Old Man Hottabych read completely online. Lagin Lazar - Old Man Hottabych: A Fairy Tale. II. Mysterious bottle

11.10.2023

In the book "A Thousand and One Nights" there is "The Tale of the Fisherman". The fisherman pulled his nets out of the sea, and in them was a copper vessel, and in the vessel was a powerful sorcerer, a genie. He was imprisoned in it for almost two thousand years. This genie vowed to make the one who would set him free happy: to enrich him, to open all the treasures of the earth, to make him the most powerful of the sultans, and above all to fulfill three more of his wishes.

Or, for example, “Aladdin's Magic Lamp”. It would seem like an unremarkable old lamp, one might say - just scrap. But you just had to rub it - and suddenly, out of nowhere, a genie appeared and fulfilled any, the most incredible desires of its owner. Do you enjoy the rarest food and drink? Please. Chests filled to the brim with gold and precious stones? Ready. Luxurious palace? This very minute. Turn your enemy into a beast or reptile? With great pleasure.

Allow such a sorcerer to gift his master according to his own taste - and again the same precious chests, the same Sultan's palaces for personal use would begin to fall.

According to the concept of the genies from ancient fairy tales and those whose wishes they fulfilled in these fairy tales, this was the most complete human happiness that one could only dream of.

Hundreds and hundreds of years have passed since these tales were first told, but ideas about happiness have long been associated, and in capitalist countries, many people to this day are still associated with chests full of gold and diamonds, with power over others people.

Oh, how those people dream of even the most prolific genie from an ancient fairy tale, who would come to them with his palaces and treasures! Of course, they think, any genie who spent two thousand years in captivity would inevitably fall behind the times. And it is possible that the palace that he will present as a gift will not be entirely landscaped in terms of modern technological achievements. After all, architecture has stepped forward so much since the time of Caliph Harun al Rashid! There were bathrooms, elevators, large, bright windows, steam heating, electric lighting... Come on, is it worth nitpicking! Let him give such palaces as he pleases. There would only be chests of gold and diamonds, and the rest would follow: honor, power, food, and the blissful, idle life of a rich “civilized” slacker who despises all those who live on the fruits of their labors. From such a genie you can endure any grief. And it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know many of the rules of modern society and social manners, and if he sometimes puts you in a scandalous position. These people will forgive everything to a sorcerer who throws chests of jewelry.

Well, what if such a genie suddenly came to our country, where there are completely different ideas about happiness and justice, where the power of the rich has long been destroyed forever and where only honest work brings a person happiness, honor and glory?

I tried to imagine what would have happened if the genie had been saved from imprisonment in a vessel by the most ordinary Soviet boy, like millions of us in our happy socialist country.

And suddenly, just imagine, I find out that Volka Kostylkov, the same one who used to live with us in Trekhprudny Lane, well, the same Volka Kostylkov who was the best diver in the camp last year... However, let me tell you everything better in order.

I. AN EXTRAORDINARY MORNING

At seven thirty-two minutes in the morning, a cheerful sunbeam slipped through a hole in the curtain and settled on the nose of sixth-grade student Volka Kostylkov. Volka sneezed and woke up.

Just at this time, the mother’s voice came from the next room:

There's no need to rush, Alyosha. Let the child sleep a little more - he has exams today.

Volka winced in annoyance.

When will his mother finally stop calling him a child!

What nonsense! - the father answered behind the partition. - The guy is almost thirteen years old. Let him get up and help fold things... His beard will soon begin to grow, and you’re all: a child, a child...

Put things away! How could he forget it!

Volka threw off the blanket and began hastily pulling on his pants. How could he forget! Such a day!

The Kostylkov family moved today to a new apartment in a brand new six-story building. The night before, almost all things were packed. Mom and grandmother put the dishes in the bathtub in which they once bathed baby Volka, a long time ago. The father, having rolled up his sleeves and, like a shoemaker, had a mouth full of nails, was nailing down boxes of books.

Then everyone argued about where to put things to make it easier to take them out in the morning. Then we drank tea in a camp style, at a table without a tablecloth. Then they decided that the morning was wiser than the evening, and went to bed.

In a word, it is incomprehensible to his mind how he could have forgotten that they were moving to a new apartment this morning.

Before they had time to drink their tea, the movers burst in with a roar. First of all, they opened both halves of the door wide and asked in loud voices:

Can we start?

Please,” mother and grandmother answered simultaneously and began to fuss terribly.

Volka solemnly carried the sofa cushions and backrest outside to the covered three-ton truck.

Are you moving? - the neighbor boy asked him.

“We’re moving,” Volka answered casually, looking as if he moved from apartment to apartment every week and there was nothing surprising in this for him.

Continuing the story about effective youth policy in the Sverdlovsk region. Olga Glatskikh, the director of the regional youth policy department, disgraced and removed from her post, urgently left Russia. She flew to the Seychelles.

Who did Olga Glatskikh leave with?

According to the Ural news agency 66 point Ru, deputy of the regional legislative assembly Alexander Serebrennikov went with her in the same direction. Since the beginning of the 2000s, the regional parliamentarian has been involved in the elite hotel business in the capital of the Middle Urals. He owns the Panorama business hotel. The Investigative Committee of Russia is now checking Panorama for possible corruption connections of the Glatskys. “The legality and effectiveness of the use of budget funds allocated for the implementation of programs for which the responsible executor was the Youth Policy Department of the Sverdlovsk Region will be established,” reports the Department of the Investigative Committee for the Sverdlovsk Region. We are talking about the possible theft of 131 million rubles allocated by the Glatskys from the regional budget to support gifted children. The Investigative Committee received information that the Glatskikhs organized a four-shift camp for children at the luxury hotel. The camp was held by the Golden Section Foundation for supporting gifted children. The “Golden Section” and the training center included in the fund’s structure were established in 2017 by the government of the Sverdlovsk region. Governor Evgeny Kuyvashev appointed the director of the youth department, Olga Glatskikh, as the coordinator of the fund.

According to the plan approved by the Glatskys, 31 million rubles were allocated for the needs of the Golden Section. Another 64.3 million rubles went to pay for accommodation and food for children. According to the plan, more than 80 thousand rubles were reserved for each teenager for a 21-day shift. This amount does not correlate with the real needs of a vacationer - an ordinary Ural schoolchild. According to calculations by deputy of the Sverdlovsk Assembly Vyacheslav Wegner, the cost of living for one schoolchild amounted to a much more astronomical figure - about 164,000 rubles. “For this money, I would send my children to the Maldives or directly to Harvard University,” Wegner told the Ural media.

Glatsky arranged holidays for talented children in an elite hotel in the spring, in August - before the end of the summer holidays, and in October. There are 88 names on the autumn list of participants. An agreement was concluded with the parents of each participant on the eve of the shift, in which a separate clause stated that leaving the camp territory without written permission is strictly prohibited for the entire period of the shift.

In 2018, Panorama organized accommodation for children when the hotel owner had serious conflicts with business partners. Serebrennikov owes his partners about 300 million rubles, which he is unable to pay, and for this reason he was going to leave the partnership agreement. The deputy’s creditor, the owner of the first five-star Atrium hotel in Yekaterinburg, Vladimir Titov, at the end of August blocked Serebrennikov’s exit from the share until he paid off his debts. On September 14, on the eve of the opening of the October children's shift at Panorama, Titov filed a lawsuit to declare Serebrennikov bankrupt. On September 26, the court arrested all of Serebrennikov’s property.

According to EADaily, Alexander Serebrennikov, a deputy of the regional legislative assembly since 2000, assisted Glatskikh’s political career after her retirement from big-time sports at the age of 16. The 2004 Olympic champion in rhythmic gymnastics turned out to be “not a girl from an ordinary family.” Her parents own the road construction company Remstroygaz, which regularly receives lucrative contracts for repairing highways in the region without competition. During Olga Glatskikh’s school years, her father was the vice-mayor and then the mayor of Lesnoy, a “mailbox” for nuclear scientists, 245 km from Yekaterinburg.

Lazar Lagin

Allow such a sorcerer to gift his master according to his own taste - and again the same precious chests, the same Sultan's palaces for personal use would begin to fall.

According to the concept of the genies from ancient fairy tales and those whose wishes they fulfilled in these fairy tales, this was the most complete human happiness that one could only dream of.

I tried to imagine what would have happened if the genie had been saved from imprisonment in a vessel by the most ordinary Soviet boy, like millions of us in our happy socialist country.

I. AN EXTRAORDINARY MORNING

At seven thirty-two minutes in the morning, a cheerful sunbeam slipped through a hole in the curtain and settled on the nose of sixth-grade student Volka Kostylkov. Volka sneezed and woke up.

Just at this time, the mother’s voice came from the next room:

- There’s no need to rush, Alyosha. Let the child sleep a little more - he has exams today.

Volka winced in annoyance.

When will his mother finally stop calling him a child!

- What nonsense! - the father answered behind the partition. - The guy is almost thirteen years old. Let him get up and help fold things... His beard will soon begin to grow, and you’re all: a child, a child...

Put things away! How could he forget it!

Volka threw off the blanket and began hastily pulling on his pants. How could he forget! Such a day!

In a word, it is incomprehensible to his mind how he could have forgotten that they were moving to a new apartment this morning.

Before they had time to drink their tea, the movers burst in with a roar. First of all, they opened both halves of the door wide and asked in loud voices:

-Can we start?

“Please,” mother and grandmother answered simultaneously and began to fuss terribly.

Volka solemnly carried the sofa cushions and backrest outside to the covered three-ton truck.

– Are you moving? – the neighbor boy asked him.

“We’re moving,” Volka answered casually, looking as if he moved from apartment to apartment every week and there was nothing surprising in this for him.

The janitor Stepanych came up, thoughtfully rolled a cigarette and unexpectedly began a serious conversation with Volka, like equal to equal. The boy felt slightly dizzy with pride and happiness. He plucked up his courage and invited Stepanych to visit his new apartment. The janitor said: “With our pleasure.” In a word, a serious and positive conversation between the two men was getting underway, when suddenly the mother’s voice was heard from the apartment:

- Volka! Volka!.. Well, where did this obnoxious child go?

Volka rushed to the empty, unusually spacious apartment, in which scraps of old newspapers and dirty bottles of medicine lay lonely.

- Finally! - said the mother. – Take your famous aquarium and immediately get into the car. You will sit there on the sofa and hold the aquarium in your hands. There is nowhere else to put it. Just be careful not to spill water on the sofa...

It is not clear why parents are so nervous when they move to a new apartment.

II. MYSTERIOUS VESSEL

In the end, Volka settled down well.

A mysterious and cool twilight reigned inside the car. If you closed your eyes, you could imagine that you were driving not along Trekhprudny Lane, where you had lived your whole life, but somewhere in the distant Siberian expanses, where you would have to build a new giant of Soviet industry in severe battles with nature. And, of course, Volka Kostylkov will be in the forefront of this construction project. He will be the first to jump off the car when the caravan of trucks arrives at its destination. He will be the first to pitch his tent and provide it to those who are sick along the way, while he himself, exchanging jokes with his fellow construction workers, will remain warming himself by the fire, which he will quickly and skillfully light. And when, in bitter cold or fierce snowstorms, someone decides to slow down, they will say to him: “Shame on you, comrade! Take an example from the demonstration team of Vladimir Kostylkov...”

Behind the sofa stood a dining table turned upside down that suddenly became surprisingly interesting and unusual. A bucket filled with various bottles rattled on the table. A nickel-plated bed gleamed dully against the side wall of the body. The old barrel in which my grandmother fermented cabbage for the winter suddenly acquired such a mysterious and solemn appearance that Volka would not have been at all surprised if he had learned that it was in it that the philosopher Diogenes, the same one from ancient Greek history, once lived.

Thin columns of sunlight penetrated through the holes in the canvas walls. Volka clung to one of them. In front of him, as if on a movie screen, cheerful and noisy streets, quiet and shady alleys, spacious squares, along which pedestrians moved in two rows in all four directions, quickly ran by. Behind the pedestrians, gleaming with spacious mirrored windows, stood the shops slowly running back, filled with goods, sellers and anxious customers; schools and schoolyards, already full of white blouses and red ties of the most impatient schoolchildren who could not sit at home on exam day; theaters, clubs, factories, red huge buildings under construction, protected from passers-by by high plank fences and narrow, three-plank wooden sidewalks. The squat circus building with a round, brick-colored dome slowly floated past Volka’s truck. On its walls there were now no seductive advertisements with bright yellow lions and beauties gracefully standing on one leg on the backs of indescribably luxurious horses. On the occasion of summer time, the circus moved to the Park of Culture and Leisure, to the huge canvas tent of the Chapiteau circus. Not far from the deserted circus, the truck overtook a blue bus with excursionists. A dozen or so toddlers, holding hands two at a time, walked along the sidewalk and sang respectfully in a ringing but discordant chorus: “We don’t need the Turkish coast!..” Probably this kindergarten was going for a walk on the boulevard... And again schools and bakeries ran away from Volka , shops, clubs, factories, cinemas, libraries, new buildings...

But finally the truck, wearily snorting and puffing, stopped at the elegant entrance of Volka’s new house. The movers deftly and quickly dragged things into the apartment and left.

The father, having somehow unpacked the boxes with the most necessary things, said:

“We’ll finish the rest after work.”

And he went to the factory.

Mom and grandmother began to unpack the kitchen and tableware, and Volka decided to run to the river in the meantime. True, his father warned Volka not to dare go swimming without him, because it was terribly deep here, but Volka quickly found an excuse for himself:

“I need a bath to have a fresh head. How can I show up for exams with a stale head!”

It was simply amazing how Volka could always come up with an excuse when he was going to do something that he was forbidden to do!

This is a great convenience when the river is not far from home. Volka told his mother that he would go ashore to study for geography. And he really intended to look through the textbook for about ten minutes. But, running to the river, he, without hesitating for a minute, undressed and threw himself into the water. It was eleven o'clock, and there was not a single person on the shore. It was good and bad. Good - because no one could stop him from bathing to his heart's content. It was bad because there was no one to admire how beautifully and easily Volka swam and especially how wonderfully he dived.

Volka swam and dived until he literally turned blue. Then he realized that enough was enough, he completely climbed out of the water, but changed his mind and decided to finally dive once again into the gentle, clear water, permeated to the bottom by the bright midday sun.

