by Lazar Lagin
“No, no,” he giggled, noticing that Volka was about to leave the cabin. “You shall not leave until the Sun goes down. I understand you only too well. You want to flee, in order to escape your deserved end. I have no intention of searching for you all over the boat.”
“Why, I can stay in the cabin as long as you want. That will even be better. Otherwise, I’ll have to hunt for you all over the boat when the Sun doesn’t go down. How long do you think I’ll have to wait?”
“Not more than nine hours, O young braggart,” Omar Asaf said, bowing sarcastically. He snapped the fingers of his left hand and a cumbersome water-clock appeared on the table beneath the port-hole. “As soon as the water reaches this line,” he said, tapping the side of the clock with a crooked brown nail, “the Sun will go down. It is the hour of your death.”
“Fine, I’ll wait.”
“We’ll wait, too,” said Zhenya and Hottabych.
Eight hours slipped by quickly, because Zhenya could not deny himself the pleasure of suggesting that the conceited Omar Asaf learn to play checkers.
“I’ll win anyway,” Omar Asaf warned.
Zhenya kept on winning. Omar Asaf got angrier and angrier. He tried to cheat, but each time they caught him at it, and so he would begin a new game, which would end just as sadly for him.
“Well, the time’s up, Omar Hottabych,” Volka said finally.
“Impossible!” Omar Asaf replied, tearing himself away from the checker board.
Glancing quickly at the water-clock, he turned pale and jumped up from the berth where he and Zhenya had been sitting. He rushed to the port-hole, stuck his head out and groaned in terror and helpless rage: the Sun was just as high in the sky as it had been eight hours before!
Then he turned to Volka and said in a flat voice:
“I must have made a little mistake in my calculations. Let’s wait two more hours.”
“Even three if you like, but it won’t help you any. It’ll be just as I said: the Sun will not go down today, or tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow.”
Four and a half hours later, Omar Asaf stuck his head out of the port-hole for the twentieth time, and for the twentieth time he saw that the Sun had no intention of sinking beyond the horizon.
He turned as white as a sheet and trembled all over as he crashed to his knees.
“Spare me, O mighty youth!” he cried in a pitiful voice. “Do not be angry at me, your unworthy slave, for when I shouted at you I did not know you were stronger than I!”
“Does that mean you think you can shout at me if I’m weaker than you?”
“Why, certainly.”
They all felt disgusted.
“What a brother you have,” Zhenya whispered to Hottabych. “Forgive me for saying so, but he’s a most unpleasant, envious and vicious old man.”
“Yes, my brother is no lump of sugar,” Hottabych replied sadly.
“For goodness’ sake, get up!” Volka said with annoyance, as the old Genie remained on his knees and kept trying to kiss Volka’s hands.
“What are your orders, O my young but mighty master?” Omar Asaf asked submissively, rubbing his soft palms together and rising.
“At present, there’s only one; don’t you dare leave this cabin for a second without my permission!”
“With the greatest of pleasure, O wisest and most powerful of youths,” Omar Asaf replied in a self-abasing tone, as he regarded Volka with fear and awe.
It was just as Volka had predicted. Neither that day nor the next, nor the third did the Sun go down. Making use of some small misdemeanour of Omar Asaf’s, Volka said he would make the Sun shine round the clock until further notice. And not until he learned from the captain that the “Ladoga” had finally entered a latitude where there was a brief period of night, did he inform Omar Asaf of this, as his special favour to the undeserving, grumpy Genie.
Omar Asaf was as quiet as a mouse. Not once did he leave the cabin. He crept back into the copper vessel without a murmur when the “Ladoga” docked to the strains of a band at its home pier, from which it had sailed away thirty days before.
Naturally, Omar Asaf was extremely reluctant to return to his bottle, if even for a short period, since he had already spent so many unhappy and lonely centuries there. But Volka gave him his word of honour that he would let him out the minute they reached home.
