Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

“I’ve noticed it too, my lord,” said Ilwan in his rasping voice. He was standing at his post by the entrance to the tent. “What can it be?”

He had no sooner spoken than Bastian heard a strange cry in the distance. It suggested the long-drawn-out hooting of an owl, but it was deeper and louder. It sounded a second and then a third time, but now there were several voices.

Owls they were indeed, six in number, as Bastian was soon to find out. Coming from the direction of the cupola, they glided at an incredible speed on almost motionless wings. Soon they were close enough for Bastian to see how amazingly large they were. Their eyes glittered, and their erect ears were capped with bundles of down. The flight was soundless, but as they landed, a faint whirring of their wings could be heard.

Then they were sitting on the ground in front of Bastian’s tent, swiveling their heads with their great round eyes in all directions. Bastian went up to them.

“Who are you?” he asked, “and who are you looking for?”

“We were sent by Ushtu, the Mother of Intuition,” said one of the six owls. “We are messengers from Ghigam, the Star Cloister.”

“What sort of cloister is that?” Bastian asked.

“It is the home of wisdom,” said another of the owls, “where the Monks of Knowledge live.”

“And who is Ushtu?” Bastian asked.

“One of the Three Deep Thinkers who direct the cloister and instruct the monks,” said a third owl. “We are the night messengers, which puts us in her department.”

“If it were daytime,” said the fourth owl, “Shirkry, the Father of Vision, would have sent his messengers, who are eagles. And in the twilight hours between day and night, Yisipu, the Son of Reason, sends his messengers, who are foxes.”

“Who are Shirkry and Yisipu?”

“They are the other Deep Thinkers, our Superiors.”

“And what are you doing here?”

“We are looking for the Great Knower,” said the sixth owl. “The Three Deep Thinkers know he is in this tent city and have sent us to beg him for illumination.”

“The Great Knower?” asked Bastian. “Who’s that?”

“His name,” replied all six owls at once, “is Bastian Balthazar Bux.”

“You’ve found him,” said Bastian. “It’s me.”

They bowed low, which because of their jerky movements looked almost comical in spite of their great size.

“The Three Deep Thinkers,” said the first owl, “beg you humbly and respectfully to visit them. They hope you will solve a problem they have been trying in vain to solve all their long lives.”

Bastian stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“Very well,” he answered after a while. “But I must take my two disciples with me.”

“There are six of us,” said the owl. “Two of us will carry each one of you.”

Bastian turned to the blue djinn.

“Ilwan,” he said. “Bring me Atreyu and Xayide.”

The djinn bowed and went his way.

“What is this problem they want me to solve?” Bastian asked.

“O Great Knower,” said one of the owls, “we are only poor ignorant messengers. We don’t even belong to the lowest rank of the Monks of Knowledge. How could we possibly have cognizance of the problem which the Deep Thinkers in all their long lives have been unable to solve?”

A few minutes later Ilwan came back with Atreyu and Xayide. On the way he had told them what it was all about.

As he stood before Bastian, Atreyu asked in an undertone: “Why me?”

“Indeed,” said Xayide. “Why him?”

“You will find out,” said Bastian.

With admirable foresight, the owls had brought trapezes, one for every two owls. Bastian, Atreyu, and Xayide sat on the bars, and the great night birds, each holding a trapeze rope in its claws, rose into the air.

When the travelers reached the Star Cloister of Ghigam, they round that the great cupola was only the uppermost part of a large building composed of many cubical compartments. It had innumerable little windows and its outer wall might have been taken for the continuation of a sheer cliff. An unbidden visitor could hardly have gained admittance to the place.

The cubical compartments contained the cells of the Monks of Knowledge, the libraries, the refectories, and the lodgings of the messengers. The meeting hall, where the Three Deep Thinkers delivered their lectures, was situated under the cupola.

The Monks of Knowledge were Fantasticans of all kinds, from every part of the realm. But anyone wishing to enter the cloister had to break off all contact with family and country. The lives of these monks were hard and frugal, devoted exclusively to knowledge. The community was far from accepting all applicants. The examinations were difficult and the Three Deep Thinkers set the highest standards. Thus there were seldom more than three hundred monks in the cloister at one time, but these were by far the most intelligent persons in all Fantastica. Occasionally the community dwindled to seven members, but even then there was no thought of relaxing the entrance requirements. At the moment the monks and monkesses numbered roughly two hundred.

When Bastian, followed by Atreyu and Xayide, was led into the large lecture hall, he saw a motley assortment of Fantasticans, who differed from his own retinue only in that they all were dressed in rough dark-brown monk’s robes. A wandering cliff or a tiny must have looked very strange in such an outfit.

The Superiors of the order, the Three Deep Thinkers, were built like humans except for their heads. Ushtu, the Mother of Intuition, had the head of an owl; Shirkry, the Father of Vision, the head of an eagle; and Yisipu, the Son of Reason, the head of a fox. They sat in raised stone chairs and looked enormous. The sight of them seemed to intimidate Atreyu and even Xayide. But Bastian stepped right up to them.

With a motion of his head, Shirkry, who was evidently the oldest of the three and was sitting in the middle, indicated an empty chair facing the Deep Thinkers. Bastian sat down in it.

After a prolonged silence, Shirkry spoke. He spoke softly, but his voice sounded surprisingly deep and full.

“Since time immemorial we have been pondering the enigma of our world. Yisipu’s reasonings in the matter are different from Ushtu’s intuitions, and Ushtu’s intuitions differ from my vision, which in turn is different from Yisipu’s reasonings. This is intolerable and must not be allowed to go on. That is why we have asked the Great Knower to come here and instruct us. Are you willing?”

“I am,” said Bastian.

“Then, O Great Knower, hear our question: What is Fantastica?”

After a short silence Bastian replied: “Fantastica is the Neverending Story.”

“Give us time to understand your answer,” said Shirkry. “Let us meet again here tomorrow at the same hour.”

Silently the Three Deep Thinkers and the Monks of Knowledge arose, and all left the hall.

Bastian, Atreyu, and Xayide were led to guest cells, where a simple meal awaited them. Their beds were wooden planks covered with rough woolen blankets. Though this didn’t matter to Bastian and Atreyu, Xayide would have liked to conjure up a more comfortable bed. But she soon found to her dismay that her magic powers were without effect in this cloister.

Late the following night the monks and the Three Deep Thinkers met again in the great meeting hall. Once again Bastian occupied the high seat. Xayide and Atreyu sat to the left and right of him.

This time it was Ushtu, the Mother of Intuition, who scrutinized Bastian with her great owl’s eyes and said: “We have meditated on your answer, O Great Knower. But a new question has occurred to us. If, as you say, Fantastica is the Neverending Story, where is the Neverending Story to be found?”