Star Girl

by Henry Winterfeld

  “Please, oh, Father, please,” implored Gretel and Lottie.

  “The child must go to the police station,” repeated Mrs. Brenner with determination.

  “But, Louise,” said Mr. Brenner, “the police station is no place for a sick child! I’ll go to the town hall and tell them that the child is with us.” He was trying to put on his jacket, but Gretel and Lottie hung on to him and cried, “Daddy, Daddy! Please don’t!”

  “What do you say to that?” Mr. Brenner asked his wife smilingly.

  “The children are crazy,” sighed Mrs. Brenner. Mo had been forgotten in all the excitement.

  “When do human beings eat?” she asked shyly.

  Mr. and Mrs. Brenner turned around and looked at her in amazement. At this moment a number of voices could be heard outside, and then someone impatiently knocked at the door. Philip, the cat, shot under the couch like lightning.

  Eight

  Where Is That Monster?

  There was more knocking, this time more violent.

  Mrs. Brenner quickly took off her apron and pushed the hair back from her forehead. “Who can this be?” she said to herself.

  The door flew open, and Willy and Erna were the first to bounce in. “Yoohoo!” cried Willy, and waved merrily at the children. Behind them several neighbors were crowding through the door, and wedged in among them was Konrad, perspiring and shoving with his elbows. “You’re crushing me!” he cried angrily.

  “Where is that monster from Mars?” called Mr. Hofer, Konrad’s father.

  “Does it wear a helmet? Does it wear a helmet?” shrieked Miss Beck, and almost craned her neck out of joint.

  More and more people poured in. “Where is it? We want to see it too!” they shouted. Outside, people were even peering through the windows. In no time the small living-kitchen of the Brenners overflowed with excited neighbors.

  “My goodness,” exclaimed Mr. Brenner. “We are being invaded!”

  The children, alarmed, had withdrawn into a corner.

  Mo frantically clutched Walter’s arm. “Who is that?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “They are our neighbors,” whispered Walter.

  “Are neighbors too human beings?” asked Mo.

  “Yes,” said Walter abruptly.

  “Has it got a helmet?” Miss Beck piped up again.

  “Now, you good folk,” called Mr. Brenner. “What goes on here?”

  “If you don’t mind, Brenner,” said Mr. Hofer, “we, too, would like to see the thing that arrived from Mars.”

  “Who told you that?” asked Mr. Brenner.

  “My son Konrad told us that a small, female goblin fell out of a flying saucer and that your children brought it home,” said Mr. Hofer.

  “Where is it? Where did you hide it?” voices wanted to know.

  “Holy cow!” shouted Mr. Brenner scornfully. “The lad is off his rocker. There is no goblin hidden in this house! This is the girl my children found in the forest! See for yourselves!” He pointed at Mo.

  “Oh!” said the neighbors—then silence. Mr. Hofer scratched his head. “But that is a real little girl,” he said disappointedly.

  “That’s nothing from Mars, not on your life,” declared Mr. and Mrs. Langmueller.

  “She is so; she’s from Asra,” peeped Lottie.

  “And I imagined something with a long, pointed nose, huge ears, and a bald head!” shrieked Miss Beck indignantly. A few people chuckled. The truth was that Miss Beck herself had a pointed nose and big ears, and, as everyone knew, she wore a wig.

  “Konrad!” said Mr. Hofer ominously. “Come here, my lad! What sort of a cock-and-bull story did you tell?”

  But Konrad stayed beyond arm’s length as a matter of precaution. “I can’t help it,” he mumbled. “Walter said she came from another planet.”

  “That happens to be right,” asserted Walter.

  “Our kids, too, told us that a being from another planet had arrived,” chorused Mr. and Mrs. Langmueller, who were the parents of Willy and Erna. The Langmuellers always spoke at the same time and almost always said the same thing.

  Willy grinned blithely and Erna snapped, “Mo said herself that she comes from Asra!” Erna had changed her clothes at home. She was now wearing pretty shoes and stockings and a plaid dress. She had even loosened her thick red braids and let her hair drop to her shoulders, just as Mo wore hers. Willy was wearing the cap and feather now.

  “What a cheap hoax!” cried Miss Beck, and raised her long, thin finger at Erna.

  Erna sniffed disdainfully. By now, the neighbors had grown very embarrassed about pushing into the Brenners’ house so unceremoniously. The men puffed their pipes in silence, exhaling thick clouds of smoke. The women stared curiously at Mo.

  “Where is the child from, Louise?” asked Mrs. Reuter, a gray-haired woman with a kind face.

  “That we don’t know,” said Mrs. Brenner regretfully. “She insists she is from another planet.”

  “The child is mad,” declared fat Mrs. Paul. “You can tell by her eyes, right away.”

  “Mo is NOT mad!” Walter shouted furiously.

  “I’m sure she escaped from an institution!” shrieked Miss Beck.

  “She did NOT escape from an institution!” shouted Gretel, eyes sparkling with fury. “Her father is coming for her tonight.”

  “That child is from the city,” insisted Mrs. Reuter emphatically. “She is much too elegant for Kummersville. Her parents must be rich. Her dress is made of pure silk.”

  “These are not my regular clothes,” Mo said modestly. “At home we wear much more beautiful clothes that are made of spun gold.”

  “Did you ever hear the like of it?” jeered Miss Beck. “If she isn’t a little comedian!”

  “If the child has lost her way, the police ought to be notified,” a voice came from the background.

  “Quite right,” murmured the men, and nodded in assent.

  “I planned to do that too,” Mr. Brenner said, “but the child is sick. I was going to the town hall to report that my children had found the child in the Hollewood.”

  However, there was no longer any need of that. A strong, deep voice bellowed from the doorway, “What goes on here? What’s the reason for this assembly?” Chief police sergeant Jacob Klotz was forcefully elbowing his way through the crowd. “Step back, step back!” he snapped, and the neighbors respectfully gave way.

  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.
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  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.

  “Oh, no,” said Mo.

  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 lo
ok 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.