The Old Genie Hottabych

THE UNUSUAL EVENTS IN APARTMENT 37

Goga’s mother had not bought him a dog after all. She had not had the time to, and later on she never got him one, for after the fantastic events of that terrible evening, both Goga and his mother lost all interest in Man’s oldest and truest friend.

But Volka had clearly heard a dog barking m apartment 37 . Could he have been mistaken?

No, he was not mistaken.

And yet, there had been no dog in apartment 37 that evening. If you want to know, not so much as a dog’s paw entered their house after that evening.

Truly, Volka had no reason to be envious of Goga. There was nothing to be envious of: it was Goga who had barked! It all began while he was washing up for supper. He was very anxious to tell his mother a long and elaborate story about how his classmate and neighbour, Volka Kostylkov, had made a fool of himself at the examination that morning. And it was then that he started barking. Goga didn’t bark all the time — some words were real words — but instead of very many other ones, he was surprised and horrified to hear a genuine dog’s bark issue from his mouth.

He wanted to say that Volka suddenly began to talk such nonsense at the exam and that Varvara Stepanovna je-ee-st crashed her fist down on the table and je-ee-st screamed, “What nonsense you’re babbling, you fool! Why, you hooligan, I’ll leave you back another term for this!”

But this is what Goga said instead:

“And suddenly Volka je-ee-st began to bow-wow-wow … and Varvara Stepanovna je-ee-st crashed her bow-wow-wow!”

Goga was struck dumb with surprise. He was silent for a moment, then he took a deep breath and tried to repeat the sentence. But instead of saying the rude words, this little liar and tattle-tale wanted to ascribe to Varvara Stepanovna, he began to bark again.

“Oh, Mummie!” he wailed. “Mummie dear!”

“What’s the matter with you, darling?” his mother asked anxiously. “You look terrible!”

“I wanted to say that bow-wow-wow… Oh, Mummie, what’s the matter?”

Goga had really turned blue from fright.

“Stop barking, dearest! Please stop, my darling, my sweet!”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” Goga whined. “I only wanted to say…”

And once again, instead of human speech, all he could do was to produce an irritable bark.

“Darling! My pet, don’t frighten me!” his poor mother pleaded, as the tears ran down her kind face. “Don’t bark! I beg you, don’t bark!”

At this point Goga could think of nothing better to do than to become angry at his mother. And since he was not used to choosing his words on such occasions, he began barking so fiercely that someone shouted from the next balcony:

“Tell your boy to stop teasing that dog! It’s a shame! You’ve spoiled your child beyond all reason!”

With the tears still pouring down her cheeks, Goga’s mother rushed to close the windows. Then she tried to feel Goga’s forehead, but this only brought on a new attack of angry barking.

She finally put a completely frightened Goga to bed, wrapped him up in a heavy quilt, though it was a hot summer evening, and ran down to the telephone booth to call an ambulance.

Since she should not tell them the truth, she was forced to say that her son had a very high fever and was delirious.

Soon a doctor arrived. He was a stout, middle-aged man with a grey moustache, many years of experience and an unruffled manner.

The first thing he did, naturally, was to feel Goga’s forehead. He discovered the boy had no fever at all. This made him angry, but he did not show it, since the boy’s mother looked so terribly grief-stricken. He sighed and sat down on a chair by the bed. Then he asked Goga’s mother to explain why she had called an ambulance instead of her regular doctor.

She told him the truth.

The doctor shrugged. He asked her to repeat her story from the beginning. Then he shrugged again, thinking that if this were really true, she should have called a psychiatrist and not a general practitioner.

“Perhaps you think you are a dog?” he asked Goga, as if casually.

Goga shook his head.

“Well, that’s something,” the doctor thought. “At least it isn’t a mania when people imagine they’re dogs.”

Naturally, he did not say this aloud, so as not to frighten the patient or his mother, but it was obvious that the doctor was feeling more cheerful.

“Stick out your tongue,” he said.

Goga stuck out his tongue.

“It’s a very normal-looking tongue. And now, young man, let me listen to your heart. Ah, an excellent heart. His lungs are clear. And how is his stomach?” . “His stomach’s fine,” his mother said.

“And has he been uh … barking a long time?”

“For over two hours. I just don’t know what to do.”

“First of all, calm down. I don’t see anything terrible yet. Now, young man, won’t you tell me how it all began?”

“Well, it all began from nothing,” Goga complained in a small voice. “I was just telling my mother how Volka Kostylkov .bow-wow-wow.”

“You see, doctor?” his mother sobbed loudly. “It’s terrible. Maybe he needs some pills, or powders, or perhaps he needs a physic?”

The doctor frowned.

“Give me time to think, and I’ll look through my books. It’s a rare case, a very rare case, indeed. Now, I want him to have a complete rest, no getting off the bed, a light diet, just vegetables and milk products, no coffee or cocoa, weak tea with milk, if desired. And by no means should he go out.”

“I couldn’t drag him outside if I tried, he’s so ashamed. .One of his friends dropped in, and poor Goga barked so long and loud, I had a hard time persuading the boy not to tell anyone about it. But don’t you think he needs a physic?”

“Well, a physic can’t hurt him,” the doctor said thoughtfully.

“And what about mustard plasters before he goes to bed?” she asked, still sobbing.

“That’s not bad, either. Mustard plasters are always helpful.”

The doctor was about to pat Goga’s head, but Pill, anticipating all the bitter medicines he had prescribed, barked so viciously that the old doctor jerked his hand away, frightened lest the unpleasant boy really bite him.

“By the way,” he said, gaining control over himself, “why are all the windows closed on such a hot day? The child needs fresh air.”

Goga’s mother reluctantly explained why she had closed the windows.

“Hm… A rare case, a very rare case, indeed!” the doctor repeated. Then he wrote out a prescription and left, promising to come back the next day.