The Old Genie Hottabych

by Lazar Lagin

  “Good for him!” Zhenya whispered to Volka.

  “What are you whispering about?” the old man asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” Zhenya answered hurriedly.

  “Take care!” the old man warned. “I am not one to have tricks played upon me. To continue: he imprisoned me in the bottle and ordered his Genies to throw me into the ocean. There I abode a hundred years, during which time I said in my heart, ‘Whoso shall release me, him will I enrich for ever and ever.’ But the full century went by and, when no one set me free, I entered upon the second five score saying, ‘Whoso shall release me, for him I shall open the hoards of the Earth.’ Still, no one set me free, and thus four hundred years passed away. Then quoth I, ‘Whoso shall release me, for him will I fulfil three wishes.’ Yet ho one set me free. Thereupon I waxed wroth and said to myself, ‘Whoso shall release me from this time forth, him will I slay, and I will give him choice of what death he will die,’ and now, as you have released me, I give you full choice of death.”

  “But it’s not at all logical to kill your saviour! It’s illogical and downright ungrateful,” Zhenya objected heatedly.

  “Logic has nothing to do with it,” the Genie interrupted harshly. “Choose the death that most appeals to you and do not detain me, for I am terrible in my wrath!”

  “May I ask you something?” Volka said, raising his hand.

  But the Genie glared at him so frightfully, it made Volka’s knees tremble.

  “Well then, will you at least permit me to ask a question?” Zhenya pleaded with such despair that the Genie relented.

  “All right. But be brief.”

  “You say that you spent several thousand years in this copper vessel, but it’s even too small to hold your hand. How should the whole of you fit in it?”

  “What! Do you not believe that I was there?”

  “I’ll never believe it until I see you inside with my own eyes.”

  “Well then, look and be convinced,” the Genie roared. He shook and became a smoke which condensed and entered the jar little by little, while the boys clapped softly in excitement.

  More than half the vapour had disappeared into the vessel. Zhenya, with bated breath, had the stopper ready to imprison the Genie once again, but the old man seemed to change his mind, for he filtered out again and assumed a human form.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” he said, squinting slyly and shaking a hooked and dirty finger in front of Zhenya’s face, while the boy hurriedly slipped the stopper in his pocket. “You didn’t want to outsmart me, did you, O despicable brat? What a terrible memory I have! I nearly forgot that a thousand one hundred and forty-two years ago a fisherman fooled me in just the same manner. He asked me the very same question and I trustingly wished to prove that I had indeed been in the vessel. So I turned into smoke again and entered the jar, while the fisherman snatched up the leaden cap with the seal and stoppered therewith the mouth of it. Then he tossed it back into the sea. Oh no, you can’t play that trick on me twice!”

  “Why, I had no intention of fooling you,” Zhenya lied in a shaky voice, feeling that now he was a goner for sure.

  “Hurry and choose what manner of death you will die and detain me no longer, for I am weary of all this talk!”

  “All right,” Zhenya said after thinking a bit. “But promise me that I’ll die in exactly the way I choose.”

  “I swear!” the Genie promised solemnly and his eyes burnt with a devilish fire.

  “Well, then,” Zhenya said and swallowed hard. “Well then… I want to die of old age.”

  “Good for you!” Volka shouted.

  The Genie turned purple from rage and cried, “But your old age is still very far off. You are still so young!”

  “That’s all right,” Zhenya answered courageously, “I can wait.”

  When Volka heard this, he laughed happily, but the Genie began to curse in Arabic as he dashed back and forth in the cabin, tossing aside everything in his way in helpless rage.

  This went on for a good five minutes until he finally seemed to come to a decision. He laughed so fiendishly as to give the boys goose-pimples. Standing before Zhenya, he said maliciously:

  “There is no denying it, you are cunning. But Omar Asaf ibn Hottab is more cunning than you, O despicable one.”

  “Omar Asaf ibn Hottab?” the boys cried in unison. The Genie was trembling with wrath and bellowed:

  “Silence! Or I’ll destroy you immediately! Yes, I am Omar Asaf ibn Hottab, and I am more cunning than this brat! I’ll fulfil his wish and he will surely die of old age. But,” he said, looking at the boys triumphantly, “his old age will come upon him before you count to a hundred!”