There is no use denying that as Volka left the hospitable “Ladoga,” carrying the copper vessel under his arm, he was sorely tempted to toss it into the water. But there you are — if you’ve given your word you’ve got to keep it. And so Volka walked down the gang-plank, having conquered this momentary temptation.
If no one aboard the “Ladoga” ever stopped to wonder why Hottabych and his friends were taking part in the expedition, it is quite clear that the old man had no trouble casting the same spell over his young friends’ parents and acquaintances.
At any rate, their relatives and friends accepted it as a matter of course that the children had been in the Arctic , without questioning how in the world they had ever booked berths on the Ladoga.”
After an excellent dinner, the children told their respective parents the story of their adventures in the Arctic , keeping almost true to the facts. They were wise enough to say nothing about Hottabych. Zhenya, however, was so carried away, that the rash words nearly slipped out of his mouth. When he described the performances the passengers had put on in the lounge, he said:
“And then, of course, Hottabych could not leave it at that. So he said…”
“What a strange name — Hottabych!” Zhenya’s mother said.
“I didn’t say ‘Hottabych,’ Mother, I said ‘Potapych.’ That was our boatswain’s name,” Zhenya said resourcefully, though he blushed.
However, this went unnoticed. Everyone looked at him with awe, because he had met and talked with a real live boatswain every single day of the journey.
Volka, on the other hand, nearly had an accident with the copper bottle. He was sitting on the couch in the dining room, explaining the difference between an ice-breaker and an iceboat to his parents with a true knowledge of his subject. He did not notice his grandmother leaving the room. After she had been gone for about five minutes, she returned holding … the vessel with Omar Asaf inside!
“What’s this? Where did you get it. Mother?” Volka’s father asked.
“Just imagine, I found it in Volka’s suitcase. I started unpacking his things and found this very nice pitcher. It will be lovely as a decanter. I’ll have to polish it, though, because it’s so terribly green.”
“That’s no decanter!” Volka cried and turned pale. He grabbed the vessel from his grandmother. “The First Mate asked me to give this to his friend. I promised him I’d deliver it today.”
“My, isn’t this a strange vessel,” said his father, a great lover of antiques. “Let me have a look at it. Why, there’s a lead cap on it. That’s very interesting…”
He tried to pry it off, but Volka grabbed the vessel frantically and stammered:
“You’re not supposed to open it! It’s not supposed to be opened at all! Anyway, it’s empty inside. I promised the First Mate I wouldn’t open it, so’s not to spoil the threads on the screw.”
“Look how upset he is! All right, you can have the old pitcher back,” his father said, letting go of it.
Volka sat back on the couch in exhaustion, clutching the terrible vessel; but the conversation was all spoiled. Soon he rose. Trying to sound casual, he said he would go to , hand in the pitcher and dashed out of the room.
“Come back soon!” his mother called, but by then he had already vanished.
WHAT GOOD OPTICAL INSTRUMENTS CAN LEAD TO
Zhenya and Hottabych had been awaiting Volka on the bank for a long time. It was very still. The vast sky was spread above them. The full moon cast its cold, bluish light.
Zhenya had brought his binoculars along and was now looking at the moon.
“You can dismiss the astronomy club
,” Volka said, coming up to them. “The next act on our show is the solemn freeing of our good friend, Omar Asaf! Music! Curtain!”
“That mean old thing will have to manage without music,” Zhenya muttered.
In order to emphasize his loathing for the horrible Genie, he turned his back on the vessel and studied the moon through his binoculars for such a long time, that he finally heard Omar Asaf’s squeaky voice:
“May your humble servant, O mighty Volka, ask what purpose these black pipes serve which your friend Zhenya — and my greatly esteemed master — has pressed to his noble eyes?”
“They’re binoculars. It’s to see things closer,” Volka tried to explain. “Zhenya’s looking at the moon through them, to see it better. It makes things bigger.”
“I can imagine how pleasant such a pastime can be,” Omar Asaf said ingratiatingly.
