The Old Genie Hottabych

OMAR ASAF BARES HIS CLAWS

“There’s one thing I can’t understand,” Omar Asaf said thoughtfully as he shivered with cold. “I clearly heard Sulayman’s Genies say, ‘Let’s throw him — meaning me — into the West Ethiopian Sea .’ That’s why I thought that if I was ever lucky enough to look upon the sun and earth again, it would be near the shores of sunny Africa . But this,” and he pointed to the island fast disappearing through the port-hole, “this is not at all like Africa . Isn’t it so, my dear brother Hassan?”

“You are right, my dear Omar Asaf, one so pleasing to my heart. We are now near other shores, quite a distance from Africa . We are now…”

“I know! Really, I know!” Volka interrupted and did a jig from excitement. “Golly! Now I know! Now I know!”

“What do you know?” Omar Asaf asked haughtily.

“Now I know how you came to be in the Arctic .”

“O insolent and boastful boy, how unpleasant I find your undue pride!” Omar Asaf said in disgust. “How can you understand something which remains a mystery even to me, the wisest and most powerful of all Genies! Well then, express your opinion, so that I and my dear brother may have a good laugh at your expense.”

“That’s as you wish. You can laugh if you want to. But it’s all because of the Gulf Stream .”

“Because of what?” Omar Asaf asked acidly.

“The Gulf Stream, the warm current which brought you to the Arctic from the Southern Seas.”

“What nonsense!” Omar Asaf smirked, turning to his brother for support.

But his brother said nothing.

“It’s not rubbish at all,” Volka began.

But Omar Asaf corrected him:

“I did not say ‘rubbish,’ I said ‘nonsense.’ ”

“It’s neither rubbish nor nonsense,” Volka replied with annoyance. “I got an ‘A’ in geography for the Gulf Stream .”

Since Zhenya supported Volka’s scientific theory, Hottabych also supported him.

Omar Asaf, seeing that he was a minority of one, pretended to agree about the Gulf Stream , but actually concealed a grudge against Volka and his friend.

“I am tired of arguing with you, O conceited boy,” he said, forcing a yawn. “I am tired and want to sleep. Hurry and bring a fan and keep away the flies while I rest.”

“In the first place, there are no flies here. In the second place, what right have you to order me about?” Volka asked indignantly.

“There will be flies soon enough,” Omar Asaf muttered through clenched teeth. And sure enough, swarms of flies began buzzing about the cabin.

“We can manage without a fan,” Volka said in a friendlier tone, making believe he did not understand the humiliating nature of Omar Asaf’s demand.

He opened first the door, then the port-hole; a strong draught carried the flies out into the corridor.

“All the same, you’ll fan me!” Omar Asaf said capriciously, ignoring Hottabych’s attempts at calming him.

“No, I won’t! No one has ever made me fulfil humiliating orders.”

“Then I’ll be the first to do so.”

“No you won’t!”

“Omar, my sweet!” Hottabych said, trying to avert the imminent quarrel.

But Omar Asaf, who had turned black with rage, waved him away angrily.

“I’d rather die than fulfil your whims!” Volka shouted.

“Then you’ll die very soon, as soon as the Sun sets,” Omar Asaf announced, smiling disgustingly.

Suddenly, Volka had a wonderful idea.

“If that’s the case, then tremble, you despicable Genie!” he shouted in his most terrible voice. “You have tried my patience too long, and I must stop the Sun! It will not go down today, or tomorrow, or the day after. You have only yourself to blame!”

Volka was taking a big chance. If Hottabych had had time to tell his brother that the Arctic Sun shone twenty-four hours a day at this time of the year, then all was lost.

But in reply to Volka’s words, Omar Asaf scoffed, “Braggart of braggarts! Boaster of boasters! I, too, like to boast at times, but even in my greatest rage I have never promised to stop the course of that great celestial body. Not even Sulayman, the Son of David (on the twain be peace!), could do that.”

Volka saw that he was saved. And not only saved, but that he could take Hottabych’s disagreeable brother in hand.

Hottabych, meanwhile, winked approvingly at Volka. As for Zhenya, there is no need to say he was delighted. He had guessed Volka’s idea and was aglow from excitement, anticipating Omar Asaf’s imminent downfall.

“Rest assured, Omar Asaf. If I said I’ll stop the Sun, you can be sure it won’t go down today.”

“You brat!” Omar Asaf snapped.

