explained
the workings of his sidereal clocks, and gradually, under the influence of
his little visitor's obvious delight in all these marvels, grew younger
again.
Tell me,' he said as they walked on, 'do you like riddles?'
'Oh yes, very much,' Momo said eagerly. 'Do you know any?'
'Yes,' said Professor Hora, smiling at her, 'I know a real teaser. Very
few people can solve it.'
'All the better,' Momo said. 'I'll make a special note of it, so I can
try it out on my friends.'
The professor's smile broadened. 'I can't wait to see if you can solve
it. Listen carefully:
All dwelling in one house are strange brothers three,
as unlike as any three brothers could be,
yet try as you may to tell brother from brother,
you'll find that the trio resemble each other.
The first isn't there, though he'll come beyond doubt.
The second's departed, so he's not about.
The third and the smallest is right on the spot,
and manage without him the others could not.
Yet the third is a factor with which to be reckoned
because the first brother turns into the second.
Yot" cannot stand back. and observe number three,
for one of the others is all you will see.
So tell me, my child, are the three of them one?
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Or are there but two? Or could there be none? Just name them, and you
will at once realize that each rules a kingdom of infinite size. They rule
it together and are it as well. In that, they're alike, so where do they
dwell?'
Professor Hora gave Momo an encouraging nod. Thanks to her excellent
memory, she was able to repeat the whole rhyme word for word. She did so,
slowly and carefully, then sighed.
'Phew!' she said. 'That's a really hard one. I've no idea what the
answer could be. I don't even know where to start.'
'Just try,' said the professor.
Momo recited the riddle again under her breath. Finally, she shook her
head. 'It's no use,' she said.
The tortoise, which had now rejoined them and was seated at the
professor's feet, had been watching Momo intently.
'Well, Cassiopeia,' said the professor, 'you know everything half an
hour in advance. Will Momo solve the riddle or won't she?'
Cassiopeia's shell lit up. 'SHE WILL!' it spelled out.
'You see?' the professor said, turning to Momo. 'You are going to solve
it. Cassiopeia has never been wrong yet.'
Momo knit her brow and racked her brains once more. Who were these
three brothers that all lived in the same house? They obviously weren't
brothers in the usual sense. In riddles, 'brothers' always meant grains of
sand or teeth or the like - similar things, at all events. But these three
things somehow turned into each other. What sort of things could do that?
Looking around in search of inspiration, Momo caught sight of the
candles with their motionless flames. Fire turned wax into light - yes, they
were three 'brothers', but that couldn't be the answer because they were all
there at the
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same time, and two of them weren't supposed to be. What about blossom,
fruit and seed - could the answer be something of that kind? The more Momo
debated this possibility, the more promising it seemed. The seed was the
smallest of the three, it was there when the other two weren't, and the
other two couldn't exist without it. But no, that wouldn't do either. A seed
was perfectly visible, and the riddle said that anyone looking at the
smallest of the three brothers always saw one of the other two.
Momo's thoughts flitted hither and thither. She simply couldn't find a
clue that led anywhere. Still, Cassiopeia had predicted that she would solve
the riddle, so she slowly recited it to herself for a third time. When she
came to the line: 'The first isn't there, though he'll come beyond doubt
...' she saw Cassiopeia give her a wink. The words 'WHAT I KNOW lit up on
her shell, but only for a split second.
Professor Нога smiled. 'No helping, Cassiopeia,' he said, though he
hadn't been looking in her direction. 'Momo can work it out all by herself.'
Momo, who had seen the words, began to ponder their meaning. What was
it that Cassiopeia knew? She knew the riddle would be solved, but that was
no help.
So what else did Cassiopeia know? She always knew what was going to
happen. She knew .. .
'The future!' cried Momo. '"The first isn't there, though he'll come
beyond doubt" -- that's the future!'
Professor Нога nodded.
' "The second's departed,"' Momo went on,' "so he's not about" - that
must be the past!'
The professor beamed at her and nodded again.
'Now comes the hard part,' Momo said thoughtfully. 'What can the third
brother be? He's the smallest of the three, but the other two can't manage
without him, and he's the only one at home.'
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After another pause for thought, she gave a sudden exclamation. 'Of
course! It's now -- this very moment! The past consists of moments gone by
and the future of moments to come, so neither of them could exist without
the present. That's it!' Her cheeks were glowing with excitement now. 'But
what does the next bit mean? "Yet the third is a factor with which to be
reckoned, because the first brother turns into the second ..." I suppose it
means that the present exists only because the future turns into the past.'
She looked at Professor Hora with dawning amazement. 'Yes, it's true!
I'd never looked at it like that before. If it is true, though, there's
really no such thing as the present, only past and future. Take this moment,
for instance: by the time I talk about it, it's already in the past. "You
cannot stand back and observe number three, for one of the others is all you
will see ..." I understand what that means now. I understand the rest, too,
because you could be forgiven for thinking there was only one brother - the
present, I mean - or only the past or the future. Or none of them at all,
because each of them exists only when the others do. Golly, it's enough to
make your head spin!'
'But the riddle isn't finished yet,' said the professor. 'What's this
kingdom the brothers all rule together -- the one they themselves агеУ
Momo looked baffled. What could it be? What did past, present and
future amount to, all lumped together? She gazed around the great hall, with
its thousands upon thousands of clocks. Suddenly her face lit up.
'Time!' she cried, clapping her hands and skipping for joy. 'That's
what it is: time!'
'And the house the brothers live in - what would that be?'
'The world, I suppose,' Momo replied.
'Bravo!' said the professor, clapping in his turn. 'I congratulate you,
my girl. You're really good at solving riddles. I'm delighted.'
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'Me too,' said Momo, secretly wondering why he should be quite so
pleased that she'd solved his riddle.
He showed her many other rare and interesting things as they resumed
their tour of the clock-filled hall, but the riddle continued to occupy her
thoughts.
'Tell me,' she said eventually, 'what exactly is time?'
'You've just found that out for yourself,' the professor replied.
'No,' she said, 'I mean time itself. It exists, so it must be
something. What is it really?'
The professor smiled. 'It would be nice if you worked our your own
answer to that question too.'
Momo pondered for a long time. 'It exists,' she mused. 'That much I do
know, but you can't touch or hold it. Could it be something like a perfume?
Then again, it's always passing by, so it must come from somewhere. Perhaps
it's like the wind - no, wait! Perhaps it's a kind of music you just don't
hear because it's always there.' She paused, then added, 'Though I have
heard it sometimes, I think - very faintly.'
The professor nodded. 'I know, that's why I was able to summon you
here.'
'But there must be more to it than that,' said Momo, still pursuing her
train of thought. 'The music comes from far off, but I seem to hear it deep
inside me. Perhaps time works that way too.' She broke off, bewildered. 'I
mean,' she said, 'like the wind making waves in the sea.' She shrugged and
shook her head. 'I expect I'm talking nonsense.'
'Not at all,' said the professor. 'I think you put it very prettily
indeed. That's why I'm going to let you into a secret. If you want to know,
all the time in the world comes from here - from Nowhere House, Never Lane.'
Momo gazed at him in awe. 'I see,' she said softly. 'You mean you make
it yourself?'
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The professor smiled again. 'No, my child, I'm merely its custodian.
All human beings have their allotted span of time. My task is to see that it
reaches them.'
'In that case,' said Momo, 'why not simply arrange things so they don't
have any more of it stolen by the time-thieves?'
'I can't,' the professor told her. 'What people do with their time is
their own business. They must guard it themselves. I can only distribute
it.'
Momo looked around the great hall. 'Is that why you keep all these
clocks - one for every person in the world?'
'No, Momo, these clocks are just a hobby of mine. They're very
imperfect copies of something that everyone carries inside him. Just as
people have eyes to see light with and ears to hear sounds with, so they
have hearts for the appreciation of time. And all the time they fail to
appreciate is as wasted on them as the colours of the rainbow are wasted on
a blind person or the nightingale's song on a deaf one. Some hearts are
unappreciative of time, I fear, though they beat like all the rest.'
'What will happen when my heart stops beating?' Momo asked.
'When that moment comes,' said the professor, 'time will stop for you
as well. Or rather, you will retrace your steps through time, through all
the days and nights, months and years of your life, until you go out through
the great, round, silver gate you entered by.'
'What will I find on the other side?'
'The home of the music you've sometimes faintly heard in the distance,
but by then you'll be part of it. You yourself will be a note in its mighty
harmonies.' Professor Нога looked at Momo searchingly. 'But I don't suppose
that makes much sense to you, does it?'
