by Michael Ende
“Jacob,” he whispered, “what happened? Are you hurt?”
But then he sneezed a few times so hard that he almost fell over. No doubt about it, on top of everything else he had had the bad luck to catch a cold.
He looked around the laboratory and took in the devastation. “Good heavens,” he felt like saying, “what a mess!”
But all that remained of his voice was a hoarse squeak.
Jacob was already sitting on the rim of the giant bowl, trying repeatedly to throw in the ice cube, but without success. His beak was frozen shut.
He cast a series of helpless glances in Morris’s direction, and kept on saying, “Hmm! Hmm! Hmm!”
“Just listen!” exclaimed the little cat with a tragic squeak. “Do you hear my voice? That’s all that is left of it. Gone forever!”
The raven hopped angrily along the rim of the bowl.
“What are you waiting for?” Morris squeaked. “Go ahead and throw in the note!”
“Hmm! Hmm!” said Jacob, frantically trying to open his beak.
“Wait, I’ll help you,” whispered Morris, who had finally understood. He jumped onto the rim of the bowl as well, but he was shivering so hard from head to toe that he came within a hairsbreadth of falling in. He barely managed to hang on to Jacob, who was having trouble keeping his balance himself.
Then they heard the voice of the witch coming from the corridor. “Not there? What do you mean, they’re not there? Hellihello, Jacoboo, my little raven, where are you hiding?”
And then Preposteror’s hoarse bass: “Mauricio di Mauro, my dear little kitty, come to your good Maestro!”
The voices came closer.
“Great Tom in Kitty Heaven, help us,” Morris exclaimed, trying all the while to pry open Jacob’s beak with his two paws.
There was a sudden plonk! The whole giant bowl began to vibrate, but there was not a sound—the surface of the liquid merely rippled as if it was getting goose bumps. Then it smoothed over again, and the ice cube with the bell tone within it had dissolved in the Notion Potion without leaving a trace.
The two animals jumped down from the bowl and hid behind a tipped-over chest of drawers. At that very moment, Preposteror entered with Tyrannia in tow.
“What was that?” she asked suspiciously. “Something was here. I can feel it.”
“How could anything have happened?” Preposteror said. “I’d just like to know where those animals are. If they have escaped, then we’ve gone to all the trouble of making the potion in vain.”
“Now wait a minute,” said the witch, “what do you mean in vain? After all, now we’re guaranteed to fulfill our contractual obligations by midnight. What’s wrong with that?”
Preposteror put his hand over her mouth. “Shush!” he hissed. “Are you crazy, Tye? Perhaps they’re here somewhere listening to us.”
They both pricked up their ears—and of course Morris had to choose just that moment for a wicked sneeze.
“Aha!” cried Preposteror. “Bless you, Virtuoso!”
The animals came out hesitatingly from behind the chest of drawers. Jacob, his breast feathers stained with blood, dragged along his wings and Morris tottered forward.
“Aha!” added Tyrannia with a drawl. “And how long have you been here, my little ones?”
“We just this second came in the window,” croaked Jacob, “and I cut myself, as you can see, madam.”
“And why didn’t you stay in the cat’s chamber as you were ordered?”
“We did,” the raven said, winging it once again. “We were sleeping the whole time, but when it started bumping and crashing all of a sudden, we got so ascared that we fleed into the garden. What was going on here, anyway? That was absolutely terribulous. And just look at the two of you! Whatever happened to you?”
He nudged the cat, who echoed with a weak voice, “. . . happened to you?”
And then he was seized by a terrible coughing attack.
Whoever has seen a little cat in the throes of a coughing fit knows what a heartbreaking sight that can be. The sorcerer and the witch pretended to be very concerned.
“That sounds just awful, my little one,” said Preposteror.
“I think you both look pretty beat,” added Tyrannia. “Is that all that happened to you?”
“Is that all?” screeched Jacob. “Well, thanks a bunch! We were squatting up in that tree out there for half an hour because we were ascared to come back—and in lousy, cold weather like this. Is that all! I am a raven, madam, and no penguin! My rawmatism is acting up in every bone of my body, so that I can’t move as much as a wing. Is that all! We both caught our deaths out there. Is that all! Aaah, I said it from the start, this will come to no good end.”
“And in here?” asked Tyrannia with narrowed eyes. “Did you touch anything here?”
“Nothin’ at all,” rasped Jacob. “That tussle with the paper snake was enough for us.”
“Let well enough alone, Tye,” said the sorcerer. “We’re only wasting time.”
But she shook her head. “I’m sure I heard something.”
She examined the animals with a piercing look.
