Literary fairy tale “Momo” by Michael Ende. Michael Ende "Momo, or the Amazing Story of the Time Robbers and the Girl Who Returned People's Stolen Time"

The mysterious society of "gray gentlemen" forces people to save time. In reality, they are cheating them out of the hours and minutes they save. After all, time is life and what more people saves him, the poorer, fussier and colder his existence becomes, the more and more he moves away from himself. And children feel the growing alienation and heartlessness most acutely. But their protest remains unheard. And when the trouble reaches its limit and the world seems to be completely owned by the “gray masters”, the Master of the Chorus, the mysterious “Lord of Time”, decides with a heavy heart to intervene. But for this he needs help. Momo, a little girl with jet-black curly hair, faces off alone against an army of Time Bank agents. “Michael Ende,” writes Gustav Rene Hocke in the magazine “Welt,” managed to create fairy tale for children and adults, which comes close to scientific prose. However, with regard to language, composition, pictures and concepts, the author has achieved highest poetry deep simplicity."

Michael Ende
Momo

A short introduction from the translator

My whole life up to the age of 53 was spent in Russia, and I belong to a little-known and slightly strange nationality - Russian Germans. These are not Germanic Germans who occupy a powerful niche in the human community, but one that arose in the process of long adaptation - first in Tsarskaya, then Soviet Russia- part of the German people forced out of Germany after the seven-year war.

It is surprising that my ancestors, over the course of two and a half centuries, were not assimilated by the powerful Russian mentality and Russian culture to the extent that one might have expected. Their religious-sectarian upbringing and peasant origin formed a strong immunity against such dissolution. And this despite all the social upheavals that befell the Russian state in the ill-fated 20th century - especially during the war with Nazi Germany, when Russian Germans were naturally, but unfairly identified with the German fascists, so hated in the USSR.

My childhood and adolescence coincided with that period of history. But it was after the second abolition of “serfdom” in 1955 (the liberation of collective farmers from being assigned to villages with the issuance of passports and the liquidation of the special commandant’s office for Russian Germans) and the emergence of relative freedom, assimilation, completely voluntary, began to quickly change the mentality of Russian Germans towards Russian culture and Russian way of life.

Since childhood, I was drawn to learning, which did not at all correspond to the general mood of the conservative Russian German village, and at the age of 15 I broke out of my religious-peasant environment and plunged into civilization, settling in a hostel and entering a technical school in the large Siberian city of Omsk (1952).

At that time I read a lot and, given the then direction of literature and the media, quickly moved away from religion, which in our home had the character of tedious and painful moralizing.

In general, if we put aside the negative consequences of that “civilized” life, which grinded down millions of destinies of village boys and girls who came to the city, one thing is certain: the German part of this great urban migration quickly “Russified”, losing its language and centuries-old family traditions.

I do not regret at all that the great, non-rationalistic, to a certain extent mystified Russian culture became my culture, my spiritual environment. I cannot and do not want to compare it with the German language, which is alien to me; let me not judge it.

I came across M. Ende’s book “Momo” quite by accident after moving to Germany with my family. A chapter from it was included in the study guide German language and the German way of life for immigrants and immediately made a strong impression on me with its humanistic orientation and the author’s absolute rejection of the rationalistic, unspiritual construction of life in a capitalist society.

With your mind you understand well that an alternative to the life of today’s West, which requires maximum realism, can be calm spiritual communication and contemplative peace, which require much less material consumption. What is closer to the ideal is a philosophical question. But this is another topic for another time. For now, I will only note that the ideas of Jesus of Nazareth in their time looked much more absurd and impossible. And today they are the core of life for most of humanity. One can, of course, argue that even in Christian Europe, life is still far from the proclaimed norms. Nevertheless, Christianity is a strong and unshakable foundation, and the building on it will continue to be built and improved in accordance with changing life.

When reading "Momo" I was constantly haunted by the feeling that this story was from the "silver" period of Russian literature of the 19th century century, not a modern bestseller.

Then I took up entrepreneurship for a long time, not very successfully spending all my time on it, but the thought that the book needed to be brought to the Russian reader did not leave me. This need has become especially acute in last years, when the idea of God-seeking took possession of my consciousness.

And now about the book and its heroine - the little girl Momo, who had enough moral strength and courage to resist the gray, all-consuming power of Evil.

She appears in the surrounding area big city, where people live slowly, rejoice and are sad, quarrel and make peace, but the most important thing is that they communicate with each other, and they cannot live without it. They are not rich, although they are not lazy at all. They have enough time for everything, and no one thinks of saving it.

Momo takes up residence in an ancient amphitheater. Nobody knows where she comes from or what she wants. She doesn't seem to know this herself.

It soon turns out that Mol has a magical and rare gift of listening to people in such a way that they become smarter and better, forgetting everything petty and absurd that poisons their lives.

But she is especially loved by children, who with her become extraordinary dreamers and invent the most exciting games.

However, gradually an evil force in the form of gray gentlemen who feed on human time gradually intervenes in the lives of these people. Their countless hordes require a lot of it, and the gray gentlemen are talented and persistent in creating an entire industry of stealing time from people. They must convince every person that they need to rationalize their life as much as possible, and not waste themselves on such unpromising things as communicating with friends, relatives, children, and especially on “useless” old people and disabled people. Work cannot serve as a source of joy; everything must be subordinated to a single goal - to as soon as possible produce maximum goods.

And now the former quiet city is turning into a huge industrial center, where everyone is in a terrible hurry, not noticing each other. Time is saved on everything, and there should be more and more of it, but, on the contrary, it is increasingly lacking. A kind of convulsive, extremely rationalized way of life develops, in which every lost moment is a crime.

