“But where do you come from?” Momo gestured vaguely at some undefined spot in the far distance.
“Who are your parents, then?” the man persisted. Momo looked blankly from him to the others and gave a little shrug.
The men and women exchanged glances and sighed. “There's no need to be scared,” the man went on, “we haven't come to evict you.
We'd like to help you, that's all.” Momo nodded and said nothing, not entirely reassured.
“You're called Momo, aren't you?” “Yes.” “That's a pretty name, but I've never heard it before. Who gave it to you?”
“I did,” said Momo. “You chose your own name?” “Yes.” “When were you born?” Momo pondered this.
“As far as I can remember,” she said at length, “I've always been around.”
“But don't you have any aunts or uncles or grandparents? Don't you have any relations at all who'd give you a home?”
Momo just looked at the man in silence for a while. Then she murmured, “This is my home, here.”
“That's all very well,” said the man, “but you're only a kid. How old are you really?”
Momo hesitated. “A hundred,” she said. They all laughed because they thought she was joking.
“No, seriously, how old are you?” “A hundred and two,” Momo replied, still more hesitantly.
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