Читать книгу The Third-Class Genie - Robert Leeson - Страница 8

Chapter Three ARE YOU SITTING COMFORTABLY?

“ALEC!”

Alec fell off the crane room table and looked round in amazement. The can, now opened, rolled to and fro on the floor, making cronking noises. But there was no one in sight.

“Who said ‘Alec’?” he squeaked.

There was silence. Then Alec got back his normal voice and repeated: “Who called my name?”

No answer. Alec carefully picked up the can and shook it. No snoring sounds. Nothing. But someone had definitely called his name, as well as made noises like Concorde. His ears were still buzzing. He tiptoed to the door and pushed it open to look down the rickety stairs to the ruins of the main factory. Nothing in sight. Shoving the creaking door back into place, Alec came back to the table and looked once more at the strange can standing upright there.

“I must be going round the twist. All these disasters have finally been too much for me. I was sure someone shouted ‘Alec’.”

“Ah, ing’lizi walad. You English.”

Alec leapt away from the can, as the voice boomed out again. It was like the school tannoy, when Mr Cartwright did his “do-not-resist-or-you-will-be-annihilated” routine.

“Yes, of course, I’m English. But who are you?” said Alec, still alarmed.

“I am slave of lamp – sorry, jug, no, sorry, plate… I don’t know…” The booming voice faded away.

“Don’t go,” cried Alec.

“I don’t go. Worse luck,” the voice gave a hiccup.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Aiee, well may you ask.” The voice faded away again muttering in a language Alec could not understand.

“You’re not the slave of the lamp, you’re the slave of the beer can,” he said. Then he had an inspiration. “If you come out of the can, you’d feel better and your voice wouldn’t sound so funny.”

There was a fizzing sound, another burst of hiccups and a pop.

“Shukran jazilan, Effendi.”

“No need to be offended,” replied Alec, who had now got into the swing of the game, whatever the game was. Whoever it might be speaking to him, it was good fun and a change from the gloom and misery of the day so far.

“Not offended, Effendi. Effendi, Master.”

“Oh, don’t call me master,” said Alec. “It reminds me of school. Besides,” he went on, “you started calling me Alec. Can’t you carry on like that? It’s more friendly.”

“Alec?” The voice was puzzled.

“Yes. When I opened the beer can, you said ‘Alec’.”

The voice began to laugh.

“Not ‘Alec’. I said, ‘Salaam Aleikum, peace be with you!’”

“That’s nice,” said Alec. “I could use some peace just now.”

“May your enemies be destroyed, your crops increase, your camels grow fat and your wives never quarrel.”

“Well, thanks very much, or what was it you said? Shukran jazilan. But my troubles aren’t quite like that,” said Alec.

“Tell me, O master, and they shall vanish like dust before the khamsin wind.”

“Oh, great,” said Alec. “You are just what I need. But please don’t call me master. My name’s Alec. And, by the way, what is your name? And just how do you come to be hiding inside a beer can?”

There was silence for some moments, then a sigh.

“If my master – Alec – is sitting comfortably, I will begin.”

Alec hoisted himself on to the table and sat down.

“Know, Alec, that my name is Abu Salem, Genie of the Third Order of rank and merit in the courts of Baghdad, Damascus and Cairo, one of the slaves of the lamp.”

“But, Abu,” interrupted Alec, “there was only one slave of the lamp.”

“In the days of Aladdin, that was true. But the story does not end there. For when Aladdin became Sultan and the wealthiest man in the world, the magician who was his enemy decided to take his revenge. He used his magic powers to make hundreds of small lamps, each one with a third-rank genie, and he gave these to people in the city.

“Instead of working, all these people began to use their magic lamps to make gold, food or clothes, as they fancied. Soon it seemed that everyone in the kingdom was imitating Sultan Aladdin. There was so much gold that no one cared for it any more and they used it to make buckets and feeding troughs. Aladdin became furious and, thinking that the world was laughing at him, sent his soldiers to seize the lamps and to melt them down.

“But now the people became furious too. They said,‘If our lamps shall melt, so shall yours.’Aladdin had to agree. So all the lamps were melted down, and the great lump of metal was put into the palace storeroom and forgotten.

“Many many years later, when all this had been forgotten and Aladdin was no more than a story for children, there was a great war. The metal in the storeroom was made into shots for cannons and fired from the palace walls. Some landed in the sand and was forgotten again and some was buried in the ruins of the palace. Only a few pieces were found. One was used by a poor man to hold open his door and for all I know the genie sleeps within it to this day. Happy man.

“But one was found by a metal-smith who used it to make a jug. With the handling and knocking and rubbing and polishing of daily use, the genie within it awoke. That unlucky spirit, O Alec, was I.”

Alec leaned forward. He wasn’t quite sure where Abu the genie might be, in spirit so to speak, so he spoke to the beer can.

“How long did all this take?”

“I know not. A few hundred years perhaps. This time the owner was a poor man, like Aladdin in the beginning, and being poor, he was hungry too. When first I told him to make his wish, he asked for food. And food I brought him. Soon, he who had been poor and hungry became rich and very fat. And being rich, he was also vain, and being vain, he wished he were not fat.”