'Yes,' said Momo, 'I think so.' Then, recalling her strange progress
along Never Lane and the way she'd lived
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through everything in reverse, she asked, 'Are you Death -
The professor smiled. 'If people knew the nature of death,' he said
after a moment's silence, 'they'd cease to be afraid of it. And if they
ceased to be afraid of it, no one could rob them of their time any more.'
'Why not tell them, then?' Momo suggested. 'I already do,' said the
professor. 'I tell them the meaning of death with every hour I send them,
but they refuse to listen. They'd sooner heed those who frighten them.
That's another riddle in itself.'
'I'm not frightened,' said Momo.
Professor Нога nodded slowly. He gave her another searching scare. Then
he said, 'Would you like to see where time comes from?' 'Yes,' she
whispered.
'I'll take you there,' said the professor, 'but only if you promise not
to talk or ask questions. Is that understood?'
Momo nodded.
Professor Hora stooped and picked her up. All at once, he seemed
immensely tall and inexpressibly old, but not as a man grows old - more in
the manner of an ancient tree or primeval crag. Clasping Momo with one arm,
he covered her eyes with his other hand, so gently that it felt as if
snowflakes were landing on her cheeks like icy thistledown.
Momo sensed that he was striding down a long, dark tunnel, but she felt
quite safe and utterly unafraid. At first she thought she could hear her own
heartbeats, but then she became more and more convinced that they were
really the echoes of the professor's footsteps.
After what seemed a very long way, he put Momo down. His face was close
to hers when he removed his hand from her eyes. He gave her a meaningful
look and put a finger to his lips. Then he straightened up and stepped back.
Everything was bathed in a sort of golden twilight.
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When her eyes became accustomed to it, Momo saw that she was standing
beneath a mighty dome as big as the vault of heaven itself, or so it seemed
to her, and that the whole of this dome was made of the purest gold.
High overhead, in the very centre of the dome, was a circular opening
through which a shaft of light fell straight on to an equally circular lake
whose dark, smooth waters resembled a jet-black mirror.
Just above the surface, glittering in the shaft of light with the
brilliance of a star, something was slowly and majestically moving back and
forth. Momo saw that it was a gigantic pendulum, but one with no visible
means of support. Apparently weightless, it soared and swooped above the
mirror-smooth water with birdlike ease.
As the glittering pendulum slowly neared the edge of the lake, an
enormous waterlily bud emerged from its dark depths. The closer the pendulum
came, the wider it opened, until at last it lay full-blown on the surface.
Momo had never seen so exquisite a flower. It was composed of all the
colours in the spectrum - brilliant colours such as Momo had never dreamed
of. While the pendulum hovered above it, she became so absorbed in the
spectacle that she forgot everything else. The scent alone seemed something
she had always craved without knowing what it was.
But then, very slowly, the pendulum swung back, and as it did so Momo
saw to her dismay that the glorious flower was beginning to wilt. Petal
after petal dropped off and sank into the blackness below. To Momo, it was
as if something unutterably dear to her were vanishing beyond recall.
By the time the pendulum reached the centre of the lake, the flower had
completely disintegrated. At that moment, however, a new bud arose near the
opposite shore, and as the pendulum drew nearer Momo saw that an even
lovelier
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blossom was beginning to unfold. She walked around the lake to inspect
it more closely.
This new flower was altogether different from its predecessor. Momo had
never seen such colours before, but these colours seemed richer and more
exquisite by far. The petals, too, gave off a different and far more
delicious scent, and the longer Momo studied them the more marvellous in
every detail she found them.
But again the glittering pendulum swung back, and as it did so the
glorious blossom withered and sank, petal by petal, into the dark and
unfathomable depths of the lake.
Slowly, very slowly, the pendulum proceeded on its way, but not to
exactly the same place as before. This time it checked its swing a little
way further along the shore, and there, one pace from where it had
previously paused, another bud arose and unfolded.
To Momo this seemed the loveliest lily of all, the flower of flowers -
a positive miracle. She could have wept aloud when this perfect blossom,
too, began to fade and subside into the depths, but she remembered her
promise to Professor Hora and uttered no sound.
Meanwhile, the pendulum had returned to the opposite shore, another
pace further along, and a fresh bud broke the glassy surface.
As time went by, it dawned on Momo that each new blossom differed
entirely from those that had gone before, and that it always seemed the most
beautiful of all. She wandered around the lake watching flower after flower
unfold and die.
Although she felt she would never tire of this spectacle, she gradually
became aware of another marvel - one that had escaped her till now: she
could not only see the shaft of light that streamed down from the centre of
the dome; she could hear it as well.
146
At first it reminded her of wind whistling in distant tree-tops, but
the sound swelled until it resembled the roar of a waterfall or the thunder
of waves breaking on a rocky shore.
More and more clearly, Momo perceived that this mighty sound consisted
of innumerable notes whose constant changes of pitch were forever weaving
different harmonies. It was music, yet it was also something else. All at
once, she recognized it as the faraway music she had sometimes faintly heard
while listening to the silence of a starry night.
But now, as the sound became ever clearer and more glorious, she sensed
that it was the resonant shaft of light that summoned each bud from the dark
depths of the lake and fashioned it into a flower of unique and inimitable
beauty.
The longer she listened, the more clearly she could make out individual
voices - not human voices, but notes such as might have been given forth by
gold and silver and every other precious metal in existence. And then,
beyond them, as it were, voices of quite another kind made themselves heard,
infinitely remote yet indescribably powerful. As they gained strength, Momo
began to distinguish words uttered in a language she had never heard before
but could nonetheless understand. The sun and moon and planets and stars
were telling her their own, true names, and their names signified what they
did and how they all combined to make each hour-lily flower and fade in
turn.
Suddenly Momo realized that all these words were directed at her. From
where she stood to the most distant star m space, the entire universe was
focused upon her like a single face of unimaginable size, looking at her and
talking to her. What overcame her then was something more than fear.
A moment later she caught sight of Professor Нога silently beckoning to
her. She ran to him and buried her face in his ^hest. Taking her in his
arms, he put one hand over her eyes
147
as before, light as thistledown, and carried her back along the endless
tunnel. Again all seemed dark, but again she felt snug and secure.
Once they were back in the little, clock-lined room, he laid her down
on the sofa.
'Professor Нога,' Momo whispered, 'I never knew that everyone's time
was so' - she strove to find the right word, but in vain - "so big,' she
said eventually.
'What you've just seen and heard wasn't everyone's time,' the professor
replied, 'it was only your own. There's a place like the one you visited in
every living soul, but only those who let me take them there can reach it,
nor can it be seen with ordinary eyes.'
'So where was I?'
'In the depths of your own heart,' said the professor, gently stroking
her tousled hair.
'Professor Нога,' she whispered again, 'may I bring my friends to see
you too?'
'No,' he said, 'not yet. That isn't possible.'
'How long can I stay with you, then?'
'Until you feel it's time to rejoin your friends, my child.'
'But may I tell them what the stars were saying?'
'You may, but you won't be able to.'
'Why not?'
'Because, before you can, the words must take root inside you.'
'But I want to tell them - all of them. I want to sing them what the
voices sang. Then everything would come right again, I think.'
'If that's what you really want, Momo, you must learn to wait.'
'I don't mind waiting.'
'1 mean, wait like a seed that must slumber in the earth before it can
sprout. That's how long the words will take to grow up inside you. Is that
what you want?'
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'Yes,' she whispered.
'Then sleep,' said Professor Нога, gently passing his hand across her
eyes. 'Sleep!'
And Momo heaved a deep, contented sigh and fell asleep.
* PART THREE *
The Hour-Lilies
THIRTEEN
A Year and a Day
Momo awoke and opened her eyes.
It was a while before she gathered where she was. To her bewilderment,
she found herself back on the grass-grown steps of the amphitheatre. If
she'd been with Professor Hora in Nowhere House only moments before, how had
she made her way back here so quickly?
It was cold and dark, with the first light of dawn just showing above
the eastern skyline. Momo shivered and burrowed deeper into her baggy
jacket.
She had a vivid recollection of all that had happened: of trudging
through the city behind the tortoise, of the district with the strange glow
and the dazzling white houses, of Never Lane and the great hall filled with
clocks, of hot chocolate and rolls and honey, of her conversation with
Professor Hora. She could even recall the riddle, word for word. Above all,
though, she recalled what she had witnessed beneath the golden dome. She had
only to shut her eyes to see the hour-lilies in all their undreamed-of
splendour. As for the voices of the sun, moon and stars, they still rang in
her ears so clearly that she could hum the melodies they sang.
