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large puffs of black smoke escaping his mouth at every word.
People gasped, someone ran to call an ambulance, and Volka whispered to
Hottabych, taking advantage of the confusion:
"Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab! I order you to take this camel and us
as far away as possible. Immediately. Somewhere outside the city limits.
Otherwise, we can get in very bad trouble. Do you hear me? Im-me-di-ate-ly!"
"I hear and I obey," the old man replied in a whisper.
That very instant, the camel and its riders soared into the air and
disappeared, leaving everyone behind in the greatest confusion.
A moment later it landed gracefully on the outskirts of the city. There
its passengers parted with it forever.
The camel is probably still grazing there. You'll recognize it at once
if you see it, for its bridle is studded with diamonds and emeralds.
Despite the day's unpleasant experiences, Volka was in high spirits
when he and Hottabych returned home. He had finally hit upon an idea of how
to dispose of the endless treasures he had so suddenly acquired.
First, he asked Hottabych whether he could make the drivers, elephants,
camels, mules and all their loads invisible.
"You need only command me to do so, and it will be done."
"Fine. Then please make them invisible for the time being, and let's go
to bed. We'll have to get up at sunrise tomorrow."
"I hear and I obey!"
And so, the people who had gathered in the yard to stare at the strange
and noisy caravan suddenly found the place to be completely empty. They went
back to their homes in amazement.
Volka gulped down his supper, undressed and climbed into bed with a
happy sigh. He only had a sheet for a cover, since it was so hot.
Hottabych, however, had decided to comply with an ancient custom Genies
had. He became invisible and lay down across the threshold, to guard his
young master's sleep. Hottabych was just about to begin a solemn
conversation when the door opened and Volka's grandmother entered, to say
good night as always. She tripped over the invisible old man and nearly
fell.
"Why, something was definitely lying on the threshold!" she gasped when
Volka's father came running.
"Where was that something lying?" he asked. "And what did that
something look like?"
"It didn't look like anything, Alyosha."
"Mother, do you mean to tell me you tripped over an empty space?" he
asked and laughed with relief, happy that she had not hurt herself.
"Yes, I guess I did," Grandma answered in bewilderment and laughed,
too.
Volka's father and grandmother left.
As for Hottabych, he had wisely decided to crawl under Volka's bed-at
least no one would step on him there, and he would be closer to Volka.
For several minutes no one said a word. Volka could not decide how to
begin such a ticklish conversation.
"Good night!" Hottabych said amiably from under the bed.
Volka realized he had better begin.
"Hottabych," he called, hanging his head over the side of the bed, "I
want to talk to you about something."
"Not about my gifts to you today?" Hottabych asked warily, and when he
received an affirmative answer he sighed.
"You see, dear Hottabych, I'd like to know whether I can do as I please
with your presents?"
"Undoubtedly."
"And you won't be angry at me, no matter what I do with them?"
"No, I won't, 0 Volka. How can I dare be angry with someone who has
done so much for me?"
"If it's not too much trouble, Hottabych, could you please swear to
that?"
"I swear!" Hottabych said in a hollow voice from under the bed. He
understood that there must be a catch to this.
"That's fine," Volka said happily. "That means you won't feel too bad
if I tell you that I have no earthly use for these presents, though I'm
awfully grateful to you for them."
"0 woe is me!" Hottabych moaned. "You're refusing my gifts again. But
these aren't palaces! Can't you see, 0 Volka, I'm not giving you palaces any
more. You might as well tell me the truth-that the gifts of your most
devoted servant disgust you."
"Figure it out yourself, Hottabych, you're a very wise old man: now,
what in the world could I do with so many treasures?"
"You could be the richest of the rich, that's what," Hottabych
grumbled. "Don't tell me you wouldn't want to be the richest person in your
country? Yet, it would be just like you, 0 most capricious and puzzling of
all boys I have ever met! Money means power, money means glory, money means
friends galore! That's what money means!"
"Who needs bought friends and bought glory? You make me laugh,
Hottabych! What's the use of glory that's been bought, instead of earned
through honest labour in your country's service?"
"You forget that money gives you the most reliable and durable power
over people, 0 my young and stubborn arguer."
"But not in our country."
"Next thing, you'll be saying that people in your country don't want to
get richer. Ha, ha, ha!" Hottabych thought this was really a cutting remark.
"Sure they do," Volka answered patiently. "A person who does more
useful work makes more money. Sure, everyone wants to earn more, but only
through honest work."
"Be that as it may, nothing could be further from my mind than to make
my precious young friend seek dishonest earnings. If you don't need these
treasures, turn them into money and lend the money out. You must agree,
that's a very honourable undertaking-to lend money to those who need it."
"Why, you must be crazy! You don't know what you're talking about. How
can a Soviet person be a usurer! And even if there was such a vampire, who'd
ever go to him? If a person needs money, he can ask for a loan at the Mutual
Aid, or borrow some from a friend."
"Well then," a somewhat disheartened Hottabych persisted, "buy as many
goods as you can and open up your own shops in every part of the city.
You'll become a well-known merchant and everyone will respect you and seek
your favour."
"Don't you understand, the Government and the co-operatives are in
charge of all trade? Why, making a profit by selling stuff in your own
shop...."
"Hm!" Hottabych pretended to agree. "Supposing it is as you say it is.
I hope you think creating goods is an honest occupation?"
"Sure it is! See, you're beginning to understand!" Volka said happily.
"I am extremely pleased." Hottabych smiled sourly. "I recall you once
said that your greatly respected father was a foreman in a factory. Am I
correct?"
"Yes."
"Is he the most important man in the factory?"
"No. He's a foreman, but there's a shop foreman, and a chief engineer,
and a director above him."
"Well then," Hottabych concluded triumphantly, "you can use the
treasures I've given you to buy your excellent father the factory he works
in and lots of other factories besides."
"It belongs to him already."
"Volka ibn Alyosha, you just said..."
"If you want to know, he owns the factory he works in and all the other
factories and plants, and all the mines and the railways, and the land and
the water, and the mountains and the shops and the schools, and the
universities and the clubs, and the palaces, and the theatres, and the
parks, and the movies in the country. And they belong to me and to Zhenya
Bogorad, and to his parents, and...."
"You wish to say that your father has partners, don't you?"
"Yes, that's what it is-partners. About two hundred million partners.
As many as there are people in the country."
"You have a very strange country, one that I cannot understand at all,"
Hottabych mumbled from under the bed and said no more.
At sunrise the next day the ringing of a telephone awakened the
District Branch Manager of the State Bank. He was urgently being summoned to
the office. Worried by such an early phone call, he dashed to his office
and, upon entering the yard of the building in which the branch was located,
he saw a great number of heavily-laden elephants, camels and mules.
"There's someone here who wants to make a deposit," the night watchman
said in dismay.
"A deposit?" the manager repeated. "So early in the morning? What kind
of a deposit?"
The watchman handed him a sheet of paper torn from a school notebook.
It was covered with a firm, childish scrawl. The manager read the paper and
asked the watchman to pinch him. The puzzled man did as he was told. The
manager winced, looked at the page again and said:
"Impossible! It's absolutely incredible!"
A person who wished to remain anonymous was giving the State Bank two
hundred and forty-six bags of gold, silver and precious stones, valued at
three thousand four hundred and sixty-seven million, one hundred and
thirty-five thousand, seven hundred and three roubles and eighteen kopeks,
to use as it saw fit.
The most amazing thing happened a moment later. First, the animals
which had delivered the treasure, then, the people who had driven the
animals, and then, the treasures they had brought began to sway; they became
transparent and dissolved in the air, just like steam. A fresh morning
breeze tore the sheet of paper from the amazed manager's hand, whipped it
high into the air and carried it off into an open window. It was Volka
Kostylkov's room. As he slept soundly, the page was fitted back into the
notebook it had recently been torn from and once again became a clean piece
of paper.
But that is not all. Strange as it may seem, neither the people at the
branch office of the bank, nor Volka's neighbours, nor Volka himself ever
remembered anything at all about the event afterwards. It was as if someone
had erased it from their memories completely.
It was pitiful to look at the old man. He spent the whole day in the
aquarium, saying that he was having an attack of rheumatism. This was
certainly a foolish excuse, for nothing can be sillier than sitting in cold
water if you have rheumatism.
Hottabych lay on the bottom of the aquarium, moving his fins sluggishly
and swallowing water lazily. When either Volka or Zhenya approached, the old
man would swim off to the far side and rudely turn his tail towards them.
However, whenever Volka left the room, Hottabych would get out of the water
to stretch his legs; but as soon as he'd hear him approaching, he'd dash
back into the aquarium with a soft splash, as though he had never thought of
leaving it. He apparently found some bitter pleasure in the fact that Volka
kept pleading with him to get out of the water and stop sulking. The old man
would listen to all his entreaties with his tail turned towards the boy. Yet
the moment his young friend would open his geography book and begin to study
for his exam, Hottabych would stick his head out of the aquarium and accuse
Volka of having no heart at all. How could he be occupied with all sorts of
nonsense, when an old man was suffering so from rheumatism?!
No sooner would Volka close his book, however, than Hottabych would
again turn his tail towards him. This went on till evening. At a little
after seven o'clock, he swished his tail and hopped out on to the floor. He
squeezed the water from his beard and moustache and dried them quickly at
the buzzing table fan. Then he said with some reserve:
"You hurt me by refusing to accept my humble gifts. It's your good luck
that I promised you I wouldn't get angry. But I did promise and, therefore,
I'm not angry at you, for I now see who is really responsible for your
offending me so, though you do it unconsciously. It is your teachers-they
are the root of all evil! Varvara Stepanovna, not you, 0 youthful and
inexperienced boy, will be held fully responsible for all the bitterness of
the past few days. And now that undeserving Varvara, daughter of Stepan,
will...."
