The Old Genie Hottabych

THE SAME AND MR. MONEYBAGS

“Anyone can make a mistake,” Volka said magnanimously, looking at a confused Hottabych with sympathy. “I’m glad the ring has turned out to be a plain ordinary one. And thanks a lot for the presents.”

The boys turned away tactfully, took their binoculars from the leather cases and began enjoying their wonderful presents. The far-off houses came right up to the river, tiny dots turned into walking people, and a car speeding down the road seemed about to knock the happy owner of a pair of binoculars off his feet. One could not even dream of bigger enlargement.

“Hottabych,” Volka said several minutes later, “here, have a look at who’s coming towards us.” He handed his binoculars over to Hottabych, who had already discerned Mr. Harry Moneybags in person walking rapidly towards them. In fact, he was running, huffing and puffing from his great weight.

When Mr. Moneybags noticed that he was being watched he slowed down and continued on nonchalantly, as if he were in no hurry at all, as if he were merely strolling along to get away from the city noises. When he came up close, his red face contorted into a sickeningly sweet smile and he said:

“Oh, my goodness! How pleasant and unexpected meetings!”

As he approaches our friends to shake their hands enthusiastically, we shall explain why he has again appeared in our story.

It so happened that Mrs. Moneybags was in a black temper that day, and that is why she tossed the ring out of the window so hastily. After she had tossed it out, she remained standing at the window to calm her nerves. It was then that she noticed with interest an old man picking the ring up from the gutter and dashing off as fast as he could.

“Did you see that?” she said to her crestfallen husband. “What a funny old man! He grabbed up that cheap ring as if it had an emerald in it and scampered off.”

“Oh, that was a very bothersome old man!” her husband answered in a more lively tone. “He came up to me back in the second-hand shop and hung on to me right to our doorstep, and just imagine, my dear, he kept falling to his knees before me and shouting, ‘I am your slave, because you have Sulayman’s ring!’ and I said, ‘Sir, you are greatly mistaken. I have just bought this ring and it belongs to no one but me.’ But he was stubborn as a mule and kept on saying, ‘No, it’s Sulayman’s ring! It’s a magic ring!’ And I said, ‘No, it’s not a magic ring, its a platinum one!’ And he said, ‘No, my master, it’s not platinum, it’s a magic ring!’ and he pretended he wanted to kiss the flap of my jacket.”

His wife gazed at him with loathing and then, apparently unable to stand his smug expression, she looked away. Her eyes came upon a copy of Arabian Nights lying on the couch. Suddenly she was struck by an idea. Mrs. Moneybags collapsed into the nearest armchair and whispered bitterly:

“My God! How unlucky I am to be obliged to live with such a man! Someone with your imagination, Sir, should be an undertaker, not a businessman. A lizard has more brains than you!”

“What’s the matter, my dear?” her husband asked anxiously.

“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Moneybags wailed tragically, though there was no one save themselves in the room. “Gentlemen, this man wants to know what’s the matter! Sir, will you be kind enough to catch up with the old man immediately and get the ring back before it’s too late!”

“But what do we want it for? It’s a cheap little silver ring, and a home-made one at that.”

“This man will surely drive me to my grave! He keeps asking me why I want King Solomon’s magic ring! Gentlemen, he wants to know why I need a ring that can fulfil one’s any wish, that can make one the richest and most powerful man in the world!”

“But, my dove, where have you ever seen a magic ring before?”

“And where have you ever seen anyone in this country fall on his knees before another and try to kiss his hand?”

“Not my hand, my sweet, my jacket!”

“All the more so! Will you please be so kind as to catch up with the old man immediately and take back the ring! And I don’t envy you if you come back without it!”

Such were the events which caused the red-faced husband of the terrible Mrs. Moneybags to appear so suddenly before Hottabych and his friends.

Had Mr. Moneybags been in Hottabych’s place, he would never have returned the ring, even if it were an ordinary one, and especially so if it were a magic one. That is why he decided to begin from afar.

“Oh, my goodness! How happy and unexpected surprise!” he cried with so sweet a smile that one would think he had dreamed of becoming their friend all his life. “What a wonderful weather! How you feel?”

Hottabych bowed silently.

“Oh!” Mr. Moneybags exclaimed with feigned surprise. “I see on your finger one silver ring. You give me look at this silver ring?”

“With the utmost of pleasure,” Hottabych answered, extending his hand with the ring on it.

Instead of admiring the ring, Mr. Moneybags suddenly snatched it off Hottabych’s finger and squeezed it onto his own fleshy finger.

“I thanking you! I thanking you!” he wheezed and his already purple face became still redder, so that Hottabych feared Mr. Moneybags might even have a stroke.

“You have buy this ring someplace?”

He expected the old man to lie, or at least to try every means possible to get back the almighty ring. Mr. Moneybags sized up the skinny old man and the two boys and decided he would be more than a match for them if things took a bad turn.

However, to his great surprise the old man did not lie. Instead, he said quite calmly:

“I did not buy the ring, I picked it up in the gutter near your house. It is your ring, O grey-haired foreigner!”

“Oh!” Mr. Moneybags exclaimed happily. “You are very honest old man! You will be my favourite servant!”

At these words the boys winced, but said nothing. They were interested to know what would follow.