Where does the “time saved” go? The gray gentlemen quietly steal it, storing it in their huge bank vaults.

Who are they - gray gentlemen? These are demons who persuade people to evil in the name of a tempting goal. By seducing them with the delights of life, which can only be achieved with great effort by saving every second, the gray gentlemen, in fact, force people to sacrifice their entire meaningful lives. This chain is false, it does not exist at all, but it attracts everyone until their death.

And Momo has a lot of time, and she generously gives it to people. She is rich not in the time that can be materialized, but in the time that she gives to others. Her time is spiritual wealth.

Naturally, Momo becomes for the gray masters the embodiment of a worldview that is dangerous for them, preventing their plans for a total reorganization of the world. To eliminate this obstacle, they lavish the girl with expensive mechanical toys, clothes and other things. All this should shock Momo and make her give up any further attempts to embarrass people. To do this, she herself needs to be drawn into a crazy race to save time.

When the gray gentlemen fail, they throw all their strength into eliminating resistance they do not understand. During this struggle, they learn that Momo can lead them to a place from which people are given life time, which everyone must use with dignity. To take possession of the primary source of all human time - rationalistic demons could not even imagine such luck!

Here there is a direct analogy with the Christian postulate: every person is given a Soul - a particle of God, and he is given the right to choose how to dispose of it. Earthly temptations and pride lead a person away from God, away from spiritual unity with Him, and he voluntarily impoverishes himself and his spiritual life.

The quintessence of the spiritual and religious content of the book is presented in chapter 12. Momo ends up in the place where the time of all people comes out. Here he is quite obviously identified with the human soul. Time is the soul given by God to man in his heart, and the Master of the Chorus distributes it. He is obliged to give each person the time that is intended for him.

Once upon a time there were beautiful cities on earth with elegant doors, wide streets and cozy alleys, colorful bazaars, majestic temples and amphitheaters. Now these cities do not exist, only ruins remind of them. In one of these dilapidated ancient amphitheatres, which is occasionally visited by inquisitive tourists, a little girl named Momo settled.

Nobody knew whose she was, where she was from or how old she was. According to Momo, she is one hundred and two years old and has no one in the world except herself. True, Momo looks no more than twelve. She is very small and thin, she has blue-black curly hair, the same dark huge eyes and no less black legs, because Momo always runs barefoot. Only in the winter does the girl wear boots that are disproportionately large for her thin legs. Momo's skirt is made of multi-colored scraps, and the jacket is no less long than the skirt. Momo thought about cutting off his sleeves, but then she decided that over time she would grow up, and such a wonderful jacket might not be found.

Once upon a time, Momo was in an orphanage. She doesn’t like to remember this period of her life. She and many other unfortunate children were brutally beaten, scolded and forced to do things that they absolutely did not want to do. One day Momo climbed over the fence and ran away. Since then, she has lived in a room under the stage of the ancient amphitheater.

The families who lived in the neighborhood found out about the appearance of a street girl. They helped Momo settle into his new home. The mason laid out the stove and made a chimney, the carpenter carved chairs and a table, someone brought a wrought-iron bed, someone brought bedspreads and a mattress, a painter painted flowers on the wall, and the abandoned closet under the stage turned into a cozy room where Momo now lived.

Her house was always full of guests of different ages and different professions. If someone was in trouble, the locals would always say, “Visit Momo.” What was it about this homeless little girl? Nothing special... She just knew how to listen. She did this in such a way that those who were disappointed gained hope, those who were uncertain gained confidence in own strength, the oppressed raised themselves above their heads, and the abandoned realized that they were not alone.

One day, in the city where Momo and her friends lived, the Gray gentlemen appeared. In fact, their organization had existed for a long time, they acted slowly, carefully and quietly, entangling people and establishing themselves in the life of the city. the main objective Gray gentlemen - to take over human time.

Time is the biggest secret and the most valuable treasure that everyone has, but knows almost nothing about it. People have recorded time in calendars and clocks, but real time lives in the heart. It is life.

The insidious plan of the Gray gentlemen was based on depriving people of the present time. For example, an IKS agent with code number 384-b comes to an ordinary hairdresser, Mr. Fouquet, and invites him to make a contribution to the Savings Bank of Time. Having carried out intricate mathematical calculations, agent ICS proves that by making daily deposits at interest, you can multiply your precious time tenfold. To do this, you just need to learn how to spend it rationally.

How much does Mr. Fouquet spend on servicing each client? Half an hour? A visit can be shortened to 15 minutes by eliminating unnecessary conversations with visitors. How long does Mr. Fouquet talk with the old mother? A whole hour?! But she is paralyzed and practically does not understand him. The mother can be taken to cheap house elderly people, thereby winning precious 60 minutes. The green parrot, which Fouquet spends an average of 30 minutes a day caring for, should also be gotten rid of. Gatherings with friends in a cafe, going to the movies, visiting Fraulein Daria, thinking near the window - eliminate all this as unnecessary!

Soon the Savings Bank of Time had many investors. They dressed better, lived richer, and looked more respectable than those who lived in the part of the city near the amphitheater. The investors settled in the same type of multi-story box houses, were constantly in a hurry, never smiled, and more than anything else they were afraid of silence, because in silence it became obvious that the time saved was rushing by at an unimaginable speed. Monotonous days turn into weeks, months, years. They can't be stopped. I can't even remember them. It's as if they don't exist at all.

None of the Sberkassa depositors know about little Momo who lives in a room under the stage of the amphitheater. But she knows about them and wants to help them.