He yanked four hairs at once from his beard. Something extraordinary
was about to happen.
"Oh, no! No, Hottabych! Dear, dear Hottabych!" Volka babbled as he hung
on the angry Genie's arms. "My word of honour! Varvara Stepanovna's not at
all to blame! It was only me..."
"No! She's to blame, she's to blame!" Hottabych droned, trying to free
his hands.
"She's not to blame! She's not to blame! Upon my word of honour, she's
not to blame!" Volka repeated in a frightened voice, while feverishly trying
to think of a way to distract the raging Genie's attention from his teacher.
"You know what? You know what?" He had finally thought of something: "Let's
go to the circus. Huh, Hottabych? Let's go to the circus! Zhenya and I will
never get tickets, but it's so easy for you to get them. You're the only one
who can help us get into the circus. You're so powerful, so amazingly
all-powerful!"
The old man was very inquisitive and an easy prey to flattery. Most
important, unlike all other Genies, he never remained angry long.
"And what does this funny word mean?" Hottabych's eyes burned with
interest. "Is it a market where they sell parrots and other unusual birds?
Then, know ye, that I am completely indifferent to birds. I've had my fill
of the sight of parrots."
"Oh, no, this is a thousand times more interesting. Why, it's a million
times, a million million times more interesting!"
Hottabych immediately forgot about Varvara Stepanovna.
"Let's go there on a camel. No, better still, on an elephant. Just
imagine how everyone will envy you."
"No, don't bother. I don't want you to go to all that trouble," Volka
objected with suspicious haste. "If you're not afraid, let's go on the
trolley-bus."
"What's there to be afraid of?" the old man sounded offended. "Why,
I've been looking at these iron carts for four days now without any fear at
all."
Half an hour later, Volka, Zhenya and Hottabych reached the recreation
park and approached the entrance to the summer circus.
The old man ran over to the box-office to have a look at the tickets,
and soon he, Volka and Zhenya were holding pink tickets.
They entered the brightly-lit big top.
There were three empty seats in one of the boxes right near the arena,
but Hottabych was quite vigorous in refusing them.
"I cannot agree to having anyone in this place sitting higher than
myself and my greatly respected friends. It would be below our dignity."
It was no use arguing with the old man. With heavy hearts the boys
climbed to the last row of the second balcony.
Soon attendants in crimson and gold uniforms lined up along both sides
of the entrance to the arena.
The ring-master announced the first act. A bare-back rider dressed in a
sequined suit and looking like a Christmas tree ornament rode into the ring.
"Do you like it?" Volka asked Hottabych.
"It is not devoid of interest, and it is pleasant to the eye," the old
man replied cautiously.
The bare-back rider was followed by acrobats, who were followed by
clowns, who were followed by a dog act-this attraction met with Hottabych's
reserved praise-who were followed by jugglers and spring-board jumpers. Then
there was an intermission.
It was a shame to leave and miss the second half of the show, but a
geography book opened at the very first chapter awaited Volka at home.
He sighed heavily and whispered to Zhenya, "Well, I guess I'll be
going. But you try and keep him here for at least another two hours. Go for
a walk with him after the show, or something...."
Zhenya mumbled softly, but with great emphasis:
"We should all three leave, all three of us. V. S. is here! V. S. is
here!"
And he nodded towards the side isle.
Volka turned round and froze: Varvara Stepanovna and her five-year-old
granddaughter Irisha were making their way down the isle to the foyer.
As if by agreement, the boys jumped to their feet and stood in front of
the unsuspecting old man in a way to shield their teacher from him.
"You know what, Hottabych?" Volka choked. "Let's go home! Huh? There's
nothing of interest here today."
"Sure," Zhenya agreed, trembling like a leaf in his fear for Varvara
Stepanovna's life. "That's right, let's go home. We'll walk in the park and
all kinds of things...."
"Oh, no, my young friends!" Hottabych answered innocently. "Never
before have I been so interested as I am in this truly magic tent. I'll tell
you what: you run along and I'll return as soon as this amazing performance
ends."
What an idea-to leave Varvara Stepanovna alone with a Genie who hated
her so!
They had to think of something, of anything at all, to occupy him
during intermission. Once the performance was resumed, his eyes would be
glued on the arena. They had to think of something urgently, but, fearing
for Varvara Stepanovna's very life, Volka was completely at a loss. His
teeth even began to chatter. This attracted Hottabych's attention, for he
was interested in everything.
"I tell you, Hottabych," Zhenya came to the rescue, "it's either one
way or the other: either we study or not!"
Both Volka and Hottabych looked at him in bewilderment.
"What I mean is, since we've promised Hottabych to teach him to read
and write, we should use every free minute for study. Isn't that right,
Hottabych?"
"Your perseverance is worthy of the greatest praise, 0 Zhenya,"
Hottabych answered. He was really touched.
"Well, if that's the case, here's the circus programme. Let's sit right
down and learn the alphabet. We'll study all through intermission...."
"With happiness and pleasure, 0 Zhenya."
Zhenya opened the programme and pointed to the first letter "A" he saw.
"This is the letter 'A,' understand?"
"Yes, 0 Zhenya."
"Now, what letter did I say it was?"
"It's the letter 'A,' 0 Zhenya."
"Right. Now find me all the 'A's you can on this page."
"Here's a letter 'A,' 0 Zhenya."
"Fine! Do you see any more?"
"Here, and here, and here, and here, and here...."
Hottabych was so engrossed in his studies that he paid no attention at
all to anything else. By the time the intermission was over and the audience
had returned to its seats, Hottabych had learned the alphabet and was
reading in syllables:
"An ac-ro-bat on a spring ... board."
"D'you know, Hottabych, you really are gifted!" Zhenya said with true
amazement.
"What did you think?" Volka replied. "Why, there has never been such a
talented Genie in all the world."
Hottabych read on delightedly: " 'Jum-ping ac-ro-bats un-der the di-rec
. .. di-rec-tion of Phil-lip Bel-ykh.' We saw that already. 'Ev-en-ing
per-for-man-ces beg-in at 8 p.m. Ma-ti-nees at 12 no-on.' 0 my young
teachers, I have read the entire programme. Does that mean I'll now be able
to read the newspapers, too?"
"Certainly! Sure you will!" the boys said. "Now let's try to read the
greetings hanging over the orchestra pit," Volka said.
Just then a young lady in a little white apron carrying a large tray
appeared.
"Would you care for some ice-cream?" she asked the old man. He looked
at Volka questioningly.
"Take some, Hottabych, it's very nice. Try it!" Hottabych tried it and
he liked it. He bought some for the boys and another portion for himself,
then a third and, finally, being carried away, he bought the astounded young
lady's entire supply-forty-three bars of ice-cream covered with delicate
frost. The girl said she'd be back later for the tray and went off, turning
back to look at the strange customers.
"Oho!" Zhenya winked. "Look at him pack it away." In the space of five
minutes' time, Hottabych had gulped down all forty-three bars. He ate it as
one would eat a cucumber, biting off big chunks and chewing loudly. He
swallowed the last mouthful just as the performance began.
"A world-famous act! Presenting Afanasy Sidorelli!" The audience
applauded and the band played a loud viva. A short, middle-aged man in a
blue silk robe embroidered with gold dragons entered the arena, bowing and
smiling in all directions. It was the famous Sidorelli himself. While his
assistants laid out his props on a small lacquered table, in preparation for
the first magic trick, he continued to bow and smile. A gold tooth glittered
in his mouth when he smiled.
"It's wonderful!" Hottabych whispered enviously. "What's wonderful?"
Volka asked, clapping as loud as he could.
"It's wonderful to see a person who has gold teeth growing in his
mouth."
"You think so?" Volka asked absently as he watched the first trick.
"I am positive," Hottabych replied. "It's very beautiful and rich
looking."
Sidorelli completed the trick.
"Did you see that?" Volka asked Zhenya proudly, as if he himself had
done the trick.
"It was swell!" Zhenya answered. Volka gasped: Zhenya now had two rows
of gold teeth in his mouth.
"Volka! Oh, Volka!" Zhenya whispered in a frightened voice. "I want to
tell you something-but don't get scared. All your teeth are made of gold."
"It's all Hottabych's doing, I know," Volka said dejectedly.
And true enough, the old man, who was listening in on their
conversation, nodded and smiled guilelessly. Then they saw that he, too, had
two rows of large, even gold teeth.
"Even Sulayman, the Son of David (peace be on the holy twain!), did not
have such a luxurious mouth!" he boasted. "But don't bother thanking me. I
assure you that you are both worthy of this small surprise."
"Don't worry, we're in no rush to thank you!" Zhenya muttered.
Volka was afraid the old man might get angry and he tugged his friend's
sleeve. Zhenya said no more.
"You see, Hottabych," be began diplomatically, "it'll be awfully
obvious if all three of us sitting in a row have gold teeth. Everybody will
look at us, and we'll feel embarrassed."
"I won't be embarrassed in the least," Hottabych said.
"But still, we won't feel right. There won't be any pleasure in being
at the circus."
"So?"
"Well, we wanted to ask you to make our teeth plain bone again till we
get home."
"I am perfectly awed by your modesty, 0 my young friends!" the old man
said in a somewhat hurt voice.
It was a relief to feel that once again they had their own teeth in
their mouths.
"Will they turn gold again when we get home?" Zhenya whispered
anxiously.