  “Help!” Zhenya cried in his usual voice. “Help!” he groaned in a deep basso a few seconds later. “Help!” he squeaked in a trembling old man’s voice a few” moment’s later. “Help! I’m dying!”

  Volka looked on horror-struck as Zhenya quickly turned into a youth, then into a grown man with a long black beard; then his beard turned to grey and he became middle-aged; and, finally, he became a bald, bony, scrawny old man. All would have been over in a few seconds if Omar Asaf, who was gleefully watching Zhenya’s quick deterioration, had not exclaimed:

  “Oh, if my unfortunate brother were only here now! How happy he would be at my triumph!”

  “Wait!” Volka shouted. “Tell me, was your brother’s name Hassan Abdurrakhman?”

  “How did you discover that?” Omar Asaf asked in amazement. “Do not remind me of him, for my heart is rent at the memory of poor Hassan. Yes, I had a brother named so, but all the worse for you, for reopening my terrible wounds!”

  “If I tell you your brother is alive and bring him to you, alive and healthy, will you spare Zhenya then?”

  “Oh, if I could only see my dear Hassan! Oh, then your friend would remain alive until he aged naturally and that will not happen for many and many a year. But if you deceive me … I swear, neither of you will escape my rightful wrath!”

  “Then wait a minute, just one minute!” Volka shouted.

  A few moments later, he rushed into the lounge where Hottabych was engrossed in his game of chess with the captain.

  “Dear Hottabych, hurry! Let’s run back to the cabin, there’s a great joy awaiting you there.”

  “I can think of no greater joy than to check-mate my sweetest friend, the captain,” Hottabych replied solemnly, studying the board intently.

  “Hottabych, we can’t spare a minute! I beg you, come below with me!”

  “All right,” Hottabych replied and moved his castle. “Check! Run along, Volka. I’ll be with you as soon as I win, and, according to my calculations, this will be in about three more moves.”

  “We’ll see about that yet,” the captain replied cheerfully. “Three moves indeed! Just you let me see…”

  “Yes, yes, do see,” the old man chuckled. “You won’t think of anything anyway. I can wait. I’ll be only too happy to wait.”

  “We’ve no time to wait!” Volka wailed in despair, and knocked all the figures off the board. “If you don’t come below with me this minute, both Zhenya and I will die a horrible death! Hurry! Run!”

  “You’re behaving atrociously,” Hottabych grumbled, but followed Volka out nonetheless.

  “That means it’s a draw!” the captain shouted happily, pleased to have escaped a completely hopeless situation.

  “No, sir! What do you mean a draw?” Hottabych objected and was ready to turn back.

  But Volka shouted angrily:

  “Sure it’s a draw! It’s a typical draw!” and shoved the old man into their cabin, where Omar Asaf was about to fulfil his terrible threat.

  “Who’s the old man?” Hottabych asked, seeing a decrepit old man moaning on the berth. Actually, but a few short moments ago, he had been a thirteen-year-old boy named Zhenya Bogorad. “And who’s that other old man?” he continued, noticing Omar Asaf. Suddenly he turned pale. Not trusting his eyes, he took sev
eral hesitant steps forward and whispered, “Salaam, sweet Omar!”

  “Is that you, O my dear Hassan Abdurrakhman?” Omar Asaf cried.

  The brothers fell into each other’s arms, for they had been separated for nearly three thousand years.

  At first, Volka was so touched by this unusual meeting of brothers in the midst of the Arctic icebergs, and so happy for Hottabych’s sake, that he completely forgot about the unfortunate Zhenya. Soon a barely audible groan from the berth reminded him that urgent aid was needed.

  “Help!” he cried and rushed to separate Hottab’s two sons. “A person’s dying and they…”

  “Help, I’m dying! “the old man Zhenya croaked, as if to corroborate Volka’s words. Hottabych looked at him in surprise and asked:

  “Who is this white-haired old man, and how does he come to be lying in our friend Zhenya’s bed?”

  “But this is Zhenya,” Volka wailed. “Save him, Hottabych!”

  “I beg your pardon, O dearest Hassan,” Omar Asaf said irritably to his newly-found brother. “I shall have to interrupt these pleasant moments of reunion in order to fulfil my promise.”