To save the city from the Gray Masters, Momo goes to the man who controls time - this is the Master of Time, aka the Master of Chorus, aka Secundus Minutus Chora. The Master lives in the House of Nowhere. For a long time he watched little Momo, having learned that the Gray gentlemen wanted to get rid of the girl, Master Hora sent the fortuneteller turtle Cassiopeia for her. It was she who brought Momo to the Master’s magical abode.

From the House of Nowhere, all universal time is distributed among people. Everyone has their own internal clock in their heart. “The heart is given to man to perceive time. Time that is not perceived by the heart disappears in the same way that colors disappear for the blind or the singing of birds disappears for the deaf. Unfortunately, there are a lot of blind and deaf hearts in the world that don’t feel anything, although they beat.”

The Gray Lords are not people at all. They just accepted human image. They are NOTHING, coming from NOWHERE. They feed on human time and will disappear without a trace as soon as people stop giving them their time. Unfortunately, today the influence of the Gray Masters on people is very great; they have a lot of minions among the inhabitants of our planet.

The Master of Time is unable to stop the Gray Masters; people themselves are responsible for their time. Watching Momo with the help of All-Seeing Glasses, the Time Master realized that this girl should become the bearer of truth. Only she can save the world.

Returning from Nowhere House, Momo knew everything. She fearlessly carried the teaching about Time around the city, exposed the Gray gentlemen and returned the stolen time to people.

Current page: 1 (book has 13 pages in total)

Michael Ende
Momo

Part one.
MOMO AND HER FRIENDS

Chapter first.
BIG CITY AND LITTLE GIRL

In ancient times, when people still spoke languages that are now completely forgotten, large and beautiful cities already existed in warm countries. The palaces of kings and emperors rose there; wide streets stretched from end to end; narrow alleys and dead ends twisted; there were magnificent temples with gold and marble statues of gods; colorful bazaars were noisy, offering goods from all over the world; there were wide squares where people discussed news, made or simply listened to speeches. But above all, these cities were famous for their theaters.

These theaters were similar to the modern circus, only built entirely of stone. The rows for spectators were arranged in steps one above the other, like in a huge funnel. And if you look from above, some of these buildings were round, others formed an oval or half a circle. They were called amphitheaters.

Some of them were as huge as a football stadium, others could seat no more than two hundred spectators. Some were luxurious, with columns and statues, others were modest, without any decorations. The amphitheaters had no roofs; all performances were given under open air. However, in richer theaters, gold-woven carpets were stretched over the rows to protect the audience from the heat of the sun or sudden rain. In poorer theaters, reed or straw mats served the same purpose. In short, there were theaters for the rich and theaters for the poor. Everyone attended them because everyone was a passionate listener and spectator.

And when people, with bated breath, watched the funny or sad events that took place on stage, it seemed to them that this only imaginable life in some mysterious way seemed more truthful, true and much more interesting than their own, everyday life. And they loved to listen to this different reality.

Millennia have passed since then. Cities disappeared, palaces and temples collapsed. Wind and rain, heat and cold polished and weathered the stones, leaving the large theaters in ruins. In the old, cracked walls, now only cicadas sing their monotonous song, similar to the breath of the sleeping earth.

But some of these ancient cities have survived to this day. Of course, their lives have changed. People travel in cars and trains, they have telephones and electricity. But sometimes among new buildings you can still see ancient columns, an arch, a piece of a fortress wall or an amphitheater from those distant days.

This story happened in one of these cities.

On the southern outskirts of the big city, where the fields begin and the houses and buildings become poorer, the ruins of a small amphitheater are hidden in a pine forest. Even in ancient times it did not seem luxurious; it was a theater for the poor. And these days. that is, in those days when this story with Momo began, almost no one remembered the ruins. Only experts in antiquity knew about this theater, but it was of no interest to them either, because there was nothing left to study there. Sometimes two or three tourists wandered in, climbed the stone steps overgrown with grass, talked, clicked their cameras, and left. Silence returned to the stone funnel, the cicadas began the next stanza of their endless song, exactly the same as the previous ones.

Most often, local residents who had known this place for a long time visited here. They left their goats to graze here, and the children played ball on a round platform in the middle of the amphitheater. Sometimes couples in love met here in the evenings.

One day there was a rumor that someone was living in the ruins. They said it was a child, a little girl, but no one really knew anything. I think her name was Momo.

Momo looked a little strange. It had a frightening effect on people who valued neatness and cleanliness. She was small and thin, and it was difficult to guess how old she was - eight or twelve. She had wild, blue-black curls, which, obviously, had never been touched by either a comb or scissors, large, surprisingly beautiful eyes, also black, and her feet the same color, because she always ran barefoot. In winter, she occasionally wore boots, but they were too big for her, and also different. After all, Momo either found her things somewhere or received them as a gift. Her long, ankle-length skirt was made from colored pieces. On top, Momo wore an old men's jacket that was too loose for her, the sleeves of which she always rolled up. Momo didn’t want to cut them off, she thought that she would soon grow up and who knows if she would ever come across such a wonderful jacket with so many pockets again.

Under the overgrown weeds theater stage there were several half-collapsed closets that could be entered through a hole in the wall. This is where Momo made her home. One day at lunchtime people came to Momo, several men and women. They wanted to talk to her. Momo stood and looked at them in fear, afraid that they would drive her away from here. But she soon realized that it was good people. They themselves were poor and knew life well.

“So,” said one of them, “so you like it here?”

“Yes,” Momo answered.

– And would you like to stay here?

- Yes very.

– Isn’t anyone waiting for you anywhere?