"Never mind, we'll find out later. Maybe the old man will forget about
them."
Once again Volka became absorbed watching Afanasy Sidorelli's
breath-taking magic. He applauded together with the rest when the man pulled
a pigeon, a hen, and, finally, a bouncy, fluffy white poodle from an empty
box.
There was only one man present who showed no sign of appreciation as he
watched the magician. This was Hottabych.
He felt very hurt, because everyone was applauding the magician for all
sorts of trifles, while he, who had performed such wonderful miracles from
the time he had been liberated from the vessel, had not even heard a single
sincere word of praise, let alone been applauded.
That is why, when the tent was once again filled with applause and
Sidorelli began bowing to all sides, Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab grunted
irritably and, despite the protests of those sitting in front, proceeded to
climb over them down to the arena. An approving murmur passed through the
crowd and a stout man said to his neighbour: "I told you that the old man
was one of them. You can tell he's a very experienced clown. Look how funny
he is. Sometimes they sit in with the audience on purpose."
Fortunately for the man, Hottabych heard nothing of what 'he said, as
he was engrossed in watching the magician. Sidorelli was about to begin his
most difficult trick.
First of all, the famous illusionist set fire to several long coloured
ribbons and stuffed them into his mouth. Then he picked up a large, brightly
coloured bowl filled with something that looked like sawdust. He stuffed his
mouth full of the sawdust and began to fan himself quickly with a beautiful
green fan. The sawdust in his mouth began to smoulder. Then a wisp of smoke
appeared and, finally, when the lights were turned out, everyone saw
thousands of sparks and even a small flame shoot from the famous magician's
mouth.
Then, amidst a storm of applause and shouts of Bravo! Hottabych's
indignant voice could be heard.
"It's a fake!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "That's no magic!
It's simple sleight-of-hand!"
"Isn't he something!" someone shouted.
"A wonderful clown! Bravo, clown!" And everyone present except Volka
and his friend applauded Hottabych enthusiastically.
The old man did not understand which clown they were shouting about. He
waited for the applause he had inspired to die down and continued acidly:
"What kind of magic is that! Ha, ha, ha!"
He shoved the thunderstruck magician aside. To begin with, fifteen
tremendous multi-coloured flames shot from his mouth; they were so real that
a smell of burning filled the circus.
The applause was balm to Hottabych's heart. Then he snapped his
fingers, and instead of one large Sidorelli, seventy-two tiny Sidorellis ran
off in single file along the barrier surrounding the arena. After completing
several circles, they blended into one large Sidorelli again, just as tiny
drops of mercury roll together to form a large drop.
"That's not all!" Hottabych thundered in a voice that was no longer
human. He was excited by the admiration he had aroused, and began to draw
forth herds of horses from under the flaps of his jacket.
The horses whinnied with fear, they pawed the ground and tossed their
heads, making their lovely silken manes blow. Then, at a signal from the old
man, the horses disappeared. Instead, four huge, roaring African lions
jumped out from under his jacket. They raced around the arena several times
and also disappeared.
There was an unending storm of applause from that moment on.
Hottabych waved his hand and everything on the arena- Sidorelli and his
assistants, and his various props, and the elegant uniformed attendants-all
shot into the air, completed several farewell circles over the heads of the
astounded audience, and dissolved into nothing.
Suddenly and from nowhere, a huge African elephant with sly, twinkling
eyes appeared on the arena. On its back was an elephant of smaller size; on
the second was a third, still smaller; on the third was a fourth. . . the
seventh and smallest of all stood right under the top of the tent and was no
bigger than a dog.
They trumpeted in unison, their trunks raised on high; then all flapped
their ears like wings and flew off.
The band of thirty-three musicians-all shouting happily- suddenly
became a single ball; it rolled down from the bandstand into the arena and
along the barrier, getting smaller and smaller until it was no larger than a
pea. Then Hottabych picked it up, put it in his right ear, and the muffled
sounds of a march could be heard coming from within.
The old man was really bouncing up and down from excitement. He snapped
all ten fingers at once and in a very special way, and everyone present
began to shoot up from their seats, one at a time, and disappear far under
the big top.
Finally, only three people remained in the empty circus: Hottabych, who
had wearily sat down to rest on the barrier, and the two boys, who had
rushed down to him from the last row.
"Well, how was it?" Hottabych asked limply, raising his head with
difficulty and looking at the boys from strangely glazed eyes. "That's no
Sidorelli for you, is it?"
"He's certainly no match for you," Volka replied, winking at Zhenya
angrily, because his friend kept trying to ask the old man something.
"I can't stand fakers," Hottabych muttered with unexpected bitterness.
"To pass off simple sleight-of-hand for miracles! And in my presence!"
"But he didn't know a wise and mighty Genie was present here," Zhenya
put in a word for the magician. "And anyway, he didn't say he was performing
miracles. In fact, he didn't say anything at all."
"It says so there. It says so in the programme. You heard me read it:
'Miracles of Illusion.' "
"Well, but of illusion, il-lu-sion! Don't you understand?"
"How they applauded me!" the old man recalled delightedly. "But you, 0
Volka, have never applauded nor even approved of me. No, I'm wrong. There
was one occasion. But it was on account of some very simple magic. I don't
even consider it magic.
And that evil Varvara Stepanovna is blame. It was she who taught you to
scorn my gifts! Do not argue, 0 my young friends! It was she, it was she!
Such wonderful palaces! Such a lovely little caravan! Such devoted and
healthy slaves! Such excellent camels! And it was all because of that evil
Varvara Ste..." but here, luckily for the teacher and our young friends,
Hottabych's gaze fell on a long banner hanging over the bandstand. His
glazed eyes, once again took on an intelligent expression; a weak smile
appeared on his face and, with the satisfaction of one who has just learned
to read, he pronounced aloud:
"De-ar child-ren! Con-gra-tu-la-tions on fi-ni-shing the sch-ool term.
We wish you...."
The old man fell silent and closed his eyes. It seemed as if he were
about to lose consciousness.
"Could you bring everyone back to their seats?" Volka asked anxiously.
"Hottabych, can you hear me? D'you hear me? Can you make everything as it
was before? I bet it's very hard to do, isn't it?"
"No, not at all. I mean, it's not hard for me to do at all," Hottabych
answered in a barely audible whisper.
"I don't think even you can do it," Volka said craftily.
"Yes, I can, but I feel very tired."
"See, that's what I said! You can't do it."
At this, Hottabych rose up with a sigh. He yanked thirteen hairs from
his beard, tore them to bits, and shouted a strange and very long word. Then
he sank down onto the sawdust covering the floor. From high under the circus
tent enraptured people came whizzing down, and each one to his own seat.
Sidorelli and his assistants, the props and the uniformed attendants, headed
by the imposing ring-master, appeared on the arena as from under the ground.
Flapping their ears loudly, all seven African elephants came flying
back. They landed and formed a pyramid again, only this time the smallest
one was on the bottom and the big one with the twinkling eyes on top, right
under the roof. Then the pyramid they formed fell apart and they rushed
around the arena in single file, getting smaller and smaller until they were
no bigger than the head of a pin; finally, they got lost in the sawdust.
The orchestra rolled out of Hottabych's right ear like a pea;
it mushroomed into a huge pile of laughing people and, contrary to the
law of gravity, rolled upwards to the bandstand, where it fell apart into
thirty-three men. They took their seats and began to play a march.
"Let me through, please! Let me through!" a thin man in large
horn-rimmed glasses said, as he made his way through the excited crowd
standing around Hottabych. "Won't you be so kind as to drop in at the
manager's office? He'd like to talk to you about performing in Moscow and on
a road tour," he said deferentially.
"Leave the old man alone," Volka told him unhappily. "Can't you see
he's sick? He's got a high fever!"
And true enough, Hottabych was really burning up. He had got sick from
eating too much ice-cream.
He who has never had to take care of a sick Genie cannot imagine what a
tiring and bothersome affair it is.
First of all, there arises the question of where to keep him. You can't
put him in a hospital, and there's no question of keeping him in bed at
home, where everyone can see him.
Then again, how does one cure a Genie? Modern medicine is useful when
one deals with people, not fairy-tale magicians.
And, finally, can people catch Genies' diseases?
The boys discussed these problems at great length as they rode home in
a cab with a delirious Hottabych.
They came to the following decisions:
1. They would not take him to a hospital, but keep him as comfortable
as possible under Volka's bed, suggesting first that, for safety's sake, he
become invisible.
2. They would treat him as they would a person who had a cold. They
would give him aspirin and tea with raspberry jam before going to sleep to
make him perspire.
3. Genies' diseases could not possibly be catching.
Fortunately, no one was at home. They made Hottabych comfortable in his
usual place under Volka's bed.
Zhenya ran off to buy some aspirins and raspberry jam, while Volka went
to the kitchen to make some tea.
"Well, tea's ready!" he said cheerfully, entering the room with a
boiling kettle. "Let's have some tea, Hottabych. Hm?"
There was no answer.
"He's dead," Volka gasped and suddenly, despite all the unpleasantness
Hottabych had caused him, he felt he would miss the old man terribly if he
died. "Dear, dear Hottabych!" he babbled, crawling under the bed.
The old man was not there.
"What a crazy old man!" Volka said angrily, forgetting all his tender
feelings. "He was here a moment ago, and now he's disappeared!"
There is no telling what bitter words Volka would have added if Zhenya
had not then dashed into the room, dragging a balky Hottabych behind. The
old man was mumbling something.