“You’re a brat yourself!” Volka replied as arrogantly. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the Sun.”

“But what if it goes down anyway?” Omar Asaf asked, choking with laughter.

“If it goes down, I will henceforth fulfil your most stupid orders.”

“Oh, no,” Omar Asaf said triumphantly. “If the Sun, despite your conceited promise, does go down — and this will obviously happen — then I will eat you up. I’ll eat you, bones and all!”

“And my slippers too,” Volka added courageously. “But if the Sun does not go down today, will you obey my every command?”

“If the Sun does not go down, I will do so with the greatest pleasure, O most boastful and insignificant of magicians! But — ha-ha-ha — alas! This will never happen.”

“It’s still an open question as to who will say ‘alas!’ a few hours from now,” Volka cautioned.

“Well then!” Omar Asaf said, shaking his finger in warning. “According to the present position of the Sun, it should go down in another eight or nine hours. I am even a tiny bit sorry for you, O shameless milksop, for you have less than twelve hours to live.”

“You can save your pity; you’d better pity yourself.”

Omar Asaf giggled scornfully, revealing two rows of small yellow teeth.

“What awful teeth,” Hottabych sighed. “Omar, why don’t you get yourself gold teeth, like I have?” It was only then that Omar Asaf noticed Hottabych’s unusual teeth, and his soul was filled with the blackest envy.

“To tell you the truth. Brother, I don’t find anything very special about gold teeth. I think I’d rather have diamond teeth.”

That very moment, thirty-two crystal-clear diamonds sparkled in his mouth as he smiled spitefully. Gazing at himself in the little bronze mirror the old dandy carried in his belt, Omar Asaf was quite pleased with what he saw.

There were only three things that somehow clouded his triumph. First, Hottabych did not seem at all envious; second, his diamond teeth sparkled only when the light fell upon them directly. If the light did not fall upon them, he appeared completely toothless; third, his diamond teeth scratched his tongue and lips. In his heart of hearts, he was sorry he had been so greedy, but he did not show this so as not to lose face.

“No, no,” he giggled, noticing that Volka was about to leave the cabin. “You shall not leave until the Sun goes down. I understand you only too well. You want to flee, in order to escape your deserved end. I have no intention of searching for you all over the boat.”

“Why, I can stay in the cabin as long as you want. That will even be better. Otherwise, I’ll have to hunt for you all over the boat when the Sun doesn’t go down. How long do you think I’ll have to wait?”

“Not more than nine hours, O young braggart,” Omar Asaf said, bowing sarcastically. He snapped the fingers of his left hand and a cumbersome water-clock appeared on the table beneath the port-hole. “As soon as the water reaches this line,” he said, tapping the side of the clock with a crooked brown nail, “the Sun will go down. It is the hour of your death.”

“Fine, I’ll wait.”

“We’ll wait, too,” said Zhenya and Hottabych.

Eight hours slipped by quickly, because Zhenya could not deny himself the pleasure of suggesting that the conceited Omar Asaf learn to play checkers.

“I’ll win anyway,” Omar Asaf warned.

Zhenya kept on winning. Omar Asaf got angrier and angrier. He tried to cheat, but each time they caught him at it, and so he would begin a new game, which would end just as sadly for him.

“Well, the time’s up, Omar Hottabych,” Volka said finally.

“Impossible!” Omar Asaf replied, tearing himself away from the checker board.

Glancing quickly at the water-clock, he turned pale and jumped up from the berth where he and Zhenya had been sitting. He rushed to the port-hole, stuck his head out and groaned in terror and helpless rage: the Sun was just as high in the sky as it had been eight hours before!

Then he turned to Volka and said in a flat voice:

“I must have made a little mistake in my calculations. Let’s wait two more hours.”

“Even three if you like, but it won’t help you any. It’ll be just as I said: the Sun will not go down today, or tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow.”

Four and a half hours later, Omar Asaf stuck his head out of the port-hole for the twentieth time, and for the twentieth time he saw that the Sun had no intention of sinking beyond the horizon.

He turned as white as a sheet and trembled all over as he crashed to his knees.

“Spare me, O mighty youth!” he cried in a pitiful voice. “Do not be angry at me, your unworthy slave, for when I shouted at you I did not know you were stronger than I!”

“Does that mean you think you can shout at me if I’m weaker than you?”

“Why, certainly.”

They all felt disgusted.

