One
particularly hot afternoon a short time later, Momo found a doll lying on the
stone steps of the ruins.
Now, it
was often the case that children left behind one of those expensive kinds of
toys you can’t truly play with and simply forgot them. But Momo couldn’t
remember ever having seen this doll with any of the children. And she certainly
would have noticed it, for it was a very special doll. It was almost as big as
Momo herself and so lifelike that you almost could have taken it for a small
person. It didn’t look like a child or a baby, though, but rather like a fashionable
young woman or a mannequin in a display window. It wore a red dress with a
short skirt and high-heeled sandals.
Momo
stared at it, fascinated.
After a while,
when she finally touched it with her hand, the doll rattled its eyelids a few
times, moved its mouth, and said in a voice that sounded a bit as though it
were quacking, as if it came from a telephone, “Hello. I’m Bibigirl, the
perfect doll.”
Momo was
startled and fell back, but then she replied automatically, “Hello, my name’s
Momo.”
The doll
moved its mouth again and said, “I’m yours. Everyone’s jealous of you because
of me.”
“I don’t
think you’re mine,” Momo said. “I think someone forgot you here instead.”
She took
the doll and lifted it up. Then its mouth moved again and it said, “I want even
more stuff.”
“Oh?” Momo
mused. “I don’t know if I have anything that’ll suit you. But just wait—I’ll
show you what I have, and then you can tell me what you like.”
She took
the doll and climbed down through the hole in the wall into her room. She
fetched a box with all kinds of treasures out from under the bed and set it
down in front of Bibigirl.
“Here,”
she said, “that’s everything I have. If you like something, just say so.”
And she
showed Bibigirl a pretty, colorful feather; a lovely speckled rock; a gold
button; a little piece of colored glass. The doll didn’t say anything, so Momo
nudged it.
“Hello,”
the doll quacked, “I’m Bibigirl, the perfect doll.”
“Yeah,”
said Momo, “I already know. But you wanted to pick out something, Bibigirl.
Like, here I have a pretty pink shell. Do you like it?”
“I’m yours,”
the doll answered. “Everyone’s jealous of you because of me.”
“Yeah, you
already said that,” said Momo. “But if you don’t want any of my stuff, then
maybe we could play, alright?”
“I want
even more stuff,” the doll repeated.
“I don’t
have any more,” Momo said. She took the doll and climbed outside again. There,
she set the perfect Bibigirl on the floor and sat down across from it.
“We’re
going to pretend you’re coming to visit me,” Momo suggested.
“Hello,”
the doll said, “I’m Bibigirl, the perfect doll.”
“How nice
that you’ve come to visit!” Momo replied. “Where do you come from, madam?”
“I’m yours,”
Bibigirl continued. “Everyone’s jealous of you because of me.”
“Now, you
listen,” said Momo, “We can’t play like this if you’re just going to keep
saying the same thing.”
“I want
even more stuff,” the doll answered, fluttering its eyelashes.
Momo tried
another game, and when that also failed, she tried another, and when that also
failed, she tried another and another and another. But nothing came out of it.
If only the doll had said nothing, then Momo could have answered in its place,
and it would have been the loveliest conversation.
But
Bibigirl thwarted this precisely through every line she spoke.
After a while,
a feeling crept over Momo that she had never experienced before. And since it
was entirely new to her, it took some time before she realized it was boredom.
Momo felt
helpless. She would have loved to simply leave the doll alone and play
something else, but for some reason, she couldn’t tear herself away from it.
So, in the
end, Momo just sat there and stared at the doll, while it stared back at her
with blue, glassy eyes, as if they had hypnotized each other.
Eventually,
Momo forced herself to turn her gaze away from the doll—and gave a little
start. She hadn’t noticed its arrival, but there was an elegant, ash-gray car parked
very close nearby. A gentleman with a spider web-colored suit and a stiff, gray
hat sat in the car, smoking a small gray cigar.
