---------------------------------------------------------------
A Story of Make-Believe
Russian original title: Старик Хоттабыч ( старое название "Старый джин
Хоттабыч")
FOREIGN LANGUAGES PUBLISHING HOUSE MOSCOW
Translated from the Russian by Fainna Solasko
OCR: http://home.freeuk.com/russica2
_______________________________________________
The amusing and fascinating children's book is often called the Russian
"Thousand and One Nights".
Who is the Old Genie Hottabych?
This is what the author has to say of him:" In one of Scheherezade's
tales I red of the Fisherman who found a copper vessel in his net. In the
vessel was a mighty Genie - a magician who had been imprisoned in the bottle
for nearly two thousand years. The Genie had sworn to make the one who freed
him rich, powerful and happy.
" But what if such a Genie suddenly came to life in the Soviet Union,
in Moscow? I tried to imagine what would have happened if a very ordinary
Russian boy had freed him from the vessel.
"And imagine, I suddenly discovered that a schoolboy named Volka
Kostylkov, the very same Volka who used to live on Three Ponds Street, you
know, the best diver at summer camp last year.... On second thought, I
believe we had better begin from the beginning...."
A Most Unusual Morning
The Strange Vessel
The Old Genie The Geography Examination
Hottabych's Second Service
An Unusual Event at the Movies A Troubled Evening
A Chapter Which Is a Continuation of the Previous One
A Restless Night
The Unusual Events in Apartment
A No Less Troubled Morning
Why S.S. Pivoraki Became Less Talkative
An Interview with a Diver
Charting a Flight
The Flight
Zhenya Bogorad's Adventures Far Away in the East
Tra-la-la, ibn Alyosha!
Meet My Friend
Have Mercy on Us, Mighty Ruler!
It's So Embarrassing to Be an Illiterate Genie
Who's the Richest?
A Camel in the Street
A Mysterious Happening in the Bank
Hottabych and Sidorelli
A Hospital Under the Bed
One in Which We Return to the Barking Boy
Hottabych and Mr. Moneybags
Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab's Story of His Adventures After Leaving
the Shop
The Same and Mr. Moneybags
Extra Tickets
Ice-Cream Again
How Many Footballs Do You Need?
Hottabych Enters the Game
The Situation Becomes More Tense
Reconciliation
Where Should They Look for Omar?
The Story Told by the Conductor of the Moscow-Odessa Express of What
Happened on the Nara-Maly Yaroslavets Line
The Strange Sailing Ship
Aboard the "Sweet Omar"
The "VK-1" Magic-Carpet-Seaplane
Hottabych Is Lost and Found Again
The Vessel From the Pillars of Hercules
The Shortest Chapter of All
Dreaming of the "Ladoga"
A Commotion at the Central Excursion Bureau
Who Is Most Famous?
The Unexpected Encounter
What Interferes with Sleeping?
Shipwrecked?
Hottabych at His Best
"Salaam, Sweet Omar!"
Omar Asaf Bares His Claws
What Good Optical Instruments Can Lead To
Hottabych's Fatal Passion
Hottabych's New Year Visit
Epilogue
At 7:32 a.m. a merry sun-spot slipped through a hole in the curtain and
settled on the nose of Volka Kostylkov, a 6th-grade pupil. Volka sneezed and
woke up.
Just then, he heard his mother say in the next room:
"Don't rush, Alyosha. Let the child sleep a bit longer, he has an exam
today."
Volka winced. When, oh when, would his mother stop calling him a child?
"Nonsense!" he could hear his father answer. "The boy's nearly
thirteen. He might as well get up and help us pack. Before you know it, this
child of yours will be using a razor."
How could he have forgotten about the packing!
Volka threw off the blankets and dressed hurriedly. How could he ever
have forgotten such a day!
This was the day the Kostylkov family was moving to a different
apartment in a new six-storey house. Most of their belongings had been
packed the night before. Mother and Grandma had packed the dishes in a
little tin tub that once, very long ago, they had bathed Volka in. His
father had rolled up his sleeves and, with a mouthful of nails, just like a
shoemaker, had spent the evening hammering down the lids on crates of books.
Then they had all argued as to the best place to put the things so as
to have them handy when the truck arrived in the morning. Then they had
their tea on an uncovered table-as on a march. Then they decided their heads
would be clearer after a good night's sleep and they all went to bed.
In a word, there was just no explaining how he could have ever
forgotten that this was the morning they, were moving to a new apartment.
The movers barged in before breakfast was quite over. The first thing
they did was to open wide both halves of the door and ask in loud voices,
"Well, can we begin?"
"Yes, please do," both Mother and Grandma answered and began to bustle
about.
Volka marched downstairs, solemnly carrying the sofa pillows to the
waiting truck.
"Are you moving?" a boy from next door asked.
"Yes," Volka answered indifferently, as though he was used to moving
from one apartment to another every week and there was nothing very special
about it.
The janitor, Stepanych, walked over, slowly rolled a cigarette and
began an unhurried conversation as one grown-up talk to another. The boy
felt dizzy with pride and happiness. He gathered his courage and invited
Stepanych to visit them at their new home. The janitor said, "With
pleasure." A serious, important, man-to-man conversation was beginning, when
all at once Volka's mother's voice came through the open window:
"Volka! Volka! Where can that awful child be?" Volka raced up to the
strangely large and empty apartment in which shreds of old newspapers and
old medicine bottles were lying forlornly about the floor.
"At last!" his mother said. "Take your precious aquarium and get right
into the truck. I want you to sit on the sofa and hold the aquarium on your
lap. There's no other place for it. But be sure the water doesn't splash on
the sofa."
It's really strange, the way parents worry when they're moving to a new
apartment.
Well, the truck finally choked exhaustedly and stopped at the
attractive entrance of Volka's new house. The movers quickly carried
everything upstairs and soon were gone.
Volka's father opened a few crates and said, "We'll do the rest in the
evening." Then he left for the factory.
Mother and Grandma began unpacking the pots and pans, while Volka
decided to run down to the river nearby. His father had warned him not to go
swimming without him, because the river was very deep, but Volka soon found
an excuse: "I have to go in for a dip to clear my head. How can I take an
exam with a fuzzy brain!"
It's wonderful, the way Volka was always able to think of an excuse
when he was about to do something he was not allowed to do.
How convenient it is to have a river near your house! Volka told his
mother he'd go sit on the bank and study his geography.
And he really and truly intended to spend about ten minutes leafing
through the text-book. However, he got undressed and jumped into the water
the minute he reached the river. It was still early, and there was not a
soul on the bank. This had its good and bad points. It was nice, because no
one could stop him from swimming as much as he liked. It was bad, because
there was no one to admire what a good swimmer and especially what an
extraordinary diver he was.
Volka swam and dived until he became blue. Finally, he realized he had
had enough. He was ready to climb out when he suddenly changed his mind and
decided to dive into the clear water one last time.
As he was about to come up for air, his hand hit a long hard object on
the bottom. He grabbed it and surfaced near the shore, holding a
strange-looking slippery, moss-covered clay vessel. It resembled an ancient
type of Greek vase called an amphora. The neck was sealed tightly with a
green substance and what looked like a seal was imprinted on top.
Volka weighed the vessel in his hand. It was very heavy. He caught his
breath.
A treasure! An ancient treasure of great scientific value! How
wonderful!
He dressed quickly and dashed home to open it in the privacy of his
room.
As he ran along, he could visualize the notice which would certainly
appear in all the papers the next morning. He even thought of a heading: "A
Pioneer Aids Science."
"Yesterday, a pioneer named Vladimir Kostylkov came to his district
militia station and handed the officer on duty a treasure consisting of
antique gold objects which he found on the bottom of the river, in a very
deep place. The treasure has been handed over to the Historical Museum.
According to reliable sources, Vladimir Kostylkov is an excellent diver."
Volka slipped by the kitchen, where his mother was cooking dinner. He
dashed into his room, nearly breaking his leg as he stumbled on a chandelier
lying on the floor. It was Grandma's famous chandelier. Very long ago,
before the Revolution, his deceased grandfather had converted it from a
hanging oil lamp. Grandma would not part with it for anything in the world,
because it was a treasured memory of Grandfather. Since it was not elegant
enough to be hung in the dining room, they decided to hang it in Volka's
room. That is why a huge iron hook had been screwed into the ceiling.
Volka rubbed his sore knee, locked the door, took his penknife from his
pocket and, trembling from excitement, scraped the seal off the bottle.
The room immediately filled with choking black smoke, while a noiseless
explosion of great force threw him up to the ceiling, where he remained
suspended from the hook by the seat of his pants.
While Volka was swaying back and forth on the hook, trying to
understand what had happened, the smoke began to clear. Suddenly, he
realized there was someone else in the room besides himself. It was a
skinny, sunburnt old man with a beard down to his waist and dressed in an
elegant turban, a white coat of fine wool richly embroidered in silver and
gold, gleaming white silk puffed trousers and petal pink morocco slippers
with upturned toes.
"Hachoo!" the old man sneezed loudly and prostrated himself. "I greet
you, 0 Wonderful and Wise Youth!"
Volka shut his eyes tight and then opened them again. No, he was not
seeing things. The amazing old man was still there. Kneeling and rubbing his
hands, he stared at the furnishings of Volka's room with lively, shrewd
eyes, as if it were all goodness-knows what sort of a miracle.
"Where did you come from?" Volka inquired cautiously, swaying back and
forth under the ceiling like a pendulum. "Are you... from an amateur
troupe?"