Jacob opened his beak in reply, only to close it again. He had run out of stories.
“That was I,” squeaked Morris. “I beg your pardon, but my tail was frozen as stiff as a walking stick, and completely numb to boot, and I accidentally bumped into that bowl with it—but only ever so lightly, and nothing happened, Maestro.”
The raven cast an approving glance at his colleague.
The sorcerer and the witch seemed to be appeased.
“You may be wondering why this place looks like a battlefield, my little friends,” said Preposteror. “You’d no doubt like to know who manhandled me and my poor old auntie in such a fashion.”
“Yes, who was it?” cackled Jacob.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” the sorcerer said in an unctuous tone of voice. “While you two were slumbering peacefully in that cozy cat’s chamber, the two of us were fighting a terrible battle—a battle against enemy forces which wanted to destroy us. And do you know why?”
“No, why?” asked Jacob.
“Well, after all, we promised you a big and wonderful surprise, didn’t we? And we keep our promises. Can you guess what it is?”
“No, what?” asked Jacob, with Morris murmuring in unison.
“Now hear ye well, my little friends, and be of good cheer,” said Preposteror. “My dear aunt and I have worked indefatigably and at great personal sacrifice”—here he cast a sharp glance at Tyrannia—“at great personal sacrifice for the good of all living things. The power of money”—here he pointed to the witch—“and the power of knowledge”—here he laid his hand on his chest and lowered his gaze humbly—“shall now join together to bring happiness and prosperity to all suffering creatures and the whole of humanity.”
He paused a moment to smooth his forehead with a theatrical flourish before continuing. “However, the road to destruction is often paved with good intentions. The powers of evil set upon us and did all they could to hinder our noble purpose—the result lies before your eyes. But they could not defeat us, for we two were as one, heart and soul. We put them to flight. And here you see our mutual creation: that marvelous drink which possesses the heavenly magic power of granting any and all wishes. It goes without saying that such great power can only be placed in the hands of personages far above using it for even the slightest egotistical motives, personages such as Aunt Tye and myself . . .”
Apparently, this was too much even for him to swallow. He had to hold his hand in front of his mouth to hide the wicked giggle erupting there.
Tyrannia gave him a nod and quickly took the floor. “You really put that very nicely, my dear boy. I am touched. The great moment has arrived.”
Then she bent down to pet the animals and said in a significant tone of voice, “And you, my dear little ones, have been chosen to witness this fabulous event. It is a great honor for you and I’m s
ure you are just thrilled, aren’t you?”
“And how!” croaked Jacob grimly. “Thanks a lot.”
Morris wanted to say something as well, but had another coughing fit instead.
The sorcerer and the witch searched among the broken china, found two undamaged glasses and a ladle, pulled up two chairs, and sat down on opposite sides of the bowl.
They filled their glasses with the opalescent brew and emptied them in one gulp, without setting them down. When they were done, they both gasped for air, for the potion was alcohellishly strong indeed. Smoke rings puffed out of Preposteror’s ears and Tyrannia’s sparse wisps of hair rolled up into corkscrew curls.
“Aaah!” Preposteror said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I needed that.”
“Indeed,” Tyrannia said. “Most invigorating.”
And then they began launching their wishes. Of course, these had to be rhymed in order for the magic to work.
The sorcerer was the quicker of the two with his first rhyme:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
Ten thousand dying trees in the wood
Shall again flourish and grow,
While those that are healthy and still looking good
Certainly shall remain so.”
By now the witch was ready with her rhyme:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
Shares in the corporation Extinct, Inc.
Shall no longer double and gain.
They’ll lie around useless and fester and stink
Until they are flushed down the drain.”
And then they poured themselves another glass and hastily tossed it down in one gulp, because they no longer had much time. After all, they had to have drunk every drop by midnight.
Once again Preposteror was quicker with his rhyme:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
The Thames, Mississippi, the Danube and Rhine,
And each other river and stream
Shall be crystal-clear and shall sparkle like wine,
As if in a wondrous dream.”
And Tyrannia followed suit:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
Anyone caught dumping refuse and waste
Into our pure drinking water,
Shall of neither whiskey nor wine ever taste
But rather be led to the slaughter.”
Once more they filled their glasses to the brim with the potion and hurriedly quaffed it down. This time the aunt was first.
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
All those caught peddling sealskin and tusks,
Or flesh from the last of our whales,
Shall no more make deals for thousands of bucks
But populate thousands of jails.”
And her nephew immediately came up with:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
No manner of fish, of fowl, or of beast
Shall perish at the hands of man.