  With these words he went over to the berth, touched Zhenya’s shoulder, and hissed:

  “Ask forgiveness before it is too late.”

  “Forgiveness? Of whom?” the old man Zhenya croaked.

  “Of me, O despicable youth!”

  “What for?”

  “For trying to trick me.”

  “You should ask my forgiveness,” Zhenya objected. “I saved you and you want to kill me for it. I won’t ask your forgiveness!”

  “Be it as you wish,” Omar Asaf agreed maliciously. “I do not insist. But bear in mind that you shall die in a few seconds if you do not.”

  “So what? Who cares?” Zhenya whispered proudly if weakly, though he certainly did care.

  “Omar, my sweet!” Hottabych interrupted kindly but firmly. “Don’t cloud our long-awaited reunion by a dishonest act. You must immediately and unconditionally fulfil the promise given to my precious friend, Volka ibn Alyosha. And please bear in mind that the most noble Zhenya is a very good friend of mine to.”

  Omar Asaf ground his teeth in helpless rage. Yet, he took hold of himself and muttered:

  “Change, O insolent youth, and be as you were before!” “Now you’re talking,” Zhenya said.

  Everyone present had the pleasure of witnessing a most unusual sight: a dying old man turned into a thirteen-year-old boy.

  First, his withered, sunken cheeks became rosy; then, his bald head was covered with white hair which soon turned black, as did his heavy beard. Feeling stronger, Zhenya hopped off the berth and winked at his friends happily. Standing before them was a husky man of forty, who differed from other men of his age in that his beard kept on shrinking until it finally turned into a barely noticeable fringe of fluff which soon disappeared completely. The man was becoming smaller in height and narrower in the shoulders. Finally, he took on Zhenya Bogorad’s usual appearance.

  Thus, Zhenya was now the only person in the world who could say. “Long ago. when I was still an old man,” the same as millions of old men say, “When I was still a young rascal.”

  OMAR ASAF BARES HIS CLAWS

  “There’s one thing I can’t understand,” Omar Asaf said thoughtfully as he shivered with cold. “I clearly heard Sulayman’s Genies say, ‘Let’s throw him — meaning me — into the West Ethiopian Sea .’ That’s why I thought that if I was ever lucky enough to look upon the sun and earth again, it would be near the shores of sunny Africa . But this,” and he pointed to the island fast disappearing through the port-hole, “this is not at all like Africa . Isn’t it so, my dear brother Hassan?”

  “You are right, my dear Omar Asaf, one so pleasing to my heart. We are now near other shores, quite a distance from Africa . We are now…”

  “I know! Really, I know!” Volka interrupted and did a jig from excitement. “Golly! Now I know! Now I know!”

  “What do you know?” Omar Asaf asked haughtily.

  “Now I know how you came to be in the Arctic .”

  “O insolent and boastful boy, how unpleasant I find your undue pride!” Omar Asaf said in disgust. “How can you understand something which remains a mystery even to me, the wisest and most powerful of all Genies! Well then, express your opinion, so that I and my dear brother may have a good laugh at your expense.”

  “That’s as you wish. You can laugh if you want to. But it’s all because of the Gulf Stream .”

  “Because of what?” Omar Asaf asked acidly.

  “The Gulf Stream, the warm current which brought you to the Arctic from the Southern Seas.”

  “What nonsense!” Omar Asaf smirked, turning to his brother for support.

  But his brother said nothing.

  “It’s not rubbish at all,” Volka began.

  But Omar Asaf corrected him:

  “I did not say ‘rubbish,’ I said ‘nonsense.’ ”

  “It’s neither rubbish nor nonsense,” Volka replied with annoyance. “I got an ‘A’ in geography for the Gulf Stream .”

  Since Zhenya supported Volka’s scientific theory, Hottabych also supported him.

  Omar Asaf, seeing that he was a minority of one, pretended to agree about the Gulf Stream , but actually concealed a grudge against Volka and his friend.

  “I am tired of arguing with you, O conceited boy,” he said, forcing a yawn. “I am tired and want to sleep. Hurry and bring a fan and keep away the flies while I rest.”

  “In the first place, there are no flies here. In the second place, what right have you to order me about?” Volka asked indignantly.

