earth, he opened a passage to the Fountainhead of the Lake.
—It’s been some time since you’ve come, Goblin of the South, said Ondina, who preferred him, without knowing it, for the whiff of humanity that was gradually consuming him. I want to show you the last one who entered. The Goblin of the Alamanita Region sent him to me, he’s quite handsome. I have yet to tire of decorating him: look, I put seashells on his ears, bouquets of maraubina everywhere, and here, this pearl that an oyster from the Drango Sea gave me. What more can I do now, to keep from growing bored?
The Goblin thoughtfully studied the young man with dark hair and a golden complexion, fixed in an expression of terror—he hadn’t had time to close his eyes. It seemed like the epitome of ugliness and absurdity to him, but he kept his opinions to himself, to better win over Ondina. He looked warily from side to side, and finally muttered:
—You’re not expecting a visit from the Great Lady, right?
—Oh, no, she said. She’s too busy preparing for the next thaw. She hasn’t seen the last three, and although she doesn’t like them very much, she tells me if I’m satisfied with drowned men, she has nothing to reproach me for.
—Well then, I’ve thought a lot about you, beauty, said the Goblin. And it so happens that we have found a solution, without you incurring the anger of your wonderful Grandmother who Inspires Such Respect from Me—he could only speak of her in capitalized words.
—Really? Ondina exclaimed, with great interest. Tell me, Goblin of the South.
—The thing that I’m offering you is an opportunity: we have found a potion that will allow you to take human form, for a short time—ten days, at most—without risk of contamination. Of course if you maintain this human form a single minute longer, you would be contaminated, and in such a dangerous way that there will be no remedy for it. But since you are fickle, as I see it, you are not going to spend more than two days entertaining human men, with whom you can cavort as you please during that time. And this way the danger will dissipate, to your great advantage: you can drink the elixir as many times as you’d like, and take, for ten days, the very useful figure of a woman (always different from the one before) . . . As I see it, you will enjoy nice things, and you will not get bored, which, through the past centuries, has never been said.
Ondina somersaulted twice in the water. It was her ultimate expression of glee, given that her smile was fixed.
—Quickly! she cried. And the surface of the Lake trembled suddenly, as if under a strong wind—quickly! Give me this potion!
—One moment, beauty, said the Goblin. Sorry to say it, but everything has its price.
—Tell me your conditions.
—Here it is: over the course of these delights, you’ll enjoy the caresses and kisses and however much you like from as many young men as you see fit. But . . . —and here he picked his words very carefully—that’s provided that you continue, time and again, to attract a certain man, who although in his day will be young and maybe even handsome, with time he will gradually become old and even ugly or repulsive. Only with this condition, under solemn oath, will I give you the potion.
—Alright, she said, it hardly matters. I will know exactly how to console myself with the others, for as long as the human race exists and produces such delightful creatures—and she pointed to the Garden of Drowned Youths.
—Very well. I will communicate your consent to the others involved, said the Goblin. And leaving her very excited, he returned from where he had come.
Queen Ardid was quite pleased to learn of this. Nevertheless, she said:
—My dear friend, are you sure Ondina will not grow tired of waiting for the promised potion? Keep in mind that many years have to pass until Gudú is of an age to appreciate her charms.
—Oh, dear girl, said the Goblin, what are a few years to those who live submerged for ages upon ages? Nothing, dear girl, nothing.
And he drank with gusto, still trembling, a big gulp of a certain light, rosy wine that he reserved for special occasions. The fear that the Great Lady inspired in him was comparable only to the affection he felt for Queen Ardid.
It was decided that since the birthday of the young King would take place in a few days, this would be the appropriate moment to perform the agreed upon procedures.
Gudú, meanwhile, roamed freely about the Castle without hindrance, quite oblivious to the plot being woven around him. His brother Predilecto followed him everywhere, and he took care of him with such tenderness and affection that Queen Ardid took notice. One day she called him aside. She felt an overwhelming affection for that boy, so different from his brothers, and said to him:
—Prince Predilecto, I have observed that you feel great tenderness for our beloved Lord and King.
—That’s right, said the boy. In truth, he is the only one of all my brothers for whom I feel genuine affection . . . a true fraternal bond.
—From now on, said the Queen, I appoint you as his Protector and Guardian, because you do not ignore the many dangers lying in wait for my son in this Castle: in spite of all appearances to the contrary, not everything here is as it seems.
Predilecto kept silent, but the Queen did not fail to observe that a sadness, truly premature for his age, filled the boy’s eyes.
—Come with me, she added. I want, from this day onward, for you to see in me the mother you have never known.
Saying this, she kissed him. And from the strong blush that spread over the boy, she realized how much happiness her words had stirred in him. “I have here,” Ardid told herself, “someone who must not be conquered by fear, nor by force nor by greed; I have here someone who will only be conquered by love.” And thinking this, she led him to her bedchamber. Then she opened a small chest, where she usually kept the few treasures she had left, and found at the bottom a small stone that, years ago—as a child—she had discovered on the riverbank. It was blue, smooth, and elongated, and it appeared to have been slit through the center by a sharp blade. That small stone had been the only plaything in her austere childhood. A small hole opened at its center: she had brought an eye close to it to peer through and look at the reflection of the sun on the sea, for many years. Perhaps for this reason, she kept it. And though at times she was tempted to throw it away, without knowing why, there it remained. She took it between her fingers very solemnly and told him:
—My son, this, so simple in appearance, is one of my most prized heirlooms . . . I’m giving it to you, to keep as proof of my affection and as a token of this pact.
With devotion and reverence that she never would have expected, Predilecto delicately took the cleaved stone, and kissing it, said:
—Thank you, my Lady. I swear on my life that I will never forget it. This stone will never leave my side, and I will respect this pact until the end of my days.
And leaving the Queen mute with bewilderment and some regret—albeit not for long—Prince Predilecto strung the stone—by that hole through which Ardid had in the past stared at the sea—on a gold chain, a gift from his father. And he displayed it on his chest forever, with the pride and love that others showed their highest honors.
“Truly,” thought Ardid, when the boy disappeared from her view, “he is a naïve boy. It will be necessary to preserve this ingenuity, for as many years as possible.” And unable to help it, she sighed to herself: “Poor
