The Neverending Story (52 page)
Read The Neverending Story Online
Authors: Michael Ende
“No,” said Bastian. “It’s my responsibility. I want to do it myself. And I think I should do it right away.”
He stood up and put on his coat. His father said nothing, but the look on his face was one of surprise and respect. Such behavior in Bastian was something new.
“I believe,” he said finally, “that I too will need a little time to get used to things.”
Bastian was already in the entrance hall. “I’ll be right back,” he called. “I’m sure it won’t take long. Not this time.”
When he came to Mr. Coreander’s bookshop, his courage failed him after all. He looked through the pane with the ornate lettering on it. Mr. Coreander was busy with a customer, and Bastian decided to wait. He walked up and down outside the shop. It was snowing again.
At last the customer left.
“Now!” Bastian commanded himself.
Remembering how he had gone to meet Grograman in Goab, the Desert of Colors, he pressed the door handle resolutely.
Behind the wall of books at the far end of the dimly lit room he heard a cough. He went forward, then, slightly pale but with grave composure, he stepped up to Mr. Coreander, who was sitting in his worn leather armchair as he had been at their last meeting.
For a long time Bastian said nothing. He had expected Mr. Coreander to go red in the face and scream at him: “Thief! Monster!” or something of the kind.
Instead, the old man deliberately lit his curved pipe, screwed up his eyes, and studied the boy through his ridiculous little spectacles. When the pipe was finally burning, he puffed awhile, then grumbled: “What is it this time?”
“I . . .” Bastian began haltingly. “I stole a book from you. I meant to return it, but I can’t, because I lost it, or rather—well, I haven’t got it anymore.”
Mr. Coreander stopped puffing and took his pipe out of his mouth.
“What sort of book?” he asked.
“The one you were reading the last time I was here. I walked off with it. You were telephoning in the back room, it was lying on the chair, and I just walked off with it.”
“I see,” said Mr. Coreander, clearing his throat. “But none of my books is missing. What was the title of this book?”
“It’s called the Neverending Story,” said Bastian. “It’s bound in copper-colored silk that shimmers when you move it around. There are two snakes on the cover, a light one and a dark one, and they’re biting each other’s tails. Inside it’s printed in two different colors—and there are big beautiful capitals at the beginning of the chapters.”
“This is extremely odd,” said Mr. Coreander. “I’ve never had such a book. You can’t have stolen it from me. Maybe you swiped it somewhere else.”
“Oh no!” Bastian assured him. “You must remember. It’s—” He hesitated, but then he blurted it out. “It’s a magic book. While I was reading it, I got into the Neverending Story, and when I came out again, the book was gone.”
Mr. Coreander watched Bastian over his spectacles.
“Would you be pulling my leg, by any chance?”
“No,” said Bastian in dismay. “Of course not. I’m telling you the truth. You must know that.”
Mr. Coreander thought for a while, then shook his head.
“Better tell me all about it. Sit down, boy. Make yourself at home.”
He pointed his pipe stem at a second armchair, facing his own, and Bastian sat down.
“And now,” said Mr. Coreander, “tell me the whole story. But slowly, if you please, and one thing at a time.”
And Bastian told his story.
He told it a little more briefly than he had to his father, but since Mr. Coreander listened with keen interest and kept asking for details, it was more than two hours before Bastian had done.
Heaven knows why, but in all that long time they were not disturbed by a single customer.
When Bastian had finished, Mr. Coreander puffed for a long while, as though deep in thought. At length he cleared his throat, straightened his little spectacles, looked Bastian over, and said: “One thing is sure: You didn’t steal this book from me, because it belongs neither to me nor to you nor to anyone else. If I’m not mistaken, the book itself comes from Fantastica. Maybe at this very moment—who knows?—someone else is reading it.”
“Then you believe me?” Bastian asked.
“Of course I believe you,” said Mr. Coreander. “Any sensible person would.”
“Frankly,” said Bastian, “I didn’t expect you to.”