And while she did so, words took shape within her -words that truly
described the scent of the flowers and the colours she had never seen
before. It was the voices in her memory that spoke them, yet the memory
itself brought something wonderful in its train. Momo found that she could
recall not only what she had seen and heard but much, much more besides.
Hour-lilies by the thousand blossomed in her
153
mind's eye, welling up as if from some magical, inexhaustible spring,
and new words rang out as each new flower appeared. Momo had only to listen
closely and she could repeat the words - even sing them. They told of
strange and wonderful things, but their meaning eluded her as soon as she
uttered them.
So that was what Professor Hora had meant when he said that the words
must first take root within her!
Or had everything been a dream after all? Had none of it really
happened? Momo was still pondering this question when she caught sight of
something crawling across the arena below her. It was the tortoise, engaged
in a leisurely quest for edible plants.
Momo ran quickly down the steps and knelt on the ground beside it. The
tortoise looked up for a moment, regarded her briefly with its dark, age-old
eyes, and calmly went on eating.
'Good morning, Tortoise,' said Momo.
The creature's shell remained blank.
'Was it you that took me to Professor Нога last night?'
Still no answer.
Momo heaved a sigh of disappointment. 'What a pity,' she muttered. 'So
you're only an ordinary tortoise after all, and no"- - oh, I've forgotten
what she was called. It was a pretty name, but long and foreign-sounding.
I'd never heard it before.'
Some faintly luminous letters showed up on the tortoise's shell.
'CASSIOPEIA,' they read.
Momo joyfully spelled them out. 'Yes,' she cried, clapping her hands,
'that was it! So it "s you. You are Professor Hora's tortoise, aren't you?'
'WHO ELSE?'
'Why didn't you say so right away, then?'
'HAVING BREAKFAST.'
'Oh, I'm so sorry,' said Momo. 'I didn't mean to disturb you. All I'd
like to know is, why am I back here?'
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BY CHOICE.'
Momo scratched her head. 'That's funny, I don't remember wanting to
leave. How about you, Cassiopeia? Why did you come, too, instead of staying
with the professor?' 'BY CHOICE,' Cassiopeia repeated. 'Thanks,' said Momo.
'That was nice of you.' 'NOT AT ALL.' That seemed to conclude the
conversation as far as Cassiopeia was concerned, because she plodded off to
resume her interrupted breakfast.
Momo sat down on the steps, impatient to see Beppo, Guido and the
children again. The music continued to ring out inside her, and though she
was all alone with no one around to hear, she joined in the words and
melodies more and more loudly and lustily. And as she sang, straight into
the rising sun, it seemed to her that the birds and crickets and trees -
even the amphitheatre's time-worn stones - were listening to her.
Little did she know that they would be her only listeners for a long
time to come. Little did she know that she was waiting in vain for her
friends to appear -- that she had been gone a whole year, and that
everything had changed in the meantime.
The men in grey disposed of Guido with relative ease. It had all begun
about a year ago, only days after Momo's sudden and mysterious
disappearance, when a leading newspaper printed an article about him.
Headlined 'The Last of the Old-Time Storytellers', it mentioned when and
where he could be found and described him as an attraction not to be missed.
From then on, the amphitheatre was besieged by growing numbers of
people anxious to see and hear him. This, of course, was all right with
Guido. He continued to say the first thing that came into his head and ended
by handing around his cap, which always came back brimming with
155
coins and banknotes. Before long he was employed by a travel agent who
paid him an additional fee for permission to present him as a tourist
attraction in his own right. Busloads of sightseers rolled up in such
numbers that Guido was soon obliged to keep to a strict timetable, so that
all who had paid to hear him got a chance to do so.
He began to miss Momo more and more, because his stories had lost their
inspiration, but he steadfastly refused to tell the same story twice, even
when offered twice his usual fee.
After a few months, Guido no longer needed to turn up at the
amphitheatre and hand around his battered peaked cap. Having been
'discovered', first by a radio station and then by television, he was soon
earning a mint of money by telling his stories, three times weekly, to an
audience of millions.
By now he had given up his lodgings near the amphitheatre and moved to
quite another part of town, where all the rich and famous lived. He rented a
big modern villa set in well-kept grounds, dropped the nickname Guido, and
called himself Girolamo instead.
Guido was far too pressed for time, of course, to go on inventing new
stories as he used to. He began to ration his material with care, sometimes
concocting as many as five stories out of one idea. When even that failed to
meet the ever-increasing demand for his services, he did something he should
never have done: he broadcast a story destined for Memo's ears alone.
It was lapped up as greedily, and forgotten as speedily, as all the
rest, and the public clamoured for more. Guido was so bemused by the sheer
pace of everything that, without stopping to think, he reeled off all of
Momo's treasured stories in quick succession. When the last of them was
told, he felt drained and empty and incapable of making up any more.
Terrified that success might desert him, he started to tell his stories
all over again, making only minor changes and
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using different names for his characters. Extraordinarily enough,
nobody seemed to notice - at all events, it didn't affect his popularity.
Guido clung to this thought like a drowning man clutching at a straw.
He was rich and famous now, he told himself, and wasn't that what he'd
always dreamed of?
Sometimes, though, while lying awake at night between silk sheets, he
yearned for his old way of life - for the happy times he'd spent with Momo
and Beppo and the children, when he was still a genuine storyteller.
But there was no way back, for Momo had never reappeared. Guido had
made strenuous efforts to find her at first, but he no longer had the time.
He now employed three super-efficient secretaries to negotiate contracts for
him, take down his stories in shorthand, handle his publicity and keep his
engagement diary. Somehow, his schedule never left him time to resume the
search for Momo.
One day, when little of the old Guido remained, he pulled what was left
of himself together and resolved to turn over a new leaf. He was a somebody
now, he told himself. He carried a lot of weight with millions of listeners
and viewers. Who was better placed than he to tell them the truth? He would
tell them about the men in grey, emphasize that the story was a true one,
and ask all his fans to help him look for Momo.
He formed this intention late one night, when he had been pining for
his old friends. By daybreak he was at his massive desk, preparing to put
his ideas down on paper. Even before he had written a word, however, the
telephone rang. He picked up the receiver, listened, and went rigid with
terror At the sound of the peculiarly flat, expressionless voice in his ear,
he felt as if the very marrow in his bones had turned to ire
'Drop the idea,' the voice said. 'We advise you to, for your own sake.'
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'Who's speaking?' Guido demanded.
'You know very well,' the voice replied. 'We've no need to introduce
ourselves. You haven't had the pleasure of making our acquaintance, but
we've owned you body and soul for a long time now. Don't pretend you didn't
know.'
'What do you want?'
'This latest scheme of yours doesn't appeal to us. Be a good boy and
drop it, will you?'
Guido took his courage in both hands. 'No,' he said, 'I won't. I'm not
poor little Guido Guide any longer, I'm a celebrity. Try taking me on and
see how far you get!'
The voice gave such a grey, mirthless laugh that Guide's teeth began to
chatter.
'You're a nobody,' it said, '- a rubber doll. We've blown you up, but
give us any trouble and we'll let the air out. Do you seriously think you
owe what you are today to yourself and your own unremarkable talents?'
'Yes,' Guido said hoarsely, 'that's just what I do think.'
'Poor old Guido,' said the voice, 'you're still as much of a dreamer as
you ever were. You used to be Prince Girolamo disguised as a nobody called
Guido. And what are you now? Just a nobody called Guido disguised as Prince
Girolamo. You should be grateful to us. After all, we're the ones who made
your dreams come true.'
'That's a lie!' Guido shouted.
'Heavens!' said the voice, with another mirthless laugh. 'You're hardly
the person to bandy words with us on the subject of truth and falsehood. Oh
no, my poor Guido, you'll regret it if you try quoting the truth at people.
Thanks to us, you've become famous for your tall stories. You aren't
qualified to tell the truth, so forget it.'
'What have you done with Momo?' Guido asked in a whisper.
'Don't worry your poor little scatterbrained head about that. You can't
help her any more, least of all by telling
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stories about us. If you do, you'll only destroy your success as
quickly as it came. It's up to you, of course. If you're really set on
playing the hero and ruining yourself, we won't stop you, but you can't
expect us to reward your ingratitude by continuing to protect your
interests. Don't you like being rich and famous?'
'Yes,' Guido replied in a muffled voice. 'Exactly, so leave us out of
it. Go on telling people what they want to hear.'
'Now that I know the truth,' Guido said with an effort, 'how can I?'
