There was no doubt—he was crying! A fat tear rolled down his bristly cheek. Then he reached out to Emma with a hand attached to a skinny little arm.

  “Don’t touch him!” whispered Louise. “He wants to gobble you up!”

  “Nonsense,” said Emma. “You might get caught on him for a moment, that’s all. Like on the little hooks of a burr. That’s why he can also be called a hook-and-loop fastener.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Gustav, who was so nervous that he kept rubbing his edelweiss design.

  Instead of answering, Emma grabbed the Velcro’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. Then she touched his rough surface, which felt like a hairbrush. Louise squeaked softly in fright.

  “What’s your name, you unspeakably smart thing?” asked the Velcro.

  “Emma. And you? Big V isn’t really your name, is it?”

  “No.” He turned a little red.

  Emma waited. “Well?” she asked then.

  “My name is Victor.”

  “That’s a very nice name,” said Emma. “Why didn’t you ever tell that to the buttons? And why are they all afraid of you?”

  “Well, I tried to be their friend at first!” Victor waved his hand as he explained. “I told them how terrific I am at closing things. I thought they’d be happy that we had something in common! But that only frightened them. And then one day, this stupid fuzz came along and wanted to fight with me. I couldn’t let myself get beaten by a fuzz!”

  He stopped talking, embarrassed.

  “What did you do with him?” asked Gustav, his voice hoarse.

  “Absolutely nothing! The silly thing got caught in my bristles and just didn’t come back out. I couldn’t help him; you can see for yourself how useless my hands are!”

  Victor stretched out his tiny little hands in front, and, sure enough, they didn’t reach his stomach. “The fuzz grumbled and wailed for days and got himself even more tangled up. And then one day he fell off. He yelled at me furiously and ran away. Nobody has seen him since, and now all the buttons think I’m a monster.” Victor folded up in the middle and sat down on the side of the road with a loud ripping sound. Emma, Louise, and Gustav cautiously sat down next to him. It was indeed a sad fate. The moon shone on the sparkling road, and in the distance a sewing machine rolled along a track.

  Emma cleared her throat. “Are there more . . . of your kind?” she asked.

  Victor shook his rectangular head in distress. “No. There were four of us once. We lived on a student’s backpack. A fine bag it was. Scritch, scratch, it opened—scritch, scratch, it closed. He never lost a thing. That was our contribution.”

  “That goes for buttons too,” observed Gustav.

  “Anyway, we went to the most excellent lectures with him. We learned everything there was to learn about books. Ask me something—anything!”

  “Do your bristles hurt?” asked Louise.

  Victor looked a little disappointed. “I meant, ask me something about books!”

  “Oh.” Emma thought it over. “What is your favorite book?

  “Ah! Good question. There was a book about a man, who lived all alone on an island. His name was Robinson, and he was very lonely. I liked that.” He lowered his voice. “I think about that a lot.”

  “Where . . . where is the bag now?” asked Emma, although she was a little afraid of the answer. It couldn’t be good; otherwise Victor wouldn’t be so sad.

  “In the used clothes bin,” said Victor, in a matter-of-fact tone. “One day our student was finished with his studies and bought himself a glossy black briefcase. The old bag had gotten too shabby for him; he threw it away. Fortunately, his granny had at least taken us Velcro fasteners off. She thought they were something the lad could still use. But he didn’t want any Velcro on his new briefcase. And so we four got separated. And that was just when we had formed a literary quartet.”

  “A literary quartet?” That meant nothing to Emma.

  “Well, since we couldn’t go to lectures anymore, we started composing poems ourselves. It was generally said that my poems were the best.” Victor coyly cleared his throat. “Would you like to hear one?”

  “Yes,” said Emma.

  “Please do,” Gustav requested.

  “If it has to be,” said Louise.

  Victor ignored her. He took a deep breath. “The Bag,” he began solemnly:

  A water bottle, old and smashed

  lies in the bottom of the bag.