He kept trying to peep into the binoculars, but Zhenya purposely turned away from him. The conceited Genie was cut to the quick by such a lack of respect. Oh, if not for the presence of the almighty Volka, who had stopped the Sun itself with a single word, then Omar Asaf would certainly have known how to deal with the unruly boy! But Volka was standing beside them, and the enraged Genie had no choice but to ask Zhenya in a wheedling voice to let him have a look at the great planet of the night through such interesting binoculars.
“I join my brother in asking you to do him this favour,” Hottabych added.
Zhenya reluctantly handed Omar Asaf the binoculars.
“The despicable boy has cast a spell on the magic pipes!”
Omar Asaf cried a few moments later and crashed the binoculars to the ground. “Instead of making things bigger, they make the moon much smaller! Oh, some day I will lay my hands on this boy!”
“You’re always ready to abuse people!” Volka said in disgust. “What has Zhenya to do with it? You’re looking through the wrong end.”
He picked up the binoculars and handed them back to the angry Genie. “You have to look through the small end.”
Omar Asaf followed his advice cautiously and soon sighed:
“Alas, I had a much better opinion of this celestial body. I see that it is all pock-marked and has ragged edges, just like the tray of the poorest day-labourer. The stars are much better.-Though they are much smaller than the moon, they at least have no visible faults.”
“O my brother, let me see for myself,” Hottabych said and he, too, looked through the binoculars with interest. “This time I believe my brother is right,” he added with surprise.
This made it only too clear that Omar Asaf had long since fallen greatly in his estimation.
“What ignorance,” Zhenya scoffed. “It’s high time you knew that the moon is millions of times smaller than any of the stars.”
“Enough! I can no longer take the constant mockery of this brat!” Omar Asaf roared and grabbed Zhenya by the collar. “Next, you’ll say that a speck of sand is bigger than a mountain. I wouldn’t put it past you. Enough! This time I’ll do away with you for good!”
“Stop!” Volka shouted. “Stop, or I’ll bring the Moon down upon you, and not even a wet spot will remain where you now stand! You know I can do it with my eyes closed. I think you know me by now.”
The enraged Omar Asaf reluctantly let go of a frightened Zhenya.
“You’re raving for nothing again,” Volka continued. “Zhenya’s right. Sit down and I’ll try to explain things to you.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I know everything already,” Omar Asaf objected conceitedly. Yet, he dared not disobey.
Volka could talk about astronomy for hours on end. This was his favourite subject. He had read every popular book on the structure of the Universe and could retell their contents to anyone who’d care to listen. But Omar Asaf obviously did not want to listen. He kept on snickering contemptuously. Finally unable to control himself any longer, he grumbled:
“I’ll never believe your words until I convince myself of their truth.”
“What do you mean ‘convince yourself’? Don’t tell me you want to fly to the Moon in order to be convinced that it’s a huge sphere and not a little saucer?”
“And why not?” Omar Asaf asked haughtily. “Why, I can fly off today, if I want to.”
“But the Moon is millions of miles away.”
“Omar Asaf is not afraid of great distances. And all the more so, since — forgive me — I greatly doubt the truth of your words.”
“But the way to the Moon lies through outer space, where there’s no air,” Volka objected conscientiously.
“I can manage quite well without breathing.”
“Let him go! We’ll have plenty of trouble with him if he stays,” Zhenya whispered fiercely.
“Sure, he can go,” Volka agreed quietly, “but still, I consider it my duty to warn him about what awaits him on the way… Omar Asaf,” he continued, turning towards the conceited Genie, “bear in mind that it’s terribly cold there.”
“I am not afraid of the cold. I’ll be seeing you soon. Good-bye!”
“If that’s the case, and if you’ve decided to fly to the Moon, come what may, then at least listen to one piece of advice. Do you promise to obey my words?”
“All right, I promise,” the Genie answered condescendingly, his awe of Volka obviously diminishing.
“You must leave the Earth at a speed of no less than eleven kilometres a second; otherwise you can be sure you’ll never reach the Moon.”
