Lazar Lagin. The Old Genie Hottabych --------------------------------------------------------------- A Story of Make-Believe Russian original title: Старик Хоттабыч ( старое название "Старый джин Хоттабыч") FOREIGN LANGUAGES PUBLISHING HOUSE MOSCOW Translated from the Russian by Fainna Solasko OCR: http://home.freeuk.com/russica2 │ http://home.freeuk.com/russica2 _______________________________________________ The amusing and fascinating children's book is often called the Russian "Thousand and One Nights". Who is the Old Genie Hottabych? This is what the author has to say of him:" In one of Scheherezade's tales I red of the Fisherman who found a copper vessel in his net. In the vessel was a mighty Genie - a magician who had been imprisoned in the bottle for nearly two thousand years. The Genie had sworn to make the one who freed him rich, powerful and happy. " But what if such a Genie suddenly came to life in the Soviet Union, in Moscow? I tried to imagine what would have happened if a very ordinary Russian boy had freed him from the vessel. "And imagine, I suddenly discovered that a schoolboy named Volka Kostylkov, the very same Volka who used to live on Three Ponds Street, you know, the best diver at summer camp last year.... On second thought, I believe we had better begin from the beginning...." CONTENTS A Most Unusual Morning The Strange Vessel The Old Genie The Geography Examination Hottabych's Second Service An Unusual Event at the Movies A Troubled Evening A Chapter Which Is a Continuation of the Previous One A Restless Night The Unusual Events in Apartment A No Less Troubled Morning Why S.S. Pivoraki Became Less Talkative An Interview with a Diver Charting a Flight The Flight Zhenya Bogorad's Adventures Far Away in the East Tra-la-la, ibn Alyosha! Meet My Friend Have Mercy on Us, Mighty Ruler! It's So Embarrassing to Be an Illiterate Genie Who's the Richest? A Camel in the Street A Mysterious Happening in the Bank Hottabych and Sidorelli A Hospital Under the Bed One in Which We Return to the Barking Boy Hottabych and Mr. Moneybags Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab's Story of His Adventures After Leaving the Shop The Same and Mr. Moneybags Extra Tickets Ice-Cream Again How Many Footballs Do You Need? Hottabych Enters the Game The Situation Becomes More Tense Reconciliation Where Should They Look for Omar? The Story Told by the Conductor of the Moscow-Odessa Express of What Happened on the Nara-Maly Yaroslavets Line The Strange Sailing Ship Aboard the "Sweet Omar" The "VK-1" Magic-Carpet-Seaplane Hottabych Is Lost and Found Again The Vessel From the Pillars of Hercules The Shortest Chapter of All Dreaming of the "Ladoga" A Commotion at the Central Excursion Bureau Who Is Most Famous? The Unexpected Encounter What Interferes with Sleeping? Shipwrecked? Hottabych at His Best "Salaam, Sweet Omar!" Omar Asaf Bares His Claws What Good Optical Instruments Can Lead To Hottabych's Fatal Passion Hottabych's New Year Visit Epilogue A MOST UNUSUAL MORNING At 7:32 a.m. a merry sun-spot slipped through a hole in the curtain and settled on the nose of Volka Kostylkov, a 6th-grade pupil. Volka sneezed and woke up. Just then, he heard his mother say in the next room: "Don't rush, Alyosha. Let the child sleep a bit longer, he has an exam today." Volka winced. When, oh when, would his mother stop calling him a child? "Nonsense!" he could hear his father answer. "The boy's nearly thirteen. He might as well get up and help us pack. Before you know it, this child of yours will be using a razor." How could he have forgotten about the packing! Volka threw off the blankets and dressed hurriedly. How could he ever have forgotten such a day! This was the day the Kostylkov family was moving to a different apartment in a new six-storey house. Most of their belongings had been packed the night before. Mother and Grandma had packed the dishes in a little tin tub that once, very long ago, they had bathed Volka in. His father had rolled up his sleeves and, with a mouthful of nails, just like a shoemaker, had spent the evening hammering down the lids on crates of books. Then they had all argued as to the best place to put the things so as to have them handy when the truck arrived in the morning. Then they had their tea on an uncovered table-as on a march. Then they decided their heads would be clearer after a good night's sleep and they all went to bed. In a word, there was just no explaining how he could have ever forgotten that this was the morning they, were moving to a new apartment. The movers barged in before breakfast was quite over. The first thing they did was to open wide both halves of the door and ask in loud voices, "Well, can we begin?" "Yes, please do," both Mother and Grandma answered and began to bustle about. Volka marched downstairs, solemnly carrying the sofa pillows to the waiting truck. "Are you moving?" a boy from next door asked. "Yes," Volka answered indifferently, as though he was used to moving from one apartment to another every week and there was nothing very special about it. The janitor, Stepanych, walked over, slowly rolled a cigarette and began an unhurried conversation as one grown-up talk to another. The boy felt dizzy with pride and happiness. He