"Oh, no, my young lord," the old man replied grandly, though he
remained in the same uncomfortable pose and continued to sneeze. "I am not
from the strange country of Anamateur Troupe you mentioned. I come from this
most horrible vessel."
With these words he scrambled to his feet and began jumping on the
vessel, from which a wisp of smoke was still curling upward, until there was
nothing left but a small pile of clay chips. Then, with a sound like
tinkling crystalware, he yanked a hair from his beard and tore it in two.
The bits of clay flared up with a weird green flame until soon there was not
a trace of them left on the floor.
Still, Volka was dubious. You must agree, it's not easy to accept the
fact that a live person can crawl out of a vessel no bigger than a decanter.
"Well, I don't know..." Volka stammered. "The vessel was so small, and
you're so big compared to it."
"You don't believe me, 0 despicable one?!" the old man shouted angrily,
but immediately calmed down; once again he fell to his knees, hitting the
floor with his forehead so strongly that the water shook in the aquarium and
the sleepy fish began to dart back and forth anxiously. "Forgive me, my
young saviour, but I am not used to having my words doubted. Know ye, most
blessed of all young men, that I am none other than the mighty Genie Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab-that is, the son of Hottab, famed in all four
corners of the world."
All this was so interesting it made Volka forget he was hanging under
the ceiling on a chandelier hook.
"A 'gin-e'? Isn't that some kind of a drink?"
"I am not a drink, 0 inquisitive youth!" the old man flared up again,
then took himself in hand once more and calmed down. "I am not a beverage,
but a mighty, unconquerable spirit. There is no magic in the world which I
cannot do, and my name, as I have already had the pleasure of conveying to
your great and extremely respected attention, is Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn
Hottab, or, as you would say in Russian, Hassan Abdurrakhman Hottabych. If
you mention it to the first Ifrit or Genie you meet, you'll see him tremble,
and his mouth will go dry from fear," the old man continued boastfully.
"My story- hachoo!- is strange, indeed. And if it were written with
needles in the corners of the eyes, it would be a good lesson for all those
who seek learning. I, most unfortunate Genie that I am, disobeyed Sulayman,
son of David (on the twain be peace!)-I, and my brother, Omar Asaf
Hottabych. Then Sulayman sent his Vizier Asaf, son of Barakhiya, to seize
us, and he brought us back against our will. Sulayman, David's son (on the
twain be peace!), ordered two bottles brought to him: a copper one and a
clay one. He put me in the clay vessel and my brother Omar Hottabych in the
copper one. He sealed both vessels and imprinted the greatest of all names
of Allah on them and then ordered his Genies to carry us off and throw my
brother into the sea and me into the river, from which you, 0 my blessed
saviour- hachoo, hachoo!-have fished me. May your days be prolonged. 0....
Begging your pardon, I would be indescribably happy to know your name, most
beautiful of all youths."
"My name's Volka," our hero replied as he swayed softly to and fro
under the ceiling.
"And what is your fortunate father's name, may he be blessed for
eternity? Tell me the most gentle of all his names, as he is certainly
deserving of great love and gratitude for presenting the world with such an
outstanding offspring."
"His name's Alexei. And his most gentle ... most gentle name is
Alyosha."
"Then know ye, most deserving of all youths, the star of my heart,
Volka ibn Alyosha, that I will henceforth fulfil all your wishes, since you
have saved me from the most horrible imprisonment. Hachoo!"
"Why do you keep on sneezing so?" Volka asked, as though everything
else was quite clear.
"The many thousand years I spent in dampness, deprived of the
beneficial rays of the sun, in a cold vessel lying on the bottom of a river,
have given me, your undeserving servant, a most tiresome running nose.
Hachoo! Hachoo! But all this is of no importance at all and unworthy of your
most treasured attention. Order me as you wish, 0 young master!" Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab concluded heatedly with his head raised, but still
kneeling.
"First of all, won't you please rise," Volka said.
"Your every word is my command," the old man replied obediently and
rose. "I await your further orders."
"And now," Volka mumbled uncertainly, "if it's not too much trouble ..
. would you be kind enough ... of course, if it's not too much trouble....
What I mean is, I'd really like to be back on the floor again."
That very moment he found himself standing beside old man Hottabych, as
we shall call our new acquaintance for short. The first thing Volka did was
to grab the seat of his pants. There was no hole at all.
Miracles were beginning to happen.
"Order me as you wish!" Hottabych continued, gazing at Volka devotedly.
"Is there anything that grieves you, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha? Tell me, and I
will help you."
"My goodness!" Volka cried, glancing at the clock ticking away loudly
on the table. "I'm late! I'm late for my exam!"
"What are you late for, 0 most treasured Volka ibn Alyosha?" Hottabych
asked in a business-like way. "What does that strange word 'ex-am' mean?"
"It's the same as a test. I'm late for my test at school."
"Then know ye, 0 Volka, that you do not value my powers at all," the
old man said in a hurt voice. "No, no, and no again! You will not be late
for your exam. Just tell me what your choice is:
to hold up the exam, or to find yourself immediately at your school
gates?"
"To find myself at the gates," Volka replied.
"Nothing could be simpler! You will now find yourself where your young
and honourable spirit draws you so impatiently. You will stun your teachers
and your comrades with your great knowledge."
With the same pleasant tinkling sound the old man once again pulled a
hair from his beard; then a second one.
"I'm afraid I won't stun them," Volka sighed, quickly changing into his
school uniform. "To tell you the truth, I have little chance of getting an
'A' in geography."
"In geography?" the old man cried and raised his thin hairy arms
triumphantly. "So you're to take an exam in geography?! Then know ye, 0 most
wonderful of all wonderful ones, that you are exceptionally lucky, for I
know more about geography than any other Genie-I, your devoted Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab. We shall go to school together, may its foundation
and roof be blessed! I'll prompt you invisibly and tell you all the answers.
You will become the most famous pupil of your school and of all the schools
of your most beautiful city. And if anyone of your teachers does not accord
you the greatest praise, he will have to deal with me! Oh, they will be
very, very sorry!" Hottabych raged. "I'll turn them into mules that carry
water, into homeless curs covered with scabs, into the most horrible and
obnoxious toads-that's what I'll do to them! However," he said, calming down
as quickly as he had become enraged, "things will not go that far, for
everyone, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha, will be astounded by your answers."
' "Thank you, Hassan Hottabych," Volka sighed miserably. "Thank you,
but I don't want you to prompt me. We pioneers are against prompting as a
matter of principle. We're conducting an organized fight against prompting."
Now, how could an old Genie who had spent so many years in prison know
such a scholarly term as "a matter of principle"? However, the sigh his
young saviour heaved to accompany his sad and honourable words convinced
Hottabych that Volka ibn Alyosha needed his help more than ever before.
"Your refusal grieves me," Hottabych said. "After all, no one will
notice me prompting you."
"Ha!" Volka said bitterly. "You don't know what keen ears our teacher
Varvara Stepanovna has."
"You not only upset me, you now offend me, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha! If
Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab says that no one will notice, it means no one
will notice!"
"Not a single soul?" Volka asked again, just to make sure.
"Not a single soul. The words which I will have the pleasure of telling
you will go straight from my deferential lips to your greatly respected
ears."
"I really don't know what to do, Hassan Hottabych," Volka said sighing,
as though with reluctance. "I really hate to upset you by refusing. All
right, have your own way! Geography isn't Math or Grammar. I'd never agree
to even the tiniest prompt in those subjects, but since geography isn't
really the most important subject.... Come on, let's hurry!" He looked at
the old man's unusual clothing with a critical eye. "Hm-m-m.... D'you think
you could change into something else, Hassan Hottabych?"
"Don't my garments please your gaze, 0 most noble of Volkas?" Hottabych
asked unhappily.
"Sure they do, they certainly do," Volka answered diplomatically. "But
you're dressed ... if you know what I mean.... Our styles are a little bit
different.... Your clothes will attract too much attention."
"But how do respectable, honourable gentlemen of advanced age dress
nowadays?"
Volka tried to explain what a jacket, trousers and a hat were, but
though he tried very hard, he wasn't very successful. He was about to
despair, when he suddenly glanced at his grandfather's portrait on the wall.
He led Hottabych over to the time-darkened photograph and the old man gazed
long at it with curiosity, surprised to see clothing so unlike his own.
A moment later, Volka, holding Hottabych's arm, emerged from the house.
The old man was magnificent in a new linen suit, an embroidered Ukrainian
shirt, and a straw boater. The only things he had refused to change,
complaining of three thousand-year-old corns, were his slippers. He remained
in his pink slippers with the upturned toes, which, in times gone by, would
have probably driven the most stylish young man at the Court of Caliph Harun
al Rashid out of his mind with envy.
When Volka and a transformed Hottabych approached the entrance of
Moscow Secondary School No. 245 the old man looked at himself coyly in the
glass door and remained quite pleased with what he saw.
The elderly doorman, who was sedately reading his paper, put it aside
with pleasure at the sight of Volka and his companion. It was hot and the
doorman felt like talking to someone.
Skipping several steps at a time, Volka dashed upstairs. The corridors
were quiet and empty, a true and sad sign that the examination had begun and
that he was late.
"And where are you going?" the doorman asked Hottabych good-naturedly
as he was about to follow his young friend in.
"He's come to see the principal," Volka shouted from the top 'of the
stairs.
"You won't be able to see him now. He's at an examination. Won't you
please come by again later on in the day?"
Hottabych frowned angrily.