“I want to say: don’t you want to go home?”

“My home is here,” Momo answered quickly.

- But where are you from?

Momo waved her hand in an indefinite direction: somewhere into the distance.

- Who are your parents? – the man continued to inquire.

Raising her shoulders slightly, Momo looked at the questioner in confusion. People looked at each other and sighed.

“Don’t be afraid,” the man continued. “We’re not driving you out of here at all.” We want to help you. Momo nodded timidly.

“You say your name is Momo, don’t you?”

- This beautiful name, although I've never heard it. Who gave you this name?

“I am,” Momo said.

“Did you call yourself that?”

- When were you born?

“As far as I can remember, I have always been,” Momo answered after thinking a little.

- Do you really have no aunt, no uncle, no grandmother, no one to whom you could go?

Momo looked at the questioner silently for a while, then whispered:

- My home is here.

“Of course,” said the man. - But you are a child. How old are you?

“One hundred,” Momo answered uncertainly.

People laughed, thinking it was a joke.

- No, seriously: how old are you?

“One hundred and two,” Momo answered, still not entirely confident.

Finally, people realized that Momo was calling numbers that she had heard somewhere, without imagining their meaning, because no one taught her to count.

“Listen,” said the same man, after consulting with others, “do you want us to tell the police about you?” You will be sent to an orphanage, where you will have food and a bed, where you will be taught to count, write, read and much more. What do you say to this?

Momo was scared.

“No,” she answered. - Don't want. I've already been there. There were other children there too. There were bars on the windows, and every day they beat us - just like that, for no reason. I climbed over the fence at night and ran away. I don't want to go there.

“I can understand that,” the old man said, nodding. And the others nodded too.

“Well, okay,” said one of the women, “but you’re still very young.” Someone has to take care of you.

“I am,” Momo answered with relief.

- And you can do this? – the woman asked.

“I don’t need much,” Momo answered quietly.

The people looked at each other again.

“You know what, Momo,” suggested the person who spoke first, “you could settle down with one of us.” We ourselves are cramped, everyone has a lot of children, everyone needs to be fed, but one more or less - the difference is small... What do you think about this?

“Thank you,” Momo said, smiling for the first time. – Thank you very much! Can I stay here? Can?

After discussing this issue, people decided that the girl was right. Here the child will be no worse off than any of them, and they can take care of Momo together, and it will be easier than if they had to take care of it alone.

And they immediately began to tidy up the dilapidated closet in which Momo settled. The mason even built a small fireplace in the corner, bringing out a rusty pipe. The old carpenter put together a table and two chairs from box boards. And the women brought an old iron bed decorated with curls, an old mattress and two blankets. The stone hole turned into a small cozy room. The mason, who had the talent of an artist, painted a bouquet of flowers on the wall. He drew the frame and even the nail on which the picture hangs.

And then the children of these people came and brought some a piece of cheese, some a roll, some some fruit. And since there were a lot of children, by the evening there was so much food that they threw a real banquet in the amphitheater in honor of Momo. And they celebrated as joyfully as only poor people can.

And so began little Momo’s friendship with the surrounding residents.

Chapter two.
AN UNUSUAL PROPERTY AND A COMPLETELY COMMON DISPUTE

Since then, little Momo had a good life, or so she thought. Now she always had food - sometimes more, sometimes less - as needed. She had a roof over her head, she had a bed, she could make a fire when it got cold. And most importantly: she now has many friends.

It seemed that Momo was just lucky to have met such good people, – and she herself was of the same opinion. But soon people realized: they were no less lucky. They could no longer do without Momo and wondered how they could live without her before. And the more often people interacted with the little girl, the more indispensable she became to them, so that they began to fear that she might one day leave.

Momo now had many guests. Almost always someone sat with her and had a heart-to-heart talk with her. Those who could not come to her themselves sent for her. And to those who did not yet understand how necessary it was, they advised: “Visit Momo!”

And as they usually say: “All the best to you!”, or “Bon appetit!”, or “God knows!” - in the same way now they began to say: “Visit Momo!”

But why? Maybe Momo was so smart that she could give everyone good advice? Did you know how to console people? Did you make wise and fair decisions?

No, Momo, just like any other child, did not know how to do this. But maybe she knew something that led people to good mood? Maybe she sang very well? Did you play any instrument? Or maybe she - since she lived in this ancient circus - knew how to dance or perform magic tricks?

No, she couldn’t do any of that.

Maybe she knew how to cast magic? Did you know any mysterious spell with which you could drive away all troubles and worries?

But what she really knew, like no one else, was to listen. But there is nothing special about this, another reader will say, everyone knows how to listen.

But this is a misconception. Only very few people know how to truly listen. And Momo knew how to listen like no one else.

Momo, for example, knew how to listen in such a way that even stupid people suddenly had intelligent thoughts. And not at all because she told them anything or asked them about anything, no - she just sat and listened very kindly and with all attention.

At the same time, she looked at the interlocutor with her large dark eyes, and the speaker felt that thoughts suddenly came into his head that he had not suspected in himself before.

She listened in such a way that the helpless and indecisive suddenly began to understand what exactly they were missing. The timid felt free and brave. And the unfortunate and oppressed found hope. And if anyone thought that his life was a meaningless mistake, that he was an insignificant grain of sand and of no value and that he was as easy to replace as some broken pot, if with these thoughts he went to little Momo, then, as he told her all this, it suddenly mysteriously became clear to him that he was mistaken, that he, as he was, was the only one of his kind and therefore valuable to the world...

That's how Momo knew how to listen!