  In the lining, way in back,

  a pencil’s stuck inside a snag.

  Some books and gloves,

  mints—slightly sticky

  plus dried-up gum

  that’s really icky.

  Every day new stuff goes in,

  like tickets, candy, safety pin.

  But who’s important, without a doubt,

  for keeping things from falling out?

  The Velcro’s voice got louder and louder with the last words. Emma, Louise, and Gustav stared at him with their mouths open.

  “Who?” Gustav whispered with hushed expectation.

  Victor threw his little arm up dramatically and shouted:

  Who is this hero of the day?

  The Velcro holds it closed! Hurray!

  For a moment there was a dead silence. Victor took a little bow.

  “Brilliant,” Emma burst out finally.

  “Each as he is able,” murmured Louise.

  “May I ask what material the bag was made of?” Gustav asked. “Was it perhaps goat leather? Because . . . ” Suddenly he paused. “Do you hear that?” he whispered. A slight distance away, the big round police officer’s whistle could be heard.

  “They’re thtill here!” That was clearly the thin police officer again!

  “Come,” said Victor, without further ado. “Climb into my bristles. When I close up, nobody will see you.”

  “But will we come back out again?” Louise’s voice was hoarse with fear. “Because I wouldn’t like getting stuck for days, like the fuzz! I still have to figure out my value and place in life.”

  “I must look for my beloved Constance,” Gustav reminded them.

  “And I want to get back home,” said Emma. She still hadn’t gotten around to asking Victor if he had any idea how she could get back to the button room.

  At that moment, the bright light of a flashlight shone in the bushes. The police officers were there already, and it sounded as if they had brought along backup.

  “Let’s go!” ordered Emma. She snatched Louise’s hand, locked arms with Gustav, and got set to take a big jump.

  “Alley-oop!” Victor yelled. Emma could feel her legs landing on a sticky, bristly base. And just as the flashlight’s beam landed on Victor, he scrunched himself together.

  “Well, you silly sailors!” he yelled. “Haven’t you had enough yet?” Then he got moving and ran off with huge steps, so that it was impossible for the police officers to follow him. It was comfortable sitting deep inside the Velcro. Like in a train chugging along—and Emma fell into a deep sleep.

  GOOD ADVICE

  Emma didn’t wake up until the sun was shining through Victor’s bristles. She stretched, and her hand hit Gustav, who was still sleeping.

  “Constance, my dearest,” he murmured in his dream. Louise’s eyes were still closed too; her hands were on her hat. Emma gingerly stroked the ruby red stone. It sparkled mysteriously in the early morning light, and all of a sudden Emma could understand Louise’s yearning to find out if she was valuable. At any rate, this hat was something quite special.

  “Have a good night’s sleep?” Victor’s voice droned from above. With a loud scritch he opened his fastener. Quite suddenly it got so bright that Emma had to squint. Gustav muttered something or other, annoyed.

  “Where are we?” Emma asked Victor.

  “In a meadow,” he replied. “Isn’t it a gorgeous day?”

  Emma looked around. The meadow was unbelievably beautiful— nothing but soft woolen strands in all different shades of green. Then she noticed that Victor was holding a pen and a piece of paper in his hand. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m writing a poem. A sunny morning like this one must be immortalized on paper. I have the first line already.” He rustled the paper a little. “Bright shines the sun on the land of buttons—”

  “While you’re on the subject,” Emma interrupted him, “I absolutely have to get back home. You see, I don’t come from Buttonland.”

  “Of course not. A blind man could see that,” Victor said. Then he took another breath. “Bright shines the sun on the land of buttons . . . Nothing comes to mind here that rhymes with buttons.”

  “Gluttons,” said Emma mechanically. “But Victor, do you know how I can get back to the land of people? I’m not a button, and I have to get back, so that I can see my mother when vacation is over.” The thought of her mother almost brought Emma to tears. What if she had to spend the rest of her life among paper clips and tickets?

