Nine
A Fortune Round Her Neck
“What goes on here?” the policeman asked again, looking about severely.
“My children found a little girl in the forest, Chief,” said Mr. Brenner. “She must have lost her way.”
“Is that the girl?” asked the police sergeant, staring at Erna.
“Not me!” called Erna, growing pale.
“No, this one here,” said Mrs. Brenner, and took Mo by the hand.
“Ah,” said the policeman. He pushed a chair to the table, sat down, and laid his visor cap in front of him. Then he pulled a notebook out of his pocket and whipped out a pencil.
“What’s your name?” he asked Mo.
“Her name is Mo!” said Gretel. The children had hastily flanked Mo as if to protect her.
“I didn’t ask you,” said the policeman harshly. Gretel glowered at him. The children could not stand the police sergeant. He was very tall and had a potbelly. His face was puffy and red, and he was bald. He always scolded them when they bicycled on the sidewalk of the little town.
“Can’t you speak for yourself?” he asked Mo.
“You are very fat,” said Mo.
“Hm,” growled the police sergeant. “Some people are fat and some are thin. What’s your name?”
“We don’t have fat ones,” said Mo.
Mr. Brenner cleared his throat noisily. “Look here, officer,” he said.
“You will speak when you are asked!” the sergeant snapped at him. “First I will interrogate the child, then you. What’s your name?” he asked Mo for the third time.
Mo remained silent, eying him suspiciously.
The policeman took a deep breath. “I won’t eat you,” he said. “I just want to help you. That’s what I’m here for. You want to get back to your parents as quickly as possible, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes!” cried Mo hopefully.
“There, you see!” said the sergeant, pleased. “Here, my child”—whereupon he produced a lollipop from his briefcase and pressed it into Mo’s hand—“that is for you.”
“What is that?” Mo asked, surprised.
“That is a lollipop,” said the sergeant. “Haven’t you ever seen a lollipop before?”
“I have not been here very long,” said Mo.
“What?” asked the policeman, stupefied.
“What do you do with a lollipop?” asked Mo.
Konrad snatched it from her, put it in his mouth, and sucked it eagerly. “You suck it,” he told her, smacking his lips.
The sergeant took out a huge, checked handkerchief and wiped the perspiration from his neck. “The candy was not for you,” he admonished Konrad.
“I just wanted to show her …” murmured Konrad, frightened.
The sergeant took up his pencil again and looked at Mo.
“First name!” he said, assuming an official air.
“I know nothing about it,” said Mo, confused.
The policeman sighed. “What do your parents call you?” he asked.
“Mo,” she answered.
“Last name!” said the sergeant.
“Her father is called Kalumba,” answered Walter quickly.
The sergeant wrote it down in his notebook. “That is a foreign name. Are you from a foreign country?” he asked. Mo.
“You are wearing a funny suit,” said Mo with much interest.
“That’s a uniform,” said the policeman with emphasis.
“Nobody has a uniform at home,” said Mo.
“Look here, Chief …!” Mr. Brenner began again.
“Thunder and lightning!” shouted the policeman angrily. “Don’t keep interrupting me all the time! I know my job here! I’ll find out all right where the child comes from. How old are you?” he asked Mo.
“She is eighty-seven years old!” shrieked Lottie.
“Brenner,” shouted the sergeant, “will you see to it that your children do not butt in constantly!”
Once more he mopped his brow and asked Mo, “In what year were you born?”
Mo put her finger on her nose and seemed to figure intensely. “In the year fifty-three thousand nine hundred and twenty-five,” she finally said, with a sigh of relief.
The policeman put down his pencil and leaned back.
“Tell me, do you go to school yet?” he frowned at her.
“Oh, yes,” said Mo.
“Where do you go to school?” he asked intently.
“Our school is beautiful,” said Mo. “It stands below high trees in a park.”
“Is that so?” said the sergeant. “In what town?”
“No,” said Mo.
“What?” yelled the sergeant.
“We do not have towns,” said Mo.