One fine day, two people came to her, two neighbors, who had quarreled to death and did not want to talk to each other anymore. They were advised to visit Momo - it’s not right for neighbors to be so hostile. Both were reluctant at first, but in the end they went ahead.

They sat in the amphitheater, gloomy, far from each other.

One of them was a mason, the same one who built a stove in Momo’s room and painted a wonderful picture on the wall. His name was Nikola, he was a strong man with a black lush mustache. The other one was called Nino. He was thin and always looked tired. Nino rented a small diner on the edge of town, where old people would drop in in the evenings to reminisce about the past over a glass of wine. Nino and his fat wife were also friends of Momo and more than once brought her something tasty.

When Momo realized that they were angry with each other, she could not decide who to approach first, and in order not to offend anyone, she sat down on the edge of the stone stage at an equal distance from both. She sat, looking first at one, then at the other, and waited to see what would happen next. Some things take time - time was Momo's only wealth.

Both enemies sat there in silence for a long time, then Nikola suddenly stood up and said:

“I’ve had enough, I must have come in vain.” But you can see for yourself, Momo, what he is like! What else can we expect? And he turned to leave.

- Get out of here! - Nino shouted. – Why did you even come? I don’t even think of putting up with a criminal!

Nikola turned around, blushing with anger like a turkey.

-Who is the criminal? – he asked threateningly, returning. - Say it again!

- As much as you want! - Nino shouted. – Do you think that if you are strong, no one will dare to tell you the truth? Yes, I will express it to your face! And let everyone listen who wants to! Let's start, come and kill me, you already tried once!

– It’s a pity that I didn’t do this! – Nikola roared, clenching his fists. “You see, Momo, how he lies and slanderes!” What did I do to him? He grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the trash heap behind his den. Even a rat won’t drown there!

Turning again to Nino, he shouted:

– It’s a pity that you’re still alive!

Continued for some time recrimination, and Momo couldn’t understand what exactly was the matter and why they didn’t like each other so much. But it gradually became clear that Nikola did this because Nino slapped him in the face in the presence of guests, and the slap was a consequence of the fact that Nikola almost broke all of Nino’s dishes.

- This is not true! – Nikola defended himself. “I only smashed one mug against the wall, and it was still cracked!”

- Yes, but it was my mug, you know? – Nino objected. – You had no right to do that!

Nikola believed that he had done the right thing, especially since Nino had offended his honor as a mason.

– Do you know what Nino said about me? - he shouted to Momo. “He said that I’m not able to build a straight wall because I’m always drunk!” And this, they say, comes from my great-grandfather, he was also like that, he was the one who built the Leaning Tower of Pisa, that’s why it leans to one side.

- But, Nikola! – Nino answered. - It was a joke!

- Good joke! – Nikola was angry.

It turned out that with this joke Nino only repaid Nikola for his mockery - one morning a bright red inscription appeared on Nino’s door: “Whoever is good for anything becomes an innkeeper.” Nino was in no mood for laughter at this point.

For some time they continued to argue about whose joke was better, becoming more and more heated. Momo looked at them with wide eyes, and they were embarrassed, not knowing how to evaluate this look. Maybe the girl is laughing at them in her heart? Or is he sad? It was impossible to tell from her face. But they suddenly felt as if they were seeing themselves in the mirror, and they both felt ashamed.

“Okay,” said Nikola. “I probably shouldn’t have written that on your door.” I wouldn't have done this if you hadn't refused to pour me a glass of wine. It was illegal, you know? I always paid accurately, and you had no reason to treat me like that.

- Was there no reason? – Nino exclaimed. – Do you remember the story with Saint Anthony? A-ah, so you turned pale! You wanted to deceive me, and I won’t allow this to anyone!

- I - you? – Nikola shouted indignantly. - And not vice versa? You wanted to screw me over, but it didn’t work out!

The thing was this: in Nino's diner there was a painting of St. Anthony hanging on the wall. It was a reproduction that Nino had cut out of a magazine and framed.

Nikola, who seemed to really like the painting, wanted to exchange it. Nino, cleverly bargaining, brought the matter to the point that Nikola was, of course, a clear loser. They shook hands.

But later it turned out that there was money hidden between the painting and the cardboard back of the frame, which Nino knew nothing about. Then Nino suddenly found himself the loser, and this angered him. In short: he demanded hidden money, because it was not provided for in the deal. Nikola resisted, and then Nino stopped giving him wine. This was the start of the quarrel.

Having traced the entire history of their relationship from end to beginning, they fell silent for a while.

After a pause, Nino asked:

– Tell me honestly, Nikola: did you know about this money before the deal or not?

“Of course I knew, otherwise I wouldn’t have changed.”

- So you admit that you deceived me!

- Why? But didn’t you know anything about this money?

- No, honestly!

- You see now! So you still wanted to trick me! Otherwise, how could you take a radio from me for a worthless piece of paper? A?

- How did you know about the money?

“I saw how, two days before, a visitor put them there - donated them to St. Anthony.

Nino bit his lip.

- And there was a lot of money there?

“No more and no less than the cost of my radio,” Nikola answered.

“So our whole argument is about Saint Anthony, whom I cut out of the magazine,” Nino said thoughtfully.

Nikola scratched the back of his head.

“That’s how it is,” he muttered, “and you can have it back, Nino.”

- In no case! – Nino objected generously. - An agreement is an agreement! After all, we shook hands like honest people!

Here they both laughed. They walked down the stone steps, met in the middle of the overgrown area and embraced, slapping each other on the back. After that, they embraced Momo and said: “Thank you very much!”

When they left, Momo waved after them for a long time. She was pleased that the two friends had made peace again.