And at that very moment, when Volka was about to rise to the surface, his hand suddenly felt some oblong object at the bottom of the river. Volka grabbed him and surfaced near the shore. In his hands was a slippery, mossy clay vessel of an unusual shape. Most of all, perhaps, it resembled an ancient amphora. Its neck was tightly covered with a green resinous substance, on which something vaguely reminiscent of a seal was squeezed out.

Volka weighed the vessel. The vessel was heavy, and Volka froze.

Treasure! A treasure with ancient things of great scientific significance!.. This is great!

Having quickly dressed, he rushed home to unseal the vessel in a secluded corner.

By the time he reached home, a note had already formed in his head, which would definitely appear in all the newspapers tomorrow. He even came up with a name for it: “Pioneer Helped Science.”

“Yesterday, the pioneer Vladimir Kostylkov appeared at the N-th police station and handed the duty officer a treasure of rare antique gold items that he had found at the bottom of the river, in a very deep place. The treasure was transferred by the police to the Historical Museum. According to reliable sources, Vladimir Kostylkov is an excellent diver.”

Slipping past the kitchen where his mother was preparing dinner, Volka dashed into the room with such speed that he almost broke his leg: he tripped over a chandelier that had not yet been hung. It was my grandmother's famous chandelier. Once upon a time, even before the revolution, it was remade by the late grandfather with his own hands from a hanging kerosene lamp. It was a memory of my grandfather, and my grandmother would never part with it in her life. And since hanging it in the dining room was not so beautiful, it was planned to hang it in the very room where Volka had now climbed. A huge iron hook had already been driven into the ceiling.

Rubbing his bruised knee, Volka locked the door behind him, pulled a penknife from his pocket and, trembling with excitement, scraped the seal from the neck of the vessel.

At the same instant, the whole room was filled with acrid black smoke and something like a silent explosion of great force threw Volka to the ceiling, where he hung, clinging with his pants to the very hook on which his grandmother’s chandelier was supposed to be hung.

III. OLD MAN KHOTTABYCH

While Volka, swinging on the hook, tried to figure out what had happened, the smoke gradually cleared, and Volka suddenly discovered that there was another living creature in the room besides him. He was a skinny and dark old man with a waist-length beard, wearing a luxurious turban, a thin white woolen caftan, richly embroidered with gold and silver, snow-white silk trousers and pale pink morocco shoes with high-curved toes.

- Apchhi! – the unknown old man sneezed deafeningly and fell on his face. – Greetings, O beautiful and wise youth!

Volka closed his eyes and opened them again: no, he probably never really imagined this amazing old man. Here he is, rubbing his dry palms and still not getting up from his knees, gawking at the furnishings of Volka’s room with his smart and not like an old man’s quick eyes, as if it were God knows what miracle.

- Where are you from? – Volka inquired cautiously, slowly swinging right near the ceiling, like a pendulum. – Are you... Are you an amateur?

“Oh no, oh my young lord,” the old man answered pompously, remaining in the same uncomfortable position and sneezing mercilessly, “I’m not from the country of Amateur, unknown to me.” I am from this thrice-cursed vessel.

With these words, he jumped to his feet, rushed to a vessel lying nearby, from which a small smoke was still flowing, and began to trample it furiously until an even layer of small shards remained from the vessel. Then the old man, with a crystal sound, pulled out a hair from his beard, tore it, and the shards flared up with some unprecedented green flame and instantly burned without a trace.

But Volka was still gnawed by doubt.

“Something doesn’t seem like it...” he drawled, “the vessel was so small, and you are so... comparatively large.”

– Don’t believe me, despicable one?! – the old man cried out fiercely, but immediately pulled himself together, fell to his knees again and hit his forehead on the floor with such force that the water in the aquarium visibly swayed and the sleepy fish darted back and forth in alarm. - Forgive me, oh my young savior, but I am not used to my words being questioned... Know, most blessed of youths, that I am none other than the mighty and famous genie Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab in all four countries of the world, then there is a son of Hottab.

Everything was so interesting that Volka even forgot that he was hanging from the ceiling on a lamp hook.

– Gin?.. Gin is, it seems, an American alcoholic drink?..

- I am not a drink, oh inquisitive youth! – the old man flared up again, came to his senses again and pulled himself together again. “I am not a drink, but a powerful and undaunted spirit, and there is no such magic in the world that I would not be able to do, and my name is, as I have already had the good fortune to bring to your much - and highly respected information, Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab, or , in your opinion, Hassan Abdurrahman Hottabovich. Say my name to the first ifrit or genie you come across, which is the same thing, and you will see,” the old man boastfully continued, “how he will tremble with small tremors and the saliva in his mouth will dry up from fear.

And it happened to me - apkhi! - an amazing story, which, if it were written with needles in the corners of the eyes, would serve as an edification for students. I, an unfortunate genie, disobeyed Suleiman ibn Daoud - peace be with them both! - me and my brother Omar Yusuf Hottabovich. And Suleiman sent his vizier Asaf ibn Barakhiya, and he delivered us by force. And Suleiman ibn Daud peace be with them both! - ordered to bring two vessels: one copper, and the other clay, and imprisoned me in a clay vessel, and my brother, Omar Hottabovich, in a copper one. He sealed both vessels, imprinting on them the greatest of the names of Allah, and then gave the order to the jinn, and they carried us and threw my brother into the sea, and me into the river from which you, O blessed my savior, - apchhi, apchhi! - pulled me out. May your days be long, oh... Forgive me, I would be incredibly happy to know your name, most charming youth.

“My name is Volka,” answered our hero, continuing to slowly swing from the ceiling.

- And the name of your happy father, may he be blessed forever and ever? What does your venerable mother call your noble father - peace be with them both?

- She calls him Alyosha, that is, Alexey...

- So know, O most excellent of the youths, the star of my heart, Volka ibn Alyosha, that I will henceforth do everything that you command me, for you saved me from terrible imprisonment. Apchhi!..

- Why are you sneezing like that? – Volka inquired, as if everything else was completely clear to him.

– Several thousand years spent in dampness, without the beneficial sunlight, in a cold vessel resting in the depths of the waters, rewarded me, your unworthy servant, with a tiresome runny nose. Apchhi!.. Apchhi!.. But all this is sheer nonsense and unworthy of your most precious attention. Command me, oh young master! – Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab concluded passionately, raising his head up, but continuing to remain on his knees.

“First of all, please get up from your knees,” Volka said.

“Your word is law for me,” the old man answered obediently and stood up. “I await your further commands.”

“And now,” Volka said hesitantly, “if it doesn’t bother you... please... of course, if it doesn’t bother you too much... In a word, I would really like to find myself on the floor.”

At that very moment he found himself downstairs, next to old man Hottabych, as we will later call our new acquaintance for brevity. The first thing Volka did was grab his pants. The pants were completely intact.

Miracles began.

IV. GEOGRAPHY EXAM

- Command me! – Hottabych continued, looking at Volka with devoted eyes. - Do you have any grief, O Volka ibn Alyosha? Tell me and I will help you.

“Oh,” Volka clasped his hands, glancing at the alarm clock ticking cheerfully on his desk. - I'm late! I'm late for the exam!..

- Why are you late, O most precious Volka ibn Alyosha? – Hottabych inquired busily. – What do you call this strange word “ek-za-men”?

– This is the same as testing. I'm late for school for tests.

“Know, oh Volka,” the old man was offended, “that you do not appreciate my power well.” No, no and no again! You won't be late for the exam. Just tell me what you prefer: delaying exams or immediately being at the gates of your school?

“Be at the gate,” said Volka.

– There is nothing easier! Now you will be where you are so greedily drawn by your young and noble soul, and you will shock your teachers and your comrades with your knowledge.

With a pleasant crystal ringing, the old man again pulled out first one hair from his beard, and then another.

“I’m afraid I won’t shock you,” Volka sighed judiciously, quickly changing into his uniform. – To be honest, I can’t get an A in geography.

- Geography exam? - the old man cried and solemnly raised his withered, hairy hands. - Geography exam? Know, O most amazing of the amazing, that you are incredibly lucky, for I, more than any of the genies, am rich in knowledge of geography - I, your faithful servant Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab. We will go to school with you, may its foundation and roof be blessed! I will invisibly tell you the answers to all the questions that will be asked of you, and you will become famous among the students of your school and among the students of all schools in your magnificent city. And let your teachers try not to bestow the highest praise on you: they will have to deal with me! - Here Hottabych became furious: - Oh, then things will be very, very bad for them! I will turn them into donkeys on which they carry water, into stray dogs covered with scabs, into the most disgusting and vile toads - that’s what I will do with them!.. However,” he calmed down as quickly as he became furious, “before that it won’t work out, because everyone, O Volka ibn Alyosha, will be delighted with your answers.

“Thank you, Hassan Hottabych,” Volka sighed heavily. - Thank you, but I don’t need any tips. We - pioneers - are fundamentally against hints. We are fighting against them in an organized manner.

Well, how could the old genie, who spent so many years in captivity, know the scientific word “fundamentally”? But the sigh with which his young savior accompanied his words, full of sad nobility, confirmed Hottabych in the conviction that Volka ibn Alyosha needed his help more than ever.

“You upset me very much with your refusal,” said Hottabych. – And, most importantly, keep in mind: no one will notice my hint.

- Well, yes! – Volka smiled bitterly. – Sergei Semyonovich has such a keen ear, I can’t save you!

“Now you not only upset me, but also offend me, O Volka ibn Alyosha.” If Ghassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab says that no one will notice, then so it will be.

- Nobody, nobody? – Volka asked again to be sure.

- Nobody, nobody. What I will have the good fortune to suggest to you will go from my respectful lips straight into your highly respected ears.

“I just don’t know what to do with you, Hassan Hottabych,” Volka feigned a sigh. – I really don’t want to upset you with a refusal... Okay, so be it!.. Geography is not mathematics or the Russian language. In mathematics or Russian, I would never agree to the tiniest hint. But since geography is still not the most important subject... Well, then let’s go quickly!.. Only... - Here he cast a critical glance at the old man’s unusual attire. - M-m-mm-yes... How would you like to change clothes, Hassan Hottabych?

– Don’t my clothes please your eyes, O most worthy of Volek? – Hottabych was upset.

“They please, they certainly do,” Volka answered diplomatically, “but you are dressed... how can I say this... We have a slightly different fashion... Your costume will be too conspicuous...

A minute later, Volka came out of the house in which the Kostylkov family lived from today, holding Hottabych by the arm. The old man was magnificent in his new canvas jacket, Ukrainian embroidered shirt and hard straw boater hat. The only thing he didn't agree to change was his shoes. Citing three-thousand-year-old calluses, he remained in his pink shoes with curved toes, which in their time would probably have driven the biggest fashionista at the court of Caliph Harun al Rashid crazy.

And so Volka and the transformed Hottabych almost ran towards the entrance of the 245th male secondary school. The old man looked coquettishly at the glass door, as if at a mirror, and was pleased with himself.

The elderly doorman, who had been steadily reading the newspaper, put it down with pleasure when he saw Volka and his companion. He was hot and wanted to talk.

Jumping several steps at once, Volka rushed up the stairs. The corridors were quiet and deserted - a sure and sad sign that the exams had already begun and that Volka was therefore late!

- And where are you going, citizen? - the doorman asked Hottabych benevolently, who was about to follow his young friend.

- He needs to see the director! – Volka shouted from above for Hottabych.

- Sorry, citizen, the director is busy. He is currently in exams. Please come in later in the evening.

Hottabych furrowed his eyebrows angrily:

“If I am allowed, O venerable old man, I would prefer to wait for him here.” - Then he shouted to Volka: - Hurry to your class, oh Volka ibn Alyosha, I believe you will shock your teachers and your comrades with your knowledge!

– Are you, citizen, his grandfather or something? – the doorman tried to start a conversation.

But Hottabych, chewing his lips, remained silent. He considered it beneath his dignity to talk with the gatekeeper.

“Allow me to offer you some boiled water,” the doorman continued meanwhile. - It's hot today - God forbid.

Having poured a full glass from the decanter, he turned to give it to the taciturn stranger, and was horrified to see that he had disappeared into an unknown place, as if he had fallen through the parquet floor. Shocked by this incredible circumstance, the doorman gulped down the water intended for Hottabych, poured and drained a second glass, a third, and stopped only when there was not a single drop left in the decanter. Then he leaned back in his chair and began fanning himself with the newspaper in exhaustion.

And at this time, on the second floor, just above the doorman, in the sixth grade “B”, an equally exciting scene was taking place. In front of a blackboard hung with geographical maps, at a table covered in ceremonial cloth, sat the teachers, headed by the school director Pavel Vasilyevich. In front of them sat decorous, solemnly smart students on their desks. There was such silence in the classroom that you could hear a lonely fly buzzing monotonously somewhere near the ceiling. If the students of sixth grade "B" always behaved so quietly, this would be by far the most disciplined class in all of Moscow.

It must be emphasized, however, that the silence in the class was caused not only by the exam situation, but also by the fact that Kostylkov was called to the board, but he was not in the class.

– Kostylkov Vladimir! – the director repeated and looked around the silent class with a bewildered look.

It became even quieter.

And suddenly from the corridor came the echoing patter of someone’s running feet, and at the very moment when the director proclaimed “Vladimir Kostylkov!” for the third and last time, the door swung open noisily and a breathless Volka squeaked:

“Perhaps to the board,” the director said dryly. – We’ll talk about your lateness later.

“I... I... I’m sick,” Volka muttered the first thing that came to his mind, and with an uncertain step he approached the table.

While he was thinking about which of the tickets laid out on the table he should choose, old man Hottabych appeared in the corridor straight from the wall and, with a worried look, walked through another wall into the next class.

Finally, Volka made up his mind: he took the first ticket he came across, slowly, slowly, trying his luck, he opened it and was pleased to see that he had to answer about India. He knew a lot about India. He had been interested in this country for a long time.

“Well,” said the director, “report.”