gathered his courage and invited Stepanych to visit them at their new home. The janitor said, "With pleasure." A serious, important, man-to-man conversation was beginning, when all at once Volka's mother's voice came through the open window: "Volka! Volka! Where can that awful child be?" Volka raced up to the strangely large and empty apartment in which shreds of old newspapers and old medicine bottles were lying forlornly about the floor. "At last!" his mother said. "Take your precious aquarium and get right into the truck. I want you to sit on the sofa and hold the aquarium on your lap. There's no other place for it. But be sure the water doesn't splash on the sofa." It's really strange, the way parents worry when they're moving to a new apartment. THE STRANGE VESSEL Well, the truck finally choked exhaustedly and stopped at the attractive entrance of Volka's new house. The movers quickly carried everything upstairs and soon were gone. Volka's father opened a few crates and said, "We'll do the rest in the evening." Then he left for the factory. Mother and Grandma began unpacking the pots and pans, while Volka decided to run down to the river nearby. His father had warned him not to go swimming without him, because the river was very deep, but Volka soon found an excuse: "I have to go in for a dip to clear my head. How can I take an exam with a fuzzy brain!" It's wonderful, the way Volka was always able to think of an excuse when he was about to do something he was not allowed to do. How convenient it is to have a river near your house! Volka told his mother he'd go sit on the bank and study his geography. And he really and truly intended to spend about ten minutes leafing through the text-book. However, he got undressed and jumped into the water the minute he reached the river. It was still early, and there was not a soul on the bank. This had its good and bad points. It was nice, because no one could stop him from swimming as much as he liked. It was bad, because there was no one to admire what a good swimmer and especially what an extraordinary diver he was. Volka swam and dived until he became blue. Finally, he realized he had had enough. He was ready to climb out when he suddenly changed his mind and decided to dive into the clear water one last time. As he was about to come up for air, his hand hit a long hard object on the bottom. He grabbed it and surfaced near the shore, holding a strange-looking slippery, moss-covered clay vessel. It resembled an ancient type of Greek vase called an amphora. The neck was sealed tightly with a green substance and what looked like a seal was imprinted on top. Volka weighed the vessel in his hand. It was very heavy. He caught his breath. A treasure! An ancient treasure of great scientific value! How wonderful! He dressed quickly and dashed home to open it in the privacy of his room. As he ran along, he could visualize the notice which would certainly appear in all the papers the next morning. He even thought of a heading: "A Pioneer Aids Science." "Yesterday, a pioneer named Vladimir Kostylkov came to his district militia station and handed the officer on duty a treasure consisting of antique gold objects which he found on the bottom of the river, in a very deep place. The treasure has been handed over to the Historical Museum. According to reliable sources, Vladimir Kostylkov is an excellent diver." Volka slipped by the kitchen, where his mother was cooking dinner. He dashed into his room, nearly breaking his leg as he stumbled on a chandelier lying on the floor. It was Grandma's famous chandelier. Very long ago, before the Revolution, his deceased grandfather had converted it from a hanging oil lamp. Grandma would not part with it for anything in the world, because it was a treasured memory of Grandfather. Since it was not elegant enough to be hung in the dining room, they decided to hang it in Volka's room. That is why a huge iron hook had been screwed into the ceiling. Volka rubbed his sore knee, locked the door, took his penknife from his pocket and, trembling from excitement, scraped the seal off the bottle. The room immediately filled with choking black smoke, while a noiseless explosion of great force threw him up to the ceiling, where he remained suspended from the hook by the seat of his pants. THE OLD GENIE While Volka was swaying back and forth on the hook, trying to understand what had happened, the smoke began to clear. Suddenly, he realized there was someone else in the room besides himself. It was a skinny, sunburnt old man with a beard down to his waist and dressed in an elegant turban, a white coat of fine wool richly embroidered in silver and gold, gleaming white silk puffed trousers and petal pink morocco slippers with upturned toes. "Hachoo!" the old man sneezed loudly and prostrated himself. "I greet you, 0 Wonderful and Wise Youth!" Volka shut his eyes tight and then opened them again. No, he was not seeing things. The amazing old man was still there. Kneeling and rubbing his hands, he stared at the furnishings of Volka's room with lively, shrewd eyes, as if it were all goodness-knows what sort of a miracle. "Where did you come from?" Volka inquired cautiously, swaying back and forth under the ceiling like a pendulum. "Are you... from an amateur troupe?" "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, 0 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, 0 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, 0 my blessed saviour- hachoo, hachoo!