In a cozy house in a small village, Eloy always eagerly awaited the arrival of his grandchildren. Each night, gathered around a crackling fireplace with a mischievous smile, he would begin his tales by saying:
"Did you know that when I was young, I traveled to the Song Empire, where I taught the mathematicians to count using noodles? But that's not the story I want to tell you today."
It was the middle of winter, one of those winters that seem to last longer than a year, with days where the sun barely peeked out, as if it were too scared to face the cold. I had arrived in Siberia by accident, though if you ask me now, I would say it was part of a well-thought-out plan... by destiny, of course.
The cold was indescribable. The trees were so covered in ice they looked like crystal sculptures, and the snow crunched beneath my boots as if it were made of metal. But what stood out the most was the silence. A silence so deep you could hear the wind whispering secrets from ancient times.
There I was, in my coat that felt as thin as paper, looking around and thinking, “How am I going to stay warm in this place?” Just then, I saw a huge white figure on the horizon. It moved gracefully, as if the cold and snow didn’t bother it at all. Do you know what it was? A polar bear. But not just any bear, no. This bear, who I later named Boris, had a regal presence, almost as if he were the king of the bears.
Boris wasn’t alone. There were other bears with him, and though at first I thought they were going to invite me to dinner—where I would be the main course, of course—it turned out the bears were incredibly friendly. In fact, we managed to communicate through gestures and growls. Boris, who apparently was something of an architect, asked if I knew how to build castles. And I, being a man of many talents—or at least one who always says yes to everything—replied that, of course, I was an expert in castles. Although, in reality, my closest experience had been building sandcastles on the beach when I was a child.
"An ice castle." He explained that the bears needed a place to shelter from the freezing wind and the Arctic wolves, who always tried to bother them in winter. So, what better than an ice castle? And not just any castle, no. It had to be something grand, an architectural wonder that would leave all the Arctic animals in awe.
So there I was, in the Siberian tundra, with a group of polar bears treating me as if I were a master builder. The first thing we did was gather blocks of ice. And when I say blocks, don’t imagine something the size of a small fridge. No! They were enormous! Each ice block weighed as much as three well-fed adult elephants. Fortunately, the bears were experts at moving heavy things. Boris and his team of bears—which included his cousin Igor and a very friendly bear named Misha—began stacking the ice with astonishing precision.
You know, one might think polar bears aren’t good with geometry, but I assure you, they have a natural intuition for shapes. Each ice block fit perfectly, as if they were building a giant puzzle. While they worked, I handled the details, you know, the important things. Like deciding where to put the windows, what kind of flag should fly on top of the towers... Essential stuff.
The days passed quickly, and the ice castle began to take shape. It was impressive: walls of shining ice that reflected the sunlight like mirrors, towering spires from which you could see the entire white horizon, and a grand hall so big you could have celebrated a mammoth’s birthday in it (if there were still mammoths, of course). The bears were excited. They had never seen anything like it! Every day, Boris gave me a pat on the back that nearly broke my ribs and growled something that sounded like "Good job, Eloy!"
But it wasn’t all easy. One day, while we were raising the tallest tower, a snowstorm appeared out of nowhere, so fierce that we could barely see our own paws... or, in my case, my boots. The wind blew so hard that some of the ice blocks began to shift. "This isn’t good!" I thought. Boris and the other bears tried to stabilize the blocks, but the storm was stronger than us. Just when it seemed like all our efforts were going to fall apart, I had a brilliant idea.
“Do you know what the best material is for reinforcing an ice castle?” Frozen fish! “Yes, I know, it sounds strange. But fish are slippery, and when frozen, they’re stronger than steel." So, during the storm, I sent the bears out to fish. They returned with tons of fish, enough to reinforce the walls and make sure the castle wouldn’t collapse.
And so, with the walls reinforced by an army of frozen cod and herring, the castle withstood the storm. When it finally ended, what remained was a masterpiece of Arctic engineering: the first and only ice castle reinforced with fish in the history of Siberia.
The bears were overjoyed. They organized a grand party in the great hall, where all the animals of the tundra came to admire the castle. There were seal dances, a penguin band playing ice instruments, and of course, a feast of fish. I became the hero of the tundra, the human who had built the grandest castle the Arctic had ever seen.
And so, with a satisfied smile and a belly full of fish, I said goodbye to my bear friends and continued my journey, leaving behind a legend that, they say, is still told among the animals of the Arctic.
And that’s the end of this story, dear grandchildren. Now, off to bed! Tomorrow I’ll tell you about how I attended a Celtic music festival in Ireland, where I met a group of bards who invited me to a poetry duel. Good night and sweet dreams.