"What a nut! You can't imagine what a nut he is!" Zhenya shouted as he
helped Volka settle Hottabych under the bed again. "I was coming back from
the shop and there he was, standing on the corner with a sack of gold,
trying to hand it out to passers-by. I asked him, 'What are you doing here
with a high fever?' And he said, 'I feel my days are counted. I want to hand
out alms on this occasion.' And I said, 'You're nuts! Whom are you going to
give alms to? Did you see any beggars here?' And he said, 'If that's the
case, I'll go back home.' So I dragged him back. You just lie still and get
well! There's no use rushing death!"
They gave Hottabych a mouthful of aspirins, then fed him the whole jar
of raspberry jam with tea, and bundled him up tightly to make him perspire.
For a while, the old man lay there quietly. Suddenly, he began to fuss,
trying to get up. He said he was going to Sulayman, the Son of David, to ask
forgiveness for some long-forgotten ill deeds. Then he began to cry and
asked Volka to run down to the Mediterranean Sea and the Indian Ocean and
find a copper vessel on the bottom in which his dear brother Omar Asaf ibn
Hottab was imprisoned. He wanted Volka to free him and bring him back home.
"We'd all live so happily here!" he mumbled deliriously with. bitter
tears pouring down his cheeks.
Half an hour later the old man came to his senses and said in a weak
voice from under the bed:
"Oh, my young friends, you cannot imagine how grateful I am for your
love and precious attention! Will you please do me a last favour: bind my
hands tightly, because I'm afraid I might do such magic while unconscious
that I'll never be able to undo it later."
They tied him up and he immediately fell soundly asleep.
Next morning Hottabych awoke in the prime of health.
"That's what medical attention administered in time can do!" Zhenya
said with satisfaction. Then and there he decided to be a doctor when he
grew up.
To tell the truth, each time Volka thought of Goga, he became terribly
envious. If he was at home or on the stairs, or downstairs near the
entrance, it was difficult not to think of Goga:
ever so often a teasing, wonderful, marvellous barking could be
heard-even through closed doors and closed windows.
It was most strange, however, that Goga did not come outside. No other
boy in his place could ever have been able to stay away so long and not
boast to his friends about his real, pure-breed puppy. And Goga, especially,
would have gloated to see the children so envious.
There was something strange about it all. Finally, Volka could not keep
from asking Goga's mother what the matter was. She became terribly
embarrassed and mumbled something about her dear boy being sick. Then she
rushed off.
"Wait a minute!" Volka pleaded. "Can I ask you something? Just one
question?"
Goga's mother stopped reluctantly.
"Can you just tell me if it's an Alsatian? Is it?"
"What Alsatian?" the poor woman shrugged.
"The puppy you gave Goga. You know, the one that's barking. Is it an
Alsatian or a Boxer?"
"Goodness, what nonsense!" she sighed and disappeared quickly into her
apartment.
As if for spite, a high-pitched angry barking issued forth.
It was all very mysterious.
Just then Hottabych, who was lying in his usual place under Volka's
bed, asked casually:
"I wonder how your enemy named Pill is getting on?"
He yearned to boast about the cunning spell he had cast on him and
share with Volka his delight in the trouble Goga was deservedly having.
"No one but I can ever break the spell," he thought. "I can just
imagine how the most greatly-respected Volka ibn Alyosha will be pleased and
how amazed he will be at the endless variety of my powers."
"Pill?" Volka repeated absently, for he had just thought of a very
simple and tempting idea. "Pill? He's not feeling too good. Listen,
Hottabych," he crouched down and stuck his head under the bed, in order to
carry on negotiations more comfortably. "I want to ask you for a big
favour."
"This is it," the old Genie thought unhappily. He suspected that Volka
was about to ask him to break the spell he had cast on Goga; and he decided
to refuse flatly. At least for the time being. It wouldn't hurt the horrid
tattle-tale and gossip to suffer a bit. It would only do him good. However.
Hottabych replied sourly:
"I'll be only too happy to know your wish."
"I want to ask you for a present."
The old man was pleased at not being forced to discuss Goga's premature
pardon. He scurried out from under the bed.
"Just tell me what you want and you'll have it immediately, 0 young and
benevolent Genie-saviour."
"Could you give me a dog? An Alsatian?"
"A dog? Nothing could be simpler or more pleasing to my heart!"
Hottabych yanked a hair from his beard. Volka felt faint from
happiness: there, at his feet, a magnificent, sleek and muscular
three-year-old Alsatian stretched with a pleasant growl. It had lively,
intelligent eyes, a cold, wet nose and marvellous pointed ears. Volka patted
its neck. The dog wagged its tail politely and barked loudly from an
overflow of emotion.
"How do you like this dog?" Hottabych asked, as he bustled about, ready
at a sign from Volka to fill the entire room, the entire apartment, and the
entire house with the most valuable dogs. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I forgot a
small detail."
The "small detail" was a collar, which appeared immediately. It
glittered with such a multitude of precious stones that there would be more
than enough for two imperial crowns.
The unexpected happiness was almost more than Volka could bear. He
patted the dog with a shaking hand and had such a dazed smile on his face
that tears of happiness rolled down the kind-hearted old man's cheeks.
But there can never be complete happiness in life, at any rate, not
when you are dealing with a Genie's gifts! Suddenly, they heard the clicking
of a woman's heels behind the door. No sooner had Hottabych darted under the
bed, there to become invisible, than the door opened and Volka's mother
entered.
"That's just what I thought," she said, looking at the animal. In his
haste, the old Genie had forgotten to make it invisible. "A dog! I'd like to
know where you got it?" Volka knew he was sinking fast and sure. "I got
it.... It was given to me... . You see.... What I mean is...."
There was no sense telling her the truth, and Volka didn't want to lie.
Anyway, there was no sense lying-his mother could always tell when he was
not telling the truth.
"Volka!" she said, raising her voice, "I don't like your mumbling. I
want you to tell me whose dog it is."
"It isn't anyone's ... I mean, it wasn't anybody's before, but now it's
mine."
His mother turned pink with indignation. "I didn't think you would lie
to me. I didn't think you were capable of it. Tell me whose dog it is. Why,
the collar alone is worth hundreds of roubles."
She thought the stones were just coloured glass. Hottabych became very
angry. He was both angry and hurt. He wanted this noble, but naive woman to
understand that Has-san Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab was not one to present his
best friends with cheap imitations and that this truly priceless collar was
worth thousands upon thousands of roubles. But he checked himself in time,
since he now realized such bragging would only make Volka's situation worse.
He himself was a straightforward and truthful person and was proud of
Volka for not wanting to lie, even though it was the tiniest white lie. The
only thing to do was to stop the misunderstanding immediately.
"Well then, my kind and truthful young friend will have to do without a
dog for the time being. And let him not be bothered by dreams of owning a
dog," Hottabych thought, smiling into his beard.
A faint crystal tinkling issued from under the bed, and the dog
disappeared.
"Volka, dear," his mother said, completely forgetting what they had
been talking about. "If my office calls, please tell them I'll be there in
an hour or so. By the way, do you know whom the doctor came to see next
door?"
"Goga, I guess."
"Is he ill?"
"I think so." -
"You think so! Isn't he your friend?"
"Some friend!"
"I'm ashamed of you, Volka," his mother said angrily, and she turned
and walked out of the room with a stony face.
"Hm!" Volka sighed and decided to visit Goga as soon as the doctor
left. "Hottabych! Hey, Hottabych!"
There was no answer.
"He's gone again! Whenever you have to discuss something with him, he's
not there. What a Genie!"
Meanwhile, Hottabych was making himself comfortable in apartment 37,
this time under Goga's bed. He was curious to see how the old doctor, who
obviously had no idea what a mighty and unusual opponent he was up against,
would helplessly fumble about in search of a correct diagnosis.
This is what was happening in the room where the most mysterious of all
the old district doctor's cases lay high on fluffed pillows, while Volka,
taking advantage of Hottabych's absence, sat down to study his geography,
and the old Genie himself lay hidden under Goga's bed.
The old doctor's name was Alexander Alexeyevich. We want you to know
this, in case you meet him some day. He was very experienced and wise.
"Now, will you please leave us alone? There's something we have to
discuss," he said kindly to Goga's despairing mother.
"Well, young man," he said when they were alone (Hottabych under the
bed obviously did not count), "how are things? Are we still barking?"
"It's awful!" Goga moaned.
"Aha! Well then, let's just chat a bit. What kind of poems do you
like?"
"Bow-wow-wow!" Goga barked. His mother, who was standing just outside
the door, began to sob.
You can imagine what Goga wanted to reply to the old doctor's question!
He was indignant and he considered it a foolish and unnecessary question.
However, his barking neither surprised nor distressed the old doctor.
"Don't get angry," Alexander Alexeyevich said in a very calm voice.
"This question has direct bearing on your illness."
"I like 'A Winter's Evening,' a poem by Pushkin," Goga finally answered
after barking for a long while.
"Won't you recite it for me? Do you know it by heart?"
Goga recited four lines.
"That's enough!" the doctor said. "Now, will you please tell me what
you think about your classmate, ah, what's-his-name? The one who lives next
door?"
"You mean Volka Kostylkov?"
"Exactly."
"Bow-wow-wow!" Goga barked loudly.
"Now, now. Try to use words."
"Bow-wow-wow'." Goga replied, shrugging helplessly, as if to say: "I'd
be only too glad to use words, but I can't. I don't seem to be able to."
"I see. That's enough. That's enough, I said! Hm! Well, and what about
the other children in your class?"
"In my class?" the ailing Goga smirked. "If you want to know, all the
kids in my class are bow-wow-wow!"