“With the greatest of pleasure,” Omar Asaf said, compressing his thin blue lips. “And how big is a kilometre? Tell me, for I know of no such measurement.”
“Let’s see now. How can I explain?… Well, a kilometre is about a thousand four hundred steps.”
“Your steps? That means there are no more than a thousand two hundred of my steps in a kilometre. Maybe even less.”
Omar Asaf had an exaggerated idea about his height. He was no taller than Volka, but they could not convince him of this.
“Be sure not to crash into the cupola of the Heavens,” Hottabych admonished his brother, not being completely convinced of Volka’s stories about the structure of the Universe.
“Don’t teach someone who knows more than you,” Omar Asaf said coldly and soared into the air. He instantly became white hot and disappeared from view, leaving a long fiery trail behind.
“Let’s wait for him here, my friends,” Hottabych suggested timidly, for he felt guilty for all the unpleasantness Omar Asaf had caused them.
“No, there’s no use waiting for him now. You’ll never see him again,” Volka said. “He didn’t listen to my advice, which was based on scientific knowledge, and he’ll never return to the Earth. Since your Omar took off at a speed which was less than eleven kilometres a second, he’ll be circling the Earth forever. If you want to know, he’s become a sputnik.”
“If you have no objections, I’ll wait for him here a while,” a saddened Hottabych whispered.
Late that night he slipped into Volka’s room. Turning into a goldfish, he dived silently into the aquarium. Whenever Hottabych was upset by anything, he spent the night in the aquarium instead of under Volka’s bed. This time he was especially upset. He had waited for his brother for over five hours, but Omar Asaf had not returned.
Some day scientists will develop precision instruments that will make it possible to note the smallest amount of gravitation the Earth experiences from the tiniest of celestial bodies passing close to its surface. And then an astronomer, who, perhaps, read this book in his childhood, will determine, after long and laborious calculations, that someplace, comparatively close to the Earth, there rotates a celestial body weighing a hundred and thirty pounds. Then, Omar Asaf, a grouchy and narrow-minded Genie who turned into an Earth satellite because of his impossible character and ignorant scoffing at scientific facts, will be entered into the great astronomical catalogue as a many-numbered figure.
Someone who heard of this instructive tale about Hottabyc
h’s brother once told us in all seriousness that one night he had seen something flash across the sky which in shape resembled an old man with a long flowing beard. As concerns the author of this book, he does not believe the story, for Omar Asaf was a very insignificant man.
HOTTABYCH’S FATAL PASSION
For several days Hottabych remained in the aquarium, pining away for his brother. Gradually, however, he got used to his absence and once again everything was back to normal.
One day he and the boys were talking quietly. It was still rather early and the old man was lolling under the bed.
“It looks like rain,” Zhenya said, looking out the window.
Soon the whole sky became overcast with clouds. It started to drizzle.
“Shall we turn it on?” Volka asked off-handedly, nodding towards a new radio set his parents had given him for being promoted to 7B. He turned it on with obvious pleasure.
The loud sounds of a symphony orchestra filled the room. Hottabych stuck his head out from under the bed.
“Where are all those people playing so sweetly on various instruments?”
“Golly! Hottabych doesn’t know anything about radios!” Zhenya said.
(There was one omission on the “Ladoga” for all its excellent equipment — they forgot to install a radio set in the lounge.)
For nearly two hours the boys watched Hottabych delightedly. The old man was overwhelmed. Volka tuned in on Vladivostok , Tbilisi , Kiev , Leningrad , Minsk and Tashkent . Songs, thunderous marches, and the voices of people speaking in many tongues obediently poured forth from the set. Then the boys got fed up. The sun peeped out and they decided to go for a walk, leaving a fascinated Hottabych behind. The strange events which then occurred remain a mystery to Volka’s grandmother to this very day.
Soon after the boys left, she entered Volka’s room to turn off the radio and distinctly heard an old man coughing in the empty room. Then she saw the dial turn by itself and the indicator move along the scale.