Volka even remembered the beginning of the ticket word for word from the textbook. He opened his mouth and wanted to say that the Hindustan Peninsula resembles a triangle in its outline, that this huge triangle is washed by the Indian Ocean and its parts: the Arabian Sea in the west and the Bay of Bengal in the east, that on this peninsula there are two large countries - India and Pakistan, that they are inhabited by kind, peace-loving people with an ancient and rich culture, that the American and British imperialists all the time deliberately try to quarrel between these two countries, and so on and so forth. But at this time, in the next class, Hottabych clung to the wall and muttered laboriously, putting his hand to his mouth with his pipe:

- India, my venerable teacher...

And suddenly Volka, against his own wishes, began spouting completely utter nonsense:

“India, O my highly revered teacher, is located almost at the very edge of the earth’s disk and is separated from this edge by deserted and unexplored deserts, for neither animals nor birds live to the east of it. India is a very rich country, and it is rich in gold, which is not dug out of the ground there, as in other countries, but tirelessly, day and night, mined by special gold-bearing ants, each of which is almost the size of a dog. They dig their homes underground and three times a day they bring gold sand and nuggets to the surface and put them in large heaps. But woe to those Indians who, without proper skill, try to steal this gold! The ants start chasing them, and, having overtaken them, kill them on the spot. From the north and west, India borders on a country where bald people live. Both men and women, adults and children are all bald in this country, and these amazing people feed on raw fish and tree cones. And even closer to them lies a country in which you can neither look forward nor pass, due to the fact that there are innumerable feathers scattered there. The air and the ground there are filled with feathers: they interfere with vision...

- Wait, wait, Kostylkov! – the geography teacher smiled. – Nobody is asking you to talk about the views of the ancients on the physical geography of Asia. Tell us modern scientific data about India.

Oh, how Volka would be happy to present his knowledge on this issue! But what could he do if he no longer had control over his speech and his actions! Having agreed to Hottabych's hint, he became a weak-willed toy in his benevolent but ignorant hands. He wanted to confirm that, of course, what he had just said had nothing in common with the data of modern science, but Hottabych behind the wall shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment, shaking his head negatively, and Volka here, in front of the examination table, was forced to also shrug his shoulders and shake your head negatively:

“What I had the honor to tell you, oh dear Varvara Stepanovna, is based on the most reliable sources, and there is no more scientific information about India than what I have just, with your permission, told you.”

- Since when did you, Kostylkov, start saying “you” to your elders? – the geography teacher was surprised. - And stop clowning around. You're at an exam, not at a costume party. If you don’t know this ticket, then it would be more honest to say so. By the way, what did you say about the earth’s disk? Don't you know that the Earth is a ball?!

Does Volka Kostylkov, a full member of the astronomical circle at the Moscow Planetarium, know that the Earth is a ball?! But any first-grader knows this!

But Hottabych laughed behind the wall, and from Volka’s mouth, no matter how our poor fellow tried to compress his lips, an arrogant laugh escaped of its own accord:

- You deign to joke about your most devoted student! If the Earth were a ball, water would flow down from it, and people would die of thirst, and plants would dry out. The earth, O most worthy and noblest of teachers and mentors, was and is in the shape of a flat disk and is washed on all sides by a majestic river called “Ocean”. The earth rests on six elephants, and they stand on a huge turtle. This is how the world works, O teacher!

The examiners looked at Volka with increasing surprise. He broke out in a cold sweat from horror and awareness of his utter helplessness.

The guys in the class still couldn’t figure out what had happened to their friend, but some began to laugh. It turned out very funny about a land of bald people, about a land filled with feathers, about gold-bearing ants the size of a dog, about a flat Earth resting on six elephants and one turtle. As for Zhenya Bogorad, Volka’s bosom friend and his leader, he was seriously alarmed. Someone, he knew very well that Volka was the head of the astronomical circle and, in any case, knew that the Earth was a sphere. Did Volka, for no reason at all, suddenly decide to behave like a hooligan, and where - during exams! Obviously, Volka fell ill. But with what? What is this strange, unprecedented disease? And then, it’s a great shame for the link. All the time we were first in terms of our indicators, and suddenly everything goes topsy-turvy because of the ridiculous answers of Kostylkov, such a disciplined and conscientious pioneer!

Here, Goga Pilyukin, who was sitting on the next desk, a very unpleasant boy, nicknamed by his classmates Pill, hastened to pour salt onto Zhenya’s fresh wounds.

– Your link is on fire, Zhenechka! – he whispered, chuckling maliciously. – It burns like a candle!.. Zhenya silently showed Pill his fist.

- Varvara Stepanovna! - Goga cried pitifully. - Bogorad threatens me with his fist.

“Sit quietly and don’t snitch,” Varvara Stepanovna told him and again turned to Volka, who stood in front of her neither alive nor dead: “Are you serious about elephants and turtles?”

“More seriously than ever, oh most respected of teachers,” Volka repeated the old man’s hint, burning with shame.

– And you have nothing to add? Do you really think that you are answering on the merits of your ticket?

“No, I don’t,” Hottabych shook his head negatively there, behind the wall.

And Volka, languishing from helplessness in front of the force pushing him towards failure, also made a negative gesture:

- No, I don’t. Unless the horizons in rich India are framed by gold and pearls.

- Incredible! – the teacher threw up her hands. I couldn’t believe that Kostylkov, a fairly disciplined boy, and even at such a serious moment, decided for no reason at all to make such an absurd joke at the expense of his teachers, risking, moreover, re-examination.

“In my opinion, the boy is not entirely healthy,” she whispered to the director.

Casting quick and sympathetic glances sideways at Volka, who was speechless with melancholy, the examiners began to confer in whispers.

Varvara Stepanovna suggested:

- What if you ask him a question specifically so that the boy calms down? Well, at least from last year's course. Last year he got an A in geography.

The rest of the examiners agreed, and Varvara Stepanovna again turned to the unfortunate Volka:

- Well, Kostylkov, dry your tears, don’t be nervous. Tell me what a horizon is.

- Horizon? – Volka was delighted. - It's simple. The horizon is an imaginary line that...

But Hottabych was again fussing behind the wall, and Kostylkov again fell victim to his hint.

“The horizon, oh dear one,” he corrected himself, “I will call the horizon the line where the crystal dome of heaven comes into contact with the edge of the Earth:

– It’s not getting any easier hour by hour! - Varvara Stepanovna moaned. – How would you like to understand your words about the crystal dome of heaven: in the literal or figurative sense of the word?

“Literally, oh teacher,” Hottabych prompted from behind the wall.

And Volka had to repeat after him:

- Literally, oh teacher.

- In a portable way! – someone hissed at him from the back bench.

But Volka said again:

- Of course, literally, and in no other way.

- So, how? – Varvara Stepanovna still couldn’t believe her ears. - So, in your opinion, the sky is a solid dome?

- Solid.

- And that means there is a place where the Earth ends?

“There is such a place, oh my venerable teacher.”

Behind the wall, Hottabych nodded his head approvingly and rubbed his dry palms with satisfaction. There was a tense silence in the class. The funniest guys stopped smiling. Something was definitely wrong with Volka.

Varvara Stepanovna stood up from the table and worriedly touched Volka’s forehead. There was no temperature.

But Hottabych behind the wall was moved, made a low bow, touched, according to Eastern custom, his forehead and chest and whispered. And Volka, forced by the same evil force, repeated these movements exactly:

– Thank you, oh most generous daughter of Stepan! Thank you for your concern, but there is no need for it. It is unnecessary, because, praise be to Allah, I am completely healthy.

Varvara Stepanovna affectionately took Volka by the hand, led him out of the classroom and stroked his drooping head:

- It’s okay, Kostylkov, don’t be discouraged. Apparently you're a little overtired... You'll come back when you've had a good rest, okay?

“Okay,” said Volka. - Only, Varvara Stepanovna, honest pioneer, I am not at all, well, not at all to blame!

“And I don’t blame you for anything,” the teacher answered softly. - You know, let's look at Pyotr Ivanovich.

Pyotr Ivanovich, the school doctor, listened and tapped Volka for about ten minutes, forced him to close his eyes, stretch out his arms in front of him and stand with his fingers outstretched; tapped his leg below the knee, drew lines on his naked body with a stethoscope.

During this time, Volka finally came to his senses. His cheeks were flushed again, his mood lifted.

“A perfectly healthy boy,” said Pyotr Ivanovich. – That is, I’ll tell you straight away: he’s an extremely healthy boy! Presumably, a little overwork took its toll... I overdid it before the exams... But I’m so healthy, I’m great! Mikula Selyaninovich, and that’s all!

This did not stop him from dripping some drops into the glass, just in case, and Mikula Selyaninovich had to swallow them.

And then a crazy thought occurred to Volka. What if it was here, in Pyotr Ivanovich’s office, taking advantage of Hottabych’s absence, to try to pass Varvara Stepanovna’s exam?

- No, no, no! - Pyotr Ivanovich waved his hands. – I don’t recommend it under any circumstances. Let him rest for a few days. Geography will not escape him anywhere.

“What’s true is true,” the teacher said with relief, pleased that everything turned out so well in the end. - Go home, to the hut, my friend Kostylkov, and rest. If you have a good rest, come and donate. I am sure that you will definitely pass with an A... What do you think, Pyotr Ivanovich?

- Such a hero? Yes, he will never go for less than five plus!

“Yes, that’s what...” said Varvara Stepanovna. “Wouldn’t it be better if someone walked him home?”

- What are you, what are you, Varvara Stepanovna! – Volka was alarmed. “I’ll get there just fine on my own.”

All that was missing was for the guide to come face to face with this tricky old man Hottabych!

Volka already looked quite well, and the teacher with a calm soul sent him home. The doorman rushed towards him:

- Kostylkov! Grandpa came with you or someone, so he...

But just at this time old man Hottabych appeared from the wall. He was cheerful, very pleased with himself and hummed something under his breath.

- Oh! – the doorman cried quietly and tried in vain to pour himself some water from the empty decanter.

And when he put the decanter back in place and looked around, there was neither Volka Kostylkov nor his mysterious companion in the lobby. They had already gone out into the street and turned the corner.

“I conjure you, oh my young lord,” Hottabych said proudly, breaking a rather long silence, “have you shocked your teachers and your comrades with your knowledge?”

- Shocked! – Volka sighed and looked at the old man with hatred.

Hottabych grinned smugly.

Hottabych beamed:

“I didn’t expect anything else!.. And it seemed to me that this most honorable daughter of Stepan was dissatisfied with the breadth and completeness of your knowledge.”

- What are you, what are you! – Volka waved his hands in fear, remembering Hottabych’s terrible threats. - It just seemed like it to you.

“I would have turned it into a block on which butchers cut up lamb carcasses,” the old man said fiercely (and Volka was seriously afraid for the fate of his class teacher), “if I had not seen that she showed you the highest honor, escorting you to the very classroom doors, and then almost all the way to the stairs! And then I realized that she appreciated your answers. Peace be with her!

“Of course, peace be with her,” Volka hastily picked up, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Over several thousand years of his life, Hottabych dealt with sad people more than once and knew how to improve their mood. In any case, he was convinced that he knew: a person needs to give something especially desirable. Just what to give?

Chance prompted him to make a decision when Volka addressed one of the passers-by:

- Excuse me, please allow me to find out what time it is.

The passerby glanced at his wristwatch:

- Five minutes to two.

“Thank you,” Volka said and continued on his way in complete silence.

Hottabych broke the silence:

“Tell me, oh Volka, how did this pedestrian, without looking at the sun, determine the time so accurately?”

– You saw him look at his watch.

The old man raised his eyebrows in bewilderment:

- For a watch?!

“Well, yes, for a watch,” Volka explained. - He had them on his hand... So round, chrome-plated...

“Why don’t you, the most worthy of the saviors of the genies, have such a watch?”

“It’s still too early for me to have such a watch,” Volka answered humbly. – He hasn’t come out for years.

“May I be allowed, O most worthy pedestrian, to inquire what time it is now,” Hottabych stopped the first passerby he came across and fixed his eyes on his wristwatch.

“It’s two minutes to two,” he answered, somewhat surprised by the unusual ornateness of the question.

Having thanked him in the most refined oriental expressions, Hottabych turned to Volka with a sly grin:

“May I, O best of Volek, be allowed to ask you what time it is.”

And suddenly on Volka’s left hand sparkled exactly the same watch as that citizen’s, but not made of chrome steel, but of the purest red gold.

“May they be worthy of your hand and your kind heart,” the old man said touchingly, enjoying Volka’s joy and surprise.

Then Volka did what any boy or girl does in his place when they first find themselves in possession of a watch - he put the watch to his ear to enjoy its ticking.

- Uh-uh! - he drawled. - Yes, they are not wound up. We need to start them.

Volka tried to turn the crown, but, to his great disappointment, it did not turn.

Then Volka took a penknife from his pants pocket in order to open the lid of the watch. But with all his efforts, he could not find any sign of a crack where he could stick a knife blade.

- They are made of a solid piece of gold! – the old man winked at him boastfully. – I’m not one of those who gives exaggerated gold things.

- So they have nothing inside? – Volka exclaimed in disappointment.

– Should there be something there, inside? – the old genie became worried.

Instead of answering, Volka silently unfastened his watch and returned it to Hottabych.

“Okay,” he agreed meekly. “I’ll give you a watch that shouldn’t have anything inside.”

The gold watch was again on Volka’s hand, but now it had become thin and flat. The glass on them disappeared, and instead of the minute, second and hour hands, a small vertical golden pin appeared in the middle of the dial with magnificent, pure emeralds located where the hour markers were supposed to be.

– No one, not even the richest sultans of the universe, ever had a wrist sundial! – the old man boasted again. – There were sundials in city squares, there were in markets, in gardens, in courtyards, and they were all built of stone. But these are the ones I just came up with. Isn't that good?

Indeed, being the first and only owner of a wrist sundial in the whole world was quite tempting.

Volka's face expressed genuine pleasure, and the old man blossomed.

– How to use them? – Volka asked.

- And like this. – Hottabych carefully took Volka’s left hand with the newly invented watch. – Hold your hand like this, and the shadow of this golden stick will fall on the desired number.

“The sun must shine for this,” said Volka, looking with annoyance at the cloud that had just covered the daylight.

“Now this cloud will go away,” Hottabych promised, and indeed the sun began to shine with all its might again. “You see, the clock shows that the time is now somewhere between two and three o’clock in the afternoon.” About half past three.