"Well, and what do you think about me? Don't be shy, tell me what you
People gasped, someone ran to call an ambulance, and Volka whispered to
Hottabych, taking advantage of the confusion:
"Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab! I order you to take this camel and us
as far away as possible. Immediately. Somewhere outside the city limits.
Otherwise, we can get in very bad trouble. Do you hear me? Im-me-di-ate-ly!"
"I hear and I obey," the old man replied in a whisper.
That very instant, the camel and its riders soared into the air and
disappeared, leaving everyone behind in the greatest confusion.
A moment later it landed gracefully on the outskirts of the city. There
its passengers parted with it forever.
The camel is probably still grazing there. You'll recognize it at once
if you see it, for its bridle is studded with diamonds and emeralds.
Despite the day's unpleasant experiences, Volka was in high spirits
when he and Hottabych returned home. He had finally hit upon an idea of how
to dispose of the endless treasures he had so suddenly acquired.
First, he asked Hottabych whether he could make the drivers, elephants,
camels, mules and all their loads invisible.
"You need only command me to do so, and it will be done."
"Fine. Then please make them invisible for the time being, and let's go
to bed. We'll have to get up at sunrise tomorrow."
"I hear and I obey!"
And so, the people who had gathered in the yard to stare at the strange
and noisy caravan suddenly found the place to be completely empty. They went
back to their homes in amazement.
Volka gulped down his supper, undressed and climbed into bed with a
happy sigh. He only had a sheet for a cover, since it was so hot.
Hottabych, however, had decided to comply with an ancient custom Genies
had. He became invisible and lay down across the threshold, to guard his
young master's sleep. Hottabych was just about to begin a solemn
conversation when the door opened and Volka's grandmother entered, to say
good night as always. She tripped over the invisible old man and nearly
fell.
"Why, something was definitely lying on the threshold!" she gasped when
Volka's father came running.
"Where was that something lying?" he asked. "And what did that
something look like?"
"It didn't look like anything, Alyosha."
"Mother, do you mean to tell me you tripped over an empty space?" he
asked and laughed with relief, happy that she had not hurt herself.
"Yes, I guess I did," Grandma answered in bewilderment and laughed,
too.
Volka's father and grandmother left.
As for Hottabych, he had wisely decided to crawl under Volka's bed-at
least no one would step on him there, and he would be closer to Volka.
For several minutes no one said a word. Volka could not decide how to
begin such a ticklish conversation.
"Good night!" Hottabych said amiably from under the bed.
Volka realized he had better begin.
"Hottabych," he called, hanging his head over the side of the bed, "I
want to talk to you about something."
"Not about my gifts to you today?" Hottabych asked warily, and when he
received an affirmative answer he sighed.
"You see, dear Hottabych, I'd like to know whether I can do as I please
with your presents?"
"Undoubtedly."
"And you won't be angry at me, no matter what I do with them?"
"No, I won't, 0 Volka. How can I dare be angry with someone who has
done so much for me?"
"If it's not too much trouble, Hottabych, could you please swear to
that?"
"I swear!" Hottabych said in a hollow voice from under the bed. He
understood that there must be a catch to this.
"That's fine," Volka said happily. "That means you won't feel too bad
if I tell you that I have no earthly use for these presents, though I'm
awfully grateful to you for them."
"0 woe is me!" Hottabych moaned. "You're refusing my gifts again. But
these aren't palaces! Can't you see, 0 Volka, I'm not giving you palaces any
more. You might as well tell me the truth-that the gifts of your most
devoted servant disgust you."
"Figure it out yourself, Hottabych, you're a very wise old man: now,
what in the world could I do with so many treasures?"
"You could be the richest of the rich, that's what," Hottabych
grumbled. "Don't tell me you wouldn't want to be the richest person in your
country? Yet, it would be just like you, 0 most capricious and puzzling of
all boys I have ever met! Money means power, money means glory, money means
friends galore! That's what money means!"
"Who needs bought friends and bought glory? You make me laugh,
Hottabych! What's the use of glory that's been bought, instead of earned
through honest labour in your country's service?"
"You forget that money gives you the most reliable and durable power
over people, 0 my young and stubborn arguer."
"But not in our country."
"Next thing, you'll be saying that people in your country don't want to
get richer. Ha, ha, ha!" Hottabych thought this was really a cutting remark.
"Sure they do," Volka answered patiently. "A person who does more
useful work makes more money. Sure, everyone wants to earn more, but only
through honest work."
"Be that as it may, nothing could be further from my mind than to make
my precious young friend seek dishonest earnings. If you don't need these
treasures, turn them into money and lend the money out. You must agree,
that's a very honourable undertaking-to lend money to those who need it."
"Why, you must be crazy! You don't know what you're talking about. How
can a Soviet person be a usurer! And even if there was such a vampire, who'd
ever go to him? If a person needs money, he can ask for a loan at the Mutual
Aid, or borrow some from a friend."
"Well then," a somewhat disheartened Hottabych persisted, "buy as many
goods as you can and open up your own shops in every part of the city.
You'll become a well-known merchant and everyone will respect you and seek
your favour."
"Don't you understand, the Government and the co-operatives are in
charge of all trade? Why, making a profit by selling stuff in your own
shop...."
"Hm!" Hottabych pretended to agree. "Supposing it is as you say it is.
I hope you think creating goods is an honest occupation?"
"Sure it is! See, you're beginning to understand!" Volka said happily.
"I am extremely pleased." Hottabych smiled sourly. "I recall you once
said that your greatly respected father was a foreman in a factory. Am I
correct?"
"Yes."
"Is he the most important man in the factory?"
"No. He's a foreman, but there's a shop foreman, and a chief engineer,
and a director above him."
"Well then," Hottabych concluded triumphantly, "you can use the
treasures I've given you to buy your excellent father the factory he works
in and lots of other factories besides."
"It belongs to him already."
"Volka ibn Alyosha, you just said..."
"If you want to know, he owns the factory he works in and all the other
factories and plants, and all the mines and the railways, and the land and
the water, and the mountains and the shops and the schools, and the
universities and the clubs, and the palaces, and the theatres, and the
parks, and the movies in the country. And they belong to me and to Zhenya
Bogorad, and to his parents, and...."
"You wish to say that your father has partners, don't you?"
"Yes, that's what it is-partners. About two hundred million partners.
As many as there are people in the country."
"You have a very strange country, one that I cannot understand at all,"
Hottabych mumbled from under the bed and said no more.
At sunrise the next day the ringing of a telephone awakened the
District Branch Manager of the State Bank. He was urgently being summoned to
the office. Worried by such an early phone call, he dashed to his office
and, upon entering the yard of the building in which the branch was located,
he saw a great number of heavily-laden elephants, camels and mules.
"There's someone here who wants to make a deposit," the night watchman
said in dismay.
"A deposit?" the manager repeated. "So early in the morning? What kind
of a deposit?"
The watchman handed him a sheet of paper torn from a school notebook.
It was covered with a firm, childish scrawl. The manager read the paper and
asked the watchman to pinch him. The puzzled man did as he was told. The
manager winced, looked at the page again and said:
"Impossible! It's absolutely incredible!"
A person who wished to remain anonymous was giving the State Bank two
hundred and forty-six bags of gold, silver and precious stones, valued at
three thousand four hundred and sixty-seven million, one hundred and
thirty-five thousand, seven hundred and three roubles and eighteen kopeks,
to use as it saw fit.
The most amazing thing happened a moment later. First, the animals
which had delivered the treasure, then, the people who had driven the
animals, and then, the treasures they had brought began to sway; they became
transparent and dissolved in the air, just like steam. A fresh morning
breeze tore the sheet of paper from the amazed manager's hand, whipped it
high into the air and carried it off into an open window. It was Volka
Kostylkov's room. As he slept soundly, the page was fitted back into the
notebook it had recently been torn from and once again became a clean piece
of paper.
But that is not all. Strange as it may seem, neither the people at the
branch office of the bank, nor Volka's neighbours, nor Volka himself ever
remembered anything at all about the event afterwards. It was as if someone
had erased it from their memories completely.
It was pitiful to look at the old man. He spent the whole day in the
aquarium, saying that he was having an attack of rheumatism. This was
certainly a foolish excuse, for nothing can be sillier than sitting in cold
water if you have rheumatism.
Hottabych lay on the bottom of the aquarium, moving his fins sluggishly
and swallowing water lazily. When either Volka or Zhenya approached, the old
man would swim off to the far side and rudely turn his tail towards them.
However, whenever Volka left the room, Hottabych would get out of the water
to stretch his legs; but as soon as he'd hear him approaching, he'd dash
back into the aquarium with a soft splash, as though he had never thought of
leaving it. He apparently found some bitter pleasure in the fact that Volka
kept pleading with him to get out of the water and stop sulking. The old man
would listen to all his entreaties with his tail turned towards the boy. Yet
the moment his young friend would open his geography book and begin to study
for his exam, Hottabych would stick his head out of the aquarium and accuse
Volka of having no heart at all. How could he be occupied with all sorts of
nonsense, when an old man was suffering so from rheumatism?!
No sooner would Volka close his book, however, than Hottabych would
again turn his tail towards him. This went on till evening. At a little
after seven o'clock, he swished his tail and hopped out on to the floor. He
squeezed the water from his beard and moustache and dried them quickly at
the buzzing table fan. Then he said with some reserve:
"You hurt me by refusing to accept my humble gifts. It's your good luck
that I promised you I wouldn't get angry. But I did promise and, therefore,
I'm not angry at you, for I now see who is really responsible for your
offending me so, though you do it unconsciously. It is your teachers-they
are the root of all evil! Varvara Stepanovna, not you, 0 youthful and
inexperienced boy, will be held fully responsible for all the bitterness of
the past few days. And now that undeserving Varvara, daughter of Stepan,
will...."