"If I be permitted to, 0 respected old man, I would prefer to wait for
him here." Then he shouted to Volka, "Hurry to your classroom, 0 Volka ibn
Alyosha! I'm certain that you'll astound your teachers and your comrades
with your great knowledge!"
"Are you his grandfather or something?" the doorman inquired, trying to
start up a conversation. Hottabych said nothing. He felt it beneath his
dignity to converse with a doorkeeper.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?" the doorman continued. "The heat's
something terrible today."
He poured a full cup of tea and, turning to hand it to the untalkative
stranger, he saw to his horror that the old man had disappeared into thin
air. Shaken by this impossible occurrence, the doorman gulped down the tea
intended for Hottabych, poured himself a second cup, and then a third, and
did not stop until there wasn't a drop left. Then he sank into his chair and
began to fan himself exhaustedly with his newspaper.
All the while, a no less unusual scene was taking place on the second
floor, right above the doorman, in the classroom of 6B. The teachers, headed
by the principal, Pavel Vasilyevich, sat at a table covered with a heavy
cloth used for special occasions. Behind them was the blackboard, hung with
various maps. Facing them were rows of solemn pupils. It was so quiet in the
room that one could hear a lonely fly buzzing monotonously near the ceiling.
If the pupils of 6B were always this quiet, theirs would undoubtedly be the
most disciplined class in all of Moscow.
It must be noted, however, that the quiet in the classroom was not only
due to the hush accompanying any examination, but also to the fact that
Volka Kostylkov had been called to the board-and he was not in the room.
"Vladimir Kostylkov!" the principal repeated and looked at the quiet
children in surprise.
It became still more quiet.
Then, suddenly, they heard the loud clatter of running feet in the hall
outside, and at the very moment the principal called "Vladimir Kostylkov"
for the third and last time, the door burst open and Volka, very much out of
breath, gasped:
"Here!"
"Please come up to the board," the principal said dryly. "We'll speak
about your being late afterwards."
"I ... I feel ill," Volka mumbled, saying the first thing that came to
his head, as he walked uncertainly towards his examiners.
While he was wondering which of the slips of paper laid out on the
table he should choose, old man Hottabych slipped through the wall in the
corridor and disappeared through the opposite one into an adjoining
classroom. He had an absorbed look on his face.
Volka finally took the first slip his hand touched. Tempting his fate,
he turned it over very slowly, but was pleasantly surprised to see that he
was to speak on India. He knew quite a lot about India, since he had always
been interested in that country.
"Well, let's hear what you have to say," the principal said.
Volka even remembered the beginning of the chapter on India word for
word as it was in his book. He opened his mouth to say that the Hindustan
Peninsula resembled a triangle and that this triangle bordered on the Indian
Ocean and its various parts: the Arabian Sea in the West and the Bay of
Bengal in the East, that two large countries-India and Pakistan-were located
on the peninsula, that both were inhabited by kindly and peace-loving
peoples with rich and ancient cultures, etc., etc., etc., but just then
Hottabych, standing in the adjoining classroom, leaned against the wall and
began mumbling diligently, cupping his hand to his mouth like a horn:
"India, 0 my most respected teacher...!"
And suddenly Volka, contrary to his own desires, began to pour forth
the most atrocious nonsense:
"India, 0 my most respected teacher, is located close to the edge of
the Earth's disc and is separated from this edge by desolate and unexplored
deserts, as neither animals nor birds live to the east of it. India is a
very wealthy country, and its wealth lies in its gold. This is not dug from
the ground as in other countries, but is produced, day and night, by a
tireless species of gold-bearing ants, which are nearly the size of a dog.
They dig their tunnels in the ground and three times a day they bring up
gold sand and nuggets and pile them in huge heaps. But woe be to those
Indians who try to steal this gold without due skill! The ants pursue them
and, overtaking them, kill them on the spot. From the north and west, India
borders on a country of bald people. The men and women and even the children
are all bald in this country. And these strange people live on raw fish and
pine cones. Still closer to them is a country where you can neither see
anything nor pass, as it is filled to the top with feathers. The earth and
the air are filled with feathers, and that is why you can't see anything
there."
"Wait a minute, Kostylkov," the geography teacher said with a smile.
"No one has asked you to tell us of the ancients' views on Asia's geography.
We'd like you to tell us the modern, scientific facts about India."
Oh, how happy Volka would have been to display his knowledge of the
subject! But what could he do if he was no longer the master of his speech
and actions! In agreeing to have Hottabych prompt him, he became a toy in
the old man's well-meaning but ignorant hands. He wanted to tell his
teachers that what he had told them obviously had nothing to do with modern
science. But Hottabych on the other side of the wall shrugged in dismay and
shook his head, and Volka, standing in front of the class, was compelled to
do the same.
"That which I have had the honour of telling you, 0 greatly respected
Varvara Stepanovna, is based on the most reliable sources, and there exist
no other, more scientific facts on India than those I have just, with your
permission, revealed to you."
"Please keep to the subject. This is an examination, not a masquerade.
If you don't know the answers, it would be much more honourable to admit it
right away. What was it you said about the Earth's disc by the way? Don't
you know that the Earth is round?"
Did Volka Kostylkov, an active member of the Moscow Planetarium's
Astronomy Club, know that the Earth was round? Why, any first-grader knew
that. But Hottabych, standing behind the wall, burst out laughing, and no
matter how our poor boy tried to press his lips together, a haughty smirk
escaped him:
"I presume you are making fun of your most devoted pupil! If the Earth
were round, the water would run off it, and then everyone would die of
thirst and all the plants would dry up. The Earth, 0 most noble and honoured
of all teachers and pedagogues, has always had and does now have the shape
of a flat disc, surrounded on all sides by a mighty river named 'Ocean.' The
Earth rests on six elephants, and they, in turn, are standing on a
tremendous turtle. That is how the world is made, 0 teacher!"
The board of teachers gazed at Volka with rising surprise. He broke out
in a cold sweat from horror and the realization of his own complete
helplessness. The other children could not quite understand what had
happened to their friend, but some began to giggle. It was really funny to
hear about a country of bald people, about a country filled with feathers,
about gold-bearing ants as big as dogs and about the flat Earth resting on
six elephants and a turtle. As for Zhenya Bogorad, Volka's best friend and
one of the class pioneer leaders, he became really worried. He knew that
Volka, as chairman of the Astronomy Club, at least knew that the Earth was
round-if he knew nothing else. Could it be that he had suddenly decided upon
some mischief, and during an examination, of all times! Volka was probably
ill, but what ailed him? What kind of a strange, unusual disease did he
have? And then, it was very bad for their pioneer group. So far, they had
been first in all the exams, but now Volka's stupid answers would spoil
everything, though he was usually a disciplined pioneer! Goga Pilukin, a
most unpleasant boy at the next desk (nicknamed "Pill" by his classmates),
hastened to pour salt on Zhenya's fresh wounds.
"That takes care of your group, Zhenya dear," he whispered with a
malicious giggle. "You're sinking fast!" Zhenya shook his fist at Pill.
"Varvara Stepanovna!" Goga whined. "Bogorad just shook his fist at me."
"Sit still and don't tattle," Varvara Stepanovna said and turned back
to Volka, who stood before her more dead than alive. "Were you serious about
the elephants and the turtle?" "More serious than ever before, 0 most
respected of all teachers," Volka repeated after the old man and felt
himself burning up with shame.
"And haven't you anything else to add? Do you really think you were
answering the question?"
"No, I've nothing to add," Hottabych said behind the wall, shaking his
head.
And Volka, helpless to withstand the force that was pushing him towards
failure, also shook his head and said, "No, I've nothing to add. Perhaps,
however, the fact that in the wealthy land of India the horizons are framed
by gold and pearls."
"It's incredible!" his teacher exclaimed.
It was difficult to believe that Kostylkov, a usually disciplined boy,
had suddenly decided to play a silly joke on his teachers (and at such an
important time!), running the risk of a second examination in the autumn.
"I don't think the boy is quite well," Varvara Stepanovna whispered to
the principal.
Glancing hurriedly and sympathetically at Volka, who stood numb with
grief before them, the committee held a whispered conference.
Varvara Stepanovna suggested, "What if we ask the child another
question, just to calm him? Say, from last year's book. Last year he got an
'A' in geography."
The others agreed, and Varvara Stepanovna once again turned to the
unhappy boy.
"Now, Kostylkov, wipe your tears and don't be nervous. Tell us what a
horizon is."
"A horizon?" Volka said with new hope. "That's easy. A horizon is an
imagined line which...."
But Hottabych came to life behind the wall again and Volka once again
became the victim of prompting.
"The horizon, 0 my most revered one," Volka corrected himself, "I would
call the horizon that brink, where the crystal cupola of the Heavens touches
the edge of the Earth."
"It gets worse as he goes on," Varvara Stepanovna moaned. "How would
you have us understand your words about the crystal cupola of the
Heavens-literally or figuratively?"
"Literally, 0 teacher," Hottabych prompted from the next room.
And Volka was obliged to repeat after him, "Literally, 0 teacher."
"Figuratively!" someone hissed from the back of the room. But Volka
repeated, "Naturally, in the literal sense and no other."
"What does that mean?" Varvara Stepanovna asked, still not believing
her ears. "Does that mean you consider the sky to be a solid cupola?"
"Yes."
"And does it mean there's a place where the Earth ends?"
"Yes, there is, 0 my most highly respected teacher."
Behind the wall Hottabych nodded approvingly and rubbed his hands
together smugly.
