by Lazar Lagin
The Old Genie Hottabych
Lazar Lagin
This 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 Scheherazade’s tales I read 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…”
The Old Genie Hottabych
by Lazar Lagin
A MOST UNUSUAL MORNING
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.
THE STRANGE VESSEL
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.
THE OLD GENIE
While Volka was swaying back and forth on the hook, t
rying 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, O 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, O 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, O 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, O my blessed saviour — hachoo, hachoo! — have fished me. May your days be prolonged. O… 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, O 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.
THE GEOGRAPHY EXAMINATION
“Order me as you wish!” Hottabych continued, gazing at Volka devotedly. “Is there anything that grieves you, O 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, O 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, O 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, O 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, O Vo
lka 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, O 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, O 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.”
