by Lazar Lagin
“Be that as it may, nothing could be further from my mind than to make my precious young friend seek dishonest earnings. If you don’t need these treasures, turn them into money and lend the money out. You must agree, that’s a very honourable undertaking — to lend money to those who need it.”
“Why, you must be crazy! You don’t know what you’re talking about. How can a Soviet person be a usurer! And even if there was such a vampire, who’d ever go to him? If a person needs money, he can ask for a loan at the Mutual Aid, or borrow some from a friend.”
“Well then,” a somewhat disheartened Hottabych persisted, “buy as many goods as you can and open up your own shops in every part of the city. You’ll become a well-known merchant and everyone will respect you and seek your favour.”
“Don’t you understand, the Government and the co-operatives are in charge of all trade? Why, making a profit by selling stuff in your own shop…”
“Hm!” Hottabych pretended to agree. “Supposing it is as you say it is. I hope you think creating goods is an honest occupation?”
“Sure it is! See, you’re beginning to understand!” Volka said happily.
“I am extremely pleased.” Hottabych smiled sourly. “I recall you once said that your greatly respected father was a foreman in a factory. Am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is he the most important man in the factory?”
“No. He’s a foreman, but there’s a shop foreman, and a chief engineer, and a director above him.”
“Well then,” Hottabych concluded triumphantly, “you can use the treasures I’ve given you to buy your excellent father the factory he works in and lots of other factories besides.”
“It belongs to him already.”
“Volka ibn Alyosha, you just said…”
“If you want to know, he owns the factory he works in and all the other factories and plants, and all the mines and the railways, and the land and the water, and the mountains and the shops and the schools, and the universities and the clubs, and the palaces, and the theatres, and the parks, and the movies in the country. And they belong to me and to Zhenya Bogorad, and to his parents, and…”
“You wish to say that your father has partners, don’t you?”
“Yes, that’s what it is — partners. About two hundred million partners. As many as there are people in the country.”
“You have a very strange country, one that I cannot understand at all,” Hottabych mumbled from under the bed and said no more.
At sunrise the next day the ringing of a telephone awakened the District Branch Manager of the State Bank. He was urgently being summoned to the office. Worried by such an early phone call, he dashed to his office and, upon entering the yard of the building in which the branch was located, he saw a great number of heavily-laden elephants, camels and mules.
“There’s someone here who wants to make a deposit,” the night watchman said in dismay.
“A deposit?” the manager repeated. “So early in the morning? What kind of a deposit?”
The watchman handed him a sheet of paper torn from a school notebook. It was covered with a firm, childish scrawl. The manager read the paper and asked the watchman to pinch him. The puzzled man did as he was told. The manager winced, looked at the page again and said:
“Impossible! It’s absolutely incredible!”
A person who wished to remain anonymous was giving the State Bank two hundred and forty-six bags of gold, silver and precious stones, valued at three thousand four hundred and sixty-seven million, one hundred and thirty-five thousand, seven hundred and three roubles and eighteen kopeks, to use as it saw fit.
The most amazing thing happened a moment later. First, the animals which had delivered the treasure, then, the people who had driven the animals, and then, the treasures they had brought began to sway; they became transparent and dissolved in the air, just like steam. A fresh morning breeze tore the sheet of paper from the amazed manager’s hand, whipped it high into the air and carried it off into an open window. It was Volka Kostylkov’s room. As he slept soundly, the page was fitted back into the notebook it had recently been torn from and once again became a clean piece of paper.
But that is not all. Strange as it may seem, neither the people at the branch office of the bank, nor Volka’s neighbours, nor Volka himself ever remembered anything at all about the event afterwards. It was as if someone had erased it from their memories completely.
HOTTABYCH AND SIDORELLI
It was pitiful to look at the old man. He spent the whole day in the aquarium, saying that he was having an attack of rheumatism. This was certainly a foolish excuse, for nothing can be sillier than sitting in cold water if you have rheumatism.