While he was saying this, the sun disappeared behind another cloud.

“Nothing,” said Hottabych. “I will clear the sky for you every time you want to know what time it is.”

- And in the fall? – Volka asked.

– What’s happening in autumn?

– And in the fall, and in the winter, when the sky is hidden behind clouds for months on end?

“I told you, oh Volka, the sun will be free from clouds every time you need it.” All you have to do is order me, and everything will be fine.

– What if you’re not around?

“I will always be nearby, as soon as you call me.”

- And in the evening? And at night? – Volka inquired sarcastically. - At night, when there is no sun in the sky?

“At night, people should indulge in sleep, and not look at the clock,” Hottabych answered in great annoyance.

It took him a lot of effort to pull himself together and not teach this persistent youth a lesson.

“Okay,” he said meekly. “Then tell me, do you like the watch you see on the hand of that pedestrian over there?” If you like them, they will be yours.

- That is, how is it that they are mine? – Volka was surprised.

“Don’t be afraid, O Volka ibn Alyosha, I won’t lay a single finger on him.” He himself will gladly give them to you, for you are truly worthy of the greatest gifts.

- You force him, and he...

“And he will be happy that I didn’t wipe him off the face of the earth, didn’t turn him into a shabby rat, a red cockroach, cowardly hiding in the cracks of the last beggar’s shack...

- Well, this is already a form of extortion! – Volka was indignant. - For such things, brother Hottabych, we are taken to the police and put on trial. And rightly so, you know.

– Am I being put on trial?! – The old man was in earnest. - Me?! Ghassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab? Does he, this most despicable of pedestrians, know who I am?! Ask the first genie, or ifrit, or shaitan you come across, and they will tell you, trembling with fear, that Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab is the lord of the bodyguards of the genies, and the number of my army is seventy-two tribes, and the number of fighters of each tribe is seventy-two thousands, and each of the thousand rules over a thousand marids, and each marid rules over a thousand helpers, and each helper rules over a thousand shaitans, and each shaitan rules over a thousand jinn, and they are all submissive to me and cannot disobey me!.. Not- eh, let only this thrice insignificant of insignificant pedestrians...

And the passerby in question walked calmly along the sidewalk, lazily glancing at shop windows, and was unaware of the terrible danger that at that moment loomed over him only because an ordinary Zenit watch glittered on his hand.

“Yes, I...” the completely out-of-control Hottabych spluttered in front of the dumbfounded Volka, “yes, I’ll turn him into...”

Every second was precious. Volka shouted:

- No need!

- What don’t you need?

– There’s no need to touch a passerby... You don’t need a watch!.. You don’t need anything!..

– Don’t you need anything at all? – the old man doubted, quickly coming to his senses.

The only wrist sundial in the world disappeared as quietly as it appeared.

“Nothing at all...” Volka said and sighed so heavily that the old man realized: the main thing now was to entertain his young savior, to dispel his bad mood.

V. KHOTTABYCH'S SECOND SERVICE

I didn't want to go home. Volka felt disgusted in his soul, and the old man sensed something was wrong. Of course, he had no idea how he had let Volka down. But it was clear that the boy was dissatisfied with something and that, obviously, none other than him, Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab, was to blame. It was necessary to entertain Volka, to quickly dispel his bad mood.

– Do your heart, O moon-like one, like stories about amazing and extraordinary adventures? – he slyly inquired of the frowning Volka. – Do you know, for example, the story about the three black roosters of the Baghdad barber and his lame son? What about the copper camel with a silver hump? And about the water-carrier Akhmet and his magic bucket?

Volka remained silent angrily, but the old man was not embarrassed by this and hastily began:

“Let it be known to you, O most beautiful student of the male high school, that there once lived in Baghdad a skilled barber named Selim, and he had three roosters and a lame son, nicknamed Badya.” And it so happened that Caliph Harun al Rashid was passing by his shop... Just you know what, O most attentive of youths: should we sit down on the nearest bench so that your young legs do not get tired from walking during this long and instructive story?

Volka agreed: they sat down on the boulevard in the chill, under the shade of an old linden tree.

For three and a half hours, Hottabych told this really very entertaining story and ended it with the insidious words: “But even more amazing is the story about the copper camel with a silver hump.” And then, without taking a breath, he began to expound it until he came to the words: “Then the foreigner took a coal from the brazier and drew with it the outline of a camel on the wall, and the camel waved its tail, shook its head and walked off the wall onto the road stones...”

Here he stopped to enjoy the impression that the story of the revival of the drawing would make on his young listener. But Hottabych was in for disappointment: Volka had seen enough animated films in his life. But Hottabych’s words brought him to an interesting thought.

“You know what,” he said, “let’s go to the movies.” And you’ll tell me the story later, after the movie.

“Your words are law for me, O Volka ibn Alyosha,” the old man humbly answered. – But tell me, do me a favor, what do you mean by this incomprehensible word “cinema”? Isn't this a bathhouse? Or maybe that’s what you call a bazaar, where you can walk and talk with your friends and acquaintances?

Above the box office of the Saturn cinema there was a poster: “Children under sixteen years of age are not allowed to attend evening screenings.”

“What’s the matter with you, O most handsome of handsome men?” – Hottabych became alarmed, noticing that Volka had grown gloomy again.

– What’s wrong with me is that we were late for the afternoon sessions! They are already allowed in only from the age of sixteen... I just don’t know what to do... I don’t want to go home...

-You're not going home! - Hottabych cried. - In less than two moments, they will let us through, and we will pass, surrounded by the respect that you deserve with your truly countless abilities!

"Old braggart!" – Volka thought irritably. And suddenly he discovered two tickets in his right fist.

- Well, let's go! - said Hottabych, who was literally bursting with happiness. - Let's go, now they will let you through.

- You are sure?

– Just as in the fact that a great future awaits you!

He pushed Volka towards a mirror hanging nearby. A boy with a luxurious light brown beard on a freckled face bursting with health looked at Volka from the mirror, his mouth open in shock.

VI. AN UNUSUAL INCIDENT IN THE CINEMA

The triumphant Hottabych dragged Volka up the stairs to the second floor, into the foyer.

Near the very entrance to the auditorium, Zhenya Bogorad, the object of universal envy of the sixth grade “B” students, was languishing. This darling of fate was the nephew of the senior administrator of the Saturn cinema, so he was allowed into the evening shows. He should have lived and rejoiced on this occasion, but just imagine, he suffered unbearably. He suffered from loneliness. He desperately needed an interlocutor with whom he could discuss Volka Kostylkov’s astonishing behavior in today’s geography exams. And, as luck would have it, not a single acquaintance!

Then he decided to go down. Perhaps fate will send him someone there. On the landing, he was almost knocked down by an old man in a boater and embroidered morocco shoes, who was dragging him by the hand - who would they have made up? – Volka Kostylkov himself! For some reason Volka covered his face with both hands.

- Volka! – Bogorad was delighted. - Kostylkov!..

But, unlike Zhenya, Volka, obviously, was not at all happy about this meeting. Moreover, he pretended not to recognize his best friend and rushed into the thick of the crowd listening to the orchestra.

- Well, no need! – Zhenya was offended and went to the buffet to drink a glass of soda.

Therefore, he did not see how people began to crowd around the strange old man and Volka. When he himself tried to push his way to where, for a reason unknown to him, so many curious people were rushing, his friend was surrounded by a dense and ever-growing crowd. People left their seats in front of the stage, rattling their folding seats. Soon the orchestra was playing in front of the empty seats.

- What's happened? – Zhenya asked in vain, desperately using his hands. – If there’s an accident, I can call from here... My uncle here is a senior administrator... What’s the matter?..

But no one really knew what was going on. And since almost no one could see anything and everyone was interested in what was going on there, inside the close human ring, and everyone questioned each other and were offended, not receiving an intelligible answer, the crowd soon became so loud that they even began to drown out the sound of the orchestra, although all the musicians tried to play as loudly as possible on this occasion.

Then Zhenya’s uncle came running in response to the noise, perched himself on a chair and shouted:

– Please disperse, citizens!.. Haven’t you seen a bearded child, or what?

As soon as these words reached the buffet, everyone stopped drinking tea and soft drinks and rushed to look at the bearded child.

- Volka! – Zhenya yelled at the entire foyer, desperate to get inside the coveted ring. - I don’t see anything!.. Do you see?.. He’s got a great beard?..

- Oh, fathers! – the ill-fated Volka almost howled with anguish. “The only thing missing was for him to...

- Unhappy boy! – the curious people around him sighed sympathetically. – Such a monstrosity!.. Is medicine really powerless to help?..

At first, Hottabych misjudged the attention paid to his young friend. At first it seemed to him that people had gathered together to express their respect to Wolka. Then it started to make him angry.

- Disperse, most respected ones! - he barked, drowning out both the roar of the crowd and the sounds of the orchestra. - Disperse, or I will do something terrible to you!..

Some schoolgirl burst into tears out of fright. But Hottabych only made the adults laugh.

Well, really, what terrible thing could you expect from this funny old man in ridiculous pink shoes? You just have to poke it harder with your finger and it will crumble.

No, no one took Hottabych's threat seriously. And the old man was used to his words making people tremble. Now he was already offended both for Volka and for himself, and was filled with more and more rage. It is unknown how it would have ended if the bell had not rung at that very moment. The doors to the auditorium opened and everyone went to take their seats. Zhenya wanted to take advantage of this and get at least a glimpse of the unprecedented miracle. But the same crowd that had previously prevented him from getting through now squeezed him from all sides and, against his will, dragged the auditorium with it.

He barely managed to reach the front row and sit down when the lights went out.

- Ugh! – Zhenya sighed with relief. - I was almost late. And I’ll catch the bearded boy when the session ends...

Nevertheless, he still fidgeted excitedly in his chair, trying to see this amazing miracle of nature somewhere behind him.

- Boy, stop messing around!.. You're in the way! – his neighbor on the right got angry. - Sit still!

But, to his great surprise, the restless boy was no longer next to him.

- “Moved! – Zhenya’s recent neighbor thought with envy. – Of course, there is little joy in sitting in the front row. One damage to the eyes... What's wrong with the boy? Moved to someone else's place. At the very least, they will drive you away, so the boy is not ashamed...”

Volka and Hottabych were the last to leave the foyer, when it was already dark in the auditorium.

In truth, Volka was so upset at first that he decided to leave the cinema without seeing the film. But then Hottabych begged.

“If you are so displeased with the beard with which I adorned you in your own interests, then I will free you from it as soon as we sit down in our places.” It doesn't cost me anything. Let's go where everyone else has gone, because I can't wait to find out what cinema is. How beautiful it must be if even experienced men visit it in such a sweltering summer heat!

And indeed, as soon as they sat down in the empty seats in the sixth row, Hottabych snapped the fingers of his left hand.

But contrary to his promises, nothing happened to Volka’s beard.

- Why are you delaying? – Volka asked. - And he also bragged!

“I did not boast, O most beautiful of the students of the sixth grade “B.” Luckily, I changed my mind in time. If you don't have a beard, you will be kicked out of the movie that is dear to your heart.

As it soon became clear, the old man was lying.

But Volka didn’t know this yet. He said:

- It’s okay, they won’t kick you out of here.

Hottabych pretended that he had not heard these words.

Volka repeated, and Hottabych again pretended to be deaf.

- Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab!

“I’m listening, oh my young lord,” the old man answered obediently.

- Can't you be quieter? - said one of the neighbors.

Volka continued in a whisper, bending down to the very ear of the sadly drooping Hottabych:

“Make sure that I don’t have this stupid beard immediately.”

– She’s not stupid at all! – the old man whispered in response. “This is an extremely respectable and handsome beard.”

- This very second! Listen, this very second!

“I listen and obey,” Hottabych said again and whispered something, snapping his fingers in concentration.

The vegetation on Volka's face remained unchanged.

- Well? – Volka said impatiently.

“One more moment, oh most blessed Volka ibn Alyosha...” the old man responded, continuing to nervously whisper and click.

But the beard had no intention of disappearing from Volka’s face.

- Look, look who’s sitting there in the ninth row! - Volka suddenly whispered, forgetting for a while about his trouble. In the ninth row sat two people who, in Hottabych’s opinion, were unremarkable.

– These are absolutely wonderful actors! – Volka explained passionately and named two names known to any of our readers. Of course, they didn’t say anything to Hottabych.

– Are you saying that they are actors? – the old man smiled condescendingly. -Are they dancing on a tightrope?

- They're playing in the movies! These are the most famous film actors, that's who they are!

– So why don’t they play? Why are they sitting idle? – Hottabych inquired condemningly. “These are apparently very careless actors, and it pains me that you praise them so thoughtlessly, oh the cinema of my heart.”

- What you! – Volka laughed. – Film actors never play in cinemas. Film actors play in film studios.

– So, now we will see the play not of film actors, but of some other actors?

- No, just movie actors. You see, they play in film studios, and we watch them play in cinemas. In my opinion, this is understandable to any baby.

“You’re talking, forgive me, something absurd,” Hottabych said condemningly. “But I am not angry with you, because I do not see in your words a deliberate desire to make fun of your humble servant.” Apparently the heat in this room is affecting you. Alas, I don’t see a single window that could be opened to freshen the air.

Volka realized that in those few minutes that remained before the start of the session, he could not explain to the old man what the essence of the work of film actors was, and decided to postpone explanations until later. Moreover, he remembered the misfortune that befell him.

“Hottabych, my dear, what’s it worth to you, just try as quickly as possible!”

The old man sighed heavily, pulled out one hair from his beard, another, a third, then in his anger he pulled out a whole clump of it at once and began to fiercely tear them into small pieces, saying something in concentration and not taking his eyes off Volka. The hair on his young friend’s radiant, healthy face not only did not disappear, it did not even move. Then Hottabych began to snap his fingers in a variety of combinations: sometimes with individual fingers, then with the entire five of his right hand, then with his left hand, then with the fingers of both hands at once, then once with the fingers of his right hand and twice with his left, then vice versa. But it was all in vain. And then Hottabych suddenly began to tear his clothes with a bang.

-Are you crazy? – Volka was scared. -What are you doing?