'I'll give you some sound advice: Don't take yourself so seriously. The
matter's out of your hands. Look at it from that angle and you'll find you
can carry on very nicely, as before.'
'Yes,' Guido muttered, staring into space, 'from that angle .. .'
The earpiece gave a click and went dead. Guido hung up too. He slumped
forward on to the desktop and buried his face in his arms, racked with
silent sobs.
From then on Guido lost every last scrap of self-respect. He abandoned
his plan and carried on as before, though he felt an utter fraud. And so he
was. Once upon a time his imagination had soared along and he had blithely
followed its lead, but now he was telling lies. He was making a buffoon of
himself -- a public laughing-stock - and he knew it. He hated his work, and
the more he hated it the sillier and more sentimental his stories became.
This didn't impair his reputation, though. On the contrary, the public
acclaimed him for pioneering a new style of humour and many comedians tried
to imitate it. Guido was all the rage, not that he derived any pleasure from
the fact. He now knew who was responsible for his success. He had gained
nothing and lost everything. And still he continued to race by car or plane
from one
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engagement ro the next, accompanied everywnere oy me secretaries to
whom he never stopped dictating old stories in new guises. 'Amazingly
inventive' was the newspapers' pet description of him.
Guido the dreamer had, in fact, become Girolamo the hoaxer.
Beppo Roadsweeper presented the men in grey with a far harder nut to
crack.
Ever since the night of Memo's disappearance, and whenever his work
permitted, he had gone to the amphitheatre and sat there waiting. At last,
when his mounting concern and anxiety became too much to bear, he resolved
to override Guide's objections, reasonable though they were, and go to the
police.
'What if they do put her back in one of those homes with bars over the
windows?' he reflected. 'Better that than being held prisoner by the men in
grey - if she's still alive, of course. She escaped from a children's home
once, so she could do it again. Besides, maybe I could fix it so they didn't
put her in a home at all. The first thing to do is find her.'
So he made his way to the nearest police station, which was on the
outskirts of the city. Once there, he hung around outside for a while,
twisting his hat in his hands. Then he plucked up courage and walked in.
'Yes?' said the desk sergeant, who was busy filling out a long and
complicated form.
Beppo took some time to get it out. 'The thing is,' he said at last,
'something dreadful must have happened.'
'Really?' said the desk sergeant, still writing. 'What's it all about?'
'It's about our Momo,' said Beppo.
A child?'
'Yes, a girl.'
'Is she yours?'
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'No,' Beppo said, uncertainly, '-1 mean, yes, but I'm not her father.'
'No, I mean, yes!' snapped the desk sergeant. 'Who's child is she,
then? Who are her parents?' 'Nobody knows,' said Beppo. 'Where is she
registered, then?'
'Registered?' said Beppo. 'Well, with us, I suppose. We all know her.'
'So she isn't registered,' the desk sergeant said with a sigh. 'That's
against the law, in case you didn't know. Who does she live with, then?'
'She lives by herself,' Beppo replied, 'that's to say, she used to live
in the old amphitheatre, but she doesn't any more. She's gone.'
'Just a minute,' said the desk sergeant. 'If I understand you
correctly, the ruins have until recently been occupied by a young female
vagrant named - what did you say her name was?'
'Momo,' said Beppo.
The policeman pulled a pad towards him and started writing. 'Momo,' he
repeated. 'Well, go on: Momo what? I'll need her full name.'
'Momo nothing,' said Beppo. 'Just Momo.' The desk sergeant stroked his
chin and looked aggrieved. 'See here, old timer, you'll have to do better
than this. I'm trying to be helpful, but I can't file a report without your
cooperation. Better begin by telling me your own name.' 'Beppo,' said Beppo.
'Beppo what?' 'Beppo Roadsweeper.' 'Your name, I said, not your occupation.'
'It's both,' Beppo explained patiently. The desk sergeant put his pen down
and buried his face in his hands. 'God give me strength!' he muttered
despairingly. 'Why did I have to be on duty now, of all times?'
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Then he straightened up, squared his shoulders, and gave the old man an
encouraging smile. 'All right,' he said gently, as though humouring a child,
'I can take your personal particulars later. Just tell me the whole story
from start to finish.'
Beppo looked dubious. 'All of it?'
'Anything that's relevant,' said the desk sergeant. 'I'm up to my eyes
in work - I've got this whole stack of forms to complete by lunchtime, and
I'm just about at the end of my tether - but never mind that. Take your time
and tell me what's on your mind.'
He sat back and closed his eyes with the air of a martyr at the stake.
And Beppo, in his queer, roundabout way, recounted the whole story from
Memo's arrival on the scene and her exceptional gifts to the trial on the
garbage dump, which he himself had witnessed.
'And that very same night,' he concluded, 'Momo disappeared.'
The desk sergeant subjected him to a long, resentful glare. 'I see,' he
said at last. 'So you're telling me that an unlikely-sounding girl, whose
existence remains to be proved, may have been kidnapped and carried off, you
can't say where to, by ghosts of some kind. Is that what you expect us to
investigate?'
'Yes, please,' Beppo said eagerly.
The desk sergeant leaned forward. 'Breathe on me!' he barked.
Although Beppo failed to see the point of this request, he shrugged his
shoulders and obediently blew in the policeman's face.
The desk sergeant sniffed and shook his head. 'You don't appear to be
drunk.'
'No,' mumbled Beppo, puce in the face with embarrassment. 'I've never
been drunk in my life.'
'Then why tell me such a cock-and-bull story? Did you really think I'd
be daft enough to believe it?'
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'Yes," beppo replied innocently.
At that the policeman's patience finally snapped. He jumped up and
slammed his fist down hard on his stack of long and complicated forms. 'That
does it!' he bellowed, beside himself with rage. 'Get out of here at once or
I'll lock you up for insulting behaviour!'
Beppo looked dismayed. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, 'I didn't mean it that
way. All I meant was -'
'Out!' roared the desk sergeant.
Beppo turned and went.
During the next few days he called at various other police stations
with much the same result. He was kicked out, politely sent home, or
humoured as the best means of getting rid of him.
One day, however, he was interviewed by a police inspector with less
sense of humour than his colleagues. After listening to Beppo's story
without a flicker of expression, he turned to a subordinate and said coldly,
'The old man's off his rocker. We'll have to find out if he's a threat to
society. Take him down to the cells.'
Beppo had to spend half the day in a cell before being whisked off in a
car by two policemen. They drove him all the way across the city to a big
white building with bars over the windows. It wasn't a prison or detention
centre, as he at first thought, but a hospital for nervous disorders.
Here Beppo underwent a thorough examination. The hospital staff treated
him kindly. They didn't laugh at him or bawl him out -- in fact they seemed
very interested in his story, because they made him tell it again and again.
Although they never questioned it, Beppo got the feeling that they didn't
really believe it. Whatever they made of him, which was far from clear to
Beppo himself, they didn't discharge him.
Whenever he asked how soon he could go, he was told, 'Soon, but you're
still needed for the time being. We haven't
163
completed our investigations, but we're making progress.' And Beppo,
who thought they were referring to investigations into Memo's whereabouts,
continued to wait patiently.
They had allotted him a bed in a big ward where many othci patients
slept. One night he woke up and saw, by the feeble glow of the emergency
lighting, that someone was standing beside his bed. AU he could tell at
first was that the shadowy figure was smoking a cigar or cigarette - the tip
glowed red in the gloom - but then he recognized the bowler and briefcase.
Realizing that his visitor was one of the men in grey, he felt chilled to
the marrow and opened his mouth to call for help.
'Quiet!' hissed an ashen voice. 'I've been authorized to make you a
proposition. Listen to it carefully, and don't answer till I tell you. You
now have some idea of the power we already wield. Whether or not you get
another taste of it is entirely up to you. Although you can't harm us in the
least by retailing your story to all and sundry, it doesn't suit our scheme
of things. You're quite correct in assuming that your friend Momo is our
prisoner, but you may as well abandon all hope of finding her. That you'll
never do, and your efforts to rescue her aren't making the poor girl's
position any easier. Every time you try, she has to suffer for it, so be
more careful what you do and say from now on.'
The man in grey blew several smoke rings, gleefully observing the
effect of his speech on Beppo. It was clear that the old man believed every
word of it.