A strange silence fell on the class. Even those who were always ready
to laugh stopped smiling. Something was definitely wrong with Volka. Varvara
Stepanovna rose and felt his forehead anxiously. He did not have a fever.
But Hottabych was really touched by this. He bowed low and touched his
forehead and chest in the Eastern manner and then began to whisper. Volka,
driven by the same awful force, repeated his movements exactly.
"I thank you, 0 most gracious daughter of Stepan! I thank you for your
trouble. But it is unnecessary, because, praised be Allah, I am quite well."
All this sounded extremely strange and funny. However, the other
children were so worried about Volka that not a shade of a smile crossed a
single face. Varvara Stepanovna took him by the hand, led him out of the
room, and patted his lowered head.
"Never mind, Kostylkov. Don't worry. You're probably overtired. Come
back when you've had a good rest. All right?"
"All right," Volka said. "But upon my word of honour, Varvara
Stepanovna, it's not my fault! It isn't really!"
"Why, I'm not blaming you at all," the teacher answered kindly. "I'll
tell you what: let's drop in on Pyotr Ivanych."
Pyotr Ivanych, the school doctor, examined Volka for all of ten
minutes. He made him close his eyes and hold his arms out before him with
his fingers spread apart; then he tapped his knee and drew lines on his
chest and back with his stethoscope.
By then Volka came to himself. His cheeks turned pink again and his
spirits rose.
"The boy's perfectly well," said Pyotr Ivanych. "And if you want my
opinion, he's an unusually healthy child! I think he was probably
overworked. He must have studied too much before his exams, because there's
nothing wrong with him. And that's all there is to it!"
Just in case, though, he measured some drops into a glass, and the
unusually healthy child was forced to drink the medicine.
Suddenly, Volka had an idea. What if he could profit from Hottabych's
absence and take his geography examination right there, in the doctor's
office?
"By no means!" Pyotr Ivanych said emphatically. "By no means. Let the
child have a few days of rest. Geography can wait."
"That's quite true," the teacher sighed with relief, pleased that
.everything had turned out so well in the end. "And you, my young friend,
run along home and have a good rest. When you feel better, come back and
take your exam. I'm positive you'll get an 'A.' What do you think, Pyotr
Ivanych?"
"Such a Hercules as he? Why, he'll never get less than an 'A'+!'
"Ah ... and don't you think someone had better see him home?" Varvara
Stepanovna added.
"Oh no, Varvara Stepanovna!" Volka cried. "I'll make out fine."
All he needed now was for a chaperone to bump into that crazy old
Hottabych!
Volka appeared to be in the pink of health, and with an easy heart
Varvara Stepanovna let him go home.
The doorman rushed towards him as he was on the way out. "Kostylkov!
Your grandpa, or whoever he is, the one who came here with you...."
At that very moment, old man Hottabych appeared from the wall. He was
as happy as a lark and immensely pleased with himself, and he was humming a
little tune.
"Help!" the doorman cried soundlessly and tried in vain to pour himself
another cup of tea from the empty kettle. When he put the kettle down and
turned around, both Volka Kostylkov and his mysterious companion had
disappeared. By then they had already turned the nearest corner.
"Pray tell me, young master, did you astound your teacher and your
comrades with your great knowledge?" Hottabych inquired proudly, breaking a
rather long silence.
"I astounded them all right!" Volka said and looked at the old man with
loathing.
Hottabych beamed. "I expected nothing else! But for a moment there I
thought that the most revered daughter of Stepan was displeased with the
breadth and scope of your knowledge."
"Oh, no, no!" Volka cried in fear, recalling Hottabych's terrible
threats. "You were imagining things."
"I would have changed her into a chopping block on which butchers chop
up mutton," the old man said fiercely (and Volka was really frightened for
his teacher's fate), "if I hadn't seen that she had such great respect for
you and took you to the door of your classroom and then practically down the
stairs. I realized then that she had fully appreciated your answers. Peace
be with her!"
"Sure, peace be with her!" Volka added hastily, feeling that a load had
fallen from his shoulders.
During the several thousand years of Hottabych's life, he had often had
to do with people feeling sad and gloomy, and he knew how to cheer them up.
At any rate, he was convinced he knew how to do so. All that was needed was
to give a person that which he had always longed for. But what kind of a
present should he give Volka? The answer came to him quite by chance when
Volka asked a passer-by:
"Would you please tell me what time it is?"
The man looked at his watch and said, "Five to two."
"Thank you," Volka said and continued on in silence.
Hottabych was the first to speak.
"Tell me, 0 Volka, how was the man able to tell the time of day so
accurately?"
"Didn't you see him look at his watch?" The old man raised his eyebrows
in surprise.
"His watch?!" "Sure, his watch," Volka explained. "He had a watch on
his
wrist. The round chrome-plated thing."
"Why don't you have such a watch, 0 most noble of all Genie-saviours?"
"I'm too young to have such a watch," Volka answered humbly.
"May I be permitted, 0 honourable passer-by, to inquire as to the time
of day?" Hottabych said, stopping the first person he saw and staring at his
watch.
"Two minutes to two," the man answered, somewhat surprised at the
flowery language.
Thanking him in the most elaborate oriental manner, Hottabych said with
a sly grin:
"May I be permitted, 0 loveliest of all Volkas, to inquire as to the
time of day?"
And there was a watch shining on Volka's left wrist, exactly like the
one the man they had stopped had, but instead of being chrome-plated, it was
of the purest gold.
"May it be worthy of your hand and your kind heart," Hottabych said in
a touched voice, basking in Volka's happiness and surprise.
Then Volka did something that any other boy or girl would have done in
his place, having found themselves the proud possessors of their first
watch. He raised his arm to his ear to hear it tick.
"O-o-o-o," he drawled. "It's not wound. I'll have to wind it." To his
great disappointment, he found he could not move the winding button. Then he
got out his pen-knife to open the watch case. However, try as he would, he
could not find a trace of a slit in which to insert the knife.
"It's made of solid gold," the old man boasted and winked. "I'm not one
of those people who give presents made of hollow gold."
"Does that mean there's nothing inside of it?" Volka asked with
disappointment.
"Why, should there be anything inside?" the old Genie inquired
anxiously. Volka unbuckled the strap in silence and returned the watch to
Hottabych.
"All right, then, I'll give you a watch that doesn't have to have
anything inside."
Once again a gold watch appeared on Volka's wrist, but now it was very
small and flat. There was no glass on it and instead of hands there was a
small vertical gold rod in the middle. The face was studded with the most
exquisite emeralds set where the numbers should be.
"Never before did anyone, even the wealthiest of all sultans, have a
hand sun watch!" the old man boasted again. "There were sun dials in city
squares, in market places, in gardens and in yards. And they were all made
of stone. But I just invented this one. It's not bad, is it?"
It certainly was exciting to be the only owner of a sun watch in the
whole world.
Volka grinned broadly, while the old man beamed.
"How do you tell the time on it?" Volka asked.
"Here's how," Hottabych said, taking hold of Volka's hand gently. "Hold
your arm straight out like this and the shadow cast by the little gold rod
will fall on the right number."
"But the sun has to be shining," Volka said, looking with displeasure
at a small cloud that just obscured it.
"The cloud will pass in a minute," Hottabych promised. True enough, in
a minute the sun began to shine once again. "See, it points somewheres
between 2 and 3 p.m. That means it's about 2:30." As he was speaking,
another cloud covered the sun.
"Don't pay any attention to it," Hottabych said. "I'll clear the sky
for you whenever you want to find out what time it is."
"What about the autumn?" Volka asked.
"What about it?"
"What about the autumn and the winter, when the sky is covered with
clouds for months on end?"
"I've already told you, 0 Volka, the sun will shine whenever you want
it to. You have but to order me and everything will be as you wish."
"But what if you're not around?"
"I'll always be near-by. All you have to do is call me."
"But what about the evenings and nights?" Volka asked maliciously.
"What about the night, when there's no sun in the sky?"
"At night people must surrender themselves to sleep, and not look at
their watches," Hottabych snapped. He had to control himself not to teach
the insolent youth a good lesson. "All right then, tell me whether you like
that man's watch. If you do, you shall have it."
"What do you mean? It belongs to him. Don't tell me you are going
to...."
"Don't worry, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha. I won't touch a hair on his head.
He'll offer you the watch himself, for you are certainly worthy of receiving
the most treasured gifts."
"You'll force him to and then he'll...."
"And he'll be overjoyed that I did not wipe him off the face of the
Earth, or change him into a foul rat, or a cockroach hiding in a crack of a
hovel, or the last beggar...."
"That's real blackmail," Volka said angrily. "Tricks like that send a
man to jail, my friend. And you'll well deserve it."
"Send me to jail?!" the old man flared up. "Me?! Hassan Abdurrakhman
ibn Hottab? And does he know, that most despicable of all passers-by, who J
am? Ask the first Genie, or Ifrit, or Shaitan you see, and they'll tell you,
as they tremble from fear, that Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab is the chief
of all Genie bodyguards. My army consists of 72 tribes, with 72,000 warriors
in each tribe; every warrior rules over one thousand Marids and every Marid
rules over a thousand Aides and every Aide rules over a thousand Shaitans
and every Shaitan rules over a thousand Genies. I rule over them all and
none can disobey me! If only this thrice-miserable of all most miserable
passers-by tries to...."
Meanwhile, the man in question was strolling down the street, glancing
at the shop windows, and in no way aware of the terrible danger hanging over
him because of an ordinary watch glittering on his wrist.
