Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

“Couldn’t you make yourself a little useful?” she said to Engywook as she was hurrying back to the kitchen, “instead of sitting around like this, talking rubbish?”

“I am making myself extremely useful,” her husband called after her. “Possibly more useful than you, but that’s more than a simple-minded woman like you will ever understand!”

Turning to Atreyu, he went on: “She can only think of practical matters. She has no feeling for the great overarching ideas.”

The clock in the belfry struck three.

By now Bastian’s father must have noticed—if he was ever going to—that Bastian hadn’t come home. Would he worry? Maybe he’d go looking for him. Maybe he had already notified the police. Maybe calls had gone out over the radio. Bastian felt a sick pain in the pit of his stomach.

But if the police had been notified, where would they look for him? Could they possibly come to this attic?

Had he locked the door when he came back from the toilet? He couldn’t remember. He got up and checked. Yes, the door was locked and bolted.

Outside, the November afternoon was drawing to a close. Ever so slowly the light was failing.

To steady his nerves, Bastian paced the floor for a while. Looking about him, he discovered quite a few things one wouldn’t have expected to find in a school. For instance, a battered old Victrola with a big horn attached—God only knew when and by whom it had been brought here. In one corner there were some paintings in ornate gilt frames. They were so faded that hardly anything could be made out—only here and there a pale, solemn-looking face that shimmered against a dark background. And then there was a rusty, seven-armed candelabrum, still holding the stumps of thick wax candles, bearded with drippings.

Bastian gave a sudden start, for looking into a dark corner he saw someone moving. But when he looked again, it dawned on him that he had only seen himself, reflected in a large mirror that had lost half its silvering. He went closer and looked at himself for a while. He was really nothing much to look at, with his pudgy build and his bowlegs and pasty face. He shook his head and said aloud: “No!”

Then he went back to his mats. By then it was so dark that he had to hold the book up to his eyes.

“Where were we?” Engywook asked.

“At the Great Riddle Gate,” Atreyu reminded him.

“Right. Now suppose you’ve managed to get through. Then—and only then—the second gate will be there for you. The Magic Mirror Gate. As I’ve said, I myself have not been able to observe it, what I tell you has been gleaned from travelers’ accounts. This second gate is both open and closed. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? It might be better to say: neither closed nor open. Though that doesn’t make it any less crazy. The point is that this gate seems to be a big mirror or something of the kind, though it’s made neither of glass nor of metal. What it is made of, no one has ever been able to tell me. Anyway, when you stand before it, you see yourself. But not as you would in an ordinary mirror. You don’t see your outward appearance; what you see is your real innermost nature. If you want to go through, you have to—in a manner of speaking—go into yourself.”

“Well,” said Atreyu. “It seems to me that this Magic Mirror Gate is easier to get through than the first.”

“Wrong!” cried Engywook. Once again he began to trot back and forth in agitation. “Dead wrong, my friend! I’ve known travelers who considered themselves absolutely blameless to yelp with horror and run away at the sight of the monster grinning out of the mirror at them. We had to care for some of them for weeks before they were even able to start home.”

“We!” growled Urgl, who was passing with another bucket. “I keep hearing ‘we’.

When did you ever take care of anybody?”

Engywook waved her away.

“Others,” he went on lecturing, “appear to have seen something even more horrible, but had the courage to go through. What some saw was not so frightening, but it still cost every one of them an inner struggle. Nothing I can say would apply to all. It’s a different experience each time.”

“Good,” said Atreyu. “Then at least it’s possible to go through this Magic Mirror Gate?”

“Oh yes, of course it’s possible, or it wouldn’t be a gate. Where’s your logic, my boy?”

“But it’s also possible to go around it,” said Atreyu. “Or isn’t it?”

“Yes indeed,” said Engywook. “Of course it is. But if you do that, there’s nothing more behind it. The third gate isn’t there until you’ve gone through the second. How often do I have to tell you that?”

“I understand. But what about this third gate?”

“That’s where things get really difficult! Because, you see, the No-Key Gate is closed. Simply closed. And that’s that! There’s no handle and no doorknob and no keyhole. Nothing. My theory is that this single, hermetically closed door is made of Fantastican selenium. You may know that there’s no way of destroying, bending or dissolving Fantastican selenium. It’s absolutely indestructible.”

“Then there’s no way of getting through?”

“Not so fast. Not so fast, my boy. Certain individuals have got through and spoken with Uyulala. So the door can be opened.”

“But

how?”

“Just listen. Fantastican selenium reacts to our will. It’s our will that makes it unyielding. But if someone succeeds in forgetting all purpose, in wanting nothing at all—to him the gate will open of its own accord.”

Atreyu looked down and said in an undertone: “If that’s the case—how can I possibly get through? How can I manage not to want to get through?”

Engywook sighed and nodded, nodded and sighed.

“Just what I’ve been saying. The No-Key Gate is the hardest.”

“But if I succeed after all,” Atreyu asked, “will I then be in the Southern Oracle?”

“Yes,” said the gnome.

“But who or what is Uyulala?”

“No idea,” said the gnome, and his eyes sparkled with fury. “None of those who have reached her has been willing to tell me. How can I be expected to complete my scientific work if everyone cloaks himself in mysterious silence? I could tear my hair out—if I had any left. If you reach her, Atreyu, will you tell me? Will you? One of these days my thirst for knowledge will be the death of me, and no one, no one is willing to help. I beg you, promise you’ll tell me.”

Atreyu stood up and looked at the Great Riddle Gate, which lay bathed in moonlight.

“I can’t promise that, Engywook,” he said softly, “though I’d be glad to show my gratitude. But if no one has told you who or what Uyulala is, there must be a reason. And before I know what that reason is, I can’t decide whether someone who hasn’t seen her with his own eyes has a right to know.”

“In that case, get away from me!” screamed the gnome, his eyes literally spewing sparks. “All I get is ingratitude! All my life I wear myself out trying to reveal a secret of universal interest. And no one helps me. I should never have bothered with you.”

With that he ran into the little cave, and a door could be heard slamming within.

Urgl passed Atreyu and said with a titter: “The old fool means no harm. But he’s always running into such disappointments with this ridiculous investigation of his. He wants to go down in history as the one who has solved the great riddle. The world-famous gnome Engywook. You mustn’t mind him.”

“Of course not,” said Atreyu. “Just tell him I thank him with all my heart for what he has done for me. And I thank you too. If it’s allowed, I will tell him the secret—if I come back.”

“Then you’re leaving us?” Urgl asked.