The Old Genie Hottabych

RECONCILIATION

The little cloud that was covering the sun floated off and disappeared, as it was no longer needed. Once again it became hot. A hundred thousand fans were slowly leaving the stadium through the narrow concrete passages.

No one was in a hurry. Everyone wanted to voice an opinion about the amazing game which had ended so strangely.

These opinions were each more involved than the previous one. However, not even the most vivid imaginations could think of an explanation that would so much as resemble the true reason for all the queer things they had witnessed.

Only three people took no part in these discussions. They left the North Section in deep silence. They entered a crowded trolley-bus in silence and alighted in silence at Okhotny Ryad, where they separated.

“Football is an excellent game,” Hottabych finally mustered up the courage to say.

“Mm-m-m,” Volka replied.

“I can just imagine how sweet the moment is when you kick the ball into the enemy’s goal!” Hottabych continued in a crestfallen voice. “Isn’t that so, O Volka?”

“Mm-m-m.”

“Are you still angry with me, O goalie of my heart? I’ll die if you don’t answer me!”

He scurried along beside his angry friend, sighing sadly and cursing the hour he had agreed to go to the game.

“What do you think!” Volka snapped, but then continued in a softer tone, “Boy, what a mess! I’ll never forget it as long as I live. Have a look at this new-found fan! No sir, we’ll never take you to a football game again! And we don’t need your tickets, either.”

“Your every word is my command,” Hottabych hurried to assure him, pleased to have got off so easily. “I’ll be quite content if you occasionally find the time to tell me of the football matches.”

So they continued on as good friends as ever.