'My time is valuable,' the man in grey went on, 'so here's our
proposition in a nutshell: you can have the girl back, but only on condition
that you never utter another word about us or our activities. As ransom, so
to speak, we shall additionally require you to deposit a hundred thousand
hours of your time with us. How we bank it is our affair and doesn't concern
you. All you have to do is save it. How you save it is your affair. If you
agree, we'll arrange for you to be
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released in the next few days. If not, you'll stay here for as long as
Momo remains with us, in other words, for ever more. It's a generous offer,
so think it over. You won't get a second chance. Well?'
Beppo swallowed hard a couple of times. Then he croaked, 1 agree.'
'Very sensible of you,' the man in grey said smugly. 'So remember:
absolute discretion and a hundred thousand hours of your time. As soon as
you've saved them for us, you can have Momo back. And now, my dear sir,
goodbye.'
On that note the man in grey departed, leaving a trail of cigar smoke
behind him. It seemed to glow faintly in the darkness like a
will-o'-the-wisp.
Beppo stopped telling his story from that night on, and when asked why
he'd told it in the first place would merely look sad and shrug his
shoulders. The hospital authorities discharged him a few days later.
But he didn't go home. Instead, he went straight to the depot where he
and his workmates collected their brooms and handcarts. Shouldering his
broom, he marched out into the city streets and started sweeping.
He did not, however, sweep as he used to in the old days, with a breath
before each step and stroke of the broom, but hurriedly and without pride in
his work, solely intent on saving time. He felt sickened by what he was
doing and tormented by the knowledge that he was betraying the deeply held
beliefs of a lifetime. Had no one's future been at stake but his own, he
would have starved to death rather than abandon his principles, but there
was Momo's ransom to ;o!lect, and this was the only way he knew of saving
time.
He swept day and night without ever returning to his shack 'ear the
amphitheatre. When exhaustion overcame him, he ivould sit down on a park
bench, or even on the kerb, and snatch a few minutes' sleep, only to wake up
with a guilty start and carry on sweeping. He devoted just as little time to
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his meals, which took the form of hurried snacks wolfed down on the
move.
Beppo swept for weeks and months on end. Winter followed autumn, and
still he toiled on. Spring and summer came around, but he scarcely noticed
the changing seasons. Preoccupied with saving Memo's hundred thousand hours'
ransom, he swept and swept and swept.
The townsfolk were too short of time themselves to pay any attention to
the little old man, and the handful that did so tapped their foreheads as
soon as he had gone panting past, wielding his broom as if his life depended
on it. Being taken for a fool was nothing new to Beppo, so he scarcely
noticed that either. On the few occasions when someone asked him what the
hurry was, he would pause for a moment, eye the questioner with mingled
alarm and sorrow, and put his finger to his lips.
Hardest of all for the men in grey to tailor to their plans were Momo's
friends among the children of the city. Even after her disappearance, they
went on meeting at the amphitheatre as often as they could. They continued
to invent new games in which a few old crates and boxes became castles and
palaces or galleons that carried them on fabulous voyages around the world.
They also continued to tell each other stories. In short, they behaved as if
Momo were still with them, and by doing so, remarkably enough, they almost
made it seem that she really was.
Besides, they never for a moment doubted that she would return. They
didn't discuss the subject, but children united by such an unspoken
certainty had no need to. Momo was one ot them and formed the ever-present
focus of all their activities, whether or not she was actually there in
person.
The men in grey were powerless to meet this challenge head-on. Unable
to detach the children from Momo by bringing them under their direct
control, they had to find
166
some roundabout means of achieving the same end, and for this they
enlisted the children's elders. Not all grown-ups made suitable accomplices,
of course, but there were plenty that did. What was more, the men in grey
were cunning enough to turn the children's own weapons against them.
Quite suddenly, one or two parents recalled how their offspring had
paraded through the streets with placards and posters.
'Something must be done,' they said. 'More and more kids are being left
on their own and neglected. You can't blame us - parents just don't have the
time these days - so it's up to the authorities.'
Others joined in the chorus. *We can't have all these youngsters
loafing around,' declared some. 'They obstruct the traffic. Road accidents
caused by children are on the increase, and road accidents cost money that
could be put to better use.'
'Unsupervised children run wild,' declared others. 'They become morally
depraved and take to crime. The authorities must take steps to round them
up. They must build centres where the youngsters can be moulded into useful
and efficient members of society.'
'Children,' declared still others, 'are the raw material of the future.
A world dependent on computers and nuclear energy will need an army of
experts and technicians to run it. Far from preparing our children for
tomorrow's world, we still allow too many of them to squander years of their
precious time on childish tomfoolery. It's a blot on our civilization and a
crime against future generations.'
The timesavers were all in favour of such a policy, naturally, and
there were so many of them in the city by this time that they soon convinced
the authorities of the need to take prompt action.
Before long, big buildings known as 'child depots' sprang up in every
neighbourhood. Children whose parents were too
167
busy to look after them had to be deposited there and could be
collected when convenient. They were strictly forbidden to play in the
streets or parks or anywhere else. Any child caught doing so was immediately
carted off to the nearest depot, and its parents were heavily fined.
None of Momo's friends escaped the new regulation. They were split up
according to the districts they came from and consigned to various child
depots. Once there, they were naturally forbidden to play games of their own
devising. All games were selected for them by supervisors and had to have
some useful, educational purpose. The children learned these new games but
unlearned something else in the process: they forgot how to be happy, how to
take pleasure in little things, and, last but not least, how to dream.
Weeks passed, and the children began to look like time-savers in
miniature. Sullen, bored and resentful, they did as they were told. Even
when left to their own devices, they no longer knew what to do with
themselves. All they could still do was make a noise, but it was an angry,
ill-tempered noise, not the happy hullabaloo of former times.
The men in grey made no direct approach to them - there was no need.
The net they had woven over the city was so close-meshed as to seem
impenetrable. Not even the brightest and most ingenious children managed to
slip through its toils. The amphitheatre remained silent and deserted.
The men in grey had done their work well. All was in readiness for
Momo's return.
So Momo sat on the stone steps and waited in vain for her friends to
turn up. She sat and waited all day, but no one came - not a soul.
The sun was sinking in the west. The shadows grew longer, the air more
chill.
At last Momo rose stiffly to her feet. She was hungry because no one
had thought to bring her something to eat.
168
This had never happened before. Even Guido and Beppo must have
forgotten about her, she reflected, but she consoled herself with the
thought that it was just an oversight -- a silly mistake that would sort
itself out the next day. She went and knelt beside the tortoise, which had
already tucked itself in for the night. Timidly, she tapped the shell with
her knuckles. The tortoise put its head out and looked at her.
'Excuse me,' Momo said, 'I apologize for waking you, but can you tell
me why none of my friends came? I waited all day long.'
'ALL GONE,' the shell spelled out.
Momo read the words but couldn't follow their meaning. 'Oh well,' she
said cheerfully, 'I'll find out tomorrow. My friends are bound to come then,
aren't they?'
'NEVER AGAIN,' replied the tortoise.
Momo stared at the faint letters with growing dismay. 'What do you
mean?' she asked eventually. 'Has something happened to them?'
'ALL GONE,' she read again.
She shook her head. 'No,' she said softly, 'they can't have. You must
be wrong, Cassiopeia. Why, I saw them only yesterday at our grand council of
war - the one that came to nothing.'
'NOT YESTERDAY,' Cassiopeia replied.
Momo remembered now. Professor Нога had told her that she would have to
wait like a seed slumbering in the earth until it was ready to sprout. She
had agreed without stopping to wonder how long that meant, but now the truth
was beginning to dawn on her.
'How long have I been away?' she asked in a whisper.
'A YEAR AND A DAY.'
Momo took some time to digest this. 'But Beppo and Guido,' she
stammered,'- surely they're still waiting for me?'
NO ONE LEFT,'she read.
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'But I don't understand.' Momo's lips were trembling. 'They can't all
be gone, not my friends, not the times we spent together . . .'
Very slowly, a single word lit up on Cassiopeia's shell:
PAST.'
For the first time in her life, Momo grasped the terrible finality of
the word. Her heart had never felt so heavy.
'But,' she murmured helplessly, '- but I'm still here ...' She longed
to cry but couldn't. A moment later she felt the tortoise nudge her bare
foot.
SO AM I,' she read.
'Yes,' she said, smiling bravely, 'you're here too, Cas-siopeia, and
I'm glad of your company. Come on, let's go to bed.'
Picking up the tortoise, she carried it through the hole in the wall
and down into her room. She saw by the light of the setting sun that all was
just as she had left it - Beppo had tidied the place up after its invasion
by the men in grey
- but everything was thick with dust and shrouded in cobwebs.