“Then it’s in the country?” he asked.
The neighbors started to giggle.
“Silence!” demanded the officer. “Where do you live?” he asked her hoarsely.
“On Asra,” said Mo proudly.
“There, you see!” said the sergeant with an air of accomplishment. “Now, at last we’re getting somewhere.” He made more notes and then asked, “What’s the name of the place where you live?”
“We don’t have a place,” answered Mo.
“No place?” queried the sergeant, raising his eyebrows. “You must live somewhere?”
“We live in a house. Our houses are round and silvery, and during the day they turn with the Sun. They stand in a park with trees, and the trees are quite different….”
“Do you live with your parents?” the policeman interrupted impatiently.
Mo nodded.
“Where did you see your parents for the last time?” he asked.
“I did not see my parents for the last time,” said Mo, looking worried.
The sergeant groaned. “Where are your parents?” he asked.
Mo looked at him suspiciously but kept silent.
“Don’t you have parents?” he inquired.
“Certainly,” said Mo, troubled. “I was in the forest, my father was looking out of the window …”
“In what forest?” asked the sergeant tensely.
“In the Hollewood,” called Walter and Gretel.
“In the Hollewood?” said the sergeant with surprise. “Your father was looking out of the window? Did you run away from him?” he asked.
“No, I fell out,” Mo said gloomily.
“Ah!” exclaimed the policeman, relieved. “You fell out of a car, didn’t you?”
Mo did not answer.
“Why didn’t your father stop?” he asked. “Didn’t he notice that you fell out?”
“I don’t know what that is,” said Mo softly.
“You don’t know what?” said the sergeant perplexed.
“Car,” replied Mo.
The sergeant opened his mouth and then shut it. His face was bathed in perspiration.
“What then did you fall from?” he asked, feeling exhausted.
“From our space ship,” said Mo.
The policeman was speechless.
Suddenly Mo was all laughter. “You have a lot of water on your forehead!” she exclaimed.
“Chief,” Mr. Brenner called determinedly and, walking up to him, whispered in his ear: “The child is not all there. She keeps saying that she is from another planet.”
“How? What?” the sergeant murmured. Then he exploded. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place!” he snarled. “Of course, that will make my investigation very difficult. Insane! Thunder and lightning, that’s a fine kettle of fish.” He stared at Mo undecidedly.
“Sir, if you please,” Walter said pluckily, raising his hand just as in class. “Mo really comes from another planet. Believe me, Mo isn’t lying. She told us exactly what it is like on Asra, tonight …”
“Shut up!” roared the officer. “I have no time to listen to fairy tales.” All the time he was looking at Mo with an air of perplexity.
“Ahem,” he growled, “perhaps something is engraved on the clasp of her necklace. Name or address…. You have a lovely necklace, child,” he added, all sweetness. “May I look at it?”
Mo raised her head willingly so that he could take a closer look.
“Could I hold it for a moment?” he asked as amiably as his gruff voice would permit.
“No,” answered Mo.
“Why not, child?” asked the sergeant.
“You don’t need a necklace,” said Mo.
“I’ll give it right back to you,” the sergeant assured her.
“You have to give me your word of honor to do as you say,” Mo said solemnly.
“Sure, sure!” said the sergeant in utter resignation.
Mo gave him her necklace, which he examined on all sides. “Unfortunately there is nothing on it,” he murmured. Suddenly, he looked startled and stared incredulously at the big, sparkling stones. He weighed the necklace in his hand with mounting amazement, then turned and called, “Borgmann, lucky you’re here. Come quickly.”
Mr. Borgmann was Otto’s grandfather. He was short, with a white, pointed beard. He also wore glasses. “At your service,” he answered eagerly.
“You’re a watchmaker, aren’t you?” asked the policeman.
“Precisely,” said Mr. Borgmann. “I repair pocket watches, cuckoo clocks, and I also fixed the steeple clock of our church.”
“You know something about precious stones, don’t you?” the sergeant wanted to know.
