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.
“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.”
Dame Eyola’s face was now in the darkness.
“Yes,” he heard her say. “My mother and my grandmother also wanted a child. They never had one but I have one now.”
Bastian’s eyes closed. He barely managed to ask: “How can that be? Your mother had you when you were little. And your grandmother had your mother.”
“No, my darling boy,” said the voice hardly above a whisper. “With us it’s different. We don’t die and we’re not born. We’re always the same Dame Eyola, and then again we’re not. When my mother grew old, she withered. All her leaves fell, as the leaves fall from a tree in the winter. She withdrew into herself. And so she remained for a long time. But then one day she put forth young leaves, buds, blossoms, and finally fruit. And that’s how I came into being, for I was the new Dame Eyola. And it was just the same with my grandmother when she brought my mother into the world. We Dames Eyola can only have a child if we wither first. And then we’re our own child and we can’t be a mother anymore. That’s why I’m so glad you’re here, my darling boy . . .”
Bastian spoke no more. He had slipped into a sweet half-sleep in which he heard her words as a kind of chant. He heard her stand up and cross the room and bend over him. She stroked his hair and kissed him on the forehead. Then he felt her pick him up and carry him out in her arms. He buried his head in her bosom like a baby. Deeper and deeper he sank into the warm sleepy darkness. He felt that he was being undressed and put into a soft, sweet-smelling bed. And then he heard her lovely voice singing far in the distance:
“Sleep, my darling, good night.
Your sufferings are past.
Great lord, be a little child at last.
Sleep, my darling, sleep tight.”
When he woke up the next morning, he felt better and happier than ever before.
He looked around and saw that he was in a cozy little room—lying in a crib. Actually, it was a very large crib, or rather it was as large as a crib must look to a baby. For a moment this struck him as ridiculous, because he certainly wasn’t a baby anymore, and he was still in possession of all the powers and gifts that Fantastica had given him. The Childlike Empress’s amulet was still hanging from his neck. But in the very next moment he stopped caring whether it was ridiculous or not. No one but him and Dame Eyola would ever find out, and they both knew that everything was just as it should be.
He got up, washed, dressed, and left the room, A flight of wooden steps took him to the big dining room, which had turned into a kitchen overnight. Dame Eyola had breakfast all ready for him. She too was in high spirits, her flowers were in full bloom. She sang and laughed and even danced around the kitchen table with him. After breakfast she sent him outside to get some fresh air.
In the great rose garden around the House of Change it was summer, a summer that seemed eternal. Bastian sauntered about, watched the bees feasting on the flowers, listened to the birds that were singing in every rosebush; played with the lizards, which were so tame that they crawled up on his hand, and with the hares, which let him stroke them. From time to time he crept under a bush, smelled the sweet scent of the roses, blinked up at the sun, and thinking of nothing in particular, let the time glide by like a brook.
Days became weeks. He paid no attention. Dame Eyola was merry, and Bastian surrendered himself to her motherly care and tenderness. It seemed to him that without knowing it he had long hungered for something which was now being given him in abundance. And he just couldn’t get enough of it.
He spent whole days rummaging through the House of Change from attic to cellar. He never got bored, because the rooms were always changing and there was always something new to discover. Clearly the house was at pains to entertain its guest. It produced playrooms, railway trains, puppet theaters, jungle gyms. There was even a big merry-go-round.
Or else he would explore the surrounding country. But he never went too far from the House of Change, for suddenly he would be overcome by a craving for Dame Eyola’s fruit, and when that happened, he could hardly wait to get back to her and eat his fill.
In the evening they had long talks. He told her about all his adventures in Fantastica, about Perilin and Grograman, about Xayide and Atreyu, whom he had wounded so cruelly and perhaps even killed.
“I did everything wrong,” he said. “I misunderstood everything. Moon Child gave me so much, and all I did with it was harm, harm to myself and harm to Fantastica.”
Dame Eyola gave him a long look.
“No,” she said. “I don’t believe so. You went the way of wishes, and that is never straight. You went the long way around, but that was your way. And do you know why? Because you are one of those who can’t go back until they have found the fountain from which springs the Water of Life. And that’s the most secret place in Fantastica. There’s no simple way of getting there.”
After a short silence she added: “But every way that leads there is the right one.”
Suddenly Bastian began to cry. He didn’t know why. He felt as if a knot in his heart had come open and dissolved into tears. He sobbed and he sobbed and couldn’t stop. Dame Eyola took him on her lap and stroked him. He buried his face in the flowers on her bosom and wept until he was too tired to weep anymore.