' "Why, I'll..." Hottabych raged on in his boastfulness, "why, if you
A Story of Make-Believe
Russian original title: Старик Хоттабыч ( старое название "Старый джин
Хоттабыч")
FOREIGN LANGUAGES PUBLISHING HOUSE MOSCOW
Translated from the Russian by Fainna Solasko
OCR: http://home.freeuk.com/russica2
_______________________________________________
The amusing and fascinating children's book is often called the Russian
"Thousand and One Nights".
Who is the Old Genie Hottabych?
This is what the author has to say of him:" In one of Scheherezade's
tales I red of the Fisherman who found a copper vessel in his net. In the
vessel was a mighty Genie - a magician who had been imprisoned in the bottle
for nearly two thousand years. The Genie had sworn to make the one who freed
him rich, powerful and happy.
" But what if such a Genie suddenly came to life in the Soviet Union,
in Moscow? I tried to imagine what would have happened if a very ordinary
Russian boy had freed him from the vessel.
"And imagine, I suddenly discovered that a schoolboy named Volka
Kostylkov, the very same Volka who used to live on Three Ponds Street, you
know, the best diver at summer camp last year.... On second thought, I
believe we had better begin from the beginning...."
A Most Unusual Morning
The Strange Vessel
The Old Genie The Geography Examination
Hottabych's Second Service
An Unusual Event at the Movies A Troubled Evening
A Chapter Which Is a Continuation of the Previous One
A Restless Night
The Unusual Events in Apartment
A No Less Troubled Morning
Why S.S. Pivoraki Became Less Talkative
An Interview with a Diver
Charting a Flight
The Flight
Zhenya Bogorad's Adventures Far Away in the East
Tra-la-la, ibn Alyosha!
Meet My Friend
Have Mercy on Us, Mighty Ruler!
It's So Embarrassing to Be an Illiterate Genie
Who's the Richest?
A Camel in the Street
A Mysterious Happening in the Bank
Hottabych and Sidorelli
A Hospital Under the Bed
One in Which We Return to the Barking Boy
Hottabych and Mr. Moneybags
Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab's Story of His Adventures After Leaving
the Shop
The Same and Mr. Moneybags
Extra Tickets
Ice-Cream Again
How Many Footballs Do You Need?
Hottabych Enters the Game
The Situation Becomes More Tense
Reconciliation
Where Should They Look for Omar?
The Story Told by the Conductor of the Moscow-Odessa Express of What
Happened on the Nara-Maly Yaroslavets Line
The Strange Sailing Ship
Aboard the "Sweet Omar"
The "VK-1" Magic-Carpet-Seaplane
Hottabych Is Lost and Found Again
The Vessel From the Pillars of Hercules
The Shortest Chapter of All
Dreaming of the "Ladoga"
A Commotion at the Central Excursion Bureau
Who Is Most Famous?
The Unexpected Encounter
What Interferes with Sleeping?
Shipwrecked?
Hottabych at His Best
"Salaam, Sweet Omar!"
Omar Asaf Bares His Claws
What Good Optical Instruments Can Lead To
Hottabych's Fatal Passion
Hottabych's New Year Visit
Epilogue
At 7:32 a.m. a merry sun-spot slipped through a hole in the curtain and
settled on the nose of Volka Kostylkov, a 6th-grade pupil. Volka sneezed and
woke up.
Just then, he heard his mother say in the next room:
"Don't rush, Alyosha. Let the child sleep a bit longer, he has an exam
today."
Volka winced. When, oh when, would his mother stop calling him a child?
"Nonsense!" he could hear his father answer. "The boy's nearly
thirteen. He might as well get up and help us pack. Before you know it, this
child of yours will be using a razor."
How could he have forgotten about the packing!
Volka threw off the blankets and dressed hurriedly. How could he ever
have forgotten such a day!
This was the day the Kostylkov family was moving to a different
apartment in a new six-storey house. Most of their belongings had been
packed the night before. Mother and Grandma had packed the dishes in a
little tin tub that once, very long ago, they had bathed Volka in. His
father had rolled up his sleeves and, with a mouthful of nails, just like a
shoemaker, had spent the evening hammering down the lids on crates of books.
Then they had all argued as to the best place to put the things so as
to have them handy when the truck arrived in the morning. Then they had
their tea on an uncovered table-as on a march. Then they decided their heads
would be clearer after a good night's sleep and they all went to bed.
In a word, there was just no explaining how he could have ever
forgotten that this was the morning they, were moving to a new apartment.
The movers barged in before breakfast was quite over. The first thing
they did was to open wide both halves of the door and ask in loud voices,
"Well, can we begin?"
"Yes, please do," both Mother and Grandma answered and began to bustle
about.
Volka marched downstairs, solemnly carrying the sofa pillows to the
waiting truck.
"Are you moving?" a boy from next door asked.
"Yes," Volka answered indifferently, as though he was used to moving
from one apartment to another every week and there was nothing very special
about it.
The janitor, Stepanych, walked over, slowly rolled a cigarette and
began an unhurried conversation as one grown-up talk to another. The boy
felt dizzy with pride and happiness. He gathered his courage and invited
Stepanych to visit them at their new home. The janitor said, "With
pleasure." A serious, important, man-to-man conversation was beginning, when
all at once Volka's mother's voice came through the open window:
"Volka! Volka! Where can that awful child be?" Volka raced up to the
strangely large and empty apartment in which shreds of old newspapers and
old medicine bottles were lying forlornly about the floor.
"At last!" his mother said. "Take your precious aquarium and get right
into the truck. I want you to sit on the sofa and hold the aquarium on your
lap. There's no other place for it. But be sure the water doesn't splash on
the sofa."
It's really strange, the way parents worry when they're moving to a new
apartment.
Well, the truck finally choked exhaustedly and stopped at the
attractive entrance of Volka's new house. The movers quickly carried
everything upstairs and soon were gone.
Volka's father opened a few crates and said, "We'll do the rest in the
evening." Then he left for the factory.
Mother and Grandma began unpacking the pots and pans, while Volka
decided to run down to the river nearby. His father had warned him not to go
swimming without him, because the river was very deep, but Volka soon found
an excuse: "I have to go in for a dip to clear my head. How can I take an
exam with a fuzzy brain!"
It's wonderful, the way Volka was always able to think of an excuse
when he was about to do something he was not allowed to do.
How convenient it is to have a river near your house! Volka told his
mother he'd go sit on the bank and study his geography.
And he really and truly intended to spend about ten minutes leafing
through the text-book. However, he got undressed and jumped into the water
the minute he reached the river. It was still early, and there was not a
soul on the bank. This had its good and bad points. It was nice, because no
one could stop him from swimming as much as he liked. It was bad, because
there was no one to admire what a good swimmer and especially what an
extraordinary diver he was.
Volka swam and dived until he became blue. Finally, he realized he had
had enough. He was ready to climb out when he suddenly changed his mind and
decided to dive into the clear water one last time.
As he was about to come up for air, his hand hit a long hard object on
the bottom. He grabbed it and surfaced near the shore, holding a
strange-looking slippery, moss-covered clay vessel. It resembled an ancient
type of Greek vase called an amphora. The neck was sealed tightly with a
green substance and what looked like a seal was imprinted on top.
Volka weighed the vessel in his hand. It was very heavy. He caught his
breath.
A treasure! An ancient treasure of great scientific value! How
wonderful!
He dressed quickly and dashed home to open it in the privacy of his
room.
As he ran along, he could visualize the notice which would certainly
appear in all the papers the next morning. He even thought of a heading: "A
Pioneer Aids Science."
"Yesterday, a pioneer named Vladimir Kostylkov came to his district
militia station and handed the officer on duty a treasure consisting of
antique gold objects which he found on the bottom of the river, in a very
deep place. The treasure has been handed over to the Historical Museum.
According to reliable sources, Vladimir Kostylkov is an excellent diver."
Volka slipped by the kitchen, where his mother was cooking dinner. He
dashed into his room, nearly breaking his leg as he stumbled on a chandelier
lying on the floor. It was Grandma's famous chandelier. Very long ago,
before the Revolution, his deceased grandfather had converted it from a
hanging oil lamp. Grandma would not part with it for anything in the world,
because it was a treasured memory of Grandfather. Since it was not elegant
enough to be hung in the dining room, they decided to hang it in Volka's
room. That is why a huge iron hook had been screwed into the ceiling.
Volka rubbed his sore knee, locked the door, took his penknife from his
pocket and, trembling from excitement, scraped the seal off the bottle.
The room immediately filled with choking black smoke, while a noiseless
explosion of great force threw him up to the ceiling, where he remained
suspended from the hook by the seat of his pants.
While Volka was swaying back and forth on the hook, trying to
understand what had happened, the smoke began to clear. Suddenly, he
realized there was someone else in the room besides himself. It was a
skinny, sunburnt old man with a beard down to his waist and dressed in an
elegant turban, a white coat of fine wool richly embroidered in silver and
gold, gleaming white silk puffed trousers and petal pink morocco slippers
with upturned toes.
"Hachoo!" the old man sneezed loudly and prostrated himself. "I greet
you, 0 Wonderful and Wise Youth!"
Volka shut his eyes tight and then opened them again. No, he was not
seeing things. The amazing old man was still there. Kneeling and rubbing his
hands, he stared at the furnishings of Volka's room with lively, shrewd
eyes, as if it were all goodness-knows what sort of a miracle.
"Where did you come from?" Volka inquired cautiously, swaying back and
forth under the ceiling like a pendulum. "Are you... from an amateur
troupe?"