Then she caught sight of an envelope propped against a can on the
little table. The envelope, too, was covered with cobwebs. 'To Momo,' it
said.
Momo's heart began to race. No one had ever written her a letter
before. She picked up the envelope and examined it from every angle, then
tore it open and unfolded the slip of paper inside.
'Dear Momo,' she read, 'I've moved. If you come back, please get in
touch with me at once. I miss you and worry about you a lot. I hope nothing
has happened to you. If you're hungry, go to Nine's place. I'll foot the
bill, so be sure to eat as much as you want. Nino will tell you the rest.
Keep on loving me - 1 still love you. Yours ever, Guido.'
Momo took a long time to decipher this letter, even though Guido had
obviously been at pains to write as neatly and
170
legibly as possible. The daylight had gone by the time she finished
reading, but she felt comforted.
She took the tortdise and put it on the bed beside her. 'You see,
Cassiopeia,' she said as she wrapped herself in the dusty blanket, 'I'm not
alone after all.'
But the tortoise seemed to be asleep already, and Momo, who had
pictured Guide's face with the utmost clarity while reading his letter,
never suspected that the envelope had been lying there for almost a year.
She pillowed her cheek on it, feeling cold no longer.
FOURTEEN
Three Lunches, No Answers
Towards noon on the following day, Momo tucked the tortoise under her
arm and set off for Nine's inn.
'You'll see, Cassiopeia,' she said. 'The mystery will soon be solved.
Nino will tell us where Guido and Beppo are Then we'll go and get the
children, and we'll all be together again. Perhaps Nino and his wife will
come along too. You'li like my friends, I'm sure. We could even give a
little party this evening. I'll tell everyone about the flowers and the
music and Professor Hora and everything. Oh, I just can't wait to see them
all again! First, though, I'm looking forward to a good lunch. I'm
absolutely famished.'
And so she chattered on merrily, feeling in her jacket pocket now and
then to reassure herself that Guide's letter was still there. The tortoise
fixed her with its wise old eyes and made no comment.
Momo began to hum as she went, and then to sing. The words and melodies
were those of the voices that still seemed to ring in her ears as clearly as
they had the day before. She would never forget them, she knew that now.
Then, abruptly, she broke off. They had reached Nine's inn, but her
first thought was that she must have gone astray. Where once had stood a
little old tavern with damp-stained walls and a vine growing around the
door, the street was flanked by a long, concrete box with big plate glass
windows. The street itself had been asphalted and was humming with traffic.
A big petrol station had sprung up opposite, and alongside it an enormous
office
172
building. There were lots of cars parked outside the new establishment,
and the neon sign above the entrance said:
NINO'S FASTFOOD.
Momo went inside. She found it hard to get her bearings at 'first.
Cemented into the floor beside the windows were a number of tables with such
spindly single legs and tiny tops that they looked like toadstools. They
were just the right height for grown-ups to eat at standing up - which was
fortunate, since there were no chairs.
Running along the other side of the room was a son of fence made of
shiny, chromium-plated tubing. Just beyond it stood a long row of glass
cases containing ham and cheese sandwiches, sausages, plates of salad,
pudding, cakes and countless other things to eat, many of which Momo had
never seen before.
She could only take in the scene by degrees because the room was
jam-packed with people, and she always seemed to be getting in their way. No
matter where she stood, they elbowed her aside or jostled her along. Most of
them were balancing trays laden with food and drink, and all were intent on
grabbing a place at one of the little tables. Behind every man or woman that
stood there, eating in frantic haste, several others waited impatiently for
him or her to finish. From time to time, acrimonious remarks were exchanged
by those eating and those still waiting to eat. All of them looked glum and
discontented.
More people were shuffling slowly along behind the barrier, taking
plates or bottles and cardboard cups from the glass cases as they passed.
Momo was astonished. So they could help themselves to whatever they
liked! There was no one around to stop them or ask them to pay for what they
took. Perhaps everything was free, Momo reflected. That would certainly
account for the crush.
At last she spotted Nino. Almost obscured by customers,
173
he was seated in front of a cash register at the very end of the long
row of glass cases, pressing buttons, taking money and giving change without
a stop. So he was the person who took the money! The rail fenced people in
so they couldn't get to the tables without passing him.
'Nino!' she called, trying to squeeze through the crowd. She called
again and waved Guide's letter, but Nino didn't hear. The electronic cash
register was bleeping too loudly.
Plucking up her courage, Momo climbed over the rail and wormed her way
along the line to where Nino sat. He glanced up, because one or two
customers had started to protest. At the sight of Momo, his glum expression
disappeared in a flash.
'So you're back!' he exclaimed, beaming just as he used to in the old
days. 'This is a nice surprise!'
'Get a move on,' called an angry voice. 'Tell that kid to stand in line
like the rest of us. Cheeky young whippersnap-per, barging her way to the
front like that!'
Nino made appeasing gestures. 'I won't be a moment,' he said. 'Be
patient, can't you?'
'Anyone could jump the line at this rate,' another voice chimed in.
'Hurry up, we don't have as much time to spare as she does.'
'Look, Momo,' Nino whispered hurriedly, 'take whatever you like - Guido
will pay for it all - but you'll have to line up like the rest. You heard
what they said.'
Before Momo could reply, she was pushed past the cash desk by the
people behind her. There was nothing for it but to do as the others did.
Joining the end of the line, she took a tray from a shelf and a knife, fork
and spoon from a box. Because she needed both hands for the tray, she dumped
Cassiopeia on top.
Rather flustered by now, Momo took things at random from the glass
cases as she was slowly propelled along, step by step, and arranged them
around the tortoise. She ended up with an oddly assorted meal: a piece of
fried fish, a jam puff,
174
a sausage, a meat pie and a plastic mug of lemonade. Surrounded by food
on all sides, Cassiopeia retired into her shell without comment.
. When Momo at last reached the cash desk, she hurriedly asked Nino if
he knew where Guido was.
Nino nodded. 'Our Guide's a celebrity these days. We're all very proud
of him - he's one of us, after all. He's on TV and radio every week, and
they're always writing about him in the papers. I even had two reporters
here myself last week, asking about the old days. I told them how Guido used
to -'
'Move along in front!' called an irate voice.
'But why doesn't he come around any more?' Momo asked.
'Ah, well,' Nino muttered, fidgeting because his customers were making
him nervous, 'he doesn't have the time, you see. He's got more important
things on his mind. Besides, there's nothing doing at the amphitheatre, not
now.'
'What's the matter with you?' called another indignant voice. 'You
think we like hanging around here, or something?'
Momo dug her heels in. 'Where's Guido living now?' she asked.
'Somewhere on Green Hill,' Nino replied. 'He's got a fine house there,
so they say, with a great big garden - but please, Momo, do me a favour and
come back later!'
Momo didn't really want to move on - she had a lot more questions for
him - but someone shoved her in the back again. She took her tray to one of
the toadstool tables and actually managed to get a place, though the table
was so high that her nose was on a level with it. When she slid the tray on
top, the neighbouring grown-ups eyed Cassiopeia with disgust.
'Ugh! See the kind of thing we have to put up with nowadays?' someone
said to the person beside him, and the other man growled, 'What do you
expect? These ktds!'
175
They lett it at that and ignored Momo trom then on. Eating was quite a
problem because she could scarcely see what was on her tray, but being very
hungry she devoured every last morsel. Then, in her anxiety to discover what
had become of Beppo, she rejoined the line. Although she wasn't hungry any
more, she was so afraid people might get angry with her if she simply stood
there that she filled her tray with another assortment of things from the
glass cases.
'Where's Beppo?' she asked, when she finally made it back to the cash
desk.
'He waited for you for ages,' Nino said hurriedly, fearful of upsetting
his customers again. 'He thought something terrible had happened to you -
kept on talking about men in grey, or something of the kind. Well, you know
old Beppo -he always was a bit eccentric.'
'You, there!' called a voice from the back of the line. 'When are we
going to get some service?'
'Right away, sir!' Nino called back.
'What happened then?' asked Momo.
'Then he started pestering the police,' Nino went on, nervously
massaging his brow. 'He asked them to look for you -made a proper nuisance
of himself, apparently. Next thing we knew, they'd put him in a sort of
mental hospital. That's all 1 can tell you.'
'Hell and damnation!' someone else bellowed. 'Is this a fastfood joint
or a dentist's waiting room? What are you doing, holding a family reunion?'
'Yes, kind of,' Nino said, apologetically.
'Is he still there?' asked Momo.
Nino shook his head. 'I don't think so. I'm told they pronounced him
harmless and let him go.'