  “Gluttons! You really are unbelievably smart. That’s why I’m a little surprised that you haven’t come up with the solution to your problem on your own.”

  “How?” asked Emma, bewildered.

  “Now, the question is—how did you get here, hmm? You should be able to get back exactly the same way.”

  Emma thought it over. “Well,” she hesitated. “I went into the button room in my aunt’s house and saw the fat gold button, I mean, Lady Isolde. Then she ran around and talked to me. That is to say, she scolded me,” Emma corrected herself. “And I wanted this talking button, so I lay down on my stomach and stuck out my arm and touched Isolde, and then . . . then all of a sudden I was here.”

  “Well, you see!” Victor exclaimed cheerfully. “Then you must find Isolde and touch her again, and you’ll end up back home!” He shook his square head in amusement and bent down, turning his attention to his poem once more.

  Emma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Could it really be so simple? And didn’t that mean that she had to find the dreadful Isolde—after trying to run away from her all this time? And how was she supposed to touch Isolde without getting sent right to jail?

  “Where will I find Isolde then?” she asked, rather unhappy.

  “At the castle,” said Victor. “You can find everything at the castle.”

  “Even Constance?” asked Gustav, who was listening to their conversation.

  “Certainly,” said Victor, although he didn’t know who or what Constance was.

  “And at the castle they’ll certainly know if Louise is valuable,” said Emma.

  “Really? Really? You mean we just need to go to the castle, and then finally I’ll find out?” asked Louise from inside the Velcro bristles. Carefully she climbed out. “Let’s get going!”

  “Yes, let’s get going,” echoed Gustav. “How do we get to the castle?”

  Victor paused. “That, my dear friends, unfortunately I cannot tell you. I only know that it’s on an island in a lake.”

  “In a lake? There’s a lake here?” asked Emma, amazed.

  “Well, why not?” the others asked at the same time.

  “Naturally, why not,” Emma agreed. And why shouldn’t there be a lake? There was a castle, after all!

  “Bright shines the sun on the land of buttons; to the castle march the three nice gluttons.” Victor waved his paper in delight. “That’s good,” he murmured to himself. “That is amazingly good.” Then he looked up. “If it makes no difference to you, I’d rather be alone so I can finish this poem.”

  “Of course.” Gustav went down first, hand over hand, along Victor’s bristles. Emma and Louise went down after him. It was quite easy; they just had to watch out so they didn’t get caught. That was something the poor little fuzz probably hadn’t realized.

  “Good-bye, Victor,” said Emma once she was on the ground again. “You’ve helped us so much. I hope that I can help you too sometime.”

  Victor gnawed on his pen.

  “I’d like to get my poets’ quartet back. But that’s probably impossible.”

  “Maybe I could look into it for you when I’m big again,” Emma offered.

  But Victor shook his square head. “They’re long gone. That’s the way of the world.” He took a quick nibble on the pen. “Muttons,” he said dreamily. “Muttons also rhymes with buttons.”

  Louise, Gustav, and Emma looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then they set off to find the lake. But all around them there was nothing to see except soft cotton grass and knitted trees that were beginning to unravel.

  “I’m hungry,” said Louise after a little while.

  Gustav stopped so suddenly that Emma collided with him. Without a word, he pointed straight ahead. There were the crocheted streets again. And—Emma could hardly believe it—a huge trailer with a light blue awning over the window, and the most scrumptious aromas pouring out.

  “Yarny’s Snack Bar” Emma read. “Fresh, delicious, good.” She cheered with delight.

  “It’s about time,” remarked Louise.

  MIMI AND KITTY

  In the snack bar sat a gray skein of yarn. She looked a bit wornout already; a strand was hanging loosely down her side. Deeply absorbed, she was studying the magazine Stitch ’n’ Knit, moving her lips silently.

  “Still closed,” she grumbled without looking up as the three came closer, and Gustav knocked on the trailer.

  “I’m dying of hunger,” Louise whispered. “What’s good here?”

  “No idea,” said Emma. “But it smells yummy.”

