Михаэль Энде - The Neverending Story

Just as Bastian was arriving at the town of Yskal, Xayide and her black giants reached the spot where his metallic horse had collapsed under him. In that moment she suspected that she would never find him, and her suspicions became a certainty when she came to the earthen wall and saw Bastian’s footprints on it. If he had reached the City of the Old Emperors, he was lost to her plans, regardless of whether he stayed there or whether he managed to escape. In the first case, he would become powerless like everyone there, no longer able to wish for anything—and in the second, all wishes for power and greatness would die within him. For her, Xayide, the game was over in either case.

She commanded her armored giants to halt. Strangely, they did not obey but marched on. She flew into a rage, jumped out of her litter, and ran after them with outstretched arms. The armored giants, foot soldiers and riders alike, ignored her commands, turned about, and trampled her with their feet and hooves. At length, when Xayide had breathed her last, the whole column stopped like rundown clockwork.

When Hysbald, Hydorn, and Hykrion arrived with what was left of the army, they saw what had happened. They were puzzled, because they knew it was Xayide’s will alone that had moved the hollow giants. So, they thought, it must have been her will that they should trample her to death. But knotty problems were not the knights’ forte, so in the end they shrugged their shoulders and let well enough alone. But what were they to do next? They talked it over and, deciding that the campaign was at an end, discharged the army and advised everyone to go home. They themselves, however, felt bound by the oath of fealty they had sworn to Bastian and resolved to search all Fantastica for him. That was all well and good, but which way were they to go? They couldn’t agree, so deciding that each would search separately, they parted and hobbled off each in a different direction. All three had countless adventures, and Fantastica knows numerous accounts of their futile quest. But these are other stories and shall be told another time.

For years the hollow, black-metal giants stood motionless on the heath not far from the City of the Old Emperors. Rain and snow fell on them, they rusted and little by little sank into the ground, some vertically, some at a slant. But to this day a few of them can be seen. The place is thought to be cursed, and travelers make a wide circle around it. But let’s get back to Bastian.

While following the winding path through the rose garden, he saw something that amazed him, because in all his wanderings in Fantastica he had never seen anything like it. It was a pointing hand, carved from wood. Beside it was written: “To the House of Change.”

Without haste Bastian took the direction indicated. He breathed the fragrance of the innumerable roses and felt more and more cheerful, as though looking forward to a pleasant surprise.

At length he came to a straight avenue, bordered by round trees laden with red-cheeked apples. At the end of the avenue a house appeared. As he approached it, Bastian decided it was the funniest house he had ever seen. Under a tall, pointed roof that looked rather like a stocking cap, the house itself suggested a giant pumpkin. The walls were covered with large protuberances, one might almost have said bellies, that gave the house a comfortably inviting look. There were a few windows and a front door, but they seemed crooked, as though a clumsy child had cut them out.

On his way to the house, Bastian saw that it was slowly but steadily changing. A small bump appeared on the right side and gradually took the shape of a dormer window. At the same time a window on the left side closed and little by little disappeared. A chimney grew out of the roof and a small balcony with a balustrade appeared over the front door.

Bastian stopped still and watched the changes with surprise and amusement. Now he understood why the place was called the House of Change.

As he stood there, he heard a warm, pleasant voice—a woman’s—singing inside. “A hundred summers to a day We have waited here for you. Seeing that you’ve found the way, It must certainly be you. Your hunger and your thirst to still, All is here in readiness. You shall eat and drink your fill, Sheltered in our tenderness. Regardless whether good or bad, You’ve suffered much and traveled far. Take comfort for the trials you’ve had. We’ll have you just the way you are.”

Ah! thought Bastian. What a lovely voice! If only that song were meant for me!

The voice began again to sing: “Great lord, I pray, be small again, Be a child and come right in. Don’t keep standing at the door, You are welcome here, and more. Everything for many a year Has been ready for you here.”

Bastian felt irresistibly drawn by that voice. He felt sure the singer must be a very friendly person. He knocked at the door and the voice called out:

“Come in, come in, dear boy!”

He opened the door and saw a small but comfortable room. The sun was streaming in through the windows. In the middle of the room there was a round table covered with bowls and baskets full of all sorts of fruits unknown to Bastian. At the table sat a woman as round and red-cheeked and healthy-looking as an apple.

Bastian was almost overpowered by a desire to run to her with outstretched arms and cry: “Mama, Mama!” But he controlled himself. His mama was dead and was certainly not here in Fantastica. This woman, it was true, had the same sweet smile and the same trustworthy look, but between her and his mother there was little resemblance. His mother had been small and this woman was large and imposing. She was wearing a broad hat covered with fruits and flowers, and her dress was of some sort of bright, flowered material. It was some time before Bastian realized that it consisted of leaves, flowers, and fruits.

As he stood looking at her, he was overcome by a feeling that he had not known for a long time. He could not remember when and where; he knew only that he had sometimes felt that way when he was little.

“Sit down, dear boy,” said the woman, motioning him to a chair. “You must be hungry. Do have a bite to eat.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Bastian. “You’re expecting a guest. I’ve only come here by accident.”

“Really?” said the woman with a smile. “Oh well, it doesn’t matter. You can have a bite to eat all the same. Meanwhile I’ll tell you a little story. Go on, don’t stand on ceremony.”

Bastian took off his black mantle, laid it on a chair, and hesitantly reached for a fruit. Before biting into it, he asked: “What about you? Aren’t you eating? Or don’t you care for fruit?”

The woman laughed heartily, Bastian didn’t know why.

“Very well,” she said after composing herself. “If you insist, I’ll have something to keep you company, but in my own way. Don’t be frightened.”

With that she picked up a watering can that was on the floor beside her, held it over her head, and sprinkled herself.

“Oh!” she said. “That is refreshing!”

Now it was Bastian’s turn to laugh. Then he bit into the fruit and instantly realized that he had never eaten anything so good. He took a second fruit and that was even better.

“You like it?” asked the woman, watching him closely. Bastian couldn’t answer because his mouth was full. He chewed and nodded.

“I’m glad,” the woman said. “I’ve taken a lot of pains with that fruit. Eat as much as you please.”

Bastian took a third fruit, and that was a sheer delight. He sighed with well-being.

“And now I’ll tell you the story,” said the woman. “But don’t let it stop you from eating.”

Bastian found it hard to listen, for each new fruit gave him a more rapturous sensation than the last.