Even his face looked like gray ash.
The
gentleman must have been watching her for quite a long time, since he nodded at
Momo, smiling. And even though it was so hot that afternoon that the air
shimmered in the sun’s glare, Momo suddenly began to shiver.
The man
now opened the car door, climbed out, and walked toward Momo. In his hand, he
carried a lead-gray briefcase.
“What a
lovely doll you have!” he said in a strangely monotonous voice. “All your
playmates must be quite jealous of you.”
Momo just
shrugged her shoulders and stayed quiet.
“It must
have been very expensive?” the gray gentleman continued. “I don’t know,” Momo
murmured shyly, “I found it.”
“You don’t
say!” the gray gentleman replied. “It seems you’re quite the lucky girl.”
Momo fell
silent again and pulled her oversized men’s jacket tighter around herself. The
chill was deepening.
“However,
I don’t get the impression,” said the gray gentleman with a thin smile, “that
you’re especially pleased, my dear.”
Momo shook
her head a little. She felt as if all joy had suddenly disappeared from the
world forever—no, as if there had never been such a thing at all. And
everything that she had taken for it was nothing but an illusion. But, at the
same time, she felt something that put her on her guard.
“I’ve been
watching you for quite some time,” the gray gentleman continued, “and it seems
to me that you don’t have any idea how you’re supposed to play with such a
marvelous doll. Should I show you?”
Momo
looked at the man in surprise and nodded.
“I want
even more stuff,” the doll suddenly squawked.
“Now, you
see, my dear,” the gray gentleman said, “she even says it herself. It’s quite
clear that you can’t play with such a marvelous doll just like you would with
any other. And that’s not what she’s for. You have to give her something, if
you don’t want to be bored with her. Pay attention, my dear!”
He went to
his car and opened the trunk.
“First and
foremost,” he said, “she needs a lot of clothes. Here, for example, is a
charming evening dress.”
He pulled
it out and tossed it to Momo.
“And
here’s a fur coat made of real mink. And here’s a silk nightgown. And here’s a
tennis skirt. And a ski suit. And a swimsuit. And a riding outfit. Some
pajamas. A nightshirt. Another dress. And another. And another. And another…”
He
threw all these objects between Momo and the doll, where they began to pile up
in a heap.
“So,”
he said, giving another thin smile, “you can play with these for a while at
first, right, my dear? But that’ll also become dull after a few days, you
suppose? Very well, then you just need more stuff for your doll.”
He
bent over the trunk again and tossed more things to Momo.
“For
example, here’s a proper little snakeskin purse with a little tube of lipstick
and a mini compact inside. Here’s a little camera. Here’s a tennis racket.
Here’s a toy television that really works. Here’s a bracelet, a necklace, some
earrings, a toy gun, silk stockings, a feathered hat, a straw hat, a spring
hat, golf clubs, a little checkbook, perfume bottles, bath salt, body spray…”
He paused and examined Momo, who sat among all the objects on the ground as though
she were paralyzed.
“You
see,” the gray gentleman continued, “it’s quite simple. You just need to have
more and more stuff, and then you’ll never be bored. But perhaps you think that
the perfect Bibigirl will one day have everything
and then it might grow dull again. No, my dear, fear not! For we have a fitting
companion for Bibigirl.”
And
now he pulled another doll out of the trunk. It was just as large as Bibigirl,
just as perfect, except it was a young man. The gray gentleman sat him down next
to Bibigirl, the perfect doll, and explained: “This is Bubbiboy! There’s an
unending supply of accessories for him, too. And if even all of that gets
boring, then Bibigirl has another friend, who has her own attachments that only
fit her. And there’s another matching friend for Bubbiboy, who has his own
group of friends. You see, there’s no more need for boredom, since the whole
affair will carry on like this indefinitely, and there’ll always be something
more you can desire.”