'So where is he now?'
'I've no idea, Momo, honestly I haven't. Now please be a good girl and
move on.'
Again Momo was jostled past the cash desk by the people
176
behind her, and again she waited for a place at one of the toadstool
tables. She polished off her second trayful of food with a good deal less
gusto than the first, but food was food, and she wouldn't have dreamed of
leaving any. She still had to find out what had become of the children who
used to keep her company. There was nothing for it but to stand in line once
more, shuffle past the glass cases and load her tray with food rather than
invite hostile remarks. It seemed an eternity before she reached the cash
desk again.
'What about the children?' she demanded. 'What's become of them?'
'Oh, that's all changed,' said Nino, breaking out in a sweat at her
reappearance. 'I can't explain right now - you can see how rushed I am.'
'But why don't they come any more?' she insisted.
'Nowadays, kids with n9 one to look after them are put in child depots.
They aren't allowed to be left to themselves any more because - well, the
long and the short of it is, they're taken care of.'
'Hurry it up, you slow coaches!' came an indignant chorus. 'We'd like
to eat sometime!'
Momo was looking incredulous. 'Child depots,' she repeated. 'Is that
what my friends really wanted?'
'They weren't consulted,' said Nino, fiddling with the keys of his cash
register. 'It's not up to kids to decide these things for themselves. Child
depots keep them off the streets - that's the main thing, isn't it?'
Momo said nothing, just looked at him, and Nino squirmed under her
searching gaze.
'Damn it all!' shouted yet another angry voice in the background. 'This
is the limit! If you must hold a prayer meeting, hold it somewhere else!'
'What am I going to do now,' Momo asked in a small voice, 'without my
friends?'
Nino shrugged and kneaded his hands together. 'Be
177
reasonable, Momo,' he said, drawing a deep breath. 'Come back some
other time. I really can't discuss your problems now. You're welcome to eat
here any time you like, you know that, but if 1 were you I'd report to one
of these child depots. They'd look after you and keep you occupied -they'd
even give you a proper education. Besides, you'll end up in one anyway, if
you go on wandering around on your own like this.'
Momo said nothing, just gazed at him as before. When the crowd swept
her along she mechanically went to one of the tables and just as
mechanically forced herself to eat a third lunch, though it was all she
could do to get it down. It tasted so much like cardboard and wood shavings,
she felt sick.
Then, tucking Cassiopeia under her arm, she walked silently to the door
without a backward glance.
'Hey, Momo!' called Nino, who had spotted her at the last moment. 'Wait
a bit! You never told me where you've been all this time!'
But the next customer was already drumming his fingers on the cash
register. Nino rang up the total, took the man's money and gave him some
change. The smile had long since left his face.
'I've had masses to eat,' Momo told Cassiopeia when they were back at
the amphitheatre. 'Far too much, to tell the truth, but somehow I still feel
empty inside.' After a while she added, 'Anyway, I couldn't have told Nino
about the flowers and the music -- there wasn't time, and I don't think he'd
have understood.' There was another pause before she went on, 'Never mind,
tomorrow we'll go and look for Guido. You're sure to like him, Cassiopeia,
believe me.'
But all that lit up on Cassiopeia's shell was a great big question
mark.
FIFTEEN
Found and Lost
Momo got up early the next morning and set off in search of Guide's
house. Cassiopeia came too, of'course.
Momo knew where Green Hill was. A residential suburb several miles from
the amphitheatre, it lay on the other side of the city, near the housing
development's identical rows of identical flats.
Green Hill was a long walk. Although Momo was used to going without
shoes, her bare feet were aching by the time she got there, so she sat down
on the kerb to rest a while.
It really was a very smart neighbourhood. The streets were broad and
clean and deserted. In gardens enclosed by high walls and iron railings,
fine old trees reared their branches to the sky. Most of the houses set in
these gardens were long, low, flat-roofed villas built of concrete and
glass. The smooth expanses of lawn in front of them were lush and green -
they positively cried out for children to turn somersaults on them - but not
a soul could be seen strolling or playing anywhere. Presumably the owners
didn't have time.
Momo turned to Cassiopeia. 'If only I knew how to find out where Guido
lives,' she sighed.
'YOU WILL,' the tortoise signalled.
'You really think so?' Momo said hopefully.
'Hey, you grubby little brat,' someone said behind her, 'what are you
doing here?'
Momo turned to see a man in a spotless white jacket. She didn't know
that such jackets were worn by the servants of the
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rich. 'Good morning,' she said, getting up off the kerb, 'I'm looking
for Guide's house. Nino told me he lives here now.'
'Whose house?'
'Guide's. He's a friend of mine, you see.'
The man in the white jacket glared at her suspiciously. He had left the
garden gate ajar, and Momo could see inside. Some dogs were frisking around
on a big stretch of lawn and a fountain was playing in front of the house.
Overhead, in a blossom-covered tree, perched a pair of peacocks.
'Oh,' Momo exclaimed, 'what pretty birds!' She started to go inside for
a closer look, but the man in the white jacket grabbed her by the scruff of
the neck.
'No, you don't!' he said. 'Some nerve you've got, I must say.' Then he
let go of her and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief, looking as if he'd
just touched something unpleasant.
Momo pointed through the gate. 'Does all that belong to you?' she
inquired.
'No,' snapped the man in the white jacket, sounding more unfriendly
than ever. 'And now, clear off. You've no business here.'
'Oh, yes I have,' Momo said firmly. 'I've got to find Guido Guide. He's
expecting me. Don't you know him?'
'There aren't any guides around here,' the man retorted, and turned on
his heel. He had gone back into the garden and was about to slam the gate
when a thought seemed to strike him.
'You don't mean Girolamo, the TV star?'
'That's right,' Momo said eagerly. 'Guido Guide - that's his real name.
Can you tell me which his house is?'
'Is he really expecting you?' the man demanded.
'Yes, truly he is,' said Momo. 'He's a friend of mine - he pays for
everything I eat at Nino's.'
The man in the white jacket raised his eyebrows and shook his head.
'These showbiz people,' he said acidly. 'They
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certainly get some crazy notions sometimes. All right, if you really
think he'll welcome a visit from you, his house is right at the end of the
street.'
So saying, he slammed the gate behind him. The word 'SHOWOFF'
appeared on Cassiopeia's shell, but only for a moment.
The last house in the street was surrounded by a high wall and the gate
was made of sheet metal like all the rest, so it was impossible to see
inside. There wasn't a nameplate or a doorbell anywhere in sight.
'Can this really be Guide's new house[5]' said Momo. 'It
doesn't look at all the kind of place he'd choose.'
'IT IS,' Cassiopeia signalled.
'But why is it all shut up?' Momo asked. 'I'll never get in.'
'WAIT,' was Cassiopeia's advice.
Momo sighed. 'I may have to wait a long time. Even if Guide's home, how
will he know I'm here?'
The tortoise's shell lit up again. 'HE'LL COME,' it said.
So Momo sat down, right outside the gate, and waited patiently. Nothing
happened for such a long time that she began to wonder if Cassiopeia had
made a mistake for once.
'Are you absolutely positive?' she asked after a while.
Cassiopeia's reply was quite unexpected. Her shell said simply,
'GOODBYE.'
Momo gave a start. 'What do you mean, Cassiopeia? You aren't leaving
me, are you? Where are you going?'
TO LOOK FOR YOU,' was Cassiopeia's still more cryptic response.
At that moment the gate swung open without warning and out shot a long,
low, elegant car. Momo, who jumped back only just in time, fell head over
heels. The car sped on for several yards, then screeched to a halt. An
instant later, Guido jumped out.
'Momo!' he cried, flinging his arms wide. 'If it isn't my own, beloved
little Momo!'
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Momo scrambled to her feet and ran to him, and Guido snatched her up in
his arms and covered her cheeks with kisses and danced around in the road
with her.
'Did you hurt yourself?' he asked breathlessly, but instead of waiting
for a reply he went on talking nineteen to the dozen. 'Sorry I gave you a
fright, but I'm in a tearing hurry. Late again, as usual. Where have you
been all this time? You must tell me the whole story. I'd given you up for
lost, you know. Did you get my letter? Yes? So it was still there, eh? Fine,
so you went and had a meal at Nine's, did you? Did you enjoy it? Oh, Momo,
we've such a lot to tell each other -so much has happened in the last few
months. How are you, anyway? What's the matter, lost your tongue? And what
about old Beppo - what's he up to these days? I haven't seen him in a month
of Sundays. And the children - what about them? Oh, Momo, I can't tell you
how often I think of the times we spent together, when I used to tell you
stories. Good times, they were, but everything's different now -- you can't
imagine how different.'