  “There will be flies soon enough,” Omar Asaf muttered through clenched teeth. And sure enough, swarms of flies began buzzing about the cabin.

  “We can manage without a fan,” Volka said in a friendlier tone, making believe he did not understand the humiliating nature of Omar Asaf’s demand.

  He opened first the door, then the port-hole; a strong draught carried the flies out into the corridor.

  “All the same, you’ll fan me!” Omar Asaf said capriciously, ignoring Hottabych’s attempts at calming him.

  “No, I won’t! No one has ever made me fulfil humiliating orders.”

  “Then I’ll be the first to do so.”

  “No you won’t!”

  “Omar, my sweet!” Hottabych said, trying to avert the imminent quarrel.

  But Omar Asaf, who had turned black with rage, waved him away angrily.

  “I’d rather die than fulfil your whims!” Volka shouted.

  “Then you’ll die very soon, as soon as the Sun sets,” Omar Asaf announced, smiling disgustingly.

  Suddenly, Volka had a wonderful idea.

  “If that’s the case, then tremble, you despicable Genie!” he shouted in his most terrible voice. “You have tried my patience too long, and I must stop the Sun! It will not go down today, or tomorrow, or the day after. You have only yourself to blame!”

  Volka was taking a big chance. If Hottabych had had time to tell his brother that the Arctic Sun shone twenty-four hours a day at this time of the year, then all was lost.

  But in reply to Volka’s words, Omar Asaf scoffed, “Braggart of braggarts! Boaster of boasters! I, too, like to boast at times, but even in my greatest rage I have never promised to stop the course of that great celestial body. Not even Sulayman, the Son of David (on the twain be peace!), could do that.”

  Volka saw that he was saved. And not only saved, but that he could take Hottabych’s disagreeable brother in hand.

  Hottabych, meanwhile, winked approvingly at Volka. As for Zhenya, there is no need to say he was delighted. He had guessed Volka’s idea and was aglow from excitement, anticipating Omar Asaf’s imminent downfall.

  “Rest assured, Omar Asaf. If I said I’ll stop the Sun, you can be sure it won’t go down today.”

  “You brat!” Omar Asaf snapped.

  “You’re a brat yourself!” Vo
lka replied as arrogantly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the Sun.”

  “But what if it goes down anyway?” Omar Asaf asked, choking with laughter.

  “If it goes down, I will henceforth fulfil your most stupid orders.”

  “Oh, no,” Omar Asaf said triumphantly. “If the Sun, despite your conceited promise, does go down — and this will obviously happen — then I will eat you up. I’ll eat you, bones and all!”

  “And my slippers too,” Volka added courageously. “But if the Sun does not go down today, will you obey my every command?”

  “If the Sun does not go down, I will do so with the greatest pleasure, O most boastful and insignificant of magicians! But — ha-ha-ha — alas! This will never happen.”

  “It’s still an open question as to who will say ‘alas!’ a few hours from now,” Volka cautioned.

  “Well then!” Omar Asaf said, shaking his finger in warning. “According to the present position of the Sun, it should go down in another eight or nine hours. I am even a tiny bit sorry for you, O shameless milksop, for you have less than twelve hours to live.”

  “You can save your pity; you’d better pity yourself.”

  Omar Asaf giggled scornfully, revealing two rows of small yellow teeth.

  “What awful teeth,” Hottabych sighed. “Omar, why don’t you get yourself gold teeth, like I have?” It was only then that Omar Asaf noticed Hottabych’s unusual teeth, and his soul was filled with the blackest envy.

  “To tell you the truth. Brother, I don’t find anything very special about gold teeth. I think I’d rather have diamond teeth.”

  That very moment, thirty-two crystal-clear diamonds sparkled in his mouth as he smiled spitefully. Gazing at himself in the little bronze mirror the old dandy carried in his belt, Omar Asaf was quite pleased with what he saw.

  There were only three things that somehow clouded his triumph. First, Hottabych did not seem at all envious; second, his diamond teeth sparkled only when the light fell upon them directly. If the light did not fall upon them, he appeared completely toothless; third, his diamond teeth scratched his tongue and lips. In his heart of hearts, he was sorry he had been so greedy, but he did not show this so as not to lose face.