Lazar Lagin: The Old Genie Hottabych

After stopping off at Rudolph Island , the “Ladoga” began its return journey. The passengers were worn out from the mass of new impressions, from the sun which shone round the clock from the frequent fogs and endless crashing of ice against the stem and sides of the ship. At each stop there were less and less passengers who wished to go ashore on deserted islands, and towards the end of the journey our friends and two or three other tireless explorers were the only ones to take advantage o a chance to climb the inhospitable cliffs.

One morning the captain said, “Well, this is the last time you’re going ashore. There’s no sense stopping the ship for six or seven people.”

That is why Volka talked the others going ashore into staying there as long as possible, in order to really have one good last look at the islands. They could do it in peace since Hottabych, who was usually in a rush to get back, was staying behind to play chess with the captain.

“Volka,” Zhenya said mysteriously when they dragged their feet aboard the “Ladoga” three hours later. “Come on down to the cabin! I want to show you something. Here, look at this,” he continued, after shutting the door tightly. He pulled a longish object from under his coat. “What d’you think it is? I found it on the opposite side of the island. Right near the water.”

Zhenya was holding a small copper vessel the size of a decanter. It was all green from age and brine.

“We should give it to the captain right away,” Volka said excitedly. “Some expedition probably put a letter inside and threw it into the water, hoping someone would come to the rescue.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too, but then I decided nothing would happen if we opened it first to have a look inside. It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“It sure is.”

Zhenya turned pale from excitement. He quickly knocked off the tar-like substance that covered the mouth of the bottle. Under it was a heavy lead cap covered with a seal. Zhenya had great difficulty prying it loose.

“And now we’ll see what’s inside,” he said, turning it upside-down over his berth.

Before he had time to finish the sentence, clouds of black smoke began pouring from the bottle, filling the entire cabin. It became dark and choky. Presently, the thick vapour condensed and became an unsightly old man with an angry face and a pair of eyes that burnt like coals. He fell to his knees and knocked his forehead on the floor so hard that the things hanging on the cabin wall swayed as if the ship was rolling.

“O Prophet of Allah, do not kill me!” he shouted.

“I’d like to ask you something,” a frightened but curious Volka interrupted his wailing. “If I’m not mistaken, you mean the former King Solomon, don’t you?”

“Yes, O miserable youth! Sulayman, the Son of David (may the days of the twain be prolonged on earth!).”

“I don’t know about who’s miserable,” Volka objected calmly, “but as far as your Sulayman is concerned — his days can in no way be prolonged. That’s out completely: he’s dead.”

“You lie, wretch, and will pay dearly for it!”

“There’s nothing to get mad about. That Eastern king die two thousand nine hundred and nineteen years ago. You ca look it up in the Encyclopaedia.”

“Who opened the bottle?” the old man asked in a business like way, having obviously accepted Volka’s information an not appearing to be too saddened by it.

“I did, but you really shouldn’t thank me,” Zhenya said modestly.

“There is no God but Allah!” the stranger exclaimed. “Rejoice, O undeserving brat.”

“Why should I rejoice? It’s you who’ve been freed from your prison, and you should be the one to rejoice. What’s there for me to rejoice about?”

“Rejoice, because you must die an ill death this very hour”

“That’s what I call real mean! After all, I freed you from the copper vessel. If not for me, who-knows how many thousands of years longer you’d have to lie around in smoke and soot.”

“Don’t tire me with idle chatter! Ask of me only what mode of death you choose and in what manner I shall slay you! Gr-r-r!

“I’ll thank you not to act so fierce! And anyway, what’s that all about?” Zhenya flared up.

“Know, O undeserving boy, that I am one of the Genies who disobeyed Sulayman, David’s Son (on the twain be peace!), whereupon Sulayman sent his minister, Asaf, son of Barakhiya, to seize me. And this Vizier brought me against my will and led me in bonds to Sulayman and he placed me standing before him. When Sulayman saw me, he sent for this bottle, shut me up therein and stoppered it over with lead.”

“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!”