|  LITERARY
GENIUS
There
hasn’t been much of a theme this week, so I thought
I’d pick an excerpt from a book I’ve always enjoyed.
Anyone familiar with The Neverending Story will understand
why the font here is green. Its author was one of the most
famous German writers of the 20th century, mostly due to the
popularity of his children’s books (notably the one
excerpted here). His works have been translated into more
than 40 languages and have sold 20 million copies. Apparently
this success did little to change Mr. Ende; he remained shy
and humble until his death in 1995.
FROM DIE UNENDLICHE GESCHICHTE (THE NEVERENDING
STORY)
by Michael Ende
Chapter XII – The Old Man of Wandering Mountain
LONG-THUNDERING AVALANCHES descended
from the heights, snowstorms raged between towering ice-coated
summits, dipped into hollows and ravines, and swept howling
onward over the great white expanse of the glaciers. Such
weather was not at all unusual for this part of the country,
for the Mountain of Destiny—that was its name—was
the highest in all Fantastica, and its peaks literally jutted
into the heights of heaven.
Not even the most intrepid mountain climbers ventured into
these fields of everlasting ice. It had been so very, very
long since anyone had succeeded in climbing this mountain
that the feat had been forgotten. For one of Fantastica’s
many strange laws decreed that no one could climb the Mountain
of Destiny until the last successful climber had been utterly
forgotten. Thus anyone who managed to climb it would always
be the first.
No living creature could survive in that icy waste—except
for a handful of gigantic ice-glumps—who could barely
be called living creatures, for they moved so slowly that
they needed years for a single step and whole centuries for
a short walk. Which meant, of course, that they could only
associate with their own kind and knew nothing at all about
the rest of Fantastica. They thought of themselves as the
only living creatures in the universe.
Consequently, they were puzzled to the point of consternation
when they saw a tiny speck twining its way upward over perilous
crags and razor-sharp ridges, then vanishing into deep chasms
and crevasses, only to reappear higher up.
That speck was the Childlike Empress’s glass litter,
still carried by four of her invisible Powers. It was barely
visible, for the glass it was made of looked very much like
ice, and the Childlike Empress’s white gown and white
hair could hardly be distinguished from the snow roundabout.
She had traveled many days and nights. The four Powers had
carried her through blinding rain and scorching sun, through
darkness and moonlight, onward and onward, just as she had
ordered, “no matter where.” She was prepared for
a long journey and all manner of hardship, since she knew
that the Old Man of Wandering Mountain could be everywhere
or nowhere.
Still, the four invisible Powers were not guided entirely
by chance on their choice of an itinerary. As often as not,
the Nothing, which had already swallowed up whole regions,
left only a single path open. Sometimes the possibilities
narrowed down to a bridge, a tunnel, or a gateway, and sometimes
they were forced to carry the litter with the deathly ill
Empress over the waves of the sea. These carriers saw no difference
between liquid and solid.
Tireless and persevering, they had finally reached the frozen
heights of the Mountain of Destiny. And they would go on climbing
until the Childlike Empress gave them another order. But she
lay still on her cushions. Her eyes were closed and she said
nothing. The last words she had spoken were the “no
matter where” she had said on leaving the Ivory Tower.
The litter was moving through a deep ravine, so narrow that
there was barely room for it to pass. The snow was several
feet deep, but the invisible carriers did not sink in or even
leave footprints. It was very dark at the bottom of
this ravine, which admitted only a narrow
strip of daylight. The path was on a steady incline
and
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