  “Like schnitzel,” said Gustav. “In that case, I’ll have schnitzel as soon as it’s open.”

  “Did you hear that, Kitty?” asked someone behind them. Emma whirled around. Two big button ladies with gold decorations and long sparkling legs were standing there. One was holding a little purple purse in her hand; the other one was wearing big sunglasses. The one with the sunglasses let out a horrified little cry. “Do you actually know how fat you get from eating schnitzel?” She turned to Gustav.

  “Fat?” Gustav frowned, dumbfounded.

  “Fat,” repeated the button with the sunglasses, apparently Kitty. “Horribly fat. Porky. Flabby, chubby-cheeked.”

  “But it’s delicious,” replied Gustav, astonished.

  Kitty raised a delicate finger, on which at least three rings were sparkling. “Delicious it is. But just for a short time. And after that, then what?”

  Both buttons shook their heads, making their earrings jingle. “A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,” they chorused. They gave each other a high five. There was a loud jingling.

  “Who are you?” asked Emma.

  “You can’t tell?” Kitty seemed to be shocked. “You don’t recognize us?”

  “No,” answered Emma. Maybe they were ladies too?

  The button lady with the handbag stretched a little. On her flat purple stomach were two intertwined Cs.

  “So?” she asked impatiently. “Has it dawned on you yet?”

  “Your name is Cecile?” asked Louise. “And your last name is Cesar?”

  The button rolled her eyes.

  “You two are Cornelia and Claudia?” asked Emma.

  “Chanel, you dummies!” Kitty barked at her. “We’re Chanel buttons! Models! I’m Kitty; that’s Mimi.”

  “Chanel? Is that valuable?” asked Louise.

  “Of course it’s valuable,” Kitty retorted snippily.

  Impressed, Louise fell silent.

  “Chanel is the most elegant fashion house in Paris. We were on unbelievably expensive jackets and skirts,” continued Kitty. “We met the most wonderful designers and were on the greatest runways in the world—Paris, Rome, Milan, New York, at London Fashion Week . . . ”

  “But not anymore,” Louise observed. “Did you fall off too, like Gustav?”

  “Open now,” said the skein of yarn suddenly from the snack bar. She hadn’t moved from the spot the whole time.

  “Two waters, please. And a lettuce leaf,” Kitty demanded right away.

  “We were here first,” grumbled Gustav.

  Mimi smiled indulgently. “Of course, you were here first. But certainly you don’t have to get to a fashion show right away”—after a quick check of her polished fingernail—“the way you look.” Kitty jabbed her in the ribs. There was a little clacking noise.

  With a crabby face, the skein of yarn handed out two cups of water from the trailer.

  “Goodness gracious,” squeaked Mimi and glanced at her glistening wristwatch. “I think we’ll have to pass on the lettuce. The show is about to start!”

  “It’s better this way,” said Kitty. “We don’t want to overeat. Otherwise we won’t fit into our outfits anymore.” They both let out a short, shrill laugh and got ready to go.

  “Wait,” called Emma. “Do you know how to get to the lake? We want to go to the castle.”

  “To the castle? Wearing that?”

  Kitty wrinkled her sparkling little nose, horrified.

  “Yes, how else?” asked Gustav. “These are practical hiking shoes. Much more practical than your high heels.”

  “But not chic,” peeped Kitty.

  “The hat on that one is okay,” Mimi whispered to her friend, pointing to Louise. “They’ll probably let her in. But the other two . . . ” She rolled her eyes again.

  “It’s a long way to the lake,” said Kitty. “And if I were you, I’d freshen up a bit.” She pointed in the direction of the street and tugged on Mimi’s arm.

  “It’ll take a while. Before that, you’ll go through a funny town with nothing but people whose taste is as bad as yours,” observed Mimi. They both shivered in disgust at the thought of these people and then ran away, jingling and squeaking, as quickly as their highheeled shoes could carry them.

  “Silly hens,” said Gustav.

 

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