The Old Genie Hottabych

HOTTABYCH’S SECOND SERVICE

Volka was in the dumps. Hottabych sensed that something was wrong. He never dreamed he had done the boy such a bad turn during the exam, but it was all too clear that Volka was upset. And the one to blame, apparently, was none other than himself, Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab.

“Would you, O moon-like, feel inclined to listen to stories of most unusual and strange adventures?” he asked slyly. “For instance, do you know the story of the Baghdad barber’s three black roosters and his lame son? Or the one about the copper camel with a silver hump? Or about the water-carrier Ahmet and his magic pail?”

Volka kept on frowning. This did not stop the old man, and he began hurriedly:

“Be it known to you, O most wonderful of all secondary school pupils, that once upon a time in Baghdad there lived a skilled barber named Selim who had three roosters and a lame son named Tub. It so happened that Caliph Harun al Rashid once passed his shop. But, O most attentive of all youths, I suggest we sit down on this bench in order that your young legs don’t tire during this long and most educational story.”

Volka agreed. They sat down in the shade of an old linden tree.

For three long hours Hottabych went on and on with the truly interesting story. He finally ended it with these crafty words:

“But more marvellous still is the story of the copper camel with a silver hump,” and immediately proceeded with it. When he came to the part: “Then the stranger took a piece of coal from the brazier and drew the outline of a camel on the wall. The camel waved its tail, nodded its head, walked off the wall and onto the cobblestones…” — he stopped to enjoy the impression his story of a drawing coming to life had made on his young listener.

But Hottabych was in for some disappointment, because Volka had seen enough cartoons in his life. However, the old man’s words gave him an idea.

“You know what? Let’s go to the movies. You can finish the story after.”

“Your every word is my command, O Volka ibn Alyosha,” the old man replied obediently. “But do me a favour and tell me what you mean by ‘the movies’? Is it a bath-house? Or, perhaps, that’s what you call the market-place, where one can stroll and chat with friends and acquaintances?”

“Well! Any child can tell you what a movie is. It’s a…” At this, Volka waved his hands around vaguely and added, “Well, anyway, you’ll see when we get there.”

Over the Saturn Theatre box-office was a sign that read:

“Children under sixteen not admitted to evening performances.”

“What’s the matter, O most handsome of all handsome youths?” Hottabych inquired anxiously, noticing that Volka had become gloomy again.

“Nothing much. It’s just that we’re late for the last day-time performance! You have to be sixteen to get in now. I really don’t know what to do, ’cause I don’t feel like going home.”

“You won’t go home!” Hottabych cried. “In a twinkling of an eye they’ll let us through, surrounded by the respect your truly endless capabilities command! I’ll just have a peek at those bits of paper everyone’s handing that stern-looking woman at the entrance.”

“That old braggart!” Volka thought irritably. Suddenly, he felt two tickets in his right fist.

“Come!” Hottabych called, beaming again. “Come, they’ll let you through now!”

“Are you sure?”

“Just as positive as that a great future awaits you!”

He nudged Volka towards a mirror hanging nearby. A boy with a bushy blond beard on his healthy freckled face looked back from the mirror at a shocked and gaping Volka.