“What a brother you have,” Zhenya whispered to Hottabych. “Forgive me for saying so, but he’s a most unpleasant, envious and vicious old man.”

“Yes, my brother is no lump of sugar,” Hottabych replied sadly.

“For goodness’ sake, get up!” Volka said with annoyance, as the old Genie remained on his knees and kept trying to kiss Volka’s hands.

“What are your orders, O my young but mighty master?” Omar Asaf asked submissively, rubbing his soft palms together and rising.

“At present, there’s only one; don’t you dare leave this cabin for a second without my permission!”

“With the greatest of pleasure, O wisest and most powerful of youths,” Omar Asaf replied in a self-abasing tone, as he regarded Volka with fear and awe.

It was just as Volka had predicted. Neither that day nor the next, nor the third did the Sun go down. Making use of some small misdemeanour of Omar Asaf’s, Volka said he would make the Sun shine round the clock until further notice. And not until he learned from the captain that the “Ladoga” had finally entered a latitude where there was a brief period of night, did he inform Omar Asaf of this, as his special favour to the undeserving, grumpy Genie.

Omar Asaf was as quiet as a mouse. Not once did he leave the cabin. He crept back into the copper vessel without a murmur when the “Ladoga” docked to the strains of a band at its home pier, from which it had sailed away thirty days before.

Naturally, Omar Asaf was extremely reluctant to return to his bottle, if even for a short period, since he had already spent so many unhappy and lonely centuries there. But Volka gave him his word of honour that he would let him out the minute they reached home.

There is no use denying that as Volka left the hospitable “Ladoga,” carrying the copper vessel under his arm, he was sorely tempted to toss it into the water. But there you are — if you’ve given your word you’ve got to keep it. And so Volka walked down the gang-plank, having conquered this momentary temptation.

If no one aboard the “Ladoga” ever stopped to wonder why Hottabych and his friends were taking part in the expedition, it is quite clear that the old man had no trouble casting the same spell over his young friends’ parents and acquaintances.

At any rate, their relatives and friends accepted it as a matter of course that the children had been in the Arctic , without questioning how in the world they had ever booked berths on the Ladoga.”

After an excellent dinner, the children told their respective parents the story of their adventures in the Arctic , keeping almost true to the facts. They were wise enough to say nothing about Hottabych. Zhenya, however, was so carried away, that the rash words nearly slipped out of his mouth. When he described the performances the passengers had put on in the lounge, he said:

“And then, of course, Hottabych could not leave it at that. So he said…”

“What a strange name — Hottabych!” Zhenya’s mother said.

“I didn’t say ‘Hottabych,’ Mother, I said ‘Potapych.’ That was our boatswain’s name,” Zhenya said resourcefully, though he blushed.

However, this went unnoticed. Everyone looked at him with awe, because he had met and talked with a real live boatswain every single day of the journey.

Volka, on the other hand, nearly had an accident with the copper bottle. He was sitting on the couch in the dining room, explaining the difference between an ice-breaker and an iceboat to his parents with a true knowledge of his subject. He did not notice his grandmother leaving the room. After she had been gone for about five minutes, she returned holding … the vessel with Omar Asaf inside!

“What’s this? Where did you get it. Mother?” Volka’s father asked.

“Just imagine, I found it in Volka’s suitcase. I started unpacking his things and found this very nice pitcher. It will be lovely as a decanter. I’ll have to polish it, though, because it’s so terribly green.”

“That’s no decanter!” Volka cried and turned pale. He grabbed the vessel from his grandmother. “The First Mate asked me to give this to his friend. I promised him I’d deliver it today.”

“My, isn’t this a strange vessel,” said his father, a great lover of antiques. “Let me have a look at it. Why, there’s a lead cap on it. That’s very interesting…”

He tried to pry it off, but Volka grabbed the vessel frantically and stammered:

“You’re not supposed to open it! It’s not supposed to be opened at all! Anyway, it’s empty inside. I promised the First Mate I wouldn’t open it, so’s not to spoil the threads on the screw.”

“Look how upset he is! All right, you can have the old pitcher back,” his father said, letting go of it.

Volka sat back on the couch in exhaustion, clutching the terrible vessel; but the conversation was all spoiled. Soon he rose. Trying to sound casual, he said he would go to , hand in the pitcher and dashed out of the room.

“Come back soon!” his mother called, but by then he had already vanished.