Momo had made several attempts to answer his questions, but since his
torrent of words never dried up she simply watched and waited. Guido looked
different from the old days. He was well-groomed and he smelled nice, but
there was something curiously unfamiliar about him.
Meanwhile, some people had emerged from the limousine and walked over
to them: a man in a chauffeur's uniform and three hard-faced, heavily
made-up young women.
'Is the child hurt?' asked one, sounding less anxious than
disapproving.
'No, no, not a bit,' Guido assured her. 'We gave her a fright, that's
all.'
'Serves her right for loitering outside the gate,' said the second
young woman.
Guido laughed. 'But this is Momo - my old friend Momo!'
The third young woman raised her eyebrows. 'So she really
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exists, does she? I always thought she was a figment of your
imagination. We must issue a press release at once. "Giro-lamo Reunited with
his Fairy Princess" - something along those lines. I'll get on to it at
once. What a story! The public will lap it up.'
'No,' said Guido, 'I'd rather not.'
'What do you say, Momo?' asked the first young woman, fixing Momo with
an artificial smile. 'Surely you'd like to see your picture in the paper,
wouldn't you?' . 'Leave her alone!' snapped Guido.
The second young woman glanced at her wristwatch. 'We're going to miss
our flight if we don't get a move on, and you know what that would mean.'
'God Almighty,' Guido protested, 'can't 1 even have a quiet chat with a
long-lost friend?' He turned to Momo with a rueful grin. 'You see? They
never give me a moment's peace, these slave-drivers of mine - never.'
'Suit yourself, but we're only doing our job,' the second young woman
said tartly. 'That's what you pay us for, lord and master, to arrange your
schedule and see that you stick to it.'
Guido gave in. 'Okay, okay, we'd better get going. Tell you what, Momo,
why not come to the airport with us? We can talk on the way, and afterwards
my chauffeur will drive you home, all right?'
Without even waiting for an answer, he seized Momo's hand and towed her
to the car. The three secretaries got in behind while Guido sat up front
with Momo wedged in beside him.
'Right, he said, 'I'm listening, but first things first. How come you
disappeared like that?'
Momo was on the point of telling him about Professor Нога and the
hour-lilies when one of the secretaries leaned forward. 'Sorry to butt in,'
she said, 'but I've just had the most fabulous idea. We've simply got to
introduce Momo to the
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top brass at Fantasy Films. She'd be perfect for the title role in your
next film - the one about the girl who becomes a vagrant. Think what a
sensation it would make: "Momo, starring Momo"!'
'Didn't you hear what I said?' snapped Guido. 'I don't want her dragged
into anything of the kind, is that clear?'
The young woman bridled. 'I just don't get it,' she said. 'Most people
would jump at such a heaven-sent opportunity.'
'Well, I'm not most people!' Guido shouted in a sudden fury. He turned
to Momo. 'Forgive me, you may not understand this, but I don't want these
vultures sinking their talons into you as well as me.'
At that, all three secretaries sniffed and looked offended.
Guido groaned aloud and clutched his head. Producing a small silver
pillbox from his pocket, he took out a capsule and gulped it down.
Nobody spoke for a minute or two.
At length Guido turned to the trio behind him. 'I apologize,' he
mumbled wearily, 'I wasn't referring to you. My nerves are on edge, that's
all.'
'We know,' said the first young woman, 'we're getting used to it.'
'And now,' Guido went on, smiling down at Momo rather wryly, 'let's not
talk about anything except the two of us.'
'One more question before it's too late,' the second young woman broke
in. 'We'll be there any minute. Couldn't you at least let me do a quick
interview with the kid?'
'That's enough!' roared Guido, beside himself with rage. 'I want a word
with Momo in private -- it means a lot to me. How many more times do I have
to tell you?',
The second young woman was just as irate. 'You're always complaining
because the publicity I get you doesn't pack a big enough punch.'
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"You re right,' Guido groaned, 'but not now. Not now\'
'It's too bad,' the second young woman pursued. 'A human-interest story
like this would be a real tear-jerker, but have it your way. Maybe we can
run it later on, when -'
'No!' Guido cut in. 'Neither now nor later - not ever! Now kindly shut
up while Momo and I have a talk.'
'Well, pardon me\' the second young woman retorted angrily. 'It's your
publicity we're discussing, not mine. Think carefully: can you really afford
to pass up such an opportunity at this stage in your career?'
'No, I can't,' Guido cried in desperation, 'but Momo stays out of it!
And now, for pity's sake, leave us in peace for five minutes.'
The secretaries relapsed into silence. Limply, Guido drew a hand across
his eyes.
'You see how far gone I am?' He patted Memo's arm and gave a wry little
laugh. 'I couldn't go back now, even if I wanted to - I'm beyond redemption.
"Guide's still Guido!" -remember? Well, Guido isn't Guido any more. Believe
me, Momo, there's nothing more dangerous in life than dreams that come true,
at least when they come true like mine. I've nothing left to dream about,
and not even you could teach me to dream again. I'm fed up to the teeth with
everything and everyone.'
He stared morosely out of the window.
'The most I could do now would be to stop telling stories and keep mum,
if not for the rest of my life, at least until people had forgotten all
about me and I was poor and unknown again. But poverty without dreams? No,
Momo, that would be sheer hell. I'd sooner stay where I am. That's another
kind of hell, but at least it's a comfortable one.' Guido broke off. 'I
don't know why I'm rambling on like this. You can't have understood a word.'
Momo just looked at him. What she understood, first
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and foremost, was that Guido was ill - gravely ill. She suspected that
the men in grey were at the bottom of it, but she had no idea how to cure
him if he didn't want to be cured.
'I've done nothing but talk about myself,' he said. 'It's high time you
told me about your own doings.'
Just then the car drew up outside the airport terminal. They all got
out and hurried into the foyer, where a pair of uniformed stewardesses were
already waiting for Guido. Some newspaper reporters took pictures of him and
asked questions, but the stewardesses started fussing because there were
only a few minutes left before take-off time.
Guido bent down and gazed into Memo's eyes, and suddenly his own eyes
filled with tears.
'Listen,' he said, lowering his voice so the others couldn't hear.
'Stay with me, Momo. I'll take you along on this trip - I'll take you
wherever I go. You can live in that fine new house of mine and dress in silk
and satin like a real princess. Just be there and listen to me, that's all I
ask. If you did, perhaps I'd manage to think up some proper stories like the
ones I used to tell, know what 1 mean? Just say yes, Momo, and everything
will be all right again. Help me, I beg you!'
Momo's heart bled for Guido. She longed so much to help him, but she
sensed that he was wrong. He would have to become Guido again, and it
wouldn't help him at all if she stopped being Momo. Her eyes, too, filled
with tears, and she shook her head.
Guido understood. He just had time to nod sadly before he was hustled
off by the three secretaries he employed to do just that. He gave one last
wave in the distance, and Momo waved back. Then he was hidden from view.
Momo could have told him so many things, but she hadn't managed to say
a word throughout their brief reunion. She
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felt as if, by finding him again, she had really and truly lost him at
last.
Slowly, she turned and made her way across the crowded foyer. Just as
she reached the exit, she was smitten by a sudden thought: she had lost
Cassiopeia as well!
SIXTEEN
Loneliness
'Where to?' asked the chauffeur when Momo got in beside him.
She looked perplexed. Where did she want to go? She had to look for
Cassiopeia, but where? Where had she lost her? The tortoise hadn't been with
them on the drive to the airport, that much she knew for sure, so the
likeliest place would be outside Guide's house. Then she remembered the
words on Cassiopeia's shell: 'GOODBYE' and 'TO LOOK FOR YOU'. Of course!
Cassiopeia had known beforehand that they would lose each other, so she'd
gone looking for her. But where should she, Momo, go looking for Cassiopeia?
'Make up your mind,' said the chauffeur, beating an impatient tattoo on
the steering wheel. 'I've got better things to do with my time than take you
joy-riding.'
'Back to Guide's house, please,' Momo replied.
The chauffeur looked faintly surprised. 'I thought the boss said to
drive you home. You mean you're coming to live at his place?'
'No,' said Momo, 'but I lost something in the road outside, and I've
got to find it.'
That suited the chauffeur, who had to go back there anyway. As soon as
they reached Guide's gate, Momo got out and started peering in all
directions.
'Cassiopeia!' she called softly, again and again. 'Cassiopeia!'
The