From this untimely fate may they be released
And live their lives as nature planned.”
After they both had downed yet another glass, the sorcerer boomed:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
And the four seasons, the warm and the cold,
Confused by our smog and pollution,
Shall now revert to the order of old:
A fitting and proper solution.”
And after a moment’s reflection, the witch chanted:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
Anyone caught shooting holes in the sky,
While aiming for world record sales,
Shall spend all his days in the back of a sty
Braiding the other pigs’ tails.”
One more glass went bottoms up, and again the witch was quicker:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
Anyone caught the seeds of war sowing,
Among peoples of different race,
Shall notice a hole in his pocket a-growing
And his gold vanish without a trace.”
And soon thereafter, Preposteror intoned in a stentorian voice:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
From bottom to top shall the sea thrive with life,
Its carpet of oil rolled away.
May the ocean’s creatures be freed from all strife,
Along with its shores and its bays.”
While they were chugalugging and rhyming away, they had more and more trouble suppressing their giggles.
In their imaginations, they pictured the havoc being wreaked in the world by their seemingly oh so noble wishes, and it was a great thrill for them to so thoroughly bamboozle the two animals and thus their High Council. At least that’s what they thought they were doing. On top of that, the effects of the alcohellish hooch were beginning to show more and more, as was to be expected. They were both pretty seasoned characters and could handle quite a bit, but the haste with which they were forced to drink combined with the devilish strength of the potion did its part.
The longer they swaggered and blustered about, the more grandiose and long-winded their wishes became. After they had knocked back more than ten glasses apiece, they started howling and roaring.
Tyrannia had just had her turn:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
The wealth that we boast of at home
And acquire through other folks’ need—hiccup!—
Shall henceforth be earned on our own,
Which should serve to bridle our greed.”
After which Preposteror shouted:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
The dangerous sources of energy
Shall all be banned—oops!—
While wind and sun shall be happily
At our command.”
After the next glass, the witch shrieked:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
Solely things good and solid and real
And born of man’s labor and sense
Shall be made objects of barters and deals,
Not dignity, life, or conscience—hiccup!”
And the sorcerer bayed:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
No new pestilence, natural or fabricated,
Shall plague animal- or mankind—oops!—
And those that exist are hereby dissipated,
For once out of sight, out of mind.”
And once again each of them tossed down a brimming glassful and Tyrannia screeched:
“O potent bowl of omnipotent potion,
Now hear my wish and grant me a notion:
Grace the children with joy and with health
In a future world of milk and honey—oops!—
May they know that there’s much more to wealth
Than squatting atop piles of money—hiccup!”
Preposteror countered with a rhyme of his own, and so it went on and on. It was a kind of Binge and Rhyme Competition in which first one, then the other, pulled ahead by a nose, but neither could leave the other behind in the stretch.
The raven and the cat were filled with fear and dread at what they saw and heard. After all, they had no way of checking the resu
lts of these wishes in the real world outside. Had that single, as yet inaudible note from the New Year’s bells actually done its work? Or had it perhaps been too weak to cancel out the devilish reverse effect of the potion? What if the sorcerer and the witch were successful, after all, and the exact opposite of everything they wished came true? If so, the worst catastrophe the world had ever known was already underway and no one could stop it now.
Jacob Scribble had stuck his head under his wing, and Morris took turns blocking his ears, then his eyes, with his paws.
In the meantime, the witch and the sorcerer seemed gradually to be growing weary, partly because they were having more and more trouble finding rhymes and were sure they had long since more than fulfilled their contractual quota of evil deeds anyway—and partly because the joy had gone out of it for them. They also were unable to observe the actual results of their wishing magic with their own eyes, and people of their ilk are really happy only when they can bask directly in the misfortune they have conjured up.
That was why they now decided to have a few private laughs with the rest of the Notion Potion and conjure more in the immediate vicinity.
Jacob and Morris almost had heart attacks when they heard this. Now there were only two possibilities left: either Father New Year’s bell tone hadn’t worked, in which case the jig was up anyway, or it had indeed canceled out the reverse effect of the potion. This, of course, would not go unnoticed by Preposteror and Tyrannia. And it wasn’t hard to guess what was in store for the cat and the raven then. They exchanged uneasy glances.
But Preposteror and Tyrannia had by then already hoisted more than thirty glasses each and were sloshed to the gills. They were barely able to stay on their chairs.
“Now listen, my dear—hiccup!—dear Tauntie Eye,” the sorcerer slurred. “How’s abous we take a crack at our llovely littl’ lanimals. Wh . . . wh . . . whaddayathink?”