"Oh, no, my young lord," the old man replied grandly, though he
remained in the same uncomfortable pose and continued to sneeze. "I am not
from the strange country of Anamateur Troupe you mentioned. I come from this
most horrible vessel."
With these words he scrambled to his feet and began jumping on the
vessel, from which a wisp of smoke was still curling upward, until there was
nothing left but a small pile of clay chips. Then, with a sound like
tinkling crystalware, he yanked a hair from his beard and tore it in two.
The bits of clay flared up with a weird green flame until soon there was not
a trace of them left on the floor.
Still, Volka was dubious. You must agree, it's not easy to accept the
fact that a live person can crawl out of a vessel no bigger than a decanter.
"Well, I don't know..." Volka stammered. "The vessel was so small, and
you're so big compared to it."
"You don't believe me, 0 despicable one?!" the old man shouted angrily,
but immediately calmed down; once again he fell to his knees, hitting the
floor with his forehead so strongly that the water shook in the aquarium and
the sleepy fish began to dart back and forth anxiously. "Forgive me, my
young saviour, but I am not used to having my words doubted. Know ye, most
blessed of all young men, that I am none other than the mighty Genie Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab-that is, the son of Hottab, famed in all four
corners of the world."
All this was so interesting it made Volka forget he was hanging under
the ceiling on a chandelier hook.
"A 'gin-e'? Isn't that some kind of a drink?"
"I am not a drink, 0 inquisitive youth!" the old man flared up again,
then took himself in hand once more and calmed down. "I am not a beverage,
but a mighty, unconquerable spirit. There is no magic in the world which I
cannot do, and my name, as I have already had the pleasure of conveying to
your great and extremely respected attention, is Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn
Hottab, or, as you would say in Russian, Hassan Abdurrakhman Hottabych. If
you mention it to the first Ifrit or Genie you meet, you'll see him tremble,
and his mouth will go dry from fear," the old man continued boastfully.
"My story- hachoo!- is strange, indeed. And if it were written with
needles in the corners of the eyes, it would be a good lesson for all those
who seek learning. I, most unfortunate Genie that I am, disobeyed Sulayman,
son of David (on the twain be peace!)-I, and my brother, Omar Asaf
Hottabych. Then Sulayman sent his Vizier Asaf, son of Barakhiya, to seize
us, and he brought us back against our will. Sulayman, David's son (on the
twain be peace!), ordered two bottles brought to him: a copper one and a
clay one. He put me in the clay vessel and my brother Omar Hottabych in the
copper one. He sealed both vessels and imprinted the greatest of all names
of Allah on them and then ordered his Genies to carry us off and throw my
brother into the sea and me into the river, from which you, 0 my blessed
saviour- hachoo, hachoo!-have fished me. May your days be prolonged. 0....
Begging your pardon, I would be indescribably happy to know your name, most
beautiful of all youths."
"My name's Volka," our hero replied as he swayed softly to and fro
under the ceiling.
"And what is your fortunate father's name, may he be blessed for
eternity? Tell me the most gentle of all his names, as he is certainly
deserving of great love and gratitude for presenting the world with such an
outstanding offspring."
"His name's Alexei. And his most gentle ... most gentle name is
Alyosha."
"Then know ye, most deserving of all youths, the star of my heart,
Volka ibn Alyosha, that I will henceforth fulfil all your wishes, since you
have saved me from the most horrible imprisonment. Hachoo!"
"Why do you keep on sneezing so?" Volka asked, as though everything
else was quite clear.
"The many thousand years I spent in dampness, deprived of the
beneficial rays of the sun, in a cold vessel lying on the bottom of a river,
have given me, your undeserving servant, a most tiresome running nose.
Hachoo! Hachoo! But all this is of no importance at all and unworthy of your
most treasured attention. Order me as you wish, 0 young master!" Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab concluded heatedly with his head raised, but still
kneeling.
"First of all, won't you please rise," Volka said.
"Your every word is my command," the old man replied obediently and
rose. "I await your further orders."
"And now," Volka mumbled uncertainly, "if it's not too much trouble ..
. would you be kind enough ... of course, if it's not too much trouble....
What I mean is, I'd really like to be back on the floor again."
That very moment he found himself standing beside old man Hottabych, as
we shall call our new acquaintance for short. The first thing Volka did was
to grab the seat of his pants. There was no hole at all.
Miracles were beginning to happen.
"Order me as you wish!" Hottabych continued, gazing at Volka devotedly.
"Is there anything that grieves you, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha? Tell me, and I
will help you."
"My goodness!" Volka cried, glancing at the clock ticking away loudly
on the table. "I'm late! I'm late for my exam!"
"What are you late for, 0 most treasured Volka ibn Alyosha?" Hottabych
asked in a business-like way. "What does that strange word 'ex-am' mean?"
"It's the same as a test. I'm late for my test at school."
"Then know ye, 0 Volka, that you do not value my powers at all," the
old man said in a hurt voice. "No, no, and no again! You will not be late
for your exam. Just tell me what your choice is:
to hold up the exam, or to find yourself immediately at your school
gates?"
"To find myself at the gates," Volka replied.
"Nothing could be simpler! You will now find yourself where your young
and honourable spirit draws you so impatiently. You will stun your teachers
and your comrades with your great knowledge."
With the same pleasant tinkling sound the old man once again pulled a
hair from his beard; then a second one.
"I'm afraid I won't stun them," Volka sighed, quickly changing into his
school uniform. "To tell you the truth, I have little chance of getting an
'A' in geography."
"In geography?" the old man cried and raised his thin hairy arms
triumphantly. "So you're to take an exam in geography?! Then know ye, 0 most
wonderful of all wonderful ones, that you are exceptionally lucky, for I
know more about geography than any other Genie-I, your devoted Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab. We shall go to school together, may its foundation
and roof be blessed! I'll prompt you invisibly and tell you all the answers.
You will become the most famous pupil of your school and of all the schools
of your most beautiful city. And if anyone of your teachers does not accord
you the greatest praise, he will have to deal with me! Oh, they will be
very, very sorry!" Hottabych raged. "I'll turn them into mules that carry
water, into homeless curs covered with scabs, into the most horrible and
obnoxious toads-that's what I'll do to them! However," he said, calming down
as quickly as he had become enraged, "things will not go that far, for
everyone, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha, will be astounded by your answers."
' "Thank you, Hassan Hottabych," Volka sighed miserably. "Thank you,
but I don't want you to prompt me. We pioneers are against prompting as a
matter of principle. We're conducting an organized fight against prompting."
Now, how could an old Genie who had spent so many years in prison know
such a scholarly term as "a matter of principle"? However, the sigh his
young saviour heaved to accompany his sad and honourable words convinced
Hottabych that Volka ibn Alyosha needed his help more than ever before.
"Your refusal grieves me," Hottabych said. "After all, no one will
notice me prompting you."
"Ha!" Volka said bitterly. "You don't know what keen ears our teacher
Varvara Stepanovna has."
"You not only upset me, you now offend me, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha! If
Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab says that no one will notice, it means no one
will notice!"
"Not a single soul?" Volka asked again, just to make sure.
"Not a single soul. The words which I will have the pleasure of telling
you will go straight from my deferential lips to your greatly respected
ears."
"I really don't know what to do, Hassan Hottabych," Volka said sighing,
as though with reluctance. "I really hate to upset you by refusing. All
right, have your own way! Geography isn't Math or Grammar. I'd never agree
to even the tiniest prompt in those subjects, but since geography isn't
really the most important subject.... Come on, let's hurry!" He looked at
the old man's unusual clothing with a critical eye. "Hm-m-m.... D'you think
you could change into something else, Hassan Hottabych?"
"Don't my garments please your gaze, 0 most noble of Volkas?" Hottabych
asked unhappily.
"Sure they do, they certainly do," Volka answered diplomatically. "But
you're dressed ... if you know what I mean.... Our styles are a little bit
different.... Your clothes will attract too much attention."
"But how do respectable, honourable gentlemen of advanced age dress
nowadays?"
Volka tried to explain what a jacket, trousers and a hat were, but
though he tried very hard, he wasn't very successful. He was about to
despair, when he suddenly glanced at his grandfather's portrait on the wall.
He led Hottabych over to the time-darkened photograph and the old man gazed
long at it with curiosity, surprised to see clothing so unlike his own.
A moment later, Volka, holding Hottabych's arm, emerged from the house.
The old man was magnificent in a new linen suit, an embroidered Ukrainian
shirt, and a straw boater. The only things he had refused to change,
complaining of three thousand-year-old corns, were his slippers. He remained
in his pink slippers with the upturned toes, which, in times gone by, would
have probably driven the most stylish young man at the Court of Caliph Harun
al Rashid out of his mind with envy.
When Volka and a transformed Hottabych approached the entrance of
Moscow Secondary School No. 245 the old man looked at himself coyly in the
glass door and remained quite pleased with what he saw.
The elderly doorman, who was sedately reading his paper, put it aside
with pleasure at the sight of Volka and his companion. It was hot and the
doorman felt like talking to someone.
Skipping several steps at a time, Volka dashed upstairs. The corridors
were quiet and empty, a true and sad sign that the examination had begun and
that he was late.
"And where are you going?" the doorman asked Hottabych good-naturedly
as he was about to follow his young friend in.
"He's come to see the principal," Volka shouted from the top 'of the
stairs.
"You won't be able to see him now. He's at an examination. Won't you
please come by again later on in the day?"
Hottabych frowned angrily.