Next time a little boy Momo brought a canary that refused to sing. This was a difficult task for Momo. For a whole week she patiently listened to the barely to an audible voice the canary until it began to sing cheerfully again.

Momo patiently listened to everyone: dogs and cats, cicadas and toads. She knew how to listen to the sound of rain and the rustle of wind in the leaves. And everyone told her about something in their own way.

In the evenings, when her friends went home, Momo sat for a long time in the middle of the amphitheater, above which stretched the dome of the sky twinkling with stars, and simply listened to the silence. She imagined that she was sitting in the middle of a huge ear, listening to the music of the stars. And it seemed to her then that she heard quiet but powerful music reaching her heart.

On such nights she had especially wonderful dreams.

And anyone who thinks that there is nothing special about the ability to listen, let him try - maybe he will learn to listen as well as Momo.

Chapter three.
TOY STORM AND REAL STORM

It goes without saying that Momo never made a distinction between adults and children - she listened to both. But children came to the old amphitheater for another reason. Since Momo moved into the theater, they have learned to play like they couldn’t before. And we were never bored again. And not at all because Momo offered anything very interesting. No, Momo was just here and playing with them. And that is precisely why - no one knows why - it began to occur to children great ideas. Every day they invented new games - one better than the other.

One day, on a sultry, hot day, ten children sat on the stone steps and waited for Momo, who went for a short walk. Heavy black clouds hung in the sky, foreshadowing a thunderstorm.

“I’d better go home,” said one girl who

I came here with my little sister - I’m afraid of thunder and lightning.

- And at home? – asked the boy with glasses. - Aren’t you afraid of this at home?

“I’m afraid,” the girl answered.

“Stay here,” the boy decided. The girl shrugged and nodded. A minute later she said:

– What if Momo doesn’t come back?

- So what? – a boy who looked somehow homeless intervened in the conversation. “We can still play – without Momo.”

- Okay, but what?

- I do not know either. Into anything.

- Anything is nothing. Who has a suggestion?

“I,” said the fat boy in a thin, girlish voice, “let’s play a sea voyage - as if this whole wreck is a huge ship, and we are sailing across unknown seas, and we have different adventures. I am the captain, you are the first navigator, and you are a naturalist, a professor, because our journey is scientific research, you understand? And all the others are sailors...

- Who are we, girls?

-You are sailors. This is the ship of the future.

It was good plan! They began to play, but they did not agree and things did not go well. Soon they were all sitting on the stone steps again - and waiting.

But then Momo came.

The bow wave boiled high. The research ship "Argo", quietly rocking on the dead swell, was calmly moving at full speed into one of the southern coral seas. Since ancient times, no ship has dared to sail into these dangerous waters; it is full of shoals, coral reefs and sea monsters. The so-called “Eternal Typhoon” reigned in these parts, a tornado that never subsided. Like some kind of insidious monster, he wandered this sea in search of a victim. His ways were unknown. And everything that this hurricane captured in its huge paws, it did not let go until it smashed into pieces - no thicker than matches.

The research ship "Argo" was, naturally, specially equipped to meet this "Roaming Tornado". It was entirely built from special blue steel - as flexible and unbreakable as the one from which blades are made. It was cast from a single piece, without welds.

And yet it is unlikely that another captain and other sailors would have dared to expose themselves to such danger. But Captain Gordon dared. He proudly looked from the captain's bridge at the sailors and sailors, and they were all experts in their field.

Next to the captain stood his first navigator, Don Melu, an old sea dog who had survived one hundred and twenty-seven hurricanes.

On the tent deck one could see Professor Eisenstein, the scientific director of the expedition, with his assistants Maurina and Sarah - with their exceptional memory they replaced the professor’s entire library. All three bent over the most precise instruments and quietly consulted on something in complex scientific language.

Sitting a little to the side, cross-legged, was the beautiful native Momo-san. From time to time, the researcher asked her about the features of this sea, and she answered him in a euphonious hula dialect, understandable only to the professor.

The purpose of the expedition was to find the cause of the “Roaming Whirlwind” and, if possible, eliminate it in order to make this sea accessible to other ships. But so far everything was quiet.

The cry of the lookout on the mast pulled the captain out of his reverie.

- Cap! – he shouted into his hands as a megaphone. “Either I’m crazy, or I really see a glass island ahead!”

The captain and Don Melu grabbed their telescopes. Professor Eisenstein and his assistants immediately looked out from their hiding place. Only the beautiful native sat calmly in place. The mysterious customs of her people forbade her to show curiosity. Soon the ship reached the glass island. The professor went down the rope ladder thrown over the side of the ship to the transparent shore. The island's soil was so slippery that Professor Eisenstein had great difficulty staying on his feet.

The island was round and about twenty meters in diameter. Its surface rose towards the middle with a domed roof. When the professor reached highest point, he clearly saw a pulsating beam of light deep inside the island.

He reported his observations to everyone else, who waited tensely at the ship's rail.

“I see,” said Maurina’s assistant, “this is oggelmumif bistrocinalis.”

“It’s possible,” said assistant Sarah, “but it could also be a shlukula of Thanetocifera.”

The professor straightened up, adjusted his glasses on his nose and shouted:

– In my opinion, we are dealing here with a subspecies of the common Strumpfus quetchinensus. This can be definitively established only by examining everything from the inside.

Three sailors - who were also world record holders in sports diving and had already put on scuba gear - jumped overboard and disappeared into the blue depths.

For some time only bubbles appeared on the surface of the sea, but suddenly one of the girls, named Sandra, emerged from the depths and shouted, breathless:

- This is a huge jellyfish! Two divers are caught in its tentacles and cannot free themselves. Help before it's too late!