-have fished me. May your days be prolonged. 0.... 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, 0 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. THE GEOGRAPHY EXAMINATION "Order me as you wish!" Hottabych continued, gazing at Volka devotedly. "Is there anything that grieves you, 0 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, 0 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, 0 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, 0 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, 0 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. "Your refusal grieves me," Hottabych said. "After all, no one will notice me prompting you." "Ha!" Volka said bitterly. "You don't know what keen ears our teacher Varvara Stepanovna has." "You not only upset me, you now offend me, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha! If Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab says that no one will notice, it means no one will notice!" "Not a single soul?" Volka asked again, just to make sure. "Not a single soul. The words which I will have the pleasure of telling you will go straight from my deferential lips to your greatly respected ears." "I really don't know what to do, Hassan Hottabych," Volka said sighing, as though with reluctance. "I really hate to upset you by refusing. All right, have your own way! Geography isn't Math or Grammar. I'd never agree to even the tiniest prompt in those subjects, but since geography isn't really the most important subject.... Come on, let's hurry!" He looked at the old man's unusual clothing with a critical eye. "Hm-m-m.... D'you think you could change into something else, Hassan Hottabych?" "Don't my garments please your gaze, 0 most noble of Volkas?" Hottabych asked unhappily. "Sure they do, they certainly do," Volka answered diplomatically. "But you're dressed ... if you know what I mean.... Our styles are a little bit different.... Your clothes will attract too much attention." "But how do respectable, honourable gentlemen of advanced age dress nowadays?" Volka tried to explain what a jacket, trousers and a hat were, but though he tried very hard, he wasn't very successful. He was about to despair, when he suddenly glanced at his grandfather's portrait on the wall. He led Hottabych over to the time-darkened photograph and the old man gazed long at it with curiosity, surprised to see clothing so unlike his own. A moment later, Volka, holding Hottabych's arm, emerged from the house. The old man was magnificent in a new linen suit, an embroidered Ukrainian shirt, and a straw boater. The only things he had refused to change, complaining of three thousand-year-old corns, were his slippers. He remained in his pink slippers with the upturned toes, which, in times gone by, would have probably driven the most stylish young man at the Court of Caliph Harun al Rashid out of his mind with envy. When Volka and a transformed Hottabych approached the entrance of Moscow Secondary School No. 245 the old man looked at himself coyly in the glass door and remained quite pleased with what he saw. The elderly doorman, who was sedately reading his paper, put it aside with pleasure at the sight of Volka and his companion. It was hot and the doorman felt like talking to someone. Skipping several steps at a time, Volka dashed upstairs. The corridors were quiet and empty, a true and sad sign that the examination had begun and that he was late. "And where are you going?" the doorman asked Hottabych good-naturedly as he was about to follow his young friend in. "He's come to see the principal," Volka shouted from the top 'of the stairs. "You won't be able to see him now. He's at an examination. Won't you please come by again later on in the day?" Hottabych frowned angrily. "If I be permitted to, 0 respected old man, I would prefer to wait for him here." Then he shouted to Volka, "Hurry to your classroom, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha! I'm certain that you'll astound your teachers and your comrades with your great knowledge!" "Are you his grandfather or something?" the doorman inquired, trying to start up a conversation. Hottabych said nothing. He felt it beneath his dignity to converse with a doorkeeper. "Would you care for a cup of tea?" the doorman continued. "The heat's something terrible today." He poured a full cup of tea and, turning to hand it to the untalkative stranger, he saw to his horror that the old man had disappeared into thin air. Shaken by this impossible occurrence, the doorman gulped down the tea intended for Hottabych, poured himself a second cup, and then a third, and did not stop until there wasn't a drop left. Then he sank into his chair and began to fan himself exhaustedly with his newspaper. All the while, a no less unusual scene was taking place on the second floor, right above the doorman, in the classroom of 6B. The teachers, headed by the principal, Pavel Vasilyevich, sat at a table covered with a heavy cloth used for