- Oh woe is me! – Hottabych whispered in response and began to scratch his face. – Oh woe is me!.. The millennia spent in the damned vessel, alas, have made themselves felt! Lack of practice had a detrimental effect on my specialty... Forgive me, oh my young savior, but I can’t do anything about your beard!.. Oh woe, woe to me, poor genie Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab!..

-What are you whispering there? – Volka asked. - Whisper more clearly. I can't make out anything.

And Hottabych answered him, carefully tearing his clothes:

- O most precious of youths, O most pleasant of pleasant ones, do not bring down your just anger on me!.. I cannot rid you of your beard!.. I have forgotten how to do it!..

– Have a conscience, citizens! - the neighbors hissed at them. – You’ll have time to talk at home. After all, you are in the way!.. Should we really contact the usher?

- Shame on my old head! – Hottabych now whined barely audibly. – Forget such simple magic! And who forgot? I, Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab, the most powerful of the jinn, I, the same Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab, with whom Suleiman ibn Daoud himself could not do anything for twenty years, peace be with them both!..

- Don't whine! – Volka whispered, not hiding his contempt. – Tell me in human terms, how long have you given me this beard?

- Oh no, calm down, my good lord! - answered the old man. “Fortunately, I bewitched you with a small sorcery.” By this time tomorrow, your face will again be smooth, like a newborn’s... Or maybe I’ll be able to remember even earlier how a small spell is disenchanted...

Just by this time, the numerous inscriptions that usually begin every picture ended on the screen, then people appeared on it, moved and started talking. Hottabych smugly whispered to Volka:

- Well, I understand everything. It's very simple. All these people came here through the wall. I can do this too.

– You don’t understand anything! – Volka smiled at the old man’s ignorance. – Cinema, if you want to know, is built on the principle...

There was a hiss from the front and back rows, and Volka's explanations were interrupted mid-sentence.

For a minute Hottabych sat spellbound. Then he began to fidget excitedly, every now and then turning back, where in the ninth row, as our readers remember, two film actors were sitting, and he did this several times until he was finally convinced that they were simultaneously sitting behind him, with their arms decorously folded on their chests , and rush on fast horses there, in front, on the only illuminated wall of this mysterious room.

Pale, with fearfully raised eyebrows, the old man whispered to Volka:

- Look back, oh fearless Volka ibn Alyosha!

“Well, yes,” said Volka, “these are film actors.” They play the main roles in this film and came to see if we, the audience, like their performance.

- I don't like! – Hottabych quickly said. I don't like it when people split up. Even I don’t know how to sit with folded arms on a chair and ride a fast, wind-like horse at the same time. This is even Suleiman ibn Daoud - peace be with them both! – didn’t know how to do it. And that's why I'm scared.

“It’s all right,” Volka smiled patronizingly. – Look at the rest of the audience. See, no one is afraid. Then I'll explain to you what's going on.

Suddenly a powerful locomotive whistle cut through the silence. Hottabych grabbed Volka by the hand.

- O royal Volka! – he whispered, pouring out cold sweat. – I recognize this voice. This is the voice of the king of the genies, Jirjis!.. Let's run before it's too late!

- What nonsense! Sit quietly!.. Nothing threatens us.

“I listen and obey,” Hottabych babbled submissively, continuing to tremble.

But exactly a second later, when a loud humming steam locomotive rushed straight towards the audience on the screen, a piercing scream of horror was heard in the auditorium.

Already at the exit he remembered Volka, returned after him in a few leaps, grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him to the doors:

- Let's run, O Volka ibn Alyosha! Let's run before it's too late!..

“Citizens...” the usher began, blocking their path.

But immediately after this, he suddenly made a beautiful, very long arc in the air and found himself on the stage, in front of the screen...

-Why were you shouting? Why did you create this wild panic? – Volka angrily asked Hottabych on the street.

And he answered:

“How could I not scream when the worst possible danger was hanging over you!” The great shaitan Jirjis ibn Rejmus, the grandson of Aunt Ikrish, was rushing straight towards us, spewing fire and death!

- What kind of Jirjis is that? Which aunt? The most ordinary locomotive!

“Isn’t my young master going to teach the old genie Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab what shaitan is?” – Hottabych inquired sarcastically.

And Volka understood: explaining to him what cinema is and what a locomotive is is not a matter of five minutes or even an hour.

Having caught his breath, Hottabych humbly asked:

“What would you like now, O most precious pupil of my eye?”

- As if you don’t know? Get rid of the beard!

“Alas,” the old man answered sadly, “I am still powerless to fulfill this desire of yours.” But don't you have any desire? Tell me, and I will fulfill it at the same moment.

– Shave!.. And as soon as possible!

A few minutes later they were at the hairdresser.

After another ten minutes, the tired master leaned out of the open doors of the men’s hall and shouted:

- Queue!

Then a boy with his face wrapped in precious silk fabric came out from a secluded corner near the coat rack and hurriedly sat down in a chair.

- Would you like me to cut my hair? - asked the hairdresser, referring to the boy's hairstyle.

- Shave me! - the boy answered him in a choked voice and took off the shawl that covered his face right up to his eyes.

VII. RESTLESS EVENING

It’s good that Volka wasn’t dark-haired. Zhenya Bogorad’s cheeks, for example, would begin to glow blue after shaving. And Volka, when he left the hairdresser’s, his cheeks were no different from the cheeks of all his peers.

It was already eight o'clock, but it was still quite light and very hot.

“Isn’t there a shop in your blessed city that sells sherbet or sherbet-like soft drinks so that we can quench our thirst?” – asked Hottabych.

- But it’s true! – Volka picked up. - It would be nice to have some cold lemonade or a cup right now!

They went into the first pavilion of fruit and mineral waters they came across, sat down at a table and called the waitress.

“Two bottles of lemon water, please,” Volka said.

The waitress nodded her head and went to the counter, but Hottabych angrily called out to her:

- Come on, come closer, unworthy servant! I don’t like the way you responded to the order of my young friend and master.

- Hottabych, stop it, do you hear! Stop it...” Volka began to whisper.

But Hottabych affectionately closed his mouth with his dry palm:

“Don’t at least stop me from standing up for your dignity, if you yourself, due to your characteristic gentleness, did not scold her...”

“You don’t understand anything!..” Volka was seriously afraid for the waitress. - Hottabych, I’m telling you in Russian that...

But then he suddenly felt with horror that he was speechless. He wanted to throw himself between the old man and the still unsuspecting girl, but he could not move his arm or leg.

It was Hottabych, so that Volka would not interfere with him in what he considered a matter of his honor, who lightly pinched Volka’s right earlobe with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and thereby doomed him to silence and complete immobility.

- How did you respond to the order of my young friend? – he repeated, turning again to the waitress.

“I don’t understand you, citizen,” the girl answered him politely. - There were no orders. There was a request, and I went to fulfill it. This is the first thing. And secondly, it is not customary for us to “poke”. It is customary for us to address strangers as “you”. And I am surprised that you don’t know this, although any cultured Soviet person knows this.

- Well, do you want to teach me? - Hottabych cried. - On your knees! Or I will turn you into dust!..

-Shame on you, citizen! - the cashier intervened, observing this outrageous scene; fortunately, there were no visitors in the pavilion except Volka and Hottabych. - Is it possible to be so hooligan, especially at your age!

- On your knees! - Hottabych growled beside himself. - And you on your knees! - He pointed his finger at the cashier. - And you! – he shouted to the second waitress, who was rushing to help her friend. “All three immediately kneel down and pray to my young friend to have mercy on you!”

With these words, he suddenly began to grow in size until his head reached the ceiling. It was a terrible and amazing sight. The cashier and the second waitress fainted from horror, but the first waitress, although she turned pale, calmly said to Hottabych:

-Shame on you, citizen! Behave properly in a public place... And if you are a decent hypnotist...

She thought that the old man was performing hypnosis experiments on them.

- On your knees! – Hottabych roared again. – Who am I telling – on your knees?!

In three thousand seven hundred and thirty-two years of his life, this was the first time that ordinary mortals dared to disobey his orders. It seemed to Hottabych that this brought him down in Volka’s eyes, and he desperately wanted Volka to respect him and value his friendship.

- Fall on your face, O despicable one, if life is dear to you!

“That’s out of the question,” the brave waitress answered in a trembling voice. – It’s abroad, in capitalist countries, that catering workers are forced to listen to all sorts of rude things from customers, but here... And in general, it’s not clear why you’re raising your voice... If you have a complaint, you can politely ask the cashier for a complaint book. The complaint book is issued upon request... Our pavilion, you know, is visited by the most famous hypnotists and illusionists, but they have never allowed themselves anything like that. Am I right, Katya? – she turned to her friend for a friend, who had already managed to come to her senses.

“I also made it up,” answered Katya, sobbing, “get on your knees!” What a disgrace!..

- Is that so?! – Hottabych finally lost his temper. – So this is what your insolence comes to?! Well, that's what you wanted!

With a habitual gesture, he tore three hairs from his beard and took his left hand away from Volka’s ear to tear them into the smallest pieces.

But as soon as Hottabych left Volka’s ear alone, Volka, to the great chagrin of the old man, regained the gift of speech and freedom to control his body. First of all, he grabbed Hottabych by the hand:

- What are you talking about, Hottabych! What are you thinking!

“I planned to punish them, oh Volka.” Would you believe it, I’m ashamed to admit: at first I wanted to strike them with thunder. Hitting people with thunder - after all, even the weakest ifrit can do it!..

Here Volka, despite the seriousness of the situation, found the courage to stand up for science.

“A thunderclap…” he said, feverishly thinking about how to avert the misfortune hanging over the poor girls, “a thunderclap cannot hit anyone.” A discharge of atmospheric electricity – lightning – strikes people. But thunder does not strike. Thunder is a sound.

“I don’t know,” Hottabych responded dryly, not wanting to stoop to arguing with the inexperienced youth. – I don’t think you’re right. But I changed my mind. I will not strike them with thunder. I'd rather turn them into sparrows. Yes, perhaps, into sparrows.

- But for what?

- I must punish them, oh Volka, Vice must be punished.

- There is nothing to punish for! Do you hear?

Volka tugged at Hottabych's hand. He was already about to tear his hairs: then it would be too late.

But the hairs that had fallen to the floor, of their own accord, again found themselves in Hottabych’s dark, rough palm.

- Just try! - Volka shouted, noticing that the old man was about to tear his hair again. - Oh, so!.. Then turn me into a sparrow! Or into a toad! Transform it into anything! And in general, consider that our acquaintance is over! I really don't like your habits. That's all! Turn me into a sparrow! And let the first cat that comes across eat me!

The old man was taken aback:

“Don’t you see that I want to do this so that in the future no one will dare to treat you without the exceptional respect that you deserve with your countless merits!”

- I don’t see and I don’t want to see!

“Your command is law for me,” Hottabych humbly answered, sincerely perplexed at the incomprehensible condescension of his young savior. - Okay, I won’t turn them into sparrows.

- And nothing else!

“And nothing else,” the old man agreed obediently and nevertheless took hold of the hairs with the obvious intention of tearing them.

- Why do you want to tear out hairs? – Volka became alarmed again.

“I will turn all the goods, and all the tables, and all the equipment of this despicable shop into dust!”

-Are you crazy? – Volka was completely indignant. - After all, this is state property, you old fool!

“May I be allowed to find out what you, O diamond of my soul, mean by this word, unknown to me, “bastard”? – Hottabych inquired with curiosity.

Volka turned red as a carrot.

- You see... how can I tell you... uh-uh... Well, in general, a “boob” is something like a sage.

Then Hottabych decided to remember this word so that, on occasion, he could show it off in conversation.

“But...” he began.

– No “buts”! I count to three. If after I say “three” you don’t leave this pavilion alone, you can consider that you and I have nothing in common and that everything is over between us, and that... I count: one!.. two!.. T…

Volka did not have time to finish the short word “three”. Waving his hand sadly, the old man again assumed his usual appearance and said gloomily:

- Let it be your way, for your favor is more precious to me than the apple of my eyes.

“That’s the same,” said Volka. “Now all that’s left is to apologize, and you can safely leave.”

- Thank your young savior! – Hottabych shouted sternly to the girls.

Volka realized that it would be impossible to wrest an apology from the old man’s lips.

“Please excuse us, comrades,” he said. – And if possible, don’t be too offended by this citizen. He is a newcomer and has not yet gotten used to the Soviet order. Be healthy!

- Be healthy! – the girls answered politely.

They haven't really come to their senses yet. It was both surprising and scary for them. But, of course, it could never have occurred to them how serious the danger they had avoided was.

They followed Hottabych and Volka out into the street and stood at the door, watching this amazing old man in an old-fashioned straw hat slowly move away until finally, drawn by his young companion, he disappeared around the bend.

– I can’t imagine where such mischievous old people come from! – Katya sighed and sobbed again.

“Some pre-revolutionary hypnotist,” her brave friend said pitifully. - Probably retired. I got bored, drank maybe too much... How much does such an old man need!

“Yes, yes,” the cashier joined her opinion, “old age is not a joy... Let’s go, girls, into the room!..”

But, obviously, this was not destined to be the end of today’s misadventures. As soon as Volka and Hottabych stepped out onto Gorky Street, the blinding light of car headlights hit their eyes. It seemed as if a large ambulance was rushing straight towards them, filling the evening air with a piercing siren.

And then Hottabych changed his face terribly and cried out loudly:

- Oh woe to me, the old and unfortunate genie! Jirjis, the mighty and merciless king of the devils and ifrits, has not forgotten our ancient enmity, so he sent the most terrible of his monsters against me!

With these words, he quickly separated from the sidewalk, already somewhere high, at the level of the third or fourth floor, took off his straw hat, waved it to Volka and slowly melted into the air, shouting goodbye:

- I will try to find you, oh Volka ibn Alyosha! I kiss the dust under your feet!.. Bye!..

Between you and me, Volka was even glad that the old man had disappeared. There was no time for him. Volka’s legs began to give way at the thought that he now had to return home.

In fact, try to put yourself in his shoes. The man left home to take a geography exam, go to the cinema, and by half past six in the evening, decorously and nobly return home for dinner. Instead, he returns home at ten o'clock, ignominiously failing the exam, and, worst of all, with shaved cheeks! This is at less than thirteen years old! No matter how much he thought, he could not find a way out of this situation.