He yanked four hairs at once from his beard. Something extraordinary
was about to happen.
"Oh, no! No, Hottabych! Dear, dear Hottabych!" Volka babbled as he hung
on the angry Genie's arms. "My word of honour! Varvara Stepanovna's not at
all to blame! It was only me..."
"No! She's to blame, she's to blame!" Hottabych droned, trying to free
his hands.
"She's not to blame! She's not to blame! Upon my word of honour, she's
not to blame!" Volka repeated in a frightened voice, while feverishly trying
to think of a way to distract the raging Genie's attention from his teacher.
"You know what? You know what?" He had finally thought of something: "Let's
go to the circus. Huh, Hottabych? Let's go to the circus! Zhenya and I will
never get tickets, but it's so easy for you to get them. You're the only one
who can help us get into the circus. You're so powerful, so amazingly
all-powerful!"
The old man was very inquisitive and an easy prey to flattery. Most
important, unlike all other Genies, he never remained angry long.
"And what does this funny word mean?" Hottabych's eyes burned with
interest. "Is it a market where they sell parrots and other unusual birds?
Then, know ye, that I am completely indifferent to birds. I've had my fill
of the sight of parrots."
"Oh, no, this is a thousand times more interesting. Why, it's a million
times, a million million times more interesting!"
Hottabych immediately forgot about Varvara Stepanovna.
"Let's go there on a camel. No, better still, on an elephant. Just
imagine how everyone will envy you."
"No, don't bother. I don't want you to go to all that trouble," Volka
objected with suspicious haste. "If you're not afraid, let's go on the
trolley-bus."
"What's there to be afraid of?" the old man sounded offended. "Why,
I've been looking at these iron carts for four days now without any fear at
all."
Half an hour later, Volka, Zhenya and Hottabych reached the recreation
park and approached the entrance to the summer circus.
The old man ran over to the box-office to have a look at the tickets,
and soon he, Volka and Zhenya were holding pink tickets.
They entered the brightly-lit big top.
There were three empty seats in one of the boxes right near the arena,
but Hottabych was quite vigorous in refusing them.
"I cannot agree to having anyone in this place sitting higher than
myself and my greatly respected friends. It would be below our dignity."
It was no use arguing with the old man. With heavy hearts the boys
climbed to the last row of the second balcony.
Soon attendants in crimson and gold uniforms lined up along both sides
of the entrance to the arena.
The ring-master announced the first act. A bare-back rider dressed in a
sequined suit and looking like a Christmas tree ornament rode into the ring.
"Do you like it?" Volka asked Hottabych.
"It is not devoid of interest, and it is pleasant to the eye," the old
man replied cautiously.
The bare-back rider was followed by acrobats, who were followed by
clowns, who were followed by a dog act-this attraction met with Hottabych's
reserved praise-who were followed by jugglers and spring-board jumpers. Then
there was an intermission.
It was a shame to leave and miss the second half of the show, but a
geography book opened at the very first chapter awaited Volka at home.
He sighed heavily and whispered to Zhenya, "Well, I guess I'll be
going. But you try and keep him here for at least another two hours. Go for
a walk with him after the show, or something...."
Zhenya mumbled softly, but with great emphasis:
"We should all three leave, all three of us. V. S. is here! V. S. is
here!"
And he nodded towards the side isle.
Volka turned round and froze: Varvara Stepanovna and her five-year-old
granddaughter Irisha were making their way down the isle to the foyer.
As if by agreement, the boys jumped to their feet and stood in front of
the unsuspecting old man in a way to shield their teacher from him.
"You know what, Hottabych?" Volka choked. "Let's go home! Huh? There's
nothing of interest here today."
"Sure," Zhenya agreed, trembling like a leaf in his fear for Varvara
Stepanovna's life. "That's right, let's go home. We'll walk in the park and
all kinds of things...."
"Oh, no, my young friends!" Hottabych answered innocently. "Never
before have I been so interested as I am in this truly magic tent. I'll tell
you what: you run along and I'll return as soon as this amazing performance
ends."
What an idea-to leave Varvara Stepanovna alone with a Genie who hated
her so!
They had to think of something, of anything at all, to occupy him
during intermission. Once the performance was resumed, his eyes would be
glued on the arena. They had to think of something urgently, but, fearing
for Varvara Stepanovna's very life, Volka was completely at a loss. His
teeth even began to chatter. This attracted Hottabych's attention, for he
was interested in everything.
"I tell you, Hottabych," Zhenya came to the rescue, "it's either one
way or the other: either we study or not!"
Both Volka and Hottabych looked at him in bewilderment.
"What I mean is, since we've promised Hottabych to teach him to read
and write, we should use every free minute for study. Isn't that right,
Hottabych?"
"Your perseverance is worthy of the greatest praise, 0 Zhenya,"
Hottabych answered. He was really touched.
"Well, if that's the case, here's the circus programme. Let's sit right
down and learn the alphabet. We'll study all through intermission...."
"With happiness and pleasure, 0 Zhenya."
Zhenya opened the programme and pointed to the first letter "A" he saw.
"This is the letter 'A,' understand?"
"Yes, 0 Zhenya."
"Now, what letter did I say it was?"
"It's the letter 'A,' 0 Zhenya."
"Right. Now find me all the 'A's you can on this page."
"Here's a letter 'A,' 0 Zhenya."
"Fine! Do you see any more?"
"Here, and here, and here, and here, and here...."
Hottabych was so engrossed in his studies that he paid no attention at
all to anything else. By the time the intermission was over and the audience
had returned to its seats, Hottabych had learned the alphabet and was
reading in syllables:
"An ac-ro-bat on a spring ... board."
"D'you know, Hottabych, you really are gifted!" Zhenya said with true
amazement.
"What did you think?" Volka replied. "Why, there has never been such a
talented Genie in all the world."
Hottabych read on delightedly: " 'Jum-ping ac-ro-bats un-der the di-rec
. .. di-rec-tion of Phil-lip Bel-ykh.' We saw that already. 'Ev-en-ing
per-for-man-ces beg-in at 8 p.m. Ma-ti-nees at 12 no-on.' 0 my young
teachers, I have read the entire programme. Does that mean I'll now be able
to read the newspapers, too?"
"Certainly! Sure you will!" the boys said. "Now let's try to read the
greetings hanging over the orchestra pit," Volka said.
Just then a young lady in a little white apron carrying a large tray
appeared.
"Would you care for some ice-cream?" she asked the old man. He looked
at Volka questioningly.
"Take some, Hottabych, it's very nice. Try it!" Hottabych tried it and
he liked it. He bought some for the boys and another portion for himself,
then a third and, finally, being carried away, he bought the astounded young
lady's entire supply-forty-three bars of ice-cream covered with delicate
frost. The girl said she'd be back later for the tray and went off, turning
back to look at the strange customers.
"Oho!" Zhenya winked. "Look at him pack it away." In the space of five
minutes' time, Hottabych had gulped down all forty-three bars. He ate it as
one would eat a cucumber, biting off big chunks and chewing loudly. He
swallowed the last mouthful just as the performance began.
"A world-famous act! Presenting Afanasy Sidorelli!" The audience
applauded and the band played a loud viva. A short, middle-aged man in a
blue silk robe embroidered with gold dragons entered the arena, bowing and
smiling in all directions. It was the famous Sidorelli himself. While his
assistants laid out his props on a small lacquered table, in preparation for
the first magic trick, he continued to bow and smile. A gold tooth glittered
in his mouth when he smiled.
"It's wonderful!" Hottabych whispered enviously. "What's wonderful?"
Volka asked, clapping as loud as he could.
"It's wonderful to see a person who has gold teeth growing in his
mouth."
"You think so?" Volka asked absently as he watched the first trick.
"I am positive," Hottabych replied. "It's very beautiful and rich
looking."
Sidorelli completed the trick.
"Did you see that?" Volka asked Zhenya proudly, as if he himself had
done the trick.
"It was swell!" Zhenya answered. Volka gasped: Zhenya now had two rows
of gold teeth in his mouth.
"Volka! Oh, Volka!" Zhenya whispered in a frightened voice. "I want to
tell you something-but don't get scared. All your teeth are made of gold."
"It's all Hottabych's doing, I know," Volka said dejectedly.
And true enough, the old man, who was listening in on their
conversation, nodded and smiled guilelessly. Then they saw that he, too, had
two rows of large, even gold teeth.
"Even Sulayman, the Son of David (peace be on the holy twain!), did not
have such a luxurious mouth!" he boasted. "But don't bother thanking me. I
assure you that you are both worthy of this small surprise."
"Don't worry, we're in no rush to thank you!" Zhenya muttered.
Volka was afraid the old man might get angry and he tugged his friend's
sleeve. Zhenya said no more.
"You see, Hottabych," be began diplomatically, "it'll be awfully
obvious if all three of us sitting in a row have gold teeth. Everybody will
look at us, and we'll feel embarrassed."
"I won't be embarrassed in the least," Hottabych said.
"But still, we won't feel right. There won't be any pleasure in being
at the circus."
"So?"
"Well, we wanted to ask you to make our teeth plain bone again till we
get home."
"I am perfectly awed by your modesty, 0 my young friends!" the old man
said in a somewhat hurt voice.
It was a relief to feel that once again they had their own teeth in
their mouths.
"Will they turn gold again when we get home?" Zhenya whispered
anxiously.
"Never mind, we'll find out later. Maybe the old man will forget about
them."
