Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

“It’s not on my account,” said Atreyu. “But the Childlike Empress is dying. Even now, every hour may count.”

“Rubbish!” the old woman grumbled. “Haste makes waste. Sit down! Eat! Drink!”

“Better give in,” Engywook whispered. “I know the woman from A to Z. When she wants something, she gets it. Besides, you and I have a lot to talk about.”

Atreyu squatted cross-legged at the tiny table and fell to. Every bite and every swallow made him feel as if warm, golden life were flowing into his veins. Only then did he notice how weak he had been.

Bastion’s mouth watered. It seemed to him that he could smell the aroma of the gnomes’ meal. He sniffed the air, but of course it was only imagination.

His stomach growled audibly. In the end he couldn’t stand it any longer. He took his apple and the rest of his sandwich out of his satchel and ate them both. After that, though far from full, he felt a little better.

Then he realized that this was his last meal. The word “last” terrified him. He tried not to think of it.

“Where do you get all these good things?” Atreyu asked Urgl.

“Ah, sonny,” she said. “It takes lots of running around to find the right plants. But he—this knuckleheaded Engywook of mine—insists on living here because of his all-important studies. Where the food is to come from is the least of his worries.”

“Woman,” said Engywook with dignity, “how would you know what’s important and what isn’t? Be off with you now, and let us talk.”

Mumbling and grumbling, Urgl withdrew into the little cave and a moment later Atreyu heard a great clatter of pots and pans.

“Don’t mind her,” said Engywook under his breath. “She’s a good old soul, she just needs something to grumble about now and then. Listen to me, Atreyu. I’m going to let you in on a few things you need to know about the Southern Oracle. It’s not easy to get to Uyulala. In fact, it’s rather difficult. But I don’t want to give you a scientific lecture. Maybe it will be better if you ask questions. I tend to lose myself in details. Just fire away.”

“All right,” said Atreyu. “Who or what is Uyulala?”

Engywook gave him an angry look. “Botheration!” he spluttered. “You’re so blunt, so direct. Just like my old woman. Couldn’t you start with something else?”

Atreyu thought a while. Then he asked:. “That big stone gate with the sphinxes. Is that the entrance?”

“That’s better,” said Engywook. “Now we’ll get somewhere. Yes, that gate is the entrance, but then come two more gates. And Uyulala’s home is behind the third—if one can speak of her having a home.”

“Have you yourself ever been with her?”

“Don’t be absurd!” replied Engywook, again somewhat nettled. “I am a scientist. I have collected and collated the statements of all the individuals who have been there. The ones who have come back, that is. Very important work. I can’t afford to take personal risks. It could interfere with my work.”

“I see,” said Atreyu. “Now what about these three gates?”

Engywook stood up, folded his hands behind his back, and paced.

“The first,” he lectured, “is known as the Great Riddle Gate; the second is the Magic Mirror Gate; and the third is the No-Key Gate . . .”

“Strange,” Atreyu broke in. “As far as I could see, there was nothing behind that stone gate but an empty plain. Where are the other gates?”

“Be still!” Engywook scolded. “How can I make myself clear if you keep interrupting? It’s very complicated: The second gate isn’t there until a person has gone through the first. And the third isn’t there until the person has the second behind him. And Uyulala isn’t there until he has passed through the third. Simply not there. Do you understand?”

Atreyu nodded, but preferred to say nothing for fear of irritating the gnome.

“Through my telescope you have seen the first, the Great Riddle Gate. And the two sphinxes. That gate is always open. Obviously. There’s nothing to close. But even so, no one can get through”—here Engywook raised a tiny forefinger—“unless the sphinxes close their eyes. And do you know why? The gaze of a sphinx is different from the gaze of any other creature. You and I and everyone else—our eyes take something in. We see the world. A sphinx sees nothing. In a sense she is blind. But her eyes send something out. And what do her eyes send out? All the riddles of the universe. That’s why these sphinxes are always looking at each other. Because only another sphinx can stand a sphinx’s gaze. So try to imagine what happens to one who ventures into the area where those two gazes meet. He freezes to the spot, unable to move until he has solved all the riddles of the world. If you go there, you’ll find the remains of those poor devils.”

“But,” said Atreyu, didn’t you say that their eyes sometimes close? Don’t they have to sleep now and then?”

“Sleep?” Engywook was shaken with giggles. “Goodness gracious! A sphinx sleep? I should say not. You really are an innocent. Still, there’s some point to your question. All my research, in fact, hinges on that particular point. The sphinxes shut their eyes for some travelers and let them through. The question that no one has answered up until now is this: Why one traveler and not another? Because you mustn’t suppose they let wise, brave, or good people through, and keep the stupid, cowardly, and wicked out. Not a bit of it! With my own eyes I’ve seen them admit stupid fools and treacherous knaves, while decent, sensible people have given up after being kept waiting for months. And it seems to make no difference whether a person has some serious reason for consulting the Oracle, or whether he’s just come for the fun of it.”

“Haven’t your investigations suggested some explanation?” Atreyu asked.

Angry flashes darted from Engywook’s eyes.

“Have you been listening or haven’t you? Didn’t I just say that so far no one has answered that question? Of course, I’ve worked up a few theories over the years. At first I thought the sphinxes’ judgment might be guided by certain physical characteristics—size, beauty, strength, and so on. But I soon had to drop that idea. Then I toyed with numerical patterns. The idea, for instance, that three out of five were regularly excluded, or that only prime-numbered candidates were admitted. That worked pretty well for the past, but for forecasting it was no use at all. Since then I’ve come to the conclusion that the sphinxes’ decision is based on pure chance and that no principle whatever is involved.

But my wife calls my conclusion scandalous, un-Fantastican, and absolutely unscientific.”

“Are you starting your old nonsense again?” came Urgl’s angry voice from the cave. “Shame on you! Such skepticism only shows that the bit of brain you once had has dried up on you.”

“Hear that?” said Engywook with a sigh. “And the worst of it is that she’s right.”

“What about the Childlike Empress’s amulet?” Atreyu asked. “Do you think they’ll respect it? They too are natives of Fantastica, after all.”

“Yes, I suppose they are,” said Engywook, shaking his apple-sized head. “But to respect it they’d have to see it. And they don’t see anything. But their gaze would strike you. And I’m not so sure the sphinxes would obey the Childlike Empress. Maybe they are greater than she is. I don’t know, I don’t know. Anyway, it’s most worrisome.”

“Then what do you advise?” Atreyu asked.

“You will have to do what all the others have done. Wait and see what the sphinxes decide—without hoping to know why.”

Atreyu nodded thoughtfully.

Urgl came out of the cave. In one hand she held a bucket with some steaming liquid in it, and under her other arm she was carrying a bundle of dried plants. Muttering to herself, she went to the luckdragon, who was still lying motionless, fast asleep. She started climbing around on him and changing the dressings on his wounds. Her enormous patient heaved one contented sigh and stretched; otherwise he seemed unaware of her ministrations.