Lazar Lagin: The Old Genie Hottabych

“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.

“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 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.