That evening they talked no more.
But next day Bastian brought up the subject again.
“Do you know where I can find the Water of Life?”
“On the borders of Fantastica.”
“I thought Fantastica had no borders.”
“It has, though. Only they’re not outside but inside. In the place where the Childlike Empress gets all her power from, but where she herself cannot go.”
“How am I to find the way there?” asked Bastian. “Isn’t it too late?”
“There’s only one wish that can take you there: your last.”
Bastian was terrified. “Dame Eyola—all the wishes that have come true thanks to AURYN have made me forget something. Will it be the same with this one?”
She nodded slowly.
“But if I don’t notice it!”
“Did you notice it other times? Once you’ve forgotten something you don’t know you ever had it.”
“What am I forgetting now?”
“I’ll tell you at the proper time. If I told you now, you’d hold on to it.”
“Must I lose everything?”
“Nothing is lost,” she said. “Everything is transformed.”
“But then,” said Bastian in alarm, “I ought to hurry. I shouldn’t be staying here.”
She stroked his hair.
“Don’t worry. It will take time, but when your last wish is awakened, you’ll know it—and so will I.”
From that day on something began indeed to change, though Bastian himself noticed nothing at first. The transforming power of the House of Change was taking effect. But like all true transformations, it was as slow and gentle as the growth of a plant.
The days in the House of Change passed, and it was still summer. Bastian still enjoyed letting Dame Eyola spoil him like a child. Her fruit still tasted as delicious to him as at the start, but little by little his craving had been stilled. He ate less than before. Dame Eyola noticed, though she never mentioned it. He also felt that he had had his fill of her care and tenderness. And as his need for them dwindled, a longing of a very different kind made itself felt, a desire that he had never felt before and that was different in every way from all his previous wishes: the longing to be capable of loving. With surprise and dismay he recognized that he could not love. And the wish became stronger and stronger.
One evening as they were sitting together, he spoke of it to Dame Eyola.
After listening to him, she said nothing for a long while. She looked at Bastian with an expression that puzzled him.
“Now you have found your last wish,” she said finally. “What you really and truly want is to love.”
“But why can’t I, Dame Eyola?”
“You won’t be able to until you have drunk of the Water of Life,” she said. “And you can’t go back to your own world unless you take some of it back for others.”
Bastian was bewildered. “But what about you?” he asked. “Haven’t you drunk of it?”
“No,” said Dame Eyola. “It’s different for me. I only needed someone to whom I could give my excess.”
“But isn’t that love?”
Dame Eyola pondered a while, then she said: “It was the effect of your wish.”
“Can’t Fantasticans love? Are they like me?” he asked anxiously.
She answered: “There are some few creatures in Fantastica, so I’m told, who get to drink of the Water of Life. But no one knows who they are. And there is a prophecy, which we seldom speak of, that sometime in the distant future humans will bring love to Fantastica. Then the two worlds will be one. But what that means I don’t know.”
“Dame Eyola,” Bastian asked, “you promised that when the right moment came you’d tell me what I had to forget to find my last wish. Has the time come?”
She nodded.
“You had to forget your father and mother. Now you have nothing left but your name.”
Bastian pondered.
“Father and mother?” he said slowly. But the words had lost all meaning for him. He had forgotten.
“What must I do now?” he asked.
“You must leave me. Your time in the House of Change is over.”
“Where must I go?”
“Your last wish will guide you. Don’t lose it.”
“Should I go now?”
“No, it’s late. Tomorrow at daybreak. You have one more night in the House of Change. Now we must go to bed.”
Bastian stood up and went over to her. Only then, only when he was close to her, did he notice that all her flowers had faded.
“Don’t let it worry you,” she said. “And don’t worry about tomorrow morning. Go your way. Everything is just as it should be. Good night, my darling boy.”
“Good night, Dame Eyola,” Bastian murmured.
Then he went up to his room.
When he came down the next day, he saw that Dame Eyola was still in the same place. All her leaves, flowers, and fruits had fallen from her. Her eyes were closed and she looked like a black, dead tree. For a long time he stood there gazing at her. Then suddenly a door opened.
Before going out, he turned around once again and said, without knowing whether he was speaking to Dame Eyola or to the house or both: “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”
Then he went out through the door. Winter had come overnight. The snow lay knee-deep and nothing remained of the flowering rose garden but bare, black thornbushes. Not a breeze stirred. It was bitter cold and very still.
Bastian wanted to go back into the house for his mantle, but the doors and windows had vanished. It had closed itself up all around. Shivering, he started on his way.