Once again Volka became absorbed watching Afanasy Sidorelli's
breath-taking magic. He applauded together with the rest when the man pulled
a pigeon, a hen, and, finally, a bouncy, fluffy white poodle from an empty
box.
There was only one man present who showed no sign of appreciation as he
watched the magician. This was Hottabych.
He felt very hurt, because everyone was applauding the magician for all
sorts of trifles, while he, who had performed such wonderful miracles from
the time he had been liberated from the vessel, had not even heard a single
sincere word of praise, let alone been applauded.
That is why, when the tent was once again filled with applause and
Sidorelli began bowing to all sides, Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab grunted
irritably and, despite the protests of those sitting in front, proceeded to
climb over them down to the arena. An approving murmur passed through the
crowd and a stout man said to his neighbour: "I told you that the old man
was one of them. You can tell he's a very experienced clown. Look how funny
he is. Sometimes they sit in with the audience on purpose."
Fortunately for the man, Hottabych heard nothing of what 'he said, as
he was engrossed in watching the magician. Sidorelli was about to begin his
most difficult trick.
First of all, the famous illusionist set fire to several long coloured
ribbons and stuffed them into his mouth. Then he picked up a large, brightly
coloured bowl filled with something that looked like sawdust. He stuffed his
mouth full of the sawdust and began to fan himself quickly with a beautiful
green fan. The sawdust in his mouth began to smoulder. Then a wisp of smoke
appeared and, finally, when the lights were turned out, everyone saw
thousands of sparks and even a small flame shoot from the famous magician's
mouth.
Then, amidst a storm of applause and shouts of Bravo! Hottabych's
indignant voice could be heard.
"It's a fake!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "That's no magic!
It's simple sleight-of-hand!"
"Isn't he something!" someone shouted.
"A wonderful clown! Bravo, clown!" And everyone present except Volka
and his friend applauded Hottabych enthusiastically.
The old man did not understand which clown they were shouting about. He
waited for the applause he had inspired to die down and continued acidly:
"What kind of magic is that! Ha, ha, ha!"
He shoved the thunderstruck magician aside. To begin with, fifteen
tremendous multi-coloured flames shot from his mouth; they were so real that
a smell of burning filled the circus.
The applause was balm to Hottabych's heart. Then he snapped his
fingers, and instead of one large Sidorelli, seventy-two tiny Sidorellis ran
off in single file along the barrier surrounding the arena. After completing
several circles, they blended into one large Sidorelli again, just as tiny
drops of mercury roll together to form a large drop.
"That's not all!" Hottabych thundered in a voice that was no longer
human. He was excited by the admiration he had aroused, and began to draw
forth herds of horses from under the flaps of his jacket.
The horses whinnied with fear, they pawed the ground and tossed their
heads, making their lovely silken manes blow. Then, at a signal from the old
man, the horses disappeared. Instead, four huge, roaring African lions
jumped out from under his jacket. They raced around the arena several times
and also disappeared.
There was an unending storm of applause from that moment on.
Hottabych waved his hand and everything on the arena- Sidorelli and his
assistants, and his various props, and the elegant uniformed attendants-all
shot into the air, completed several farewell circles over the heads of the
astounded audience, and dissolved into nothing.
Suddenly and from nowhere, a huge African elephant with sly, twinkling
eyes appeared on the arena. On its back was an elephant of smaller size; on
the second was a third, still smaller; on the third was a fourth. . . the
seventh and smallest of all stood right under the top of the tent and was no
bigger than a dog.
They trumpeted in unison, their trunks raised on high; then all flapped
their ears like wings and flew off.
The band of thirty-three musicians-all shouting happily- suddenly
became a single ball; it rolled down from the bandstand into the arena and
along the barrier, getting smaller and smaller until it was no larger than a
pea. Then Hottabych picked it up, put it in his right ear, and the muffled
sounds of a march could be heard coming from within.
The old man was really bouncing up and down from excitement. He snapped
all ten fingers at once and in a very special way, and everyone present
began to shoot up from their seats, one at a time, and disappear far under
the big top.
Finally, only three people remained in the empty circus: Hottabych, who
had wearily sat down to rest on the barrier, and the two boys, who had
rushed down to him from the last row.
"Well, how was it?" Hottabych asked limply, raising his head with
difficulty and looking at the boys from strangely glazed eyes. "That's no
Sidorelli for you, is it?"
"He's certainly no match for you," Volka replied, winking at Zhenya
angrily, because his friend kept trying to ask the old man something.
"I can't stand fakers," Hottabych muttered with unexpected bitterness.
"To pass off simple sleight-of-hand for miracles! And in my presence!"
"But he didn't know a wise and mighty Genie was present here," Zhenya
put in a word for the magician. "And anyway, he didn't say he was performing
miracles. In fact, he didn't say anything at all."
"It says so there. It says so in the programme. You heard me read it:
'Miracles of Illusion.' "
"Well, but of illusion, il-lu-sion! Don't you understand?"
"How they applauded me!" the old man recalled delightedly. "But you, 0
Volka, have never applauded nor even approved of me. No, I'm wrong. There
was one occasion. But it was on account of some very simple magic. I don't
even consider it magic.
And that evil Varvara Stepanovna is blame. It was she who taught you to
scorn my gifts! Do not argue, 0 my young friends! It was she, it was she!
Such wonderful palaces! Such a lovely little caravan! Such devoted and
healthy slaves! Such excellent camels! And it was all because of that evil
Varvara Ste..." but here, luckily for the teacher and our young friends,
Hottabych's gaze fell on a long banner hanging over the bandstand. His
glazed eyes, once again took on an intelligent expression; a weak smile
appeared on his face and, with the satisfaction of one who has just learned
to read, he pronounced aloud:
"De-ar child-ren! Con-gra-tu-la-tions on fi-ni-shing the sch-ool term.
We wish you...."
The old man fell silent and closed his eyes. It seemed as if he were
about to lose consciousness.
"Could you bring everyone back to their seats?" Volka asked anxiously.
"Hottabych, can you hear me? D'you hear me? Can you make everything as it
was before? I bet it's very hard to do, isn't it?"
"No, not at all. I mean, it's not hard for me to do at all," Hottabych
answered in a barely audible whisper.
"I don't think even you can do it," Volka said craftily.
"Yes, I can, but I feel very tired."
"See, that's what I said! You can't do it."
At this, Hottabych rose up with a sigh. He yanked thirteen hairs from
his beard, tore them to bits, and shouted a strange and very long word. Then
he sank down onto the sawdust covering the floor. From high under the circus
tent enraptured people came whizzing down, and each one to his own seat.
Sidorelli and his assistants, the props and the uniformed attendants, headed
by the imposing ring-master, appeared on the arena as from under the ground.
Flapping their ears loudly, all seven African elephants came flying
back. They landed and formed a pyramid again, only this time the smallest
one was on the bottom and the big one with the twinkling eyes on top, right
under the roof. Then the pyramid they formed fell apart and they rushed
around the arena in single file, getting smaller and smaller until they were
no bigger than the head of a pin; finally, they got lost in the sawdust.
The orchestra rolled out of Hottabych's right ear like a pea;
it mushroomed into a huge pile of laughing people and, contrary to the
law of gravity, rolled upwards to the bandstand, where it fell apart into
thirty-three men. They took their seats and began to play a march.
"Let me through, please! Let me through!" a thin man in large
horn-rimmed glasses said, as he made his way through the excited crowd
standing around Hottabych. "Won't you be so kind as to drop in at the
manager's office? He'd like to talk to you about performing in Moscow and on
a road tour," he said deferentially.
"Leave the old man alone," Volka told him unhappily. "Can't you see
he's sick? He's got a high fever!"
And true enough, Hottabych was really burning up. He had got sick from
eating too much ice-cream.
He who has never had to take care of a sick Genie cannot imagine what a
tiring and bothersome affair it is.
First of all, there arises the question of where to keep him. You can't
put him in a hospital, and there's no question of keeping him in bed at
home, where everyone can see him.
Then again, how does one cure a Genie? Modern medicine is useful when
one deals with people, not fairy-tale magicians.
And, finally, can people catch Genies' diseases?
The boys discussed these problems at great length as they rode home in
a cab with a delirious Hottabych.
They came to the following decisions:
1. They would not take him to a hospital, but keep him as comfortable
as possible under Volka's bed, suggesting first that, for safety's sake, he
become invisible.
2. They would treat him as they would a person who had a cold. They
would give him aspirin and tea with raspberry jam before going to sleep to
make him perspire.
3. Genies' diseases could not possibly be catching.
Fortunately, no one was at home. They made Hottabych comfortable in his
usual place under Volka's bed.
Zhenya ran off to buy some aspirins and raspberry jam, while Volka went
to the kitchen to make some tea.
"Well, tea's ready!" he said cheerfully, entering the room with a
boiling kettle. "Let's have some tea, Hottabych. Hm?"
There was no answer.
"He's dead," Volka gasped and suddenly, despite all the unpleasantness
Hottabych had caused him, he felt he would miss the old man terribly if he
died. "Dear, dear Hottabych!" he babbled, crawling under the bed.
The old man was not there.
"What a crazy old man!" Volka said angrily, forgetting all his tender
feelings. "He was here a moment ago, and now he's disappeared!"
There is no telling what bitter words Volka would have added if Zhenya
had not then dashed into the room, dragging a balky Hottabych behind. The
old man was mumbling something.