special occasions. Behind them was the blackboard, hung with various maps. Facing them were rows of solemn pupils. It was so quiet in the room that one could hear a lonely fly buzzing monotonously near the ceiling. If the pupils of 6B were always this quiet, theirs would undoubtedly be the most disciplined class in all of Moscow. It must be noted, however, that the quiet in the classroom was not only due to the hush accompanying any examination, but also to the fact that Volka Kostylkov had been called to the board-and he was not in the room. "Vladimir Kostylkov!" the principal repeated and looked at the quiet children in surprise. It became still more quiet. Then, suddenly, they heard the loud clatter of running feet in the hall outside, and at the very moment the principal called "Vladimir Kostylkov" for the third and last time, the door burst open and Volka, very much out of breath, gasped: "Here!" "Please come up to the board," the principal said dryly. "We'll speak about your being late afterwards." "I ... I feel ill," Volka mumbled, saying the first thing that came to his head, as he walked uncertainly towards his examiners. While he was wondering which of the slips of paper laid out on the table he should choose, old man Hottabych slipped through the wall in the corridor and disappeared through the opposite one into an adjoining classroom. He had an absorbed look on his face. Volka finally took the first slip his hand touched. Tempting his fate, he turned it over very slowly, but was pleasantly surprised to see that he was to speak on India. He knew quite a lot about India, since he had always been interested in that country. "Well, let's hear what you have to say," the principal said. Volka even remembered the beginning of the chapter on India word for word as it was in his book. He opened his mouth to say that the Hindustan Peninsula resembled a triangle and that this triangle bordered on the Indian Ocean and its various parts: the Arabian Sea in the West and the Bay of Bengal in the East, that two large countries-India and Pakistan-were located on the peninsula, that both were inhabited by kindly and peace-loving peoples with rich and ancient cultures, etc., etc., etc., but just then Hottabych, standing in the adjoining classroom, leaned against the wall and began mumbling diligently, cupping his hand to his mouth like a horn: "India, 0 my most respected teacher...!" And suddenly Volka, contrary to his own desires, began to pour forth the most atrocious nonsense: "India, 0 my most respected teacher, is located close to the edge of the Earth's disc and is separated from this edge by desolate and unexplored deserts, as neither animals nor birds live to the east of it. India is a very wealthy country, and its wealth lies in its gold. This is not dug from the ground as in other countries, but is produced, day and night, by a tireless species of gold-bearing ants, which are nearly the size of a dog. They dig their tunnels in the ground and three times a day they bring up gold sand and nuggets and pile them in huge heaps. But woe be to those Indians who try to steal this gold without due skill! The ants pursue them and, overtaking them, kill them on the spot. From the north and west, India borders on a country of bald people. The men and women and even the children are all bald in this country. And these strange people live on raw fish and pine cones. Still closer to them is a country where you can neither see anything nor pass, as it is filled to the top with feathers. The earth and the air are filled with feathers, and that is why you can't see anything there." "Wait a minute, Kostylkov," the geography teacher said with a smile. "No one has asked you to tell us of the ancients' views on Asia's geography. We'd like you to tell us the modern, scientific facts about India." Oh, how happy Volka would have been to display his knowledge of the subject! But what could he do if he was no longer the master of his speech and actions! In agreeing to have Hottabych prompt him, he became a toy in the old man's well-meaning but ignorant hands. He wanted to tell his teachers that what he had told them obviously had nothing to do with modern science. But Hottabych on the other side of the wall shrugged in dismay and shook his head, and Volka, standing in front of the class, was compelled to do the same. "That which I have had the honour of telling you, 0 greatly respected Varvara Stepanovna, is based on the most reliable sources, and there exist no other, more scientific facts on India than those I have just, with your permission, revealed to you." "Please keep to the subject. This is an examination, not a masquerade. If you don't know the answers, it would be much more honourable to admit it right away. What was it you said about the Earth's disc by the way? Don't you know that the Earth is round?" Did Volka Kostylkov, an active member of the Moscow Planetarium's Astronomy Club, know that the Earth was round? Why, any first-grader knew that. But Hottabych, standing behind the wall, burst out laughing, and no matter how our poor boy tried to press his lips together, a haughty smirk escaped him: "I presume you are making fun of your most devoted pupil! If the Earth were round, the water