“Surely,” said Mr. Borgmann. “I worked years for a jeweler in Wellerberg.”
“Then take a look at these stones! Are they glass?” the sergeant asked. He squinted his eyes and handed over the necklace.
Mr. Borgmann pulled a magnifying glass from his coat pocket and carefully examined the stones. Suddenly he dropped the necklace on the table as though he had burned his hands. “Great Scot!” he stammered. “Those … those are all genuine diamonds!”
“Oh!” exclaimed voices from all around the room. The neighbors tried to crowd around the table all at once.
“Step back! Step back!” commanded the sergeant. “Or I’ll have the room cleared.” They stepped back.
“Borgmann, you couldn’t possibly be mistaken?” asked the officer tensely.
“As sure as I am standing before you, sir!” asserted Mr. Borgmann, his voice choked with excitement. “These are the biggest and purest diamonds I have ever seen in my life! The necklace must be worth a million at least!”
“One million,” murmured Mr. Brenner in a daze.
“One million!” gasped the neighbors, the men even forgetting to puff their pipes.
“Jumping Jupiter!” exclaimed Mr. Brenner. “One just doesn’t hang a million around a child’s neck!”
“Max, Max!” called Mrs. Brenner, beside herself. “I told you right away to take the child to the police station!”
The children, too, were amazed.
Only Mo did not seem to understand why everybody was so excited. “May I have my necklace back?” she asked meekly. Nobody answered her.
There was a dead silence except for the ticking of the clock and the bubbling of the potato soup that simmered on the stove. The rays of the afternoon sun slanted through the window and fell on the necklace lying on the table. The big diamonds sparkled like fireworks. Everyone was staring at the necklace, then at Mo, and back at the necklace.
“Where did you get that necklace, my child?” asked the sergeant finally.
“I’m sure the child stole the necklace and then made off with it,” shrieked Miss Beck, looking around triumphantly.
“That’s not true!” protested Walter and Gretel, enraged.
“Quiet!” ordered the policeman. “Is this necklace yours?” he asked Mo.
She nodded eagerly. “My father made me a present of it for my fiftieth birthday.”
The sergeant heaved a deep sigh and motioned to Walter. “Where did you find her in the Hollewood?” he asked brusquely.
“Under a tree,” said Walter.
“Tree! Tree!” scorned the policeman. “The Hollewood is huge. Under what tree?”
“Under a spruce tree,” said Walter.
“It happened this way …” Otto reported solemnly. “I discovered a lot of mushrooms under a spruce tree. Suddenly Walter yelled, There’s a girl sitting here in the middle of the forest!’ I too had seen her, but Walter claims he saw her first….”
“Where? Where did you find her?” the sergeant shouted at them.
“As we told you, under a tree,” said Otto in a dour voice.
The sergeant grunted. “How did you get to the tree?”
“We walked,” said Gretel.
“We took the Easter path,” explained Walter. “We walked deeper and deeper into the forest until we came to a clearing. There Mo was sitting under a tree.”
“All right, all right, under a tree,” groaned the policeman. “Did you see anyone nearby?”
“No!” chorused the children.
“Did you by any chance hear anything suspicious?”
“I heard a cuckoo!” cried Lottie excitedly.
“There was thunder,” said Gretel.
The sergeant got up with a jerk, put on his cap, and grabbed the necklace. “You will come along with me,” he said to the children.
The children were struck with horror.
“May I have my necklace back?” asked Mo.
“No,” said the sergeant. “I have to confiscate it. Can’t let you run around with it. You’ll risk your life.”
Mo eyed him for an instant in utter bewilderment. “You are not a good human,” she said furiously. With the speed of lightning she snatched the necklace out of his hand and, before anybody could stop her, darted through the back door and ran away.
“Halt! Stop!” roared the policeman and started after her. Unfortunately Philip, the cat, chose that same moment to sneak out. The sergeant tripped over him and, potbelly and all, landed in a mud puddle in the back yard.