"If I be permitted to, 0 respected old man, I would prefer to wait for
him here." Then he shouted to Volka, "Hurry to your classroom, 0 Volka ibn
Alyosha! I'm certain that you'll astound your teachers and your comrades
with your great knowledge!"
"Are you his grandfather or something?" the doorman inquired, trying to
start up a conversation. Hottabych said nothing. He felt it beneath his
dignity to converse with a doorkeeper.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?" the doorman continued. "The heat's
something terrible today."
He poured a full cup of tea and, turning to hand it to the untalkative
stranger, he saw to his horror that the old man had disappeared into thin
air. Shaken by this impossible occurrence, the doorman gulped down the tea
intended for Hottabych, poured himself a second cup, and then a third, and
did not stop until there wasn't a drop left. Then he sank into his chair and
began to fan himself exhaustedly with his newspaper.
All the while, a no less unusual scene was taking place on the second
floor, right above the doorman, in the classroom of 6B. The teachers, headed
by the principal, Pavel Vasilyevich, sat at a table covered with a heavy
cloth used for special occasions. Behind them was the blackboard, hung with
various maps. Facing them were rows of solemn pupils. It was so quiet in the
room that one could hear a lonely fly buzzing monotonously near the ceiling.
If the pupils of 6B were always this quiet, theirs would undoubtedly be the
most disciplined class in all of Moscow.
It must be noted, however, that the quiet in the classroom was not only
due to the hush accompanying any examination, but also to the fact that
Volka Kostylkov had been called to the board-and he was not in the room.
"Vladimir Kostylkov!" the principal repeated and looked at the quiet
children in surprise.
It became still more quiet.
Then, suddenly, they heard the loud clatter of running feet in the hall
outside, and at the very moment the principal called "Vladimir Kostylkov"
for the third and last time, the door burst open and Volka, very much out of
breath, gasped:
"Here!"
"Please come up to the board," the principal said dryly. "We'll speak
about your being late afterwards."
"I ... I feel ill," Volka mumbled, saying the first thing that came to
his head, as he walked uncertainly towards his examiners.
While he was wondering which of the slips of paper laid out on the
table he should choose, old man Hottabych slipped through the wall in the
corridor and disappeared through the opposite one into an adjoining
classroom. He had an absorbed look on his face.
Volka finally took the first slip his hand touched. Tempting his fate,
he turned it over very slowly, but was pleasantly surprised to see that he
was to speak on India. He knew quite a lot about India, since he had always
been interested in that country.
"Well, let's hear what you have to say," the principal said.
Volka even remembered the beginning of the chapter on India word for
word as it was in his book. He opened his mouth to say that the Hindustan
Peninsula resembled a triangle and that this triangle bordered on the Indian
Ocean and its various parts: the Arabian Sea in the West and the Bay of
Bengal in the East, that two large countries-India and Pakistan-were located
on the peninsula, that both were inhabited by kindly and peace-loving
peoples with rich and ancient cultures, etc., etc., etc., but just then
Hottabych, standing in the adjoining classroom, leaned against the wall and
began mumbling diligently, cupping his hand to his mouth like a horn:
"India, 0 my most respected teacher...!"
And suddenly Volka, contrary to his own desires, began to pour forth
the most atrocious nonsense:
"India, 0 my most respected teacher, is located close to the edge of
the Earth's disc and is separated from this edge by desolate and unexplored
deserts, as neither animals nor birds live to the east of it. India is a
very wealthy country, and its wealth lies in its gold. This is not dug from
the ground as in other countries, but is produced, day and night, by a
tireless species of gold-bearing ants, which are nearly the size of a dog.
They dig their tunnels in the ground and three times a day they bring up
gold sand and nuggets and pile them in huge heaps. But woe be to those
Indians who try to steal this gold without due skill! The ants pursue them
and, overtaking them, kill them on the spot. From the north and west, India
borders on a country of bald people. The men and women and even the children
are all bald in this country. And these strange people live on raw fish and
pine cones. Still closer to them is a country where you can neither see
anything nor pass, as it is filled to the top with feathers. The earth and
the air are filled with feathers, and that is why you can't see anything
there."
"Wait a minute, Kostylkov," the geography teacher said with a smile.
"No one has asked you to tell us of the ancients' views on Asia's geography.
We'd like you to tell us the modern, scientific facts about India."
Oh, how happy Volka would have been to display his knowledge of the
subject! But what could he do if he was no longer the master of his speech
and actions! In agreeing to have Hottabych prompt him, he became a toy in
the old man's well-meaning but ignorant hands. He wanted to tell his
teachers that what he had told them obviously had nothing to do with modern
science. But Hottabych on the other side of the wall shrugged in dismay and
shook his head, and Volka, standing in front of the class, was compelled to
do the same.
"That which I have had the honour of telling you, 0 greatly respected
Varvara Stepanovna, is based on the most reliable sources, and there exist
no other, more scientific facts on India than those I have just, with your
permission, revealed to you."
"Please keep to the subject. This is an examination, not a masquerade.
If you don't know the answers, it would be much more honourable to admit it
right away. What was it you said about the Earth's disc by the way? Don't
you know that the Earth is round?"
Did Volka Kostylkov, an active member of the Moscow Planetarium's
Astronomy Club, know that the Earth was round? Why, any first-grader knew
that. But Hottabych, standing behind the wall, burst out laughing, and no
matter how our poor boy tried to press his lips together, a haughty smirk
escaped him:
"I presume you are making fun of your most devoted pupil! If the Earth
were round, the water would run off it, and then everyone would die of
thirst and all the plants would dry up. The Earth, 0 most noble and honoured
of all teachers and pedagogues, has always had and does now have the shape
of a flat disc, surrounded on all sides by a mighty river named 'Ocean.' The
Earth rests on six elephants, and they, in turn, are standing on a
tremendous turtle. That is how the world is made, 0 teacher!"
The board of teachers gazed at Volka with rising surprise. He broke out
in a cold sweat from horror and the realization of his own complete
helplessness. The other children could not quite understand what had
happened to their friend, but some began to giggle. It was really funny to
hear about a country of bald people, about a country filled with feathers,
about gold-bearing ants as big as dogs and about the flat Earth resting on
six elephants and a turtle. As for Zhenya Bogorad, Volka's best friend and
one of the class pioneer leaders, he became really worried. He knew that
Volka, as chairman of the Astronomy Club, at least knew that the Earth was
round-if he knew nothing else. Could it be that he had suddenly decided upon
some mischief, and during an examination, of all times! Volka was probably
ill, but what ailed him? What kind of a strange, unusual disease did he
have? And then, it was very bad for their pioneer group. So far, they had
been first in all the exams, but now Volka's stupid answers would spoil
everything, though he was usually a disciplined pioneer! Goga Pilukin, a
most unpleasant boy at the next desk (nicknamed "Pill" by his classmates),
hastened to pour salt on Zhenya's fresh wounds.
"That takes care of your group, Zhenya dear," he whispered with a
malicious giggle. "You're sinking fast!" Zhenya shook his fist at Pill.
"Varvara Stepanovna!" Goga whined. "Bogorad just shook his fist at me."
"Sit still and don't tattle," Varvara Stepanovna said and turned back
to Volka, who stood before her more dead than alive. "Were you serious about
the elephants and the turtle?" "More serious than ever before, 0 most
respected of all teachers," Volka repeated after the old man and felt
himself burning up with shame.
"And haven't you anything else to add? Do you really think you were
answering the question?"
"No, I've nothing to add," Hottabych said behind the wall, shaking his
head.
And Volka, helpless to withstand the force that was pushing him towards
failure, also shook his head and said, "No, I've nothing to add. Perhaps,
however, the fact that in the wealthy land of India the horizons are framed
by gold and pearls."
"It's incredible!" his teacher exclaimed.
It was difficult to believe that Kostylkov, a usually disciplined boy,
had suddenly decided to play a silly joke on his teachers (and at such an
important time!), running the risk of a second examination in the autumn.
"I don't think the boy is quite well," Varvara Stepanovna whispered to
the principal.
Glancing hurriedly and sympathetically at Volka, who stood numb with
grief before them, the committee held a whispered conference.
Varvara Stepanovna suggested, "What if we ask the child another
question, just to calm him? Say, from last year's book. Last year he got an
'A' in geography."
The others agreed, and Varvara Stepanovna once again turned to the
unhappy boy.
"Now, Kostylkov, wipe your tears and don't be nervous. Tell us what a
horizon is."
"A horizon?" Volka said with new hope. "That's easy. A horizon is an
imagined line which...."
But Hottabych came to life behind the wall again and Volka once again
became the victim of prompting.
"The horizon, 0 my most revered one," Volka corrected himself, "I would
call the horizon that brink, where the crystal cupola of the Heavens touches
the edge of the Earth."
"It gets worse as he goes on," Varvara Stepanovna moaned. "How would
you have us understand your words about the crystal cupola of the
Heavens-literally or figuratively?"
"Literally, 0 teacher," Hottabych prompted from the next room.
And Volka was obliged to repeat after him, "Literally, 0 teacher."
"Figuratively!" someone hissed from the back of the room. But Volka
repeated, "Naturally, in the literal sense and no other."
"What does that mean?" Varvara Stepanovna asked, still not believing
her ears. "Does that mean you consider the sky to be a solid cupola?"
"Yes."
"And does it mean there's a place where the Earth ends?"
"Yes, there is, 0 my most highly respected teacher."
Behind the wall Hottabych nodded approvingly and rubbed his hands
together smugly.