would run off it, and then everyone would die of thirst and all the plants would dry up. The Earth, 0 most noble and honoured of all teachers and pedagogues, has always had and does now have the shape of a flat disc, surrounded on all sides by a mighty river named 'Ocean.' The Earth rests on six elephants, and they, in turn, are standing on a tremendous turtle. That is how the world is made, 0 teacher!" The board of teachers gazed at Volka with rising surprise. He broke out in a cold sweat from horror and the realization of his own complete helplessness. The other children could not quite understand what had happened to their friend, but some began to giggle. It was really funny to hear about a country of bald people, about a country filled with feathers, about gold-bearing ants as big as dogs and about the flat Earth resting on six elephants and a turtle. As for Zhenya Bogorad, Volka's best friend and one of the class pioneer leaders, he became really worried. He knew that Volka, as chairman of the Astronomy Club, at least knew that the Earth was round-if he knew nothing else. Could it be that he had suddenly decided upon some mischief, and during an examination, of all times! Volka was probably ill, but what ailed him? What kind of a strange, unusual disease did he have? And then, it was very bad for their pioneer group. So far, they had been first in all the exams, but now Volka's stupid answers would spoil everything, though he was usually a disciplined pioneer! Goga Pilukin, a most unpleasant boy at the next desk (nicknamed "Pill" by his classmates), hastened to pour salt on Zhenya's fresh wounds. "That takes care of your group, Zhenya dear," he whispered with a malicious giggle. "You're sinking fast!" Zhenya shook his fist at Pill. "Varvara Stepanovna!" Goga whined. "Bogorad just shook his fist at me." "Sit still and don't tattle," Varvara Stepanovna said and turned back to Volka, who stood before her more dead than alive. "Were you serious about the elephants and the turtle?" "More serious than ever before, 0 most respected of all teachers," Volka repeated after the old man and felt himself burning up with shame. "And haven't you anything else to add? Do you really think you were answering the question?" "No, I've nothing to add," Hottabych said behind the wall, shaking his head. And Volka, helpless to withstand the force that was pushing him towards failure, also shook his head and said, "No, I've nothing to add. Perhaps, however, the fact that in the wealthy land of India the horizons are framed by gold and pearls." "It's incredible!" his teacher exclaimed. It was difficult to believe that Kostylkov, a usually disciplined boy, had suddenly decided to play a silly joke on his teachers (and at such an important time!), running the risk of a second examination in the autumn. "I don't think the boy is quite well," Varvara Stepanovna whispered to the principal. Glancing hurriedly and sympathetically at Volka, who stood numb with grief before them, the committee held a whispered conference. Varvara Stepanovna suggested, "What if we ask the child another question, just to calm him? Say, from last year's book. Last year he got an 'A' in geography." The others agreed, and Varvara Stepanovna once again turned to the unhappy boy. "Now, Kostylkov, wipe your tears and don't be nervous. Tell us what a horizon is." "A horizon?" Volka said with new hope. "That's easy. A horizon is an imagined line which...." But Hottabych came to life behind the wall again and Volka once again became the victim of prompting. "The horizon, 0 my most revered one," Volka corrected himself, "I would call the horizon that brink, where the crystal cupola of the Heavens touches the edge of the Earth." "It gets worse as he goes on," Varvara Stepanovna moaned. "How would you have us understand your words about the crystal cupola of the Heavens-literally or figuratively?" "Literally, 0 teacher," Hottabych prompted from the next room. And Volka was obliged to repeat after him, "Literally, 0 teacher." "Figuratively!" someone hissed from the back of the room. But Volka repeated, "Naturally, in the literal sense and no other." "What does that mean?" Varvara Stepanovna asked, still not believing her ears. "Does that mean you consider the sky to be a solid cupola?" "Yes." "And does it mean there's a place where the Earth ends?" "Yes, there is, 0 my most highly respected teacher." Behind the wall Hottabych nodded approvingly and rubbed his hands together smugly. A strange silence fell on the class. Even those who were always ready to laugh stopped smiling. Something was definitely wrong with Volka. Varvara Stepanovna rose and felt his forehead anxiously. He did not have a fever. But Hottabych was really touched by this. He bowed low and touched his forehead and chest in the Eastern manner and then began to whisper. Volka, driven by the same awful force, repeated his movements exactly. "I thank you, 0 most gracious daughter of Stepan! I thank you for your trouble. But it is unnecessary, because, praised be Allah, I am quite well." All this sounded extremely strange and funny. However, the other children were so worried about Volka that not a shade of a smile crossed a single face. Varvara Stepanovna took him by the