Without coming up with anything, he trudged into the quiet Trekhprudny Lane, full of long pre-sunset shadows.

He walked past the surprised janitor, entered the entrance, went up to the second floor landing and, sighing heavily, pressed the bell button. Someone's footsteps were heard in the depths of the apartment, and an unfamiliar voice asked through the closed doors.

-Who's there?

“It’s me,” Volka wanted to say and suddenly remembered that as of this morning he no longer lives here.

Without answering the new tenant, he quickly ran down the steps, walked with an independent air past the janitor, who continued to be surprised, and, leaving the alley, got into the trolleybus. But misfortunes haunted him that day. Somewhere, most likely in a movie, he lost his wallet. He had to get off the trolleybus and walk.

The last thing Volka would like to do now is meet any of his classmates, but even the thought that he would have to meet Goga the Pill was especially unbearable. From today, an insidious fate, among other things, determined that they should be housemates.

And, of course, as soon as Volka found himself in the courtyard of his new house, a disgustingly familiar voice called out to him:

- Hey, crazy! Who is this old guy you left school with today?..

Winking impudently and making the most malicious faces, Goga-Pill ran up to Volka.

“Not an old man, but an old man,” Volka corrected him peacefully, who today did not want to bring the matter to a fight. - This... this is my father's acquaintance... From Tashkent.

- But I’ll go to your dad and tell him about your art in the exam!..

- Oh, it’s been a long time since you earned bream from me, Pill! – Volka was furious, imagining what impression Pill’s story could make on his parents. - Yes, I’m going to grind you into powder, damn you, now!..

- Uh! Give it up!.. Please tell me, you can’t even joke anymore!.. A real psycho!..

Frightened by Volka's fists, which after several experiments he preferred not to deal with, Goga rushed headlong into the entrance. From today on, Goga lived dangerously close to Volka. Their apartments were located on the same landing.

- Bald people! Bald people! - he shouted, sticking his head out of the half-open door of the entrance, stuck out his tongue at Volka and, fearing Volka’s just wrath, rushed, immediately jumping over two steps, upstairs, to the fourth floor, home.

On the stairs, however, his attention was immediately attracted by the highly mysterious behavior of the huge Siberian cat from apartment forty-three - his name was Khomich in honor of the famous football goalkeeper. Khomich stood with his back arched menacingly and snorted into a completely empty space. Gogin’s first thought was that the cat had gone mad. But mad cats seem to have their tails tucked between them, but this cat’s tail stuck out like your chimney. And in general, Khomich looked quite healthy.

Just in case, Goga kicked him.

From pain, from surprise and resentment, Khomich howled up all five floors of the staircase. He jumped aside, jumping so high and beautifully that it would have been an honor even to his famous namesake. And then again something completely incomprehensible happened. A good half meter from the stairs, Khomich howled again and flew in the opposite direction, straight towards Goga, as if the unfortunate animal had hit hard against some invisible, but very elastic rubber wall. At the same time, somewhere very nearby, someone’s inarticulate mooing was heard from the void, as if someone’s foot had been firmly stepped on.

Pilyukin was never distinguished by selfless courage. And then he almost died of fear.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh!..” he howled quietly, trying to tear his immediately stiff legs off the steps. Finally he tore them off and ran away so quickly that only his heels began to sparkle.

When the door of his apartment slammed behind Goga, Hottabych allowed himself to become visible. Crouching in pain, he examined his left leg, which had suffered greatly from the claws of the stunned Khomich.

- O damned boy! - Hottabych groaned, having first made sure that he was left on the stairs completely alone. - Oh dog among boys!..

He fell silent and listened.

His young savior Volka Kostylkov slowly climbed up the stairs, overwhelmed by the saddest thoughts.

The cunning old man did not want to catch his eye now, and he quickly disappeared into the air.

VIII. CHAPTER SERVING AS A DIRECT CONTINUATION OF THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER

No matter how tempting it would be to imagine Volka Kostylkov as a boy without a single flaw, the proverbial truthfulness of the author of this story does not allow him to do this. And if envy is rightly considered a shortcoming, then, to our great regret, we have to admit that Volka sometimes experienced this feeling to a fairly strong degree. In recent days he was jealous of Goga. Long before the exams, Goga boasted that his mother promised to give him a puppy, a shepherd dog, as soon as he entered the seventh grade.

- Well, yes! – Volka then snorted with effort, feeling that he was actually turning cold with envy. - So they bought it for you!

But in the depths of his soul, he realized that Pill’s words were very similar to the truth: the whole class knew that Gogin’s mother did not spare anything for her son. He’ll deny himself everything, and he’ll give Goga such a gift that the whole class will simply rock.

“He will definitely give it,” Goga repeated sternly. “Mom, if you want to know, doesn’t regret anything for me.” Since she promised, she will buy it. As a last resort, he will take money from the mutual aid fund and buy it. You know how much they value her at the factory!

Gogin’s mother was indeed highly valued at the plant. She worked as a senior draftsman, was a modest, cheerful, hard-working woman. Everyone loved her - both at the plant and her neighbors at home. Even Goga loved her in his own way. And she simply doted on Goga.

In a word, since she promised to buy a shepherd, it means she will buy it.

And, perhaps, it is precisely at this sad moment, when he, Volka, depressed by the experiences that have befallen him today, slowly climbs the stairs, very close, in apartment thirty-seven, is already tinkering with the magnificent, cheerful and shaggy shepherd puppy Goga- Pill, that very Pill, who is less than anyone else in their class, in their school, perhaps in all the schools in Moscow, worthy of such happiness.

So Volka thought, and the only thing that consoled him even a little was the consideration that it was unlikely that Goga’s mother, even if she was really going to give Goga a dog, had already done so. After all, Goga only passed his last exam for the sixth grade a few hours ago. But buying a puppy is not so easy. You can’t go into a store and say: “Please wrap that puppy for me...” You still have to look for the dog...

And just imagine, at that very moment when the grandmother opened the door to Volka, a high-pitched dog bark was heard from behind the doors of apartment number thirty-seven.

“I bought it! – Volka thought bitterly. “A shepherd dog... Or maybe even a boxer...”

It was completely unbearable to imagine Goga as the owner of a real, living service dog, and Volka quickly slammed the door behind him so as not to hear any more of the exciting, unimaginably beautiful, magical dog barking. He still managed, however, to hear Goga’s mother’s frightened exclamation. Apparently the dog bit Goga.

But even this consideration could not console our young hero...

My father hasn't returned from work yet. He was late at a factory committee meeting. Mom, after classes at the evening university, apparently went to the factory to pick him up.

Volka, despite all his efforts to appear calm and happy, had such a gloomy face that his grandmother decided to feed him first, and only then start questioning him.

- How are you, Volenka? – she hesitantly inquired when her only grandson quickly finished lunch.

“How can I tell you...” Volka answered vaguely and, taking off his T-shirt as he walked, went to bed.

The grandmother saw him off with silent sympathy with a tender and sad look. There was no need to ask questions - everything was clear.

Volka, sighing, undressed and stretched out on a fresh, cool sheet, but did not find peace.

On the table next to his bed, a thick, large-format book shone with a multi-colored dust jacket. Volka’s heart sank: so it is, that very long-desired book on astronomy! And on the title page, in large handwriting familiar from childhood, it is written: “To a highly educated student of the seventh grade, a full member of the astronomical circle at the Moscow Planetarium, Vladimir Alekseevich Kostylkov, from his loving grandmother.”

What a funny inscription! Grandma will always come up with something funny. But why isn’t Volka funny at all, oh, how funny it is! And, imagine, he is not at all pleased that he has finally waited for this captivating book that he has dreamed of for so long. Melancholy, melancholy consumes him. His breathing is constricted in his chest... No, he can’t do this anymore!

- Grandmother! – he shouted, turning away from the book. - Grandma, can I see you for a minute?

- Well, what do you want there, spoiler? - the grandmother seems to respond grumpily, pleased that she will be able to talk to her grandson in the coming nap. - The calm doesn’t take you, you’re such an astronomer, a night owl!

- Grandmother! – Volka whispers hotly to her. - Close the door and sit on my bed. I need to tell you one terribly important thing.

– Or maybe it would be better to postpone such an important conversation until the morning? - the grandmother answers, burning with curiosity.

- No, now, definitely this very minute. I... Grandma, I didn’t make it to the seventh grade... That is, I haven’t made it yet... I didn’t pass the exam...

- Failed? - Grandma gasps quietly.

- No, I didn’t fail... I couldn’t stand it, but I didn’t fail either... I began to present the point of view of the ancients about India, and about the horizon, and about all that... I told it all correctly... But somehow I failed to illuminate the scientific point of view ... I felt very unwell, and Pavel Vasilyevich told me to come when I had a good rest...

Even now, even to his grandmother, he could not bring himself to tell about Hottabych. Yes, she wouldn’t have believed it and would have thought, what good, that he really was sick.

– I used to want to hide it and say it when I’d already handed it over, but I felt ashamed... Do you understand?

- Why don’t you understand, Volenka! - said the grandmother. – Conscience is a great thing. There is nothing worse than going against your conscience... Well, sleep well, my dear astronomer!

- I won’t think so. Where should I put it? Consider that I have handed it over to you for safekeeping for the time being... Well, go to sleep. Are you sleeping?

“I’m sleeping,” answered Volka, whose confession felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “And I promise you, I give you an honest pioneer’s promise, that I will pass geography with an A!” Do you believe me?

- Of course, I believe it. Well, sleep, sleep, gain strength... Should I tell my parents or should I tell them myself?

- Better you.

- Well, sleep well!

Grandmother kissed Volka, turned off the light and left the room.

For some time Volka lay holding his breath. He wanted to hear how his grandmother would tell his parents the sad news, but, having heard nothing, he fell asleep.

IX. RESTLESS NIGHT

Less than an hour later, I was awakened by a telephone call in my father’s office.

Alexey Alekseevich answered the phone.

- I’m listening... Yes, I... Who? Hello, Varvara Stepanovna!.. Thank you, nothing, and yours?.. Volka?. Volka is sleeping... In my opinion, he is quite healthy, he had dinner with an exceptional appetite... Yes, I know, he told me... I’m surprised myself... Yes, perhaps, you can’t explain it to others... Of course, it’s better to rest for a while, if you don’t mind... Thank you for your attention ... Be healthy... Greetings to you from Varvara Stepanovna,” Alexey Alekseevich said to his wife. – I was interested in Volka’s health. She told them not to worry: Volka is in good standing with them. And for him to have a good rest.

Again Volka tried to hear what his parents were talking about among themselves, and again, unable to understand anything, he fell asleep.

But this time he managed to sleep no more than a quarter of an hour. The phone interrupted again.

– Father of Zhenya Bogorad. He is worried that Zhenya has not returned home yet. He asked if he was with us and if Volka was at home.

“In my years,” the grandmother intervened in the conversation, “only hussars returned home so late... But for a child...

Half an hour later, a telephone call interrupted Volka Kostylkov’s sleep for the third time during this restless night.

This time it was Tatyana Ivanovna, Zhenya Bogorad’s mother, who called. Zhenya still hasn’t returned home. She asked Volka to find out about him.

- Volka! - Alexey Alekseevich opened the door. – Tatyana Ivanovna asks when was the last time you saw Zhenya.

- In the evening at the cinema.

- And after the movie?

– And after the movie I didn’t see him.

“Didn’t he tell you where he’s going to go after the movie?”

Volka waited for a long, long time for the elders to finally stop talking about the missing Zhenya (he himself was not at all worried: he suspected that Zhenya, in joy, had gone to the Cultural Park, to the circus), and, without waiting, for the third time fell asleep. This time for good.

Soon there was a quiet splash in the corner. Then splashing steps were heard. Traces of someone's invisible wet feet appeared on the floor and quickly dried. Someone, humming a mournful drawn-out oriental melody under his breath, walked invisibly around the room.

Traces of wet feet headed towards the table on which the alarm clock was ticking anxiously. Someone's delighted smacking sound was heard. The alarm clock itself flew into the air and hung calmly between the floor and ceiling for some time, then returned to its usual place, and the tracks led towards the aquarium. There was a splash again, and everything became quiet.

Late at night it started to rain. He knocked cheerfully on the windows, made a dashing noise in the thick foliage of the trees, and babbled busily in the drainpipes. At times it died down, and then one could hear large raindrops falling solidly and loudly into the barrel that stood under the window. Then, as if having gained strength, the rain again began to pour in thick streams.

It is pleasant to sleep in such rain; it has a soothing effect even on people suffering from insomnia, and Volka never complained of insomnia.

By morning, when the sky had almost cleared of clouds, someone carefully touched our fast-sleeping hero on the shoulder several times. But Volka did not wake up. And then the one who tried in vain to wake Volka sighed sadly, muttered something and, shuffling his shoes, headed into the depths of the room, where Volka’s aquarium with goldfish glittered on a high bedside table.

There was a barely audible splash, and again silence reigned in the room.

X. AN UNUSUAL EVENT IN THE THIRTY-SEVENTH APARTMENT

Natalya Kuzminichna (that was the name of Gogin’s mother) did not buy or give any dog to Goga. Didn't have time. And then she certainly didn’t give it away: after the incredible events of that terrible evening, both Goga and Natalya Kuzminichna lost interest in these oldest and truest friends of man for a long time.

But Volka quite clearly heard the barking coming from apartment thirty-seven. Had he misheard?

No, Volka heard right.

But there was still no dog in apartment thirty-seven, either that evening or many months later. If you want to know, not even a dog’s paw has set foot there since then. In a word, Volka was in vain to envy Goga. There was nothing to envy: Goga barked.

And it started right at that very moment when he was washing his face before starting dinner. He couldn’t wait to quickly and embellishingly tell his mother how his classmate and neighbor Volka Kostylkov had disgraced himself in the exams today, and then he almost immediately began to bark. That is, he did not bark all the time. He came out with some words, like all people, but instead of many, very many others, what came out of his mouth, to his great surprise and horror, was the most authentic barking of a dog.

Goga wanted to say that Volka was spouting sheer nonsense during the exam and that Varvara Stepanovna would allegedly smack the table with her fist and scream, “What are you doing, you fool, spouting nonsense?!” Yes, I’ll leave you, the hooligan, for the second year!”