Hottabych lay on the bottom of the aquarium, moving his fins sluggishly and swallowing water lazily. When either Volka or Zhenya approached, the old man would swim off to the far side and rudely turn his tail towards them. However, whenever Volka left the room, Hottabych would get out of the water to stretch his legs; but as soon as he’d hear him approaching, he’d dash back into the aquarium with a soft splash, as though he had never thought of leaving it. He apparently found some bitter pleasure in the fact that Volka kept pleading with him to get out of the water and stop sulking. The old man would listen to all his entreaties with his tail turned towards the boy. Yet the moment his young friend would open his geography book and begin to study for his exam, Hottabych would stick his head out of the aquarium and accuse Volka of having no heart at all. How could he be occupied with all sorts of nonsense, when an old man was suffering so from rheumatism?!
No sooner would Volka close his book, however, than Hottabych would again turn his tail towards him. This went on till evening. At a little after seven o’clock, he swished his tail and hopped out on to the floor. He squeezed the water from his beard and moustache and dried them quickly at the buzzing table fan. Then he said with some reserve:
“You hurt me by refusing to accept my humble gifts. It’s your good luck that I promised you I wouldn’t get angry. But I did promise and, therefore, I’m not angry at you, for I now see who is really responsible for your offending me so, though you do it unconsciously. It is your teachers — they are the root of all evil! Varvara Stepanovna, not you, O youthful and inexperienced boy, will be held fully responsible for all the bitterness of the past few days. And now that undeserving Varvara, daughter of Stepan, will…”
He yanked four hairs at once from his beard. Something extraordinary was about to happen.
“Oh, no! No, Hottabych! Dear, dear Hottabych!” Volka babbled as he hung on the angry Genie’s arms. “My word of honour! Varvara Stepanovna’s not at all to blame! It was only me…”
“No! She’s to blame, she’s to blame!” Hottabych droned, trying to free his hands.
“She’s not to blame! She’s not to blame! Upon my word of honour, she’s not to blame!” Volka repeated in a frightened voice, while feverishly trying to think of a way to distract the raging Genie’s attention from his teacher. “You know what? You know what?” He had finally thought of something: “Let’s go to the circus. Huh, Hottabych? Let’s go to the circus! Zhenya and I will never get tickets, but it’s so easy for you to get them. You’re the only one who can help us get into the circus. You’re so powerful, so amazingly all-powerful!”
The old man was very inquisitive and an easy prey to flattery. Most important, unlike all other Genies, he never remained angry long.
“And what does this funny word mean?” Hottabych’s eyes burned with interest. “Is it a market where they sell parrots and other unusual birds? Then, know ye, that I am completely indifferent to birds. I’ve had my fill of the sight of parrots.”
“Oh, no, this is a thousand times more interesting. Why, it’s a million times, a million million times more interesting!”
Hottabych immediately forgot about Varvara Stepanovna.
“Let’s go there on a camel. No, better still, on an elephant. Just imagine how eve
ryone will envy you.”
“No, don’t bother. I don’t want you to go to all that trouble,” Volka objected with suspicious haste. “If you’re not afraid, let’s go on the trolley-bus.”
“What’s there to be afraid of?” the old man sounded offended. “Why, I’ve been looking at these iron carts for four days now without any fear at all.”
Half an hour later, Volka, Zhenya and Hottabych reached the recreation park and approached the entrance to the summer circus.
The old man ran over to the box-office to have a look at the tickets, and soon he, Volka and Zhenya were holding pink tickets.
They entered the brightly-lit big top.
There were three empty seats in one of the boxes right near the arena, but Hottabych was quite vigorous in refusing them.
“I cannot agree to having anyone in this place sitting higher than myself and my greatly respected friends. It would be below our dignity.”
It was no use arguing with the old man. With heavy hearts the boys climbed to the last row of the second balcony.
Soon attendants in crimson and gold uniforms lined up along both sides of the entrance to the arena.
The ring-master announced the first act. A bare-back rider dressed in a sequined suit and looking like a Christmas tree ornament rode into the ring.