hand, led him out of the room, and patted his lowered head. "Never mind, Kostylkov. Don't worry. You're probably overtired. Come back when you've had a good rest. All right?" "All right," Volka said. "But upon my word of honour, Varvara Stepanovna, it's not my fault! It isn't really!" "Why, I'm not blaming you at all," the teacher answered kindly. "I'll tell you what: let's drop in on Pyotr Ivanych." Pyotr Ivanych, the school doctor, examined Volka for all of ten minutes. He made him close his eyes and hold his arms out before him with his fingers spread apart; then he tapped his knee and drew lines on his chest and back with his stethoscope. By then Volka came to himself. His cheeks turned pink again and his spirits rose. "The boy's perfectly well," said Pyotr Ivanych. "And if you want my opinion, he's an unusually healthy child! I think he was probably overworked. He must have studied too much before his exams, because there's nothing wrong with him. And that's all there is to it!" Just in case, though, he measured some drops into a glass, and the unusually healthy child was forced to drink the medicine. Suddenly, Volka had an idea. What if he could profit from Hottabych's absence and take his geography examination right there, in the doctor's office? "By no means!" Pyotr Ivanych said emphatically. "By no means. Let the child have a few days of rest. Geography can wait." "That's quite true," the teacher sighed with relief, pleased that .everything had turned out so well in the end. "And you, my young friend, run along home and have a good rest. When you feel better, come back and take your exam. I'm positive you'll get an 'A.' What do you think, Pyotr Ivanych?" "Such a Hercules as he? Why, he'll never get less than an 'A'+!' "Ah ... and don't you think someone had better see him home?" Varvara Stepanovna added. "Oh no, Varvara Stepanovna!" Volka cried. "I'll make out fine." All he needed now was for a chaperone to bump into that crazy old Hottabych! Volka appeared to be in the pink of health, and with an easy heart Varvara Stepanovna let him go home. The doorman rushed towards him as he was on the way out. "Kostylkov! Your grandpa, or whoever he is, the one who came here with you...." At that very moment, old man Hottabych appeared from the wall. He was as happy as a lark and immensely pleased with himself, and he was humming a little tune. "Help!" the doorman cried soundlessly and tried in vain to pour himself another cup of tea from the empty kettle. When he put the kettle down and turned around, both Volka Kostylkov and his mysterious companion had disappeared. By then they had already turned the nearest corner. "Pray tell me, young master, did you astound your teacher and your comrades with your great knowledge?" Hottabych inquired proudly, breaking a rather long silence. "I astounded them all right!" Volka said and looked at the old man with loathing. Hottabych beamed. "I expected nothing else! But for a moment there I thought that the most revered daughter of Stepan was displeased with the breadth and scope of your knowledge." "Oh, no, no!" Volka cried in fear, recalling Hottabych's terrible threats. "You were imagining things." "I would have changed her into a chopping block on which butchers chop up mutton," the old man said fiercely (and Volka was really frightened for his teacher's fate), "if I hadn't seen that she had such great respect for you and took you to the door of your classroom and then practically down the stairs. I realized then that she had fully appreciated your answers. Peace be with her!" "Sure, peace be with her!" Volka added hastily, feeling that a load had fallen from his shoulders. During the several thousand years of Hottabych's life, he had often had to do with people feeling sad and gloomy, and he knew how to cheer them up. At any rate, he was convinced he knew how to do so. All that was needed was to give a person that which he had always longed for. But what kind of a present should he give Volka? The answer came to him quite by chance when Volka asked a passer-by: "Would you please tell me what time it is?" The man looked at his watch and said, "Five to two." "Thank you," Volka said and continued on in silence. Hottabych was the first to speak. "Tell me, 0 Volka, how was the man able to tell the time of day so accurately?" "Didn't you see him look at his watch?" The old man raised his eyebrows in surprise. "His watch?!" "Sure, his watch," Volka explained. "He had a watch on his wrist. The round chrome-plated thing." "Why don't you have such a watch, 0 most noble of all Genie-saviours?" "I'm too young to have such a watch," Volka answered humbly. "May I be permitted, 0 honourable passer-by, to inquire as to the time of day?" Hottabych said, stopping the first person he saw and staring at his watch. "Two minutes to two," the man answered, somewhat surprised at the flowery language. Thanking him in the most elaborate oriental manner, Hottabych said with a sly grin: "May I be permitted, 0 loveliest of all Volkas, to inquire as to the time of day?" And there was a watch shining on Volka's left wrist, exactly like the one the man they had stopped had, but instead of being chrome-plated, it was of the purest gold. "May it be worthy of your ha