Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

They had not followed Hero Hynreck’s track but had taken a different direction, since their supposed aim was to find Bastian’s way home.

And now Bastian was asking himself: Had it really been such a good idea to invent a dragon for Hero Hynreck? True, Hynreck had needed a chance to show his mettle. But was it certain that he would win? What if Smerg killed him? And what about Princess Oglamar? Yes, of course, she had been haughty, but was that a reason for getting her into such a fix? And on top of all that, how was he to know what further damage Smerg might do in Fantastica? Without stopping to think, Bastian had created an unpredictable menace. It would be there long after he was gone and quite possibly kill or maim any number of innocents. As he knew, Moon Child drew no distinction between good and evil, beautiful and ugly. To her mind, all the creatures in Fantastica were equally important and worthy of consideration. But had he, Bastian, the right to take the same attitude? And above all, did he wish to?

No, Bastian said to himself, he had ho wish to go down in the history of Fantastica as a creator of monsters and horrors. How much finer it would be to become famous for his unselfish goodness, to be a shining model for all, to be revered as the “good human” or the “great benefactor.” Yes, that was what he wanted.

The country became mountainous, and Atreyu, returning from a reconnaissance flight, reported that a few miles ahead he had sighted a glen which seemed to offer shelter from the wind. In fact, if his eyes had not deceived him, there were several caves round about where they could take refuge from the rain and snow.

It was already late afternoon, high time to find suitable quarters for the night. So all the others were delighted at Atreyu’s news and spurred their mounts on. They were making their way through a valley, possibly a dried-out riverbed, enclosed in mountains which grew higher as the travelers advanced. Some two hours later they reached the glen, and true enough, there were several caves in the surrounding cliffs. They chose the largest and made themselves as comfortable as they could. The three knights gathered brushwood and branches that had been blown down by the storm, and soon they had a splendid fire going in the cave. The wet cloaks were spread out to dry, the beasts were brought in and unsaddled, and even Falkor, who ordinarily preferred to spend the night in the open, curled up at the back of the cave. All in all, it wasn’t such a bad place to be in.

While Hydorn the Enduring tried to roast a big chunk of meat over the fire and the others watched him eagerly, Atreyu turned to Bastian and said: “Tell us some more about Kris Ta.”

“About what?” Bastian asked.

“You friend Kris Ta, the little girl you told your stories to.”

“I don’t know any little girl by that name,” said Bastian. “And what makes you think I told her stories?”

Once again Atreyu had that thoughtful look.

“Back in your world,” he said slowly, “you used to tell lots of stories, some to her and some to yourself.”

“How do you know that, Atreyu?”

“You said so yourself. In Amarganth. And you also said that people made fun of you for it.”

Bastian stared into the fire.

“That’s true,” he muttered. “I did say that. But I don’t know why. I can’t remember.”

It all seemed very strange.

Atreyu exchanged glances with Falkor and nodded gravely as though something one of them had said had now been proved true. But he said nothing more. Evidently he didn’t wish to discuss such matters in front of the three knights.

“The meat’s done,” Hydorn announced.

He cut off a chunk for each one and they all began to eat. “Done” was a gross exaggeration. The meat was charred on the outside and raw on the inside, but under the circumstances there was no point in being picky and choosy.

For a while they were all busy chewing. Then Atreyu said to Bastian: “Tell us how you came to Fantastica.”

“You know all about that,” said Bastian. “It was you who brought me to the Childlike Empress.”

“I mean before that,” said Atreyu. “In your world. Where did you live and how did it all happen?”

Then Bastian told how he had stolen the book from Mr. Coreander, how he had carried it off to the schoolhouse attic and begun to read. When he came to Atreyu’s Great Quest, Atreyu motioned him to stop. He didn’t seem interested in what the book said about him. What interested him in the extreme was the how and why of Bastian’s visit to Mr. Coreander and of his flight to the attic of the schoolhouse.

Bastian racked his brains, but about those things he could remember nothing more. He had forgotten everything connected with the fact that he had once been fat and weak and cowardly. His memory had been broken into bits, and the bits seemed as vague and far away as if they had concerned an entirely different person.

Atreyu asked for other memories, and Bastian spoke about the days when his mother was still alive, about his father and his home, about school and the town he lived in—as much as he remembered.

The three knights had fallen asleep, and Bastian was still talking. It surprised him that Atreyu should take such an interest in the most everyday happenings. Maybe it was because of the way Atreyu listened that these everyday things took on a new interest for Bastian, as though they contained a secret magic that he had never noticed before.

At last he ran out of memories. It was late in the night, the fire had died down. The three knights were snoring softly. Atreyu sat there with his inscrutable look, as though deep in thought.

Bastian stretched out, wrapped himself in his silver mantle, and had almost fallen asleep when Atreyu said softly: “It’s because of AURYN.”

Bastian propped his head on his hand and looked sleepily at his friend.

“What do you mean by that?”

“The Gem,” said Atreyu, as though talking to himself, “doesn’t work the same with humans as with us.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The amulet gives you great power, it makes all your wishes come true, but at the same time it takes something away: your memory of your world.”

Bastian thought it over. He didn’t feel as if anything had been taken away from him.

“Grograman told me to find out what I really wanted. And the inscription on AURYN says the same thing. But for that I have to go from one wish to the next without ever skipping any. That’s why I need the Gem.”

“Yes,” said Atreyu. “It gives you the means, but it takes away your purpose.”

“Oh well,” said Bastian, undismayed. “Moon Child must have known what she was doing when she gave me the amulet. You worry too much, Atreyu. I’m sure AURYN isn’t a trap.”

“No,” said Atreyu. “I don’t think so either.”

And after a while he added: “Anyway, it’s good we’re looking for the way back to your world. We are, aren’t we?”

“Oh yes,” said Bastian, already half asleep.

In the middle of the night he was awakened by a strange sound. He had no idea what it was. The fire had gone out and he was lying in total darkness. Then he felt Atreyu’s hand on his shoulder and heard him whisper: “What’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Bastian whispered back.

They crept to the mouth of the cave and listened.

A great many creatures seemed to be trying to fight back their sobs. There was nothing human about it, and it didn’t sound like animals in pain. Starting as a whisper, it swelled to a sigh, then ebbed and rose, ebbed and rose. Never had Bastian heard anything so mournful.

“If at least we could see something,” Atreyu whispered.

“Wait,” said Bastian. “I’ve got Al Tsahir.”