The Old Genie Hottabych

MEET MY FRIEND

Volka awoke from a pleasant ringing sound, like the tinkling of crystal chandelier pendants. Still half asleep, he thought it was Hottabych yanking magic hairs. But no, the old man was snoring softly, sleeping like a babe. The tinkling sound was coming from the icicles on his beard and the frozen carpet fringes flying in the fresh morning wind.

In the East, the blinding sun was rising. It kept getting warmer and warmer. The icicles on Hottabych’s beard and on the fringes melted; the icy crust that had covered the rest of the carpet also melted. Hottabych turned over on his side, yawned and began to snore with a whistle, as if there really was a pipe in his nose.

Zhenya woke up from the dampness and the warmth. Leaning towards Volka’s chilled ear he whispered:

“Do tell me who the old man is?”

“Come clean,” Volka whispered back, keeping a wary eye on Hottabych. “Did you want to talk to the fellows about me behind my back?”

“What of it?”

“Just that he doesn’t like it.”

“What doesn’t he like?”

“He doesn’t like people to go blabbering about me!”

“Humph!”

“Humph yourself! Presto! And you’re in a desert. It’s all very-simple.”

Zhenya wasn’t convinced.

Volka cast another wary glance at Hottabych and moved closer to his friend’s ear.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“What a silly question!”

“Not even a bit?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, believe it or not, but this old man is a Genie, a real live Genie from the Arabian Nights!”

“Boloney!”

“And he was the one who got everything messed up during the exam. He prompted me and I had to repeat everything like a parrot.”

“Him?!”

“But don’t say a word about my having failed. He swore to kill all the teachers if they failed me. And now I’m knocking myself out to save Varvara Stepanovna from his magic. I have to keep distracting him all the time. Understand?”

“Not really.”

“Well, be quiet anyway!”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Zhenya whispered thoughtfully. “Then he was the one who tossed me into India ?”

“Sure he was. And he got you back from India , too. If you want to know, he sent you there so they could sell you into slavery.”

Zhenya giggled.

“Me, a slave? Ha-ha-ha!”

“Ssh! You’ll wake him up.”

But Volka’s warning came too late. Hottabych opened his eyes and yawned.

“Good morning, O Volka. Am I correct in assuming that this young man is none other than your friend Zhenya?”

“Yes, I’d like you to meet him,” Volka said, introducing his recovered friend to Hottabych as if all this was taking place in the most ordinary of circumstances and not on a magic carpet high above the Earth.

“Pleased to meet you,” Zhenya said solemnly.

Hottabych was silent for a moment, looking at the boy closely to decide whether or not he was worth a kind word. He apparently became convinced that Volka had not made a mistake in choosing his friend and so smiled his most amiable smile.

“There is no end to my happiness at meeting you. Any friend of my young master is my best friend.”

“Master?” Zhenya asked.

“Master and saviour.”

“Saviour?!” Zhenya repeated and giggled.

“There’s no need to laugh,” Volka stopped him sternly. “There’s nothing to laugh about.”

In as few words as possible, he told Zhenya everything our attentive readers already know.