The Neverending Story (47 page)

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.

“A long, long time ago,” the flowery woman began, “our Childlike Empress was deathly ill, for she needed a new name, and only a human could give her one. But humans had stopped coming to Fantastica, no one knew why. And if she had died, that would have been the end of Fantastica. Then one day—or rather one night—a human came after all. It was a little boy, and he gave the Childlike Empress the name of Moon Child. She recovered, and in token of her gratitude she promised the boy that all his wishes in her empire would come true—until he found out what he really and truly wanted. Then the little boy made a long journey from one wish to the next, and each one came true. And each fulfillment led to a new wish. There were not only good wishes but bad ones as well, but the Childlike Empress drew no distinction; in her eyes all things in her empire are equally good and important. In the end the Ivory Tower was destroyed, and she did nothing to prevent it. But with every wish fulfillment the little boy lost a part of his memory of the world he had come from. He didn’t really mind, for he had given up wanting to go back. So he kept on wishing, but by then he had spent all his memories, and without memories it’s not possible to wish. So he had almost ceased to be a human and had almost become a Fantastican. He still didn’t know what he really and truly wanted. It seemed possible that his very last memories would be used up before he found out. And if that happened, he would never be able to return to his own world. Then at last he came to the House of Change, and there he would stay until he found out what he really and truly wanted. You see, it’s called the House of Change not only because it changes itself but also because it changes anyone who lives in it. And that was very important to the little boy, because up until then he had always wanted to be someone other than he was, but he didn’t want to change.”

At this point she broke off, because her visitor had stopped chewing and was staring openmouthed.

“If that one doesn’t taste good,” she said with concern, “just put it down and take another.”

“W-what?” Bastian stammered. “Oh no, it’s delicious.”

“Then everything’s fine,” said the woman. “But I forgot to tell you the name of the little boy, who had been expected so long at the House of Change. Many in Fantastica called him simply ‘the Savior,’ others ‘the Knight of the Seven-armed Candelabrum,’ or ‘the Great Knower,’ or ‘Lord and Master.’ But his real name was Bastian Balthazar Bux.”

The woman turned to Bastian with a smile. He swallowed once or twice and said very softly: “That’s my name.”

“Well then!” said the woman, who didn’t seem the least surprised.

Suddenly the buds on her hat and dress burst into bloom.

“But,” said Bastian hesitantly. “I haven’t been in Fantastica a hundred years.”

“Oh, we’ve been waiting for you much longer than that,” said the woman. “My grandmother and my grandmother’s grandmother waited for you. You see, now someone is telling
you
a story that is new, even though it’s about the remotest past.”

Bastian remembered Grograman’s words. That had been at the beginning of his journey. And now suddenly it seemed to him that a hundred years had indeed elapsed since then.

“But by the way, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Dame Eyola.”

Bastian repeated the name, several times before he was able to pronounce it properly. Then he took another fruit. He bit into it, and as usual thought the one he was eating was the most delicious of all. But then he noticed with some alarm that there was only one left.

“Do you want more?” asked Dame Eyola, who had caught his glance. When Bastian nodded, she plucked fruit from her hat and dress until the bowl was full again.

“Does the fruit grow on your hat?” Bastian asked in amazement.

“Hat? What are you talking about?” cried Dame Eyola. But then she understood and broke into a loud, hearty laugh. “So you think it’s a hat I’ve got on my head? Not at all, dear boy. It all grows out of me. Just as your hair grows out of you. That should show you how glad I am that you’ve finally come. That’s why I’m flowering and bearing fruit. If I were sad, I’d wither. But come now, don’t forget to eat.”

Bastian was embarrassed. “I don’t know,” he said. “Is it all right to eat something that comes out of somebody?”

“Why not?” asked Dame Eyola. “Babies drink milk that comes out of their mothers. There’s nothing better.”

“That’s true,” said Bastian with a slight blush. “But only when they’re very little.”

“In that case,” said Dame Eyola, beaming, “you’ll just have to get to be very little again, my dear boy.”

Bastian took another fruit and bit into it. Dame Eyola was delighted and bloomed more than ever.

After a short silence she said: “I think it would like us to move into the next room. I believe it may have arranged something for you.”

“Who?” Bastian asked, looking around.

“The House of Change,” said Dame Eyola, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.

And indeed a strange thing had happened. The living room had changed without Bastian noticing that anything was going on. The ceiling had moved upward, while three of the walls had come close to the table. There was still room on the fourth side, where there was a door, which now stood open.

Dame Eyola rose, and then he saw how big she was.

“We’d better go,” she suggested. “It’s very stubborn. Opposition is useless if it has thought up a surprise. We may as well let it have its way. It usually means well.”

Bastian followed her through the door, but took the fruit bowl with him as a precaution.

He found himself in a large dining room that looked somehow familiar. Only the furniture seemed strange—the table and especially the chairs were so large that he couldn’t possibly have sat in them.

“Fancy that!” said Dame Eyola with a chuckle. “The House of Change is always thinking up something new. Now for your benefit it has provided a room as it must look to a small child.”

“You mean,” said Bastian, “that this room wasn’t here before?”

“Of course not. The House of Change is very wide-awake, you see. This is its way of taking part in our conversation. I think it’s trying to tell you something.”

Then she sat down in one of the chairs at the table, while Bastian tried in vain to climb up on the other. Dame Eyola had to pick him up and put him on it, but even then his nose was barely level with the tabletop. He was glad he had taken the bowl of fruit, and kept it on his lap. If it had been on the table, it would have been beyond his reach.

“Do you often have to change rooms this way?” he asked.

“Not often,” said Dame Eyola. “Never more than three or four times a day. Sometimes the House of Change
will
have its little jokes, and then the rooms are suddenly reversed, the floor on top and the ceiling at the bottom, that sort of thing. But it’s only being bumptious and it stops when I give it a piece of my mind. All in all, it’s a well-behaved house and I feel very comfortable in it. We have good laughs together.”

“But isn’t it dangerous?” Bastian asked. “For instance, if you’re asleep at night and

the room gets smaller and smaller?”

“What nonsense, dear boy!” cried Dame Eyola, pretending to be angry. “It’s very fond of me, and it’s fond of you too. It’s glad to have you here.”

“What if it takes a dislike to somebody?”

“No idea,” she replied. “What questions you ask! There’s never been anyone here but you and me.”

“Oh!” said Bastion. “Then I’m your first guest?”

“Of course!”

Bastian looked around the enormous room.

“This room doesn’t seem to go with the house. It didn’t look so big from outside.”

“The House of Change,” said Dame Eyola, “is bigger inside than out.”

Meanwhile night was falling, and it was growing darker and darker in the room. Bastian leaned back in his big chair and propped his head on his hands. He felt deliriously sleepy.

“Why,” he asked, “did you wait so long for me, Dame Eyola?”

“I always wanted a child,” she said, “a child I could spoil, who needed my tenderness, a child I could care for—someone like you, my darling boy.”

Bastian yawned. He felt irresistibly lulled by her sweet voice.

“But,” he objected, “you said your mother and grandmother waited for me.”