"What a nut! You can't imagine what a nut he is!" Zhenya shouted as he
helped Volka settle Hottabych under the bed again. "I was coming back from
the shop and there he was, standing on the corner with a sack of gold,
trying to hand it out to passers-by. I asked him, 'What are you doing here
with a high fever?' And he said, 'I feel my days are counted. I want to hand
out alms on this occasion.' And I said, 'You're nuts! Whom are you going to
give alms to? Did you see any beggars here?' And he said, 'If that's the
case, I'll go back home.' So I dragged him back. You just lie still and get
well! There's no use rushing death!"
They gave Hottabych a mouthful of aspirins, then fed him the whole jar
of raspberry jam with tea, and bundled him up tightly to make him perspire.
For a while, the old man lay there quietly. Suddenly, he began to fuss,
trying to get up. He said he was going to Sulayman, the Son of David, to ask
forgiveness for some long-forgotten ill deeds. Then he began to cry and
asked Volka to run down to the Mediterranean Sea and the Indian Ocean and
find a copper vessel on the bottom in which his dear brother Omar Asaf ibn
Hottab was imprisoned. He wanted Volka to free him and bring him back home.
"We'd all live so happily here!" he mumbled deliriously with. bitter
tears pouring down his cheeks.
Half an hour later the old man came to his senses and said in a weak
voice from under the bed:
"Oh, my young friends, you cannot imagine how grateful I am for your
love and precious attention! Will you please do me a last favour: bind my
hands tightly, because I'm afraid I might do such magic while unconscious
that I'll never be able to undo it later."
They tied him up and he immediately fell soundly asleep.
Next morning Hottabych awoke in the prime of health.
"That's what medical attention administered in time can do!" Zhenya
said with satisfaction. Then and there he decided to be a doctor when he
grew up.
To tell the truth, each time Volka thought of Goga, he became terribly
envious. If he was at home or on the stairs, or downstairs near the
entrance, it was difficult not to think of Goga:
ever so often a teasing, wonderful, marvellous barking could be
heard-even through closed doors and closed windows.
It was most strange, however, that Goga did not come outside. No other
boy in his place could ever have been able to stay away so long and not
boast to his friends about his real, pure-breed puppy. And Goga, especially,
would have gloated to see the children so envious.
There was something strange about it all. Finally, Volka could not keep
from asking Goga's mother what the matter was. She became terribly
embarrassed and mumbled something about her dear boy being sick. Then she
rushed off.
"Wait a minute!" Volka pleaded. "Can I ask you something? Just one
question?"
Goga's mother stopped reluctantly.
"Can you just tell me if it's an Alsatian? Is it?"
"What Alsatian?" the poor woman shrugged.
"The puppy you gave Goga. You know, the one that's barking. Is it an
Alsatian or a Boxer?"
"Goodness, what nonsense!" she sighed and disappeared quickly into her
apartment.
As if for spite, a high-pitched angry barking issued forth.
It was all very mysterious.
Just then Hottabych, who was lying in his usual place under Volka's
bed, asked casually:
"I wonder how your enemy named Pill is getting on?"
He yearned to boast about the cunning spell he had cast on him and
share with Volka his delight in the trouble Goga was deservedly having.
"No one but I can ever break the spell," he thought. "I can just
imagine how the most greatly-respected Volka ibn Alyosha will be pleased and
how amazed he will be at the endless variety of my powers."
"Pill?" Volka repeated absently, for he had just thought of a very
simple and tempting idea. "Pill? He's not feeling too good. Listen,
Hottabych," he crouched down and stuck his head under the bed, in order to
carry on negotiations more comfortably. "I want to ask you for a big
favour."
"This is it," the old Genie thought unhappily. He suspected that Volka
was about to ask him to break the spell he had cast on Goga; and he decided
to refuse flatly. At least for the time being. It wouldn't hurt the horrid
tattle-tale and gossip to suffer a bit. It would only do him good. However.
Hottabych replied sourly:
"I'll be only too happy to know your wish."
"I want to ask you for a present."
The old man was pleased at not being forced to discuss Goga's premature
pardon. He scurried out from under the bed.
"Just tell me what you want and you'll have it immediately, 0 young and
benevolent Genie-saviour."
"Could you give me a dog? An Alsatian?"
"A dog? Nothing could be simpler or more pleasing to my heart!"
Hottabych yanked a hair from his beard. Volka felt faint from
happiness: there, at his feet, a magnificent, sleek and muscular
three-year-old Alsatian stretched with a pleasant growl. It had lively,
intelligent eyes, a cold, wet nose and marvellous pointed ears. Volka patted
its neck. The dog wagged its tail politely and barked loudly from an
overflow of emotion.
"How do you like this dog?" Hottabych asked, as he bustled about, ready
at a sign from Volka to fill the entire room, the entire apartment, and the
entire house with the most valuable dogs. "Oh, I beg your pardon. I forgot a
small detail."
The "small detail" was a collar, which appeared immediately. It
glittered with such a multitude of precious stones that there would be more
than enough for two imperial crowns.
The unexpected happiness was almost more than Volka could bear. He
patted the dog with a shaking hand and had such a dazed smile on his face
that tears of happiness rolled down the kind-hearted old man's cheeks.
But there can never be complete happiness in life, at any rate, not
when you are dealing with a Genie's gifts! Suddenly, they heard the clicking
of a woman's heels behind the door. No sooner had Hottabych darted under the
bed, there to become invisible, than the door opened and Volka's mother
entered.
"That's just what I thought," she said, looking at the animal. In his
haste, the old Genie had forgotten to make it invisible. "A dog! I'd like to
know where you got it?" Volka knew he was sinking fast and sure. "I got
it.... It was given to me... . You see.... What I mean is...."
There was no sense telling her the truth, and Volka didn't want to lie.
Anyway, there was no sense lying-his mother could always tell when he was
not telling the truth.
"Volka!" she said, raising her voice, "I don't like your mumbling. I
want you to tell me whose dog it is."
"It isn't anyone's ... I mean, it wasn't anybody's before, but now it's
mine."
His mother turned pink with indignation. "I didn't think you would lie
to me. I didn't think you were capable of it. Tell me whose dog it is. Why,
the collar alone is worth hundreds of roubles."
She thought the stones were just coloured glass. Hottabych became very
angry. He was both angry and hurt. He wanted this noble, but naive woman to
understand that Has-san Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab was not one to present his
best friends with cheap imitations and that this truly priceless collar was
worth thousands upon thousands of roubles. But he checked himself in time,
since he now realized such bragging would only make Volka's situation worse.
He himself was a straightforward and truthful person and was proud of
Volka for not wanting to lie, even though it was the tiniest white lie. The
only thing to do was to stop the misunderstanding immediately.
"Well then, my kind and truthful young friend will have to do without a
dog for the time being. And let him not be bothered by dreams of owning a
dog," Hottabych thought, smiling into his beard.
A faint crystal tinkling issued from under the bed, and the dog
disappeared.
"Volka, dear," his mother said, completely forgetting what they had
been talking about. "If my office calls, please tell them I'll be there in
an hour or so. By the way, do you know whom the doctor came to see next
door?"
"Goga, I guess."
"Is he ill?"
"I think so." -
"You think so! Isn't he your friend?"
"Some friend!"
"I'm ashamed of you, Volka," his mother said angrily, and she turned
and walked out of the room with a stony face.
"Hm!" Volka sighed and decided to visit Goga as soon as the doctor
left. "Hottabych! Hey, Hottabych!"
There was no answer.
"He's gone again! Whenever you have to discuss something with him, he's
not there. What a Genie!"
Meanwhile, Hottabych was making himself comfortable in apartment 37,
this time under Goga's bed. He was curious to see how the old doctor, who
obviously had no idea what a mighty and unusual opponent he was up against,
would helplessly fumble about in search of a correct diagnosis.
This is what was happening in the room where the most mysterious of all
the old district doctor's cases lay high on fluffed pillows, while Volka,
taking advantage of Hottabych's absence, sat down to study his geography,
and the old Genie himself lay hidden under Goga's bed.
The old doctor's name was Alexander Alexeyevich. We want you to know
this, in case you meet him some day. He was very experienced and wise.
"Now, will you please leave us alone? There's something we have to
discuss," he said kindly to Goga's despairing mother.
"Well, young man," he said when they were alone (Hottabych under the
bed obviously did not count), "how are things? Are we still barking?"
"It's awful!" Goga moaned.
"Aha! Well then, let's just chat a bit. What kind of poems do you
like?"
"Bow-wow-wow!" Goga barked. His mother, who was standing just outside
the door, began to sob.
You can imagine what Goga wanted to reply to the old doctor's question!
He was indignant and he considered it a foolish and unnecessary question.
However, his barking neither surprised nor distressed the old doctor.
"Don't get angry," Alexander Alexeyevich said in a very calm voice.
"This question has direct bearing on your illness."
"I like 'A Winter's Evening,' a poem by Pushkin," Goga finally answered
after barking for a long while.
"Won't you recite it for me? Do you know it by heart?"
Goga recited four lines.
"That's enough!" the doctor said. "Now, will you please tell me what
you think about your classmate, ah, what's-his-name? The one who lives next
door?"
"You mean Volka Kostylkov?"
"Exactly."
"Bow-wow-wow!" Goga barked loudly.
"Now, now. Try to use words."
"Bow-wow-wow'." Goga replied, shrugging helplessly, as if to say: "I'd
be only too glad to use words, but I can't. I don't seem to be able to."
"I see. That's enough. That's enough, I said! Hm! Well, and what about
the other children in your class?"
"In my class?" the ailing Goga smirked. "If you want to know, all the
kids in my class are bow-wow-wow!"
"Well, and what do you think about me? Don't be shy, tell me what you