What Goga got instead:

- And Volka suddenly began to flog woof-woof-woof. And Varvara Stepanovna will knock on the woof-woof-woof...

Goga was taken aback by surprise. He fell silent, took a breath and tried to repeat the phrase. But this time, instead of those rude words that the liar and sneak Goga-Pill wanted to attribute to Varvara Stepanovna, a dog barked from his lips.

- Oh, mom! - Goga was scared. - Mommy!

- What's wrong with you, Gogushka? – Natalya Kuzminichna was alarmed. – You don’t have a face!..

- You see, I wanted to say that... woof-woof-woof... Oh, mommy, what is this!..

Out of fright, Goga’s face really changed greatly.

- Stop barking, Gogushka, my sunshine, my joy!..

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Goga whined. - I just wanted to say...

And again, instead of articulate speech, he could only squeeze out an irritated bark.

- My dear son, don’t scare me! - poor Natalya Kuzminichna begged, and tears rolled down her kind face. - Don't bark! I beg you, don't bark!..

But here Goga could not find anything smarter than to get angry with his mother. And since he usually did not mince words in such cases, he burst into such a frantic, shrill bark that they shouted from the balcony of the neighboring apartment:

- Natalya Kuzminichna! Tell your Goga not to dare to torture the dog! What a disgrace!.. They spoiled the boy to the point of complete shamelessness!..

Shedding tears, Natalya Kuzminichna rushed to close the windows. Then she tried to feel Gogin’s forehead, which caused a new attack of angry barking.

Then she put the completely frightened Goga to bed, for some unknown reason she wrapped her in a quilted blanket, although it was a hot summer evening outside, and ran downstairs to the pay phone to call the “emergency” doctor.

It wasn't that simple at all. To call “emergency medical care” it was necessary for a person to become ill with some very dangerous disease, so that, in extreme cases, his temperature would suddenly rise very high.

Natalya Kuzminichna had to lie, saying that Goga’s temperature was thirty-nine point eight and that he was delirious.

Soon the doctor arrived. Elderly, plump, gray-haired, experienced.

First of all, he, of course, felt Gogin’s forehead and made sure that there was no trace of any increase in his temperature, and, of course, he was indignant. But he didn’t show it. Natalya Kuzminichna’s face was very upset.

He sighed and sat down on the chair next to the bed on which Goga was lying, and asked Natalya Kuzminichna to explain what prompted her to call the doctor specifically from the “emergency department”.

Natalya Kuzminichna told everything frankly.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, asked her again, shrugged his shoulders again and thought that if all this was true, then he should have called not a general practitioner, but a psychiatrist.

- Maybe you decided that you are a dog? – he asked Goga casually.

Goga shook his head negatively.

“This is good,” thought the doctor. “And then there is such madness when a person suddenly decides that he is a dog.”

Of course, he did not express this thought out loud, so as not to needlessly frighten either the patient or his mother. But it immediately became clear that the doctor cheered up.

“Show your tongue,” he said to Goga. Goga stuck out his tongue.

- The language is quite normal. Now we, young man, will listen to you... Well, well, well... An excellent heart. There are no wheezes in the lungs. How's your stomach?

“The stomach is normal,” said Natalya Kuzminichna.

- How long has he been uh... barking with you?

- It’s already three o’clock. I just don't know what to do...

- First of all, calm down. So far I don't see anything wrong. Come on, young man, tell me how it started for you.

“You see, doctor,” Natalya Kuzminichna burst into tears, “this is just some kind of horror... maybe we should prescribe him some pills... or powders?.. What if he cleanses his stomach?

The doctor winced:

– Give me, Natalya Kuzminichna, time to think, look through some literature... A rare, very rare case. So, it’s like this: complete rest, bed rest, of course, the lightest food, best vegetable and dairy, no coffee or cocoa, the weakest tea, maybe with milk. Don't go outside yet...

“You can’t even kick him out into the street now.” Ashamed. Then one boy came to him, so poor Goga barked so, so barked, we barely begged him, this boy, not to tell anyone about this. How about clearing your stomach, maybe?

“Well,” said the doctor thoughtfully, “it never hurts to clear your stomach.”

- What if we put mustard plasters on him at night? – Natalya Kuzminichna asked, sobbing.

- Not bad either. Mustard plasters are a thing. The doctor wanted to pat the despondent Goga on the head, but Pill, in anticipation of all the procedures prescribed for him, barked with such undisguised anger that the doctor quickly pulled his hand away, afraid that this unpleasant boy would actually bite him.

“By the way,” he said, “why do you keep the windows closed in this heat?” The boy needs fresh air.

Natalya Kuzminichna reluctantly explained to the doctor why she had to close the windows.

- Hmmm, a rare, very rare case! – the doctor repeated, wrote out a prescription and left.

XI. NO LESS RESTLESS MORNING

The morning came wonderful, sunny.

At half past seven, grandmother, quietly opening the door, walked on tiptoe to the window and opened it wide. Invigorating cool air rushed into the room. The Moscow morning was beginning, noisy, cheerful, and busy. But Volka would not have woken up if the blanket had not slipped off him onto the floor.

The first thing he did was feel the stubble growing on his cheeks and realized that he was in a completely hopeless situation. In this form there was no point in even thinking of appearing in front of my parents. Then he climbed back under the covers and began to think what he should do.

- Will, and Will! Get up! – he heard his father’s voice from the dining room, but decided not to answer, pretending to be asleep. “I don’t understand how you can sleep when it’s such a wonderful morning.”

- I wish I could force you, Alyosha, to take exams and wake you up at the crack of dawn!

- Well, let him sleep! - the father muttered. “If he wants to eat, he’ll wake up right away.”

Was it Volka who didn’t want to eat?! Yes, he caught himself thinking that scrambled eggs with a slice of fresh black bread now excite him even more than the red stubble on his cheeks. But common sense still prevailed over hunger, and Volka lay in bed until his father went to work and his mother went to the market with her purse.

“It was not! - he decided when he heard the door click behind her. - I’ll tell my grandmother everything. And together we’ll come up with something.”

Volka stretched with pleasure, yawned sweetly and headed towards the door. Passing by the aquarium, he cast an absent-minded glance at it... and was dumbfounded with surprise.

End of free trial.

At seven thirty-two minutes in the morning, a cheerful sunbeam slipped through a hole in the curtain and settled on the nose of fifth-grade student Volka Kostylkov. Volka sneezed and woke up.

Just at this time, the mother’s voice came from the next room:

- There’s no need to rush, Alyosha. Let the child sleep a little more - he has exams today.

Volka winced in annoyance. When will his mother finally stop calling him a child? Jokes - child! The man is fourteen years old...

- What nonsense! - the father answered behind the partition. – The guy is already thirteen years old. Let him get up and help put things away. His beard will soon begin to grow, and you are all: child, child...

Put things away! How could he forget this?! Volka immediately threw off the blanket and began hastily pulling on his pants. How could he forget! Such a day!

The Kostylkov family moved to a new apartment today. The night before, almost all things were packed. Mom and grandmother placed the dishes at the bottom of the bathtub in which they once bathed baby Volka, a long time ago. The father, having rolled up his sleeves and, like a shoemaker, had a mouth full of nails, was nailing up boxes of books and hastily hammering a geography textbook into one of them, although even a child can see that it is impossible to pass the test without a textbook.

“Okay,” said the father, “we’ll sort it out in the new apartment.”

Then everyone argued about where to put things to make it easier to take them out to the cart in the morning. Then they drank tea in a casual manner, at a table without a tablecloth, sitting on boxes, and Volka sat very comfortably on the sewing machine case. Then they decided that the morning was wiser than the evening, and went to bed.

In a word, it is incomprehensible to his mind how he could have forgotten that they were moving to a new apartment this morning.

Before we had time to drink tea, there was a knock on the apartment. Then two movers came in. They opened both halves of the door wide and asked in loud voices:

-Can we start?

“Please,” mother and grandmother answered simultaneously and began to fuss terribly.

Volka solemnly carried the sofa cushions and backrest outside to the van. He was immediately surrounded by children playing in the yard.

– Are you moving? – Seryozha Kruzhkin, a cheerful boy with black cunning eyes, asked him.

“We’re moving,” Volka answered dryly, looking as if he moved from apartment to apartment every six days, and as if there was nothing surprising in this for him.

The janitor Stepanych came up, thoughtfully rolled a cigarette and unexpectedly began a serious conversation with Volka, like equal to equal. The boy felt slightly dizzy with pride and happiness. He spoke with respect about the complexity of the janitor's profession, then plucked up his courage and invited Stepanych to visit his new apartment. The janitor said "merci". In a word, a serious and positive conversation between the two men was developing, when suddenly the irritated voice of the mother was heard from the apartment:

- Volka! Volka! Well, where did this obnoxious child go?

And everything immediately went to waste. The janitor, barely nodding to Volka, began sweeping the street with ferocity. The guys pretended to be madly carried away by the blind puppy that Seryozha had dragged out of nowhere yesterday on a string. And Volka, hanging his head, went into the empty apartment, in which scraps of old newspapers and dirty bottles of medicine lay lonely.

- Finally! – his mother attacked him. – Take your famous aquarium and immediately get into the van. You will sit there on the sofa and hold the aquarium in your hands. Just be careful not to spill the water.

It is not clear why parents are so nervous when they move to a new apartment.

Mysterious bottle

In the end, Volka settled into the van quite well. Of course, it’s more pleasant in a truck, but the whole road would fly by too quickly. Plus, whatever you say, a ride in a covered wagon is much more romantic.

Inside the van there was a mysterious, cool twilight. If you closed your eyes, you could freely imagine that you were driving not along Nastasinsky Lane, where you had lived your whole life, but somewhere in America, on the harsh desert prairies, where Indians could attack every minute and scalp you with warlike cries. Behind the sofa stood a dining table turned upside down that suddenly became unusually interesting and unusual. A bucket filled with some dusty bottles rattled on the table. A nickel-plated bed gleamed dully against the side wall of the van. The old barrel in which grandmother fermented cabbage for the winter was surprisingly reminiscent of the barrels in which the pirates of old Flint stored rum.

Thin columns of sunlight penetrated through holes in the wall of the van.

And finally the van, creaking, stopped at the entrance of their new house. The movers deftly and quickly dragged things into the apartment and left in a cheerfully rattling van.

The father, having somehow arranged things, said:

“We’ll finish the rest after work.”

And he went to the factory.

Mother and grandmother began to unpack the dishes, and Volka decided to run to the river in the meantime. True, his father warned Volka not to dare go swimming without him, because it was terribly deep here, but Volka quickly found an excuse for himself.

“I need to bathe,” he decided, “so that I have a fresh head. How can I show up for the test with a stale head?!”

It was simply amazing how Volka could always come up with an excuse when he wanted to break a promise to his parents.

This is very convenient when the river is close to home. Volka told his mother that he would go ashore to study for geography. Having run to the river, he quickly undressed and threw himself into the water. It was eleven o'clock, and there was not a single person on the shore. This circumstance had its good and bad sides. The good thing was that no one could stop him from bathing and swimming. It’s just a shame that for the same reason no one could admire how beautifully and easily Volka swims and, especially, how wonderfully he dives.

Volka swam and dived until he literally turned blue. Then he began to crawl ashore, but at the last minute he changed his mind and decided to dive once again into the gentle, clear water, penetrated to the bottom by the bright midday sun.

And at that very moment, when he was about to rise to the surface, his hand suddenly felt some oblong object at the bottom of the river. He grabbed it and surfaced near the shore. In his hands was a slimy, mossy clay bottle of a very strange shape. The neck was tightly covered with some kind of resinous substance, on which something vaguely reminiscent of a seal was squeezed out.

Volka weighed the bottle. The bottle was heavy, and Volka froze.

“Treasure! – instantly flashed through his brain. – Treasure with ancient gold coins. This is great!”

Having dressed hastily, he rushed home to unseal the bottle in a secluded corner.

When Volka reached the house, a note had already finally formed in his head, which would appear in all the newspapers tomorrow. He even came up with a name. It should have been called: “An Honest Deed.” Its text should have been something like this:

“Yesterday, pioneer Volodya Kostylkov came to the 24th police station and handed the officer on duty a treasure of ancient gold coins that he had found at the bottom of the river. According to reliable sources, Volodya Kostylkov is an excellent diver.”

Volka ran into the apartment and, slipping past the kitchen where his mother and grandmother were preparing dinner, he dashed into the room and, first of all, locked the door. Then he pulled a penknife from his pocket and, trembling with excitement, scraped the seal off the neck of the bottle.

At the same instant, the entire room was filled with acrid black smoke, and something like a silent explosion of great force threw Volka to the ceiling, where he hung, his pants caught on the lamp hook.

In the book "A Thousand and One Nights" there is "The Tale of the Fisherman". The fisherman pulled his nets out of the sea, and in them was a copper vessel, and in the vessel was a powerful sorcerer, a genie. He was imprisoned in it for almost two thousand years. This genie vowed to make the one who released him happy - to enrich him, to open all the treasures of the earth, to make him the most powerful of the sultans and, above all, to fulfill three more of his wishes.

Or, for example, “Aladdin's Magic Lamp”. It would seem like an unremarkable old lamp, one might say - just scrap. But as soon as you rubbed it, a genie suddenly appeared out of nowhere and fulfilled any, most incredible desires of its owner. Do you enjoy the rarest food and drink? Please. Chests filled to the brim with gold and precious stones? Ready. Luxurious palace? This very minute. Turn your enemy into a beast or reptile? With great pleasure.

Allow such a sorcerer to gift his master according to his own taste, and the same precious chests, the same Sultan’s palaces for personal use would begin to pour in again.

According to the concept of the genies from ancient fairy tales and those whose wishes they fulfilled in these fairy tales, this was the most complete human happiness that one could only dream of.

Oh, how those people dream of even the most prolific genie from an ancient fairy tale, who would come to them with his palaces and treasures! Of course, they think, any genie who spent two thousand years in captivity would inevitably be somewhat behind the times. And it is possible that the palace that he will present as a gift will not be entirely landscaped in terms of modern technological achievements. After all, architecture has stepped forward so much since the time of Caliph Harun al Rashid! There were bathrooms, elevators, large, bright windows, steam heating, electric lighting... Come on, is it worth nitpicking. Let him give such palaces as he pleases. There would only be chests of gold and diamonds, and the rest would follow: honor, power, food, and the blissful, idle life of a rich, “civilized” slacker who despises all those who live on the fruits of their labors. From such a genie you can endure any grief. And it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t know many of the rules of modern society and social manners, and if he sometimes puts you in a scandalous position. These people will forgive everything to a sorcerer who throws chests of jewelry...