A strange silence fell on the class. Even those who were always ready
to laugh stopped smiling. Something was definitely wrong with Volka. Varvara
Stepanovna rose and felt his forehead anxiously. He did not have a fever.
But Hottabych was really touched by this. He bowed low and touched his
forehead and chest in the Eastern manner and then began to whisper. Volka,
driven by the same awful force, repeated his movements exactly.
"I thank you, 0 most gracious daughter of Stepan! I thank you for your
trouble. But it is unnecessary, because, praised be Allah, I am quite well."
All this sounded extremely strange and funny. However, the other
children were so worried about Volka that not a shade of a smile crossed a
single face. Varvara Stepanovna took him by the hand, led him out of the
room, and patted his lowered head.
"Never mind, Kostylkov. Don't worry. You're probably overtired. Come
back when you've had a good rest. All right?"
"All right," Volka said. "But upon my word of honour, Varvara
Stepanovna, it's not my fault! It isn't really!"
"Why, I'm not blaming you at all," the teacher answered kindly. "I'll
tell you what: let's drop in on Pyotr Ivanych."
Pyotr Ivanych, the school doctor, examined Volka for all of ten
minutes. He made him close his eyes and hold his arms out before him with
his fingers spread apart; then he tapped his knee and drew lines on his
chest and back with his stethoscope.
By then Volka came to himself. His cheeks turned pink again and his
spirits rose.
"The boy's perfectly well," said Pyotr Ivanych. "And if you want my
opinion, he's an unusually healthy child! I think he was probably
overworked. He must have studied too much before his exams, because there's
nothing wrong with him. And that's all there is to it!"
Just in case, though, he measured some drops into a glass, and the
unusually healthy child was forced to drink the medicine.
Suddenly, Volka had an idea. What if he could profit from Hottabych's
absence and take his geography examination right there, in the doctor's
office?
"By no means!" Pyotr Ivanych said emphatically. "By no means. Let the
child have a few days of rest. Geography can wait."
"That's quite true," the teacher sighed with relief, pleased that
.everything had turned out so well in the end. "And you, my young friend,
run along home and have a good rest. When you feel better, come back and
take your exam. I'm positive you'll get an 'A.' What do you think, Pyotr
Ivanych?"
"Such a Hercules as he? Why, he'll never get less than an 'A'+!'
"Ah ... and don't you think someone had better see him home?" Varvara
Stepanovna added.
"Oh no, Varvara Stepanovna!" Volka cried. "I'll make out fine."
All he needed now was for a chaperone to bump into that crazy old
Hottabych!
Volka appeared to be in the pink of health, and with an easy heart
Varvara Stepanovna let him go home.
The doorman rushed towards him as he was on the way out. "Kostylkov!
Your grandpa, or whoever he is, the one who came here with you...."
At that very moment, old man Hottabych appeared from the wall. He was
as happy as a lark and immensely pleased with himself, and he was humming a
little tune.
"Help!" the doorman cried soundlessly and tried in vain to pour himself
another cup of tea from the empty kettle. When he put the kettle down and
turned around, both Volka Kostylkov and his mysterious companion had
disappeared. By then they had already turned the nearest corner.
"Pray tell me, young master, did you astound your teacher and your
comrades with your great knowledge?" Hottabych inquired proudly, breaking a
rather long silence.
"I astounded them all right!" Volka said and looked at the old man with
loathing.
Hottabych beamed. "I expected nothing else! But for a moment there I
thought that the most revered daughter of Stepan was displeased with the
breadth and scope of your knowledge."
"Oh, no, no!" Volka cried in fear, recalling Hottabych's terrible
threats. "You were imagining things."
"I would have changed her into a chopping block on which butchers chop
up mutton," the old man said fiercely (and Volka was really frightened for
his teacher's fate), "if I hadn't seen that she had such great respect for
you and took you to the door of your classroom and then practically down the
stairs. I realized then that she had fully appreciated your answers. Peace
be with her!"
"Sure, peace be with her!" Volka added hastily, feeling that a load had
fallen from his shoulders.
During the several thousand years of Hottabych's life, he had often had
to do with people feeling sad and gloomy, and he knew how to cheer them up.
At any rate, he was convinced he knew how to do so. All that was needed was
to give a person that which he had always longed for. But what kind of a
present should he give Volka? The answer came to him quite by chance when
Volka asked a passer-by:
"Would you please tell me what time it is?"
The man looked at his watch and said, "Five to two."
"Thank you," Volka said and continued on in silence.
Hottabych was the first to speak.
"Tell me, 0 Volka, how was the man able to tell the time of day so
accurately?"
"Didn't you see him look at his watch?" The old man raised his eyebrows
in surprise.
"His watch?!" "Sure, his watch," Volka explained. "He had a watch on
his
wrist. The round chrome-plated thing."
"Why don't you have such a watch, 0 most noble of all Genie-saviours?"
"I'm too young to have such a watch," Volka answered humbly.
"May I be permitted, 0 honourable passer-by, to inquire as to the time
of day?" Hottabych said, stopping the first person he saw and staring at his
watch.
"Two minutes to two," the man answered, somewhat surprised at the
flowery language.
Thanking him in the most elaborate oriental manner, Hottabych said with
a sly grin:
"May I be permitted, 0 loveliest of all Volkas, to inquire as to the
time of day?"
And there was a watch shining on Volka's left wrist, exactly like the
one the man they had stopped had, but instead of being chrome-plated, it was
of the purest gold.
"May it be worthy of your hand and your kind heart," Hottabych said in
a touched voice, basking in Volka's happiness and surprise.
Then Volka did something that any other boy or girl would have done in
his place, having found themselves the proud possessors of their first
watch. He raised his arm to his ear to hear it tick.
"O-o-o-o," he drawled. "It's not wound. I'll have to wind it." To his
great disappointment, he found he could not move the winding button. Then he
got out his pen-knife to open the watch case. However, try as he would, he
could not find a trace of a slit in which to insert the knife.
"It's made of solid gold," the old man boasted and winked. "I'm not one
of those people who give presents made of hollow gold."
"Does that mean there's nothing inside of it?" Volka asked with
disappointment.
"Why, should there be anything inside?" the old Genie inquired
anxiously. Volka unbuckled the strap in silence and returned the watch to
Hottabych.
"All right, then, I'll give you a watch that doesn't have to have
anything inside."
Once again a gold watch appeared on Volka's wrist, but now it was very
small and flat. There was no glass on it and instead of hands there was a
small vertical gold rod in the middle. The face was studded with the most
exquisite emeralds set where the numbers should be.
"Never before did anyone, even the wealthiest of all sultans, have a
hand sun watch!" the old man boasted again. "There were sun dials in city
squares, in market places, in gardens and in yards. And they were all made
of stone. But I just invented this one. It's not bad, is it?"
It certainly was exciting to be the only owner of a sun watch in the
whole world.
Volka grinned broadly, while the old man beamed.
"How do you tell the time on it?" Volka asked.
"Here's how," Hottabych said, taking hold of Volka's hand gently. "Hold
your arm straight out like this and the shadow cast by the little gold rod
will fall on the right number."
"But the sun has to be shining," Volka said, looking with displeasure
at a small cloud that just obscured it.
"The cloud will pass in a minute," Hottabych promised. True enough, in
a minute the sun began to shine once again. "See, it points somewheres
between 2 and 3 p.m. That means it's about 2:30." As he was speaking,
another cloud covered the sun.
"Don't pay any attention to it," Hottabych said. "I'll clear the sky
for you whenever you want to find out what time it is."
"What about the autumn?" Volka asked.
"What about it?"
"What about the autumn and the winter, when the sky is covered with
clouds for months on end?"
"I've already told you, 0 Volka, the sun will shine whenever you want
it to. You have but to order me and everything will be as you wish."
"But what if you're not around?"
"I'll always be near-by. All you have to do is call me."
"But what about the evenings and nights?" Volka asked maliciously.
"What about the night, when there's no sun in the sky?"
"At night people must surrender themselves to sleep, and not look at
their watches," Hottabych snapped. He had to control himself not to teach
the insolent youth a good lesson. "All right then, tell me whether you like
that man's watch. If you do, you shall have it."
"What do you mean? It belongs to him. Don't tell me you are going
to...."
"Don't worry, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha. I won't touch a hair on his head.
He'll offer you the watch himself, for you are certainly worthy of receiving
the most treasured gifts."
"You'll force him to and then he'll...."
"And he'll be overjoyed that I did not wipe him off the face of the
Earth, or change him into a foul rat, or a cockroach hiding in a crack of a
hovel, or the last beggar...."
"That's real blackmail," Volka said angrily. "Tricks like that send a
man to jail, my friend. And you'll well deserve it."
"Send me to jail?!" the old man flared up. "Me?! Hassan Abdurrakhman
ibn Hottab? And does he know, that most despicable of all passers-by, who J
am? Ask the first Genie, or Ifrit, or Shaitan you see, and they'll tell you,
as they tremble from fear, that Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab is the chief
of all Genie bodyguards. My army consists of 72 tribes, with 72,000 warriors
in each tribe; every warrior rules over one thousand Marids and every Marid
rules over a thousand Aides and every Aide rules over a thousand Shaitans
and every Shaitan rules over a thousand Genies. I rule over them all and
none can disobey me! If only this thrice-miserable of all most miserable
passers-by tries to...."
Meanwhile, the man in question was strolling down the street, glancing
at the shop windows, and in no way aware of the terrible danger hanging over
him because of an ordinary watch glittering on his wrist.
' "Why, I'll..." Hottabych raged on in his boastfulness, "why, if you