With these words she disappeared again.

At that same moment, a hundred divers under the command of Commander Frank, nicknamed Dolphin, rushed into the waves. A fierce battle broke out under the water, and the surface of the sea was covered with foam. But even these fighters failed to free the girls from the terrible embrace. This huge jellyfish was too powerful!

“Something,” the professor turned, frowning, to his assistants, “something in this sea is causing the increased growth of everything in it.” IN highest degree Interesting!

Captain Gordon and his first navigator, meanwhile, conferred and made a decision.

- Back! – Don shouted to Mel. - All aboard! We will cut the monster into two parts, otherwise we will not free the girls.

The dolphin and his divers returned to the ship. "Argo" reversed, and then with all its strength rushed straight at the jellyfish. The bow of the steel ship was razor sharp. Silently, almost without noticeable effort, he cut the monster into two halves. This, however, was not entirely safe for the two girls caught by the tentacles, but the first navigator Don Melu accurately calculated their location and cut the jellyfish right between them. The tentacles of the cut jellyfish hung sluggishly and powerlessly, and the captives were able to free themselves.

They were joyfully greeted on the ship. The professor approached them and said:

- It's my fault. I shouldn't have sent you into the water. I'm sorry I put you in such danger!

“There’s nothing to forgive you for, professor,” one of the girls smiled, “that’s why we, in fact, went with you.”

– Danger is our profession!

However, there was no time left for further conversations. The captain and crew, busy with rescue work, forgot to monitor the state of the sea. Only now did they notice the “Stray Tornado” on the horizon - it was rapidly approaching the “Argo”.

The very first powerful wave grabbed the steel ship, lifted it up, overturned it and threw it into the watery abyss. Less experienced and courageous sailors than those on the Argo would not have withstood this blow: some would have been washed away by the wave, others would have fainted. But Captain Gordon, as if nothing had happened, his legs still wide apart, stood on the captain's bridge. His team also remained in place. Just not used to sea storms the native Momo-san climbed into the lifeboat.

In a few seconds the sky became black as soot. With a roar and whistle, a hurricane wind attacked the ship and threw it either into a dizzying height or into a yawning abyss. It seemed that his rage was increasing every minute - because he could not sink the ship.

The captain gave his orders in a calm voice, and the first navigator loudly repeated them to the sailors. Everyone remained at their post. Even Professor Eisenstein and his assistants did not give up their instruments. They accurately calculated the location of the middle of the tornado - that’s where the ship was moving. Captain Gordon inwardly admired the composure of the explorers, who were by no means sea wolves like himself and his people.

The very first lightning shot straight at the steel ship - it, of course, immediately charged with electricity. As soon as you touched anything, sparks immediately fell. But the entire Argo crew was already well prepared for this by months of training. And no one was afraid.

The finer parts of the ship, such as the cables and handrails, presented some difficulty: they became red-hot, like the hairs of an electric lamp. But people worked in asbestos gloves. Fortunately, a downpour poured in and quickly cooled the flaming steel - no one had ever seen such a downpour - except Don Melu - it was so frequent that it displaced almost all the air. It became impossible to breathe. The team had to resort to scuba gear.

One lightning after another, one thunderclap after another! Howling wind! Waves the size of a house and white foam!

Meter by meter, the Argo fought against the ancient power of the typhoon, slowly moving forward, although the machines were working at full capacity. The drivers and stokers in the hold of the ship made superhuman efforts. They tied themselves to the pipes with thick ropes so as not to fall into the open fiery mouth of the furnace - this is how the ship was thrown and rocked.

Finally the very middle of the tornado was reached. What a sight it was!

On the surface of the sea, which was smooth here like a mirror - because the tornado crushed the waves with its gigantic force, a giant danced. He stood on one leg, resembling a top the size of a mountain. This huge thing rotated around its axis with such speed that it was impossible to discern any details.

- This is Noise-Noise Gumilastik! – the professor shouted enthusiastically, holding his glasses, which the rain was trying to wash off his nose.

– Maybe you can explain this to us in a simpler way? - Don Mel growled. - We are simple sailors, and...

– Don’t interfere with the professor’s observation! – Sarah, his assistant, interrupted him. “We were presented with a unique opportunity. The origin of this top goes back to the earliest times of the formation of the earth. Its age is millions of years. Today, its microscopic subspecies are occasionally found in tomato sauce and - even less often - in green ink. A specimen of this size is obviously the only one of its kind.

– But we came here to find out the reason for the origin of the “Eternal Tornado” and eliminate it! – the captain shouted over the howl of the hurricane. - Let the professor tell you how to stop this thing!

“And I don’t have the slightest idea about this either,” said the professor. – Science has not yet had to study this phenomenon in detail.

“Okay,” said the captain. “Let’s try to fire at him and see what happens.”

- Horrible! - the professor began to lament. – Shoot the only copy of the Humilastik noise-noise! But the ray gun was already aimed at the top.

- Fire! - ordered the captain.

A kilometer-long blue beam erupted from the double-barreled cannon. The shot was silent, for the ray gun, as is known, shoots proteins.

Michael Ende

In the darkness, light is visible, like a miracle.
I can see the light - but I don’t know where it’s coming from.
Sometimes he’s far away, sometimes he’s right here...
I don't know what that light is called.
Only - whoever you are, star, -
You, as before, always shine for me!