“You have very good explained to me before that this ring is magic ring. I can actually have fulfil any wish?” Hottabych nodded. The boys giggled. They decided that Hottabych was about to play a trick on this unpleasant man and were ready to have a good laugh.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” Mr. Moneybags said. “You will be explaining how I use magic ring.”

“With the greatest of pleasure, O most ruddy-faced of foreigners!” Hottabych answered, bowing low. “You take the magic ring, put it on the index finger of your left hand, turn it and say your wish.”

“And it has to by all means come true?”

“Exactly.”

“Most different various kind of wish?”

“Any wish at all.”

“Ah, so?” Mr. Moneybags said with satisfaction and his face at once became cold and arrogant. He turned the ring around quickly and shouted to Hottabych, “Hey, you foolish old man! Coming here! You be packing my moneys!”

His insolent tone enraged Volka and Zhenya. They moved a step forward and were about to open their mouths to reprimand him, but Hottabych waved them away angrily and approached Mr. Moneybags.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” the old man said humbly. “I don’t know what kind of money you mean. Show me some, so I know what it looks like.”

“Cultured man must know how moneys look,” Mr. Moneybags muttered.

And taking a foreign bill from his pocket, he waved it in front of Hottabych and then put it back.

Hottabych bowed.

“And now. Now is time to begin business,” said Mr. Moneybags. “Let me have now one hundred bags of moneys!”

“You have a long wait coming!” Volka snickered and winked at Zhenya. “That Mr. Moneybags has got his teeth into the magic ring. ‘Wear it, Katya, and remember me.’ ”

“Let me have immediately coming one thousand bags of moneys,” Mr. Moneybags repeated.

He was disappointed: the money did not appear. The boys watched him with open malice.

“I can’t see moneys! Where is my one thousand bags of moneys?” Mr. Moneybags bellowed and immediately fell senseless to the ground, having been struck by a huge sack which dropped out of the blue.

While Hottabych was bringing him back to his senses, the boys opened the sack.

One hundred carefully tied bags of money were stuffed in side. Each bag contained one hundred bills.

“What a funny ring!” Zhenya muttered unhappily. “It won’ even give a decent person a bike, but this character gets hundred bags of money just for nothing! That sure is some ‘Wear it, Katya, and remember me,’ for you!”

“It sure is strange,” Volka shrugged.

Mr. Moneybags opened his eyes, saw the bags of money; jumped to his feet, counted the bags and saw that there were exactly one hundred of them. However, his happy smile soon vanished. No sooner had his shaking hands tied the valuable sack than his eyes once again began to glitter greedily.

He pressed the sack to his fat chest, turned the ring around again and shouted heatedly:

“One hundred bags is little! I want immediately one million! Right away now!”

He barely had time to jump aside when a huge sack weighing at least ten tons crashed to the ground. The force of the crash split the canvas sack and a million bags of money spilled out on the grass. Each bag contained a hundred bills.

These bills in no way differed from real money, except for the fact that they all had the same serial number. This was the number Hottabych had seen on the bill the greedy owner of the magic ring had shown him.

Mr. Moneybags would certainly have been grieved to discover this, for any bank-teller would have noticed that all the numbers were the same, and that would mean it was counterfeit money. However, Mr. Moneybags had no time to check the serial numbers just now. Pale from excitement, he climbed to the top of the precious pile and stood up to his full height like a monument, like a living embodiment of greed. Mr. Moneybag’s hair was dishevelled, his eyes burned with insane fire, his hands trembled and his heart thundered in his breast.

“And now … and now… and now I want ten thousand gold watches strewn with diamonds, twenty thousand gold cigarette cases, thirty . … no, fifty thousand strings of pearls, fifteen thousand antique China services!” he shouted darting back and forth in order to dodge the great treasures falling from all sides.

“O red-faced foreigner, don’t you think what you have received is enough?” Hottabych asked sternly.

“Silence!” Mr. Moneybags yelled and stamped his feet in rage. “When the boss do business, the servant must silence! Ring, do as my wish is! Fast!”

“Go back where you came from, you old grabber!” Volka shouted. “Out of our country! We’ll propel you out of here!”

“May it be so,” Hottabych agreed and yanked four hairs from his beard.

That very moment the sacks of money, the crates of china, watches and necklaces, everything the silver ring had brought — disappeared. Mr. Moneybags himself rolled down the grass and along the path very quickly, heading in the direction from which he had recently come so full of hopes. In no time he was gone with just a little puff of dust to show where he had been.

After the boys had regained their composure and calmed down, Volka said in a thoughtful tone, “I can’t understand what sort of a ring it is — a plain one or a magic one?”

“Why, a plain one, of course,” Hottabych answered kindly.

“Then why did it fulfil that robber’s wishes?”

“It was I who fulfilled them, not the ring.”

“You? Why?”

“It was just a matter of politeness, O curious youth. I felt indebted to the man, because I bothered him in the shop and annoyed him on the way home, right up to his very doorstep. 1 felt it wouldn’t be fair not to fulfil a few of his wishes, but his greed and his black soul turned my stomach.”

“That’s right!”

When they left the river bank and walked along the street, Hottabych stepped on a small round object. It was the ring with the inscription: “Wear it, Katya, and remember me,” which Mr. Moneybags must have lost as he rolled away.

The old man picked it up, wiped it with his huge, bright-blue handkerchief, and put it on his right small finger.

The boys and the old man came home, went to bed and woke up the next morning, but Mr. Moneybags was still rolling and rolling away home to where he had come from.