“There are people who can never go to Fantastica,” said Mr. Coreander, “and others who can, but who stay there forever. And there are just a few who go to Fantastica and come back. Like you. And they make both worlds well again.”
“Oh,” said Bastian, blushing slightly. “I don’t deserve any credit. I almost didn’t make it back. If it hadn’t been for Atreyu I’d have been stuck in the City of Old Emperors for good.”
Mr. Coreander nodded and puffed at his pipe.
“Hmm,” he grumbled. “You’re lucky having a friend in Fantastica. God knows, it’s not everybody who can say that.”
“Mr. Coreander,” Bastian asked, “how do you know all that? I mean—have you ever been in Fantastica?”
“Of course I have,” said Mr. Coreander.
“But then,” said Bastian, “you must know Moon Child.”
“Yes, I know the Childlike Empress,” said Mr. Coreander, “though not by that name. I called her something different. But that doesn’t matter.”
“Then you must know the book!” Bastian cried. “Then you have read the Neverending Story!”
Mr. Coreander shook his head.
“Every real story is a Neverending Story.” He passed his eye over the many books that covered the walls of his shop from floor to ceiling, pointed the stem of his pipe at them, and went on:
“There are many doors to Fantastica, my boy. There are other such magic books. A lot of people read them without noticing. It all depends on who gets his hands on such books.”
“Then the Neverending Story is different for different people? “
“That’s right,” said Mr. Coreander. “And besides, it’s not just books. There are other ways of getting to Fantastica and back. You’ll find out.”
“Do you think so?” Bastian asked hopefully. “But then I’d have to meet Moon Child again, and no one can meet her more than once.”
Mr. Coreander leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“Let an old Fantastica hand tell you something, my boy. This is a secret that no one in Fantastica can know. When you think it over, you’ll see why. You can’t visit Moon Child a second time, that’s true. But if you can give her a new name, you’ll see her again. And however often you manage to do that, it will be the first and only time.”
For a moment Mr. Coreander’s bulldog-face took on a soft glow, which made it look young and almost handsome.
“Thank you, Mr. Coreander,” said Bastian.
“I have to thank you, my boy,” said Mr. Coreander. “I’d appreciate it if you dropped in to see me now and then. We could exchange experiences. There aren’t many people one can discuss these things with.”
He held out his hand to Bastian. “Will you?”
“Gladly,” said Bastian, taking the proffered hand. “I have to go now. My father’s waiting. But I’ll come and see you soon.”
Mr. Coreander took him to the door. Through the reversed writing on the glass pane, Bastian saw that his father was waiting for him across the street. His face was one great beam.
Bastian opened the door so vigorously that the little glass bells tinkled wildly, and ran across to his father.
Mr. Coreander closed the door gently and looked after father and son.
“Bastian Balthazar Bux,” he grumbled. “If I’m not mistaken, you will show many others the way to Fantastica, and they will bring us the Water of Life.”
Mr. Coreander was not mistaken.
But that’s another story and shall be told another time.
Michael Ende
worked as an actor, director, playwright, and film critic as well as a children's book author. He published many acclaimed children's books in his native Germany.
The Neverending Story
topped the best-seller lists there for three years and went on to be translated into more than thirty languages and made into a major motion picture.
Mr. Ende died in 1995.
RALPH MANHEIM
translated many notable works from the German, including
The Threepenny Opera
, by Bertolt Brecht. His translation of
Tales for Young and Old
by Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm, is considered by many to be the premier English edition of the Brothers Grimm.
Mr. Manheim died in 1992.
Dutton Children's Books
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NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10014
Printed in U.S.A.
CONTENTS
X: The Flight to thr Ivory Tower
XII: The Old Man of Wandering Mountain
XIII: Perilin, the Night Forest
XV: Grograman, the Many-Colored Death
XVI: The Silver City of Amarganth
XVII: A Dragon for Hero Hynreck
XXII: The Battle for the Ivory Tower
XXIII: The City of the Old Emperors