“Do you like it?” Volka asked Hottabych.
“It is not devoid of interest, and it is pleasant to the eye,” the old man replied cautiously.
The bare-back rider was followed by acrobats, who were followed by clowns, who were followed by a dog act — this attraction met with Hottabych’s reserved praise — who were followed by jugglers and spring-board jumpers. Then there was an intermission.
It was a shame to leave and miss the second half of the show, but a geography book opened at the very first chapter awaited Volka at home.
He sighed heavily and whispered to Zhenya, “Well, I guess I’ll be going. But you try and keep him here for at least another two hours. Go for a walk with him after the show, or something…”
Zhenya mumbled softly, but with great emphasis:
“We should all three leave, all three of us. V. S. is here! V. S. is here!”
And he nodded towards the side isle.
Volka turned round and froze: Varvara Stepanovna and her five-year-old granddaughter Irisha were making their way down the isle to the foyer.
As if by agreement, the boys jumped to their feet and stood in front of the unsuspecting old man in a way to shield their teacher from him.
“You know what, Hottabych?” Volka choked. “Let’s go home! Huh? There’s nothing of interest here today.”
“Sure,” Zhenya agreed, trembling like a leaf in his fear for Varvara Stepanovna’s life. “That’s right, let’s go home. We’ll walk in the park and all kinds of things…”
“Oh, no, my young friends!” Hottabych answered innocently. “Never before have I been so interested as I am in this truly magic tent. I’ll tell you what: you run along and I’ll return as soon as this amazing performance ends.”
What an idea — to leave Varvara Stepanovna alone with a Genie who hated her so!
They had to think of something, of anything at all, to occupy him during intermission. Once the performance was resumed, his eyes would be glued on the arena. They had to think of something urgently, but, fearing for Varvara Stepanovna’s very life, Volka was completely at a loss. His teeth even began to chatter. This attracted Hottabych’s attention, for he was interested in everything.
“I tell you, Hottabych,” Zhenya came to the rescue, “it’s either one way or the other: either we study or not!”
Both Volka and Hottabych looked at him in bewilderment.
“What I mean is, since we’ve promised Hottabych to teach him to read and write, we should use every free minute for study. Isn’t that right, Hottabych?”
“Your perseverance is worthy of the greatest praise, O Zhenya,” Hottabych answered. He was really touched.
“Well, if that’s the case, here’s the circus programme. Let’s sit right down and learn the alphabet. We’ll study all through intermission…”
“With happiness and pleasure, O Zhenya.”
Zhenya opened the programme and pointed to the first letter “A” he saw.
“This is the letter ‘A,’ understand?”
“Yes, O Zhenya.”
“Now, what letter did I say it was?”
“It’s the letter ‘A,’ O Zhenya.”
“Right. Now find me all the ‘A’s you can on this page.”
“Here’s a letter ‘A,’ O Zhenya.”
“Fine! Do you see any more?”
“Here, and here, and here, and here, and here…”
Hottabych was so engrossed in his studies that he paid no attention at all to anything else. By the time the intermission was over and the audience had returned to its seats, Hottabych had learned the alphabet and was reading in syllables:
“An ac-ro-bat on a spring … board.”
“D’you know, Hottabych, you really are gifted!” Zhenya said with true amazement.
“What did you think?” Volka replied. “Why, there has never been such a talented Genie in all the world.”
Hottabych read on delightedly: “ ‘Jum-ping ac-ro-bats un-der the di-rec . … di-rec-tion of Phil-lip Bel-ykh.’ We saw that already. ‘Ev-en-ing per-for-man-ces beg-in at 8 p.m. Ma-ti-nees at 12 no-on.’ O my young teachers, I have read the entire programme. Does that mean I’ll now be able to read the newspapers, too?”
“Certainly! Sure you will!” the boys said. “Now let’s try to read the greetings hanging over the orchestra pit,” Volka said.
Just then a young lady in a little white apron carrying a large tray appeared.