Irish nursery rhyme

Part one. MOMO AND HER FRIENDS

Chapter first. BIG CITY AND LITTLE GIRL

Some of them were as huge as a football stadium, others could seat no more than two hundred spectators. Some were luxurious, with columns and statues, others were modest, without any decorations. The amphitheaters had no roofs; all performances were given in the open air. However, in richer theaters, gold-woven carpets were stretched over the rows to protect the audience from the heat of the sun or sudden rain. In poorer theaters, reed or straw mats served the same purpose. In short, there were theaters for the rich and theaters for the poor. Everyone attended them because everyone was a passionate listener and spectator.

This story happened in one of these cities.

One day there was a rumor that someone was living in the ruins. They said it was a child, a little girl, but no one really knew anything. I think her name was Momo.

Momo looked a little strange. It had a frightening effect on people who valued neatness and cleanliness. She was small and thin, and it was difficult to guess how old she was - eight or twelve. She had wild, blue-black curls, which, obviously, had never been touched by a comb or scissors, large, amazingly beautiful eyes, also black, and legs of the same color, because she always ran barefoot. In winter, she occasionally wore boots, but they were too big for her, and also different. After all, Momo either found her things somewhere or received them as a gift. Her long, ankle-length skirt was made from colored pieces. On top, Momo wore an old men's jacket that was too loose for her, the sleeves of which she always rolled up. Momo didn’t want to cut them off, she thought that she would soon grow up and who knows if she would ever come across such a wonderful jacket with so many pockets again.

Michael Ende

A short introduction from the translator

This translation is the first experience of this kind in my practice.

My whole life up to the age of 53 was spent in Russia, and I belong to a little-known and slightly strange nationality - Russian Germans. These are not the German Germans, who occupy a powerful niche in the human community, but a part of the German people that emerged in the process of long adaptation - first in Tsarist, then Soviet Russia - and was forced out of Germany after the seven-year war.

It is surprising that my ancestors, over the course of two and a half centuries, were not assimilated by the powerful Russian mentality and Russian culture to the extent that one might have expected. Their religious-sectarian upbringing and peasant origin formed a strong immunity against such dissolution. And this despite all the social upheavals that befell the Russian state in the ill-fated 20th century - especially during the war with Nazi Germany, when Russian Germans were naturally, but unfairly, identified with the German fascists, so hated in the USSR.

My childhood and adolescence coincided with that period of history. But it was after the second abolition of “serfdom” in 1955 (the liberation of collective farmers from registration in villages with the issuance of passports and the liquidation of the special commandant’s office for Russian Germans) and the emergence of relative freedom, assimilation, completely voluntary, began to quickly change the mentality of Russian Germans towards Russian culture and Russian way of life.

At that time I read a lot and, given the then direction of literature and the media, quickly moved away from religion, which in our home had the character of tedious and painful moralizing.

In general, if we put aside the negative consequences of that “civilized” life, which crushed millions of destinies of village boys and girls who came to the city, one thing is certain: the German part of this great urban migration quickly “Russified”, losing its language and centuries-old family traditions.

I came across M. Ende’s book “Momo” quite by accident after moving to Germany with my family. A chapter from it was included in a manual on studying the German language and the German way of life for immigrants and immediately made a strong impression on me with its humanistic orientation and the author’s absolute rejection of the rationalistic, unspiritual construction of life in a capitalist society.

While reading Momo, I was constantly haunted by the feeling that this was a story from the “silver” period of Russian literature of the 19th century, and not a modern bestseller.

Then I took up entrepreneurship for a long time, not very successfully spending all my time on it, but the thought that the book needed to be brought to the Russian reader did not leave me. This need has become especially acute in recent years, when the idea of God-seeking took hold of my consciousness.

And now about the book and its heroine - the little girl Momo, who had enough moral strength and courage to resist the gray, all-consuming power of Evil.

It appears in the vicinity of a big city, where people live leisurely, rejoice and are sad, quarrel and make peace, but the most important thing is that they communicate with each other, and cannot live without it. They are not rich, although they are not lazy at all. They have enough time for everything, and no one thinks of saving it.

Momo takes up residence in an ancient amphitheater. Nobody knows where she comes from or what she wants. She doesn't seem to know this herself.

It soon turns out that Mol has a magical and rare gift of listening to people in such a way that they become smarter and better, forgetting everything petty and absurd that poisons their lives.

But she is especially loved by children, who with her become extraordinary dreamers and invent the most exciting games.

However, gradually an evil force in the form of gray gentlemen who feed on human time gradually intervenes in the lives of these people. Their countless hordes require a lot of it, and the gray gentlemen are talented and persistent in creating an entire industry of stealing time from people. They must convince every person that they need to rationalize their life as much as possible, and not waste themselves on such unpromising things as communicating with friends, relatives, children, and especially on “useless” old people and disabled people. Labor cannot serve as a source of joy; everything must be subordinated to a single goal - to produce the maximum amount of goods in the shortest possible time.

Where does the “time saved” go? The gray gentlemen quietly steal it, storing it in their huge bank vaults.

And Momo has a lot of time, and she generously gives it to people. She is rich not in the time that can be materialized, but in the time that she gives to others. Her time is spiritual wealth.

However, thieves-demons steal it from people, and neither the Distributor nor the Creator can or, from higher considerations, wants to prevent this. People themselves must manage the time allotted to them - their soul - and protect it themselves.

A watch is only an imperfect reflection of what is in each person’s chest, in his heart - his soul. “...So you also have a heart to feel time. And all that time that is not felt by the heart is lost, like the colors of the rainbow for the blind or the song of the nightingale for the deaf. Unfortunately, there are blind and deaf hearts that feel nothing, although they beat.” Deaf and blind hearts are hardened souls, deaf to the calls of God.