“So, couldn’t you help him lose weight?” demanded Alec.

“Indeed, I could and so I did. He became as light as a feather, but, alas, he said nothing about size. Thus, he rose in the air, like a balloon, and the east wind carried him slowly away over the mountains and he was never seen again.

“It has been my fate, O Alec, to give my masters what they did not want. Be warned. Be warned.”

“Oh, I’ll take my chance,” said Alec. “Go on, what happened next?”

“The jug which had brought such evil into the house was cast out. I slept happily on the rubbish dumps of old Baghdad for a few centuries more. Ah, what bliss…” The voice yawned, and for a moment Alec feared that Abu might go to sleep again. But no.

“I was found by a scavenger who sold me with some other vessels to a smith, who again melted down the metal and made plates. This time I was bought in the local bazaar by a British soldier who planned to polish the plate and send it home to his wife.

“Awakened once more from my sleep, I was at his command. His first order was that I should make him colonel of the regiment and this I did. He immediately turned the officer who had commanded the regiment into a private soldier. Indeed, when I saw the transformations which he brought about, I knew I had met my match.

“Next he commanded the officers of the regiment to do all the duties of the camp. They had to stand guard at night, to make food in the cookhouse, and to polish the great brass cannon that stood at the camp gate. The sergeants of the regiment were made to serve the private soldiers with tea in bed each morning, to press their uniforms and clean their equipment.

“For weeks the soldiers of the camp enjoyed the life of idleness, but soon news of the strange happenings in the regiment reached London. A high-ranking officer was sent to put matters right, or wrong, if you look at it through the eyes of my master.

“But he outwitted them. He rubbed on the plate, called me to his aid and made himself a general. Then he ordered the regiment home to England, much to the joy of the soldiers. But he had been too clever. Unless he could find someone of higher rank to order him home, he had to remain a soldier. His one hope was to find an accomplice. The only man left was the former colonel whom my master had confined to camp for his rude and impudent behaviour. My master offered him his freedom and also to make him field marshal, if he would give the order that would send my master home. Alas for human wickedness and folly! No sooner was his prisoner made field marshal, than my master was once again made a private and confined to camp, where he was ordered to stand guard at night, make food in the cookhouse and polish the great brass cannon at the camp gate. For all I know, they may still be there in that lonely desert camp.”

“But what about you?” demanded Alec.

“Did I not speak of human wickedness? Another soldier, having seen the plate and admired it, took it with him when the regiment sailed for England. He gave it to his wife but she believed that eating from metal plates was bad for the digestion and gave the plate to the passing rag and bone man in exchange for two goldfish, a balloon for her baby and a pair of silk stockings for herself.”

“But how did you come to be in the beer can?” insisted Alec.

“Alas, I know not, neither care I. I know that my pleasant sleep is at an end and I have a new master whom I must serve according to the rules of the Order of Genies, Third Class.”

“Well, don’t look at it like that,” said Alec. “I won’t ask you to do daft things like the others did.”

“Speak not too soon, O Alec. But as you will, so must I do. What is thy will, O Alec?”

“First of all, I want to see who I’m talking to.”

“Your wish cannot, alas, be granted. As a genie of the Third Rank, I have not the power to appear and disappear as well as perform tasks. Ask me another.”

“How about something smashing to eat? Like a Super Atomic Blast Sherbet Bag?”

“Sherbet,” replied Abu, “is not food.”

“Food, ah, food…” Alec could almost imagine Abu rubbing his stomach. “Food!” The voice rose to a roar.

“Go easy,” said Alec, “you’ll have half of Bugletown round here in a minute.”

Abu laughed. “None can hear me but you, O Alec. But food, ah food…”

“Get on with it,” said Alec in desperation.

“Food.”

Out of the air came a white sheet that spread itself over the dusty crane room table. Abu began to chant…

“Nazin Tofa, eggs in wine sauce; Toyla Shorbasi, soup from Paradise; Uskumru Pilaksi, baked mackerel; Kirasili Sulun, pheasant with cherries,” he went on as the dishes, steaming and bubbling, began to crowd the cloth.

“Hold on,” said Alec, “what about the pud?”

“Ah, Sutlach Sharapli; rice pudding with wine.”

Oh, no, not rice pudding! Just like school dinner, thought Alec. But he didn’t wish to offend Abu and so he simply invited him to join the meal. Abu readily agreed; several centuries in a jug or a beer can make anyone peckish. Alec stared as the various dishes rose in the air, emptied themselves and then floated down to the table again. But he was busy enjoying the feast himself. So this is what it was like in the days of the Arabian Nights. Oh, clever stuff, Bowden.

Soon the meal was over, and Alec noticed that it was growing dark outside.

“Time we were getting home, Abu.”

He had barely time to pick up the can, when the table cloth, table, crane room and all had vanished with a rush and he was back in his bedroom again, sitting on the bed, still in his school uniform.

Had he been sitting there all the time? He looked out of the bedroom window. The sky was clear and down in the yard he could hear Granddad pottering about in the caravan. But the can was in his pocket and it was open.