“Would you care for some ice-cream?” she asked the old man. He looked at Volka questioningly.
“Take some, Hottabych, it’s very nice. Try it!” Hottabych tried it and he liked it. He bought some for the boys and another portion for himself, then a third and, finally, being carried away, he bought the astounded young lady’s entire supply — forty-three bars of ice-cream covered with delicate frost. The girl said she’d be back later for the tray and went off, turning back to look at the strange customers.
“Oho!” Zhenya winked. “Look at him pack it away.” In the space of five minutes’ time, Hottabych had gulped down all forty-three bars. He ate it as one would eat a cucumber, biting off big chunks and chewing loudly. He swallowed the last mouthful just as the performance began.
“A world-famous act! Presenting Afanasy Sidorelli!” The audience applauded and the band played a loud viva. A short, middle-aged man in a blue silk robe embroidered with gold dragons entered the arena, bowing and smiling in all directions. It was the famous Sidorelli himself. While his assistants laid out his props on a small lacquered table, in preparation for the first magic trick, he continued to bow and smile. A gold tooth glittered in his mouth when he smiled.
“It’s wonderful!” Hottabych whispered enviously. “What’s wonderful?” Volka asked, clapping as loud as he could.
“It’s wonderful to see a person who has gold teeth growing in his mouth.”
“You think so?” Volka asked absently as he watched the first trick.
“I am positive,” Hottabych replied. “It’s very beautiful and rich looking.”
Sidorelli completed the trick.
“Did you see that?” Volka asked Zhenya proudly, as if he himself had done the trick.
“It was swell!” Zhenya answered. Volka gasped: Zhenya now had two rows of gold teeth in his mouth.
“Volka! Oh, Volka!” Zhenya whispered in a frightened voice. “I want to tell you something — but don’t get scared. All your teeth are made of gold.”
“It’s all Hottabych’s doing, I know,” Volka said dejectedly.
And true enough, the old man, who was listening in on their conversation, nodded and smiled guilelessly. Then they saw that he, too, had two rows of large, even gold te
eth.
“Even Sulayman, the Son of David (peace be on the holy twain!), did not have such a luxurious mouth!” he boasted. “But don’t bother thanking me. I assure you that you are both worthy of this small surprise.”
“Don’t worry, we’re in no rush to thank you!” Zhenya muttered.
Volka was afraid the old man might get angry and he tugged his friend’s sleeve. Zhenya said no more.
“You see, Hottabych,” be began diplomatically, “it’ll be awfully obvious if all three of us sitting in a row have gold teeth. Everybody will look at us, and we’ll feel embarrassed.”
“I won’t be embarrassed in the least,” Hottabych said.
“But still, we won’t feel right. There won’t be any pleasure in being at the circus.”
“So?”
“Well, we wanted to ask you to make our teeth plain bone again till we get home.”
“I am perfectly awed by your modesty, O my young friends!” the old man said in a somewhat hurt voice.
It was a relief to feel that once again they had their own teeth in their mouths.
“Will they turn gold again when we get home?” Zhenya whispered anxiously.
“Never mind, we’ll find out later. Maybe the old man will forget about them.”
Once again Volka became absorbed watching Afanasy Sidorelli’s breath-taking magic. He applauded together with the rest when the man pulled a pigeon, a hen, and, finally, a bouncy, fluffy white poodle from an empty box.
There was only one man present who showed no sign of appreciation as he watched the magician. This was Hottabych.
He felt very hurt, because everyone was applauding the magician for all sorts of trifles, while he, who had performed such wonderful miracles from the time he had been liberated from the vessel, had not even heard a single sincere word of praise, let alone been applauded.
That is why, when the tent was once again filled with applause and Sidorelli began bowing to all sides, Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab grunted irritably and, despite the protests of those sitting in front, proceeded to climb over them down to the arena. An approving murmur passed through the crowd and a stout man said to his neighbour: “I told you that the old man was one of them. You can tell he’s a very experienced clown. Look how funny he is. Sometimes they sit in with the audience on purpose.”