While
he was speaking, he took one doll after another out of the trunk of his
car—whose contents seemed never to run out—and set them down around Momo, who
still sat motionless in alarm as she watched the man.
“Well?”
he finally asked, puffing thick clouds of smoke. “Do you understand how you
have to play with this kind of doll now?”
“Got
it,” Momo answered. She began to shiver from the cold.
The
gray gentleman gave a satisfied nod and sucked on his cigar.
“Now,
of course, you’d like to keep all these lovely things, wouldn’t you? Very well,
my dear, I’ll give them to you! You’ll receive everything—not all at once, but
one after the other, you understand!—and much, much more. And you don’t need to
do anything in return. You should just play with them like I’ve showed you.
Now, what do you say to that?”
The
gray gentleman smiled expectantly at Momo, but as she said nothing and only
returned his gaze, unsmiling, he pressed on: “Then you don’t need your friends
anymore, you understand? If all these lovely things belong to you and you keep
getting more, you’ll have enough distractions, correct? And you want this,
don’t you? You do want this marvelous doll? You want it more than anything,
right?”
Momo
had the grim feeling that a battle was imminent—indeed, that she was already in
the middle of one. But she didn’t know what this battle was about, or whom it
was against, for the longer she listened to this visitor, the more things went
like they had earlier with the doll—she heard a voice speaking, she heard
words, but she didn’t hear the person talking. She shook her head.
“What?
What’s this?” the gray gentleman said, raising his eyebrows. “You’re still not
satisfied? My, you kids today are demanding! Would you care to tell me what
exactly this perfect doll is missing, then?”
Momo
looked at the ground and considered this.
“I
think,” she said quietly, “you can’t love it.”
The gray
gentleman didn’t respond at all for a long time. He stared straight ahead,
glass-eyed like the dolls. Eventually, he pulled himself together.
“That
doesn’t matter one bit,” he said in an icy tone.
Momo
looked into his eyes. The man scared her, most of all because of the chill
emanating from his gaze. Yet, in some strange way, she also felt a little sorry
for him, though she couldn’t have said why.
“But, my
friends,” she said, “I love them.”
The gray
gentleman grimaced, as if he suddenly had a toothache. However, he immediately
brought himself under control with a knife-thin smile.
“I
believe,” he replied softly, “we should be frank with one another, my dear, so
that you understand what this is all about.”
He pulled
a little gray notebook out of his pocket and leafed through it until he found
what he was looking for.
“Your
name’s Momo, correct?”
Momo
nodded. The gray gentleman snapped the notebook shut, pocketed it again, and
sat down on the ground next to Momo with a little groan. He didn’t say anything
for a moment, just puffing on his little gray cigar instead, pondering.
“Alright,
Momo—now listen closely!” he finally began. That was exactly what Momo had been
trying to do this whole time. But it was much harder to listen to him than anyone
she’d ever listened to before. Otherwise, she could have slipped into him, in a
manner of speaking, and understood what he meant and who he really was. But she
simply could not do that with this visitor. Whenever she tried, she felt like
she was plunging into darkness and emptiness, as if there were no one there at
all. That had never happened to her before.
“The one
thing,” the man continued, “that matters in life is this: that you make
something out of it, that you become something, that you have something. For
whoever takes it further, whoever becomes more and has more than others,
everything else falls into place: friendship, love, fame, and so on. You say
you love your friends. Let’s examine that objectively.”
The gray
gentleman puffed some zeroes into the air. Momo stuck her bare feet under her
skirt and huddled up inside her big jacket as much as possible.
“First of
all,” the gray gentleman now began again, “this question arises: what have your
friends really gained from your presence? Is it useful to them somehow? No.
Does it help them to get ahead, to earn more, to make something out of their
lives? Certainly not. Do you support them in their efforts to save time? Quite
the opposite. You keep them from everything, you are their ball and chain, you
ruin their advancement! Perhaps it was not made known to you before, Momo—but,
in any case, you harm your friends simply by your presence. Yes, in fact,
you’re unintentionally their enemy! And that’s what you call loving someone?”
