Lazar Lagin: The Old Genie Hottabych

“ ‘O woe is me!’ I cried in great sorrow. ‘How sad and uninteresting your life must be, amidst this eternal cold and darkness, in constant and useless revolving, apart from all living things!’ And I burst into tears, for I was so terribly sorry for my brother. But in answer to my heartfelt words, Omar Asaf replied coldly and haughtily:

“ ‘Don’t feel sorry for me, for I am less in need of pity than anyone else on Earth. Just look around and you’ll be convinced that I’m the largest of all celestial bodies. True enough, both the Sun and the Moon shed light — though I don’t — and are even quite bright, but I am much larger than they are. I don’t even mention the stars, which are so small that a great multitude of them could fit on my finger-nail.’ Something which resembled a kindly smile appeared on his face. ‘If you wish, you can join me and become my sputnik. We will revolve together. Then, not counting me, you’ll be the largest of all celestial bodies.’

“In vain did I rejoice at this brotherly show of affection, though it may have taken a rather strange form, for Omar Asaf continued as follows:

“ ‘All celestial bodies have their sputniks, but I have none. It makes me feel inferior.’

“I was amazed at the ignorance and stupid conceit of my brother. I understood that he did not want to return to the Earth and so said with a heavy heart:

“ ‘Farewell, for I am in a hurry. I still have to wish some of my friends a Happy New Year.’

“But Omar, who, apparently, had his heart set on this idea of his, roared:

“ ‘Then who will be my sputnik? You had better remain of your own free will, or I’ll tear you to bits!’

“With these words he grabbed hold of my left leg. I kept my wits and turned sharply to a side, wrenching free of Omar, though leaving in his grasp one of my slippers. Naturally, he wanted to catch up with me, but he could not do so, for he had to continue his endless journey around a circle known by the scientific name of ‘orbit.’

“Flying off to a good distance, and still feeling a bit sorry for my unpleasant and conceited brother, I shouted:

“ ‘If you are so in need of sputniks, O Omar Asaf, you shall have them!’

“I yanked five hairs from my beard, tore them to bits and scattered them about. Then many-coloured, beautiful balls, ranging in size from a pea to a large pumpkin, began revolving around Omar Asaf. These were sputniks worthy of him both in size and in beauty.

“My brother, a short-sighted person, had apparently never thought of making his own sputniks. Now, in his great pride, he desired to have a sputnik the size of a mountain. And so, such a sputnik immediately appeared. But since the mass of matter within this mountain was hundreds of thousands of times greater than the weight of my scatter-brained and ignorant brother Omar Asaf, he immediately crashed into the new celestial body he had created and bounded off it like a football. With a terrible wail, he began revolving around it at top speed.

“Thus, Omar Asaf fell a victim to his terrible vanity by becoming the sputnik of his own sputnik.

“I returned to the Earth and sat down to write you this letter, O you, who have all good assets, in order that you do not remain in ignorance of the above events.

“I also hurry to add that on Gorky Street , at the radio store, I saw a wonderful set with nine tubes. And its virtues are endless. Its appearance would please the most choosy eye. It occurred to me that if I were to attach…”

The letter then continued as a typical radio fan’s letter would, and there is no sense quoting it, for radio fans will not find anything new in it, and those who are not interested in this branch of communications will find nothing in it worthy of their attention.

If any of the readers of this really truthful story are in Moscow on Razin Street and look in at the offices of the Central Board of the Northern Sea Route, they will probably see among the dozens of people putting in applications for work in the Arctic an old man in a straw boater and pink slippers embroidered in silver and gold. This is Hottabych. Despite all his efforts, he has not been able to procure a job as a radio-operator on some polar station.

His appearance alone, with the long grey beard reaching down to his waist, a sure sign of his undoubtedly advanced age, is a great hindrance in finding employment in the harsh conditions of the Arctic. However, his situation becomes still more hopeless when he begins to fill in the application form.

In answer to the question: “Occupation,” he writes: “Professional Genie.” In answer to the question: “Age,” he writes: “3,732 years and five months.” As to family status, he replies simple-heartedly: “Orphan. Single. I have a brother named Omar Asaf who, until July of last year, lived on the bottom of the Arctic Ocean in a copper vessel, but who now works as an Earth satellite,” etc., etc., etc.

After reading his application form, the personnel manager decides that Hottabych is slightly crazy, though the readers of our story know only too well that what the old man has written is nothing but the truth.

Naturally, it would be no trouble for him at all to become a young man and to fill in the form as it should be; or, if the worst came to the worst, to cast the same spell on the personnel manager as he had once before, when he and his friends boarded the “Ladoga.” But the trouble is the old man has decided he wants to get a job in the Arctic honestly, without any fakery at all.

However, he has been visiting the Board offices less and less frequently lately. Instead, he has decided to study radio technology, to learn how to design his own radio equipment. Knowing his abilities and his love for work, it is not such a hopeless matter. What he needs now are competent teachers. Hottabych wants his young friends to be his teachers. All they could promise him, as we already know, is that they will teach him what they learn from day to day. Hottabych considered this and decided that it was not such a bad idea after all.

Thus, both Volka and Zhenya are very conscientious, straight “A” pupils, for they don’t want to fail their elderly student. They have agreed that they will help Hottabych finish secondary school together with them. But at this point their roads will part. As you recall, Zhenya had long since decided to become a doctor, while Volka shares Hottabych’s passion. He wants to become a radio engineer, and I assure you that he will make his way in this difficult but fascinating field.

It remains for us to bid farewell to the characters of this story and to wish the three friends good health and good luck in their studies and their future lives. If you ever meet them, please say hello to them from the author who invented them with great love and tenderness.

Moscow 1938-1955