I. An extraordinary morning

At seven thirty-two minutes in the morning, a cheerful sunbeam slipped through a hole in the curtain and settled on the nose of fifth-grade student Volka Kostylkov. Volka sneezed and woke up.

Just at this time, the mother’s voice came from the next room:

- There’s no need to rush, Alyosha. Let the child sleep a little more - he has an exam today.

Volka winced in annoyance.

When will his mother finally stop calling him a child? Jokes - child! The man is fourteen years old...

Put things away! How could he forget it!

Volka immediately threw off the blanket and began hastily pulling on his pants. How could he forget! Such a day!

The Kostylkov family moved to a new apartment today. The night before, almost all things were packed. Mom and grandmother placed the dishes at the bottom of the bathtub in which they once bathed baby Volka, a long time ago. The father, having rolled up his sleeves and, like a shoemaker, had a mouth full of nails, was nailing up boxes of books and hastily nailing up a geography textbook in one of them, although even a child can see that it is impossible to pass the exam without a textbook.

“Okay,” said the father, “we’ll sort it out in the new apartment.”

Then everyone argued about where to put things to make it easier to take them outside in the morning. Then they drank tea casually, at a table without a tablecloth, sitting on boxes, and Volka sat very comfortably on the sewing machine case. Then they decided that the morning was wiser than the evening, and went to bed.

In a word, it is incomprehensible to his mind how he could have forgotten that they were moving to a new apartment this morning.

Before we had time to drink tea, there was a knock on the apartment. Then two movers came in. They opened both halves of the door wide and asked in loud voices:

-Can we start?

“Please,” mother and grandmother answered simultaneously and began to fuss terribly.

Volka solemnly carried the sofa cushions and backrests outside to the van. He was immediately surrounded by children playing in the yard.

– Are you moving? – Seryozha Kruzhkin, a cheerful boy with black cunning eyes, asked him.

“We’re moving,” Volka answered dryly, looking as if he moved from apartment to apartment every six days and as if there was nothing surprising in this for him.

The janitor Stepanych came up, thoughtfully rolled a cigarette and unexpectedly began a serious conversation with Volka, like equal to equal. The boy felt slightly dizzy with pride and happiness. He spoke with respect about the complexity of the janitor's profession, then plucked up his courage and invited Stepanych to visit his new apartment. The janitor said, “Mercy.” In a word, a serious and positive conversation between the two men was developing, when suddenly the irritated voice of the mother was heard from the apartment:

- Volka! Volka!.. Well, where did this obnoxious child go?

And immediately everything went wrong. The janitor, barely nodding to Volka, began sweeping the street with ferocity. The guys pretended to be madly carried away by the puppy that Seryozha had dragged from out of nowhere just yesterday. And Volka, hanging his head, went into the empty apartment, in which scraps of old newspapers and bottles of medicine lay lonely.

- Finally! – his mother attacked him. – Take your famous aquarium and immediately get into the van. You will sit there on the sofa and hold the aquarium in your arms. Just be careful not to spill water on the sofa...

It is not clear why parents are so nervous when they move to a new apartment.

II. Mysterious bottle

A mysterious, cool twilight reigned inside. If you closed your eyes, you could freely imagine that you were driving not along Nastasinsky Lane, where you had lived your whole life, but somewhere in America, on the harsh desert prairies, where Indians could attack every minute and scalp you with warlike cries. Behind the sofa stood a dining table that had suddenly become unusual and turned upside down. A bucket filled with some kind of bottles rattled on the table. A nickel-plated bed gleamed dully in the corner. The old barrel in which grandmother fermented cabbage for the winter was surprisingly reminiscent of the barrels in which the pirates of old Flint kept rum.

Thin columns of sunlight penetrated through the holes in the wall of the van.

And finally we stopped at the entrance to the new house where we were to live. The movers deftly and quickly dragged things into the apartment and left in a cheerfully rattling van.

The father, having somehow arranged things, said:

“We’ll finish the rest after work.”

And he went to the factory.

The mother and grandmother began unpacking the dishes, and Volka decided to run to the river in the meantime. True, his father warned Volka not to dare go swimming without him, because it was terribly deep here, but Volka quickly found an excuse for himself.

“I need to bathe,” he decided, “so that I have a fresh head. How can I show up for the exam with a stale head!”

It was simply amazing how Volka could always come up with an excuse when he wanted to break a promise to his parents.

This is a great convenience when a river is not far from home. Volka told his mother that he would go ashore to study for geography. Having run to the river, he quickly undressed and threw himself into the water. It was eleven o'clock, and there was not a single person on the shore. This circumstance had its good and bad sides. The good thing was that no one could stop him from taking a bath and having a good swim. It was a shame that for the same reason no one could admire how beautifully and easily Volka swam and, especially, how wonderfully he dived.

Volka swam and dived until he literally turned blue. Then he began to crawl ashore. He was about to crawl out of the water, but changed his mind and decided to dive once again into the gentle, clear water, permeated to the bottom by the bright midday sun.

And at that very moment, when he was about to rise to the surface, his hand suddenly felt some oblong object at the bottom of the river. Volka grabbed him and surfaced near the shore. In his hands was a slimy, mossy clay bottle of a very strange shape. The neck was tightly covered with some kind of resinous substance, on which something vaguely reminiscent of a seal was squeezed out.

Volka weighed the bottle. The bottle was heavy, and Volka froze.

“Treasure! – instantly flashed through his brain. – Treasure with ancient gold coins. This is great!”

Having dressed hastily, he rushed home to unseal the bottle in a secluded corner.

At the same instant, the whole room was filled with acrid black smoke and something like a silent explosion of great force threw Volka to the ceiling, where he hung, clinging with his pants to the hook on which his grandmother’s chandelier was supposed to be hung.

III. Old Man Hottabych

While Volka, swinging on the hook, tried to find a more or less plausible explanation for everything that had happened, the smoke gradually cleared, and Volka suddenly saw that there was another living creature in the room besides him. He was a skinny old man with a waist-length beard, wearing a luxurious silk turban, the same caftan and trousers and unusually elaborate morocco shoes.

- Apchhi! – the unknown old man sneezed deafeningly and fell on his face. – Greetings, O beautiful and wise youth!

– Are you a circus illusionist? – Volka guessed, looking at the stranger with curiosity from above.

“No, my lord,” the old man continued, “I am not a circus illusionist.” Know, O most blessed one, that I am Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab, or, in your opinion, Hassan Abdurrahman Hottabovich.

And it happened to me - apkhi! - an amazing story, which, if it were written with needles in the corners of the eyes, would serve as an edification for students. I, an unfortunate genie, disobeyed Suleiman ibn Daoud - peace be with them both! - me and my brother Omar Hottabovich. And Suleiman sent his vizier Asaf ibn Barakhiya, and he brought me by force, leading me in humiliation against my will. And Suleiman ibn Daoud - peace be with them both! - ordered to bring two vessels: one copper, and the other clay, and imprisoned me in a clay vessel, and my brother, Omar Hottabovich, in a copper one. He sealed both vessels, imprinting on them the greatest of the names of Allah, and then gave the order to the jinn, and they carried us and threw my brother into the sea, and me into the river from which you, O blessed savior, are apchhi, apchhi! - pulled me out. May your days be long, oh... I'm sorry, what's your name, lad?

“My name is Volka,” answered our hero, continuing to swing from the ceiling.

- And the name of your father, may he be blessed forever and ever?

- My dad’s name is Alyosha... that is, Alexey.

“So know, O most excellent of the youths, the star of my heart, Volka ibn Alyosha, that from now on I will do everything that you command me, for you saved me from a terrible imprisonment, and I am your slave.”

- Why are you sneezing like that? – Volka inquired out of the blue.

“Several thousand years spent in dampness, without the beneficial sunlight, in the depths of the waters, rewarded me, your unworthy servant, with a chronic runny nose. But all this is sheer nonsense. Command me, oh my young master! – Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab finished passionately, raising his head up, but continuing to remain on his knees.

“I want to immediately find myself on the floor,” Volka said uncertainly.

And at the same instant he found himself downstairs, next to old man Hottabych, as we will later call our new acquaintance. The first thing Volka did was grab his pants. The pants were absolutely intact.

Miracles began.

IV. Geography test

- Command me! - continued old Hottabych, looking at Volka with devoted eyes. - Do you have any grief, O Volka ibn Alyosha? Tell me, I'll help you. Are you feeling sad?

“It’s gnawing,” Volka answered shyly. – I have a geography test today.

- Don't worry, oh my lord! – the old man shouted excitedly. “Know that you are incredibly lucky, O most beautiful of youths, for I am richer than all the genies in knowledge of geography, I am your faithful slave Hassan Abdurrahman ibn Hottab.” You and I will go to school together, may its foundation and roof be blessed! I will invisibly tell you the answers to all your questions, and you will become famous among the students of your school and among the students of all schools in your magnificent city.

- Amazing! - Volka said.

He had already opened the door to let Hottabych through, but immediately closed it again.

- You'll have to change your clothes.

– Don’t my clothes please your eyes, O most worthy of Volek? – Hottabych was upset.

“Of course they delight,” Volka answered diplomatically, “but still they will be too conspicuous in our city.”

Two minutes later, our hero came out of the house in which the Kostylkov family lived from today, holding old man Hottabych by the arm. Hottabych looked magnificent in a new pair of white linen jackets, a Ukrainian embroidered shirt and a hard straw boater hat. The only part of his wardrobe that he would never agree to change were his shoes. Referring to calluses from three thousand years ago, he remained in elaborate shoes, richly embroidered with gold and silver, which at one time would probably have driven the biggest fashionista at the court of Caliph Harun al Rashid crazy...

– Kostylkov Vladimir! - they solemnly proclaimed at the table where the commission was sitting.

Volka reluctantly got up from his desk, walked up to the table with an uncertain step and pulled out ticket No. 14 - “Shape and movement of the Earth.”

“Well,” said the director, “report.”

“Okay,” said the member of the commission, exhausted from the heat, and wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief. - Yes, yes, Kostylkov. What can you tell us about the horizon?

Old man Hottabych, hiding behind the doors in the corridor, heard this question and silently whispered something.

And Volka suddenly felt that some unknown force had opened his mouth against his will.

“The horizon, my venerable teacher,” he began and immediately broke out in cold sweat, “with your permission, I dare to call the line where the crystal dome of heaven touches the edge of the Earth.”

- What is it, Kostylkov? – the examiner was surprised. – How should we understand your words about the crystal vault of heaven and the edge of the Earth: figuratively or literally?

“Literally,” old man Hottabych whispered behind the door.

And Volka, feeling that he was talking utter nonsense, then answered:

– Literally, oh teacher!

He didn’t want to say this, but the words came out on their own, despite his desire.

The examiner instantly lost his sleepy mood, and the students, languishing on their desks waiting for their turn, perked up and buzzed like bumblebees.

“In a figurative way,” Seryozha Kruzhkin told him in a tragic whisper.

But Volka again said loudly and clearly:

- Of course, literally.

- So, how? – the examiner became worried. – So the sky is a solid dome?

- And that means there is a place where the Earth ends?

“There is such a place,” our hero continued to answer against his will, feeling that his legs were literally giving way from horror.

“Yes...” the examiner drawled and looked at Volka with curiosity. – What can you say about the shape of the Earth?

Old man Hottabych muttered something laboriously in the corridor.

“The earth has the shape of a ball,” Volka wanted to say, but due to circumstances beyond his control he answered:

– The earth, O most worthy of teachers, has the shape of a flat disk and is washed on all sides by a majestic river – the Ocean. The earth rests on six elephants, and they, in turn, stand on a huge turtle. This is how the world works, O teacher!

Old man Hottabych nodded his head in approval in the corridor.

The whole class was dying of laughter.

– You are probably sick, Volya? – the school director asked him sympathetically and felt his forehead, wet with sweat.

“Thank you, oh teacher,” Volka answered him, exhausted from the feeling of his own powerlessness. - Thank you. I, praise Allah, am completely healthy.

“You’ll come when you get better, Volya,” the director told him softly and led him out of the classroom by the arm. – Come when you get better, and I myself will test your knowledge of geography.

On the other side of the door, Volka was met by a beaming Hottabych. He was as cheerful as a lark, very pleased with himself.

“I conjure you, oh my young lord,” he said, turning to Volka, “have you shocked your teachers and your comrades with your knowledge?”

“Shocked,” Volka answered with a sigh and looked at old Hottabych with hatred.

Old man Hottabych grinned smugly.

V. Hottabych acts with all his might

I didn't want to go home. Volka felt disgusted in his soul, and the cunning old man felt something was wrong. For a good three hours he told his savior, sitting on a bench on the river bank, about his various adventures. Then Volka remembered that his mother gave him money for a movie ticket. It was assumed that he would go to the cinema immediately after passing geography.

“You know what, old man,” Volka said, lighting up, “let’s go to the movies!”

“Your words are law for me, O Volka ibn Alyosha,” the old man humbly answered. - But tell me, do me a favor, what do you mean by this word, incomprehensible to me: “cinema”? Isn't this a bathhouse? Or maybe this is what you call a market, where you can walk and talk with your friends?

There was a long line at the box office near the cinema.

There was a sign above the cash register: “Children under sixteen are not allowed in.”

“What’s the matter with you, O most handsome of handsome men?” – Hottabych was alarmed, seeing that Volka had suddenly become gloomy again.

“The thing with me,” Volka answered with annoyance, “is that because of your stories we were late for the afternoon session.” Now they are allowed only from the age of sixteen. And then you see what a line there is. I really don’t know what to do now... I don’t want to go home...

-You're not going home! - old man Hottabych shouted throughout the square. - Not even one moment will pass before we are allowed into your cinema, and we will go into it, surrounded by attention and admiration.

"Old braggart!" – Volka cursed to himself, clenching his fists. And suddenly I found two tickets in the eighth row in my right fist.