Momo
didn’t know how to respond. She had never considered things that way before.
For a moment, she even wondered if the gray gentleman perhaps was right.
“Therefore,”
he continued, “we want to protect your friends from you. And if you truly love
them, you’ll help us do so. We want them to become something. We’re their true
friends. We can’t silently look on as you keep them from everything that’s
important. We want to see to it that you leave them in peace. And that’s why
we’re giving you all these lovely things.”
“Who’s
‘we?’” asked Momo with trembling lips.
“We of the
Time Savings Bank,” the gray gentleman answered. “I’m Agent BLW/553/c. Personally,
I only mean you well, for the Time Savings Bank is not to be trifled with.”
In that
moment, Momo suddenly remembered what Beppo and Gigi had said about time saving
and the infection. She had the horrible feeling that this gray gentleman had
something to do with it. She fervently wished that both her friends were here
now. She had never felt so alone. However, she resolved not to let herself be
afraid. She gathered all her strength and courage together and plunged herself
completely and entirely into the darkness and emptiness the gray gentleman was
using to hide from her. He had been watching her out of the corner of his eye.
The change in her expression did not escape him. He gave a wry smile as he used
the stub of his cigar to light a new one.
“Don’t
give me any trouble,” he said. “Working against us won’t get you anywhere.”
Momo
didn’t back down.
“Don’t you
love anyone?” she whispered.
The gray
gentleman suddenly doubled over and collapsed. Then he answered with an
ash-gray voice: “I must admit, I’ve never encountered anyone like you before,
not ever. And I know a lot of people. If there were more of your kind, then we
could close our savings bank at once and dissolve into nothing—for then what would
sustain us?”
The agent
interrupted himself. He stared at Momo and seemed to fight against something
that he couldn’t comprehend and for which he wasn’t prepared. His face became a
hint more ash-gray.
When he
began to speak again, it was as if it were happening against his will, as if
the words were bursting out of him and he couldn’t stop them. His face
contorted more and more with the horror of what was happening to him. And now
Momo finally heard his true voice: “We must remain unknown,” she heard from
afar, “no one may know that we exist or what we do… We take care that no one
can keep us in their memory… Only as long as we remain unknown can we attend to
our business… a tiresome business, to siphon off people’s lifetimes by hours,
minutes, and seconds… as all the time they save up is lost to them… We mark it
for ourselves… we store it up… we need it… we hunger for it… Oh, you don’t know
what it is, your time! …But we, we know it and suck it from you down to the
bones… And we need more… always more… for then we’ll become more… always more… always
more…”
The gray
gentleman had forced out these final, almost rattling words, but now he held
his mouth shut in both of his hands. His eyes swelled, and he stared at Momo.
After a while, it seemed as if he had come to himself out of some kind of
trance.
“What—what
was that?” he stammered. “You got me to talk! I’m sick! You made me sick,
you!”—And then in an almost pleading tone, “I was speaking utter nonsense, dear
child. Forget it! You must forget me, just like everyone else forgets us! You
must! You must!”
And he
seized Momo and shook her. She moved her lips, but wasn’t able to say anything.
Then the
gray gentleman leapt up, looked around as if harried, grabbed his lead-gray
briefcase, and ran to his car. And now something most strange happened: like a
reversed explosion, all the dolls and all the other objects strewn about flew
from every direction into the trunk, which snapped shut. Then the car careened
away, spraying stones behind it.
Momo sat
still for a long time and tried to comprehend what she had heard. Little by
little, the terrible cold retreated from her limbs, and as it did, everything
became clearer and clearer. She forgot nothing. Because she had heard the true
voice of a gray gentleman.
In the
pale grass in front of her, a small plume of smoke drifted upward. There, the
crushed stub of the gray cigar smoldered and slowly broke apart into ashes.
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