Лазарь Лагин. Старик Хоттабыч - Хоттабыч - The Old Genie HottabychПриключения >> Сказки >> Сказки >> Лазарь Лагин. Старик Хоттабыч Читать целиком Lazar Lagin. The Old Genie Hottabych
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A Story of Make-Believe
Russian original title: Гнбмяу Ъкннбвщю ( гнбмке йбфчбйяе "Гнбмщс дпяй
Ъкннбвщю")
FOREIGN LANGUAGES PUBLISHING HOUSE MOSCOW
Translated from the Russian by Fainna Solasko
OCR: http://home.freeuk.com/russica2
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The amusing and fascinating children's book is often called the Russian
"Thousand and One Nights".
Who is the Old Genie Hottabych?
This is what the author has to say of him:" In one of Scheherezade's
tales I red of the Fisherman who found a copper vessel in his net. In the
vessel was a mighty Genie - a magician who had been imprisoned in the bottle
for nearly two thousand years. The Genie had sworn to make the one who freed
him rich, powerful and happy.
" But what if such a Genie suddenly came to life in the Soviet Union,
in Moscow? I tried to imagine what would have happened if a very ordinary
Russian boy had freed him from the vessel.
"And imagine, I suddenly discovered that a schoolboy named Volka
Kostylkov, the very same Volka who used to live on Three Ponds Street, you
know, the best diver at summer camp last year.... On second thought, I
believe we had better begin from the beginning...."
CONTENTS
A Most Unusual Morning
The Strange Vessel
The Old Genie The Geography Examination
Hottabych's Second Service
An Unusual Event at the Movies A Troubled Evening
A Chapter Which Is a Continuation of the Previous One
A Restless Night
The Unusual Events in Apartment
A No Less Troubled Morning
Why S.S. Pivoraki Became Less Talkative
An Interview with a Diver
Charting a Flight
The Flight
Zhenya Bogorad's Adventures Far Away in the East
Tra-la-la, ibn Alyosha!
Meet My Friend
Have Mercy on Us, Mighty Ruler!
It's So Embarrassing to Be an Illiterate Genie
Who's the Richest?
A Camel in the Street
A Mysterious Happening in the Bank
Hottabych and Sidorelli
A Hospital Under the Bed
One in Which We Return to the Barking Boy
Hottabych and Mr. Moneybags
Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab's Story of His Adventures After Leaving
the Shop
The Same and Mr. Moneybags
Extra Tickets
Ice-Cream Again
How Many Footballs Do You Need?
Hottabych Enters the Game
The Situation Becomes More Tense
Reconciliation
Where Should They Look for Omar?
The Story Told by the Conductor of the Moscow-Odessa Express of What
Happened on the Nara-Maly Yaroslavets Line
The Strange Sailing Ship
Aboard the "Sweet Omar"
The "VK-1" Magic-Carpet-Seaplane
Hottabych Is Lost and Found Again
The Vessel From the Pillars of Hercules
The Shortest Chapter of All
Dreaming of the "Ladoga"
A Commotion at the Central Excursion Bureau
Who Is Most Famous?
The Unexpected Encounter
What Interferes with Sleeping?
Shipwrecked?
Hottabych at His Best
"Salaam, Sweet Omar!"
Omar Asaf Bares His Claws
What Good Optical Instruments Can Lead To
Hottabych's Fatal Passion
Hottabych's New Year Visit
Epilogue
A MOST UNUSUAL MORNING
At 7:32 a.m. a merry sun-spot slipped through a hole in the curtain and
settled on the nose of Volka Kostylkov, a 6th-grade pupil. Volka sneezed and
woke up.
Just then, he heard his mother say in the next room:
"Don't rush, Alyosha. Let the child sleep a bit longer, he has an exam
today."
Volka winced. When, oh when, would his mother stop calling him a child?
"Nonsense!" he could hear his father answer. "The boy's nearly
thirteen. He might as well get up and help us pack. Before you know it, this
child of yours will be using a razor."
How could he have forgotten about the packing!
Volka threw off the blankets and dressed hurriedly. How could he ever
have forgotten such a day!
This was the day the Kostylkov family was moving to a different
apartment in a new six-storey house. Most of their belongings had been
packed the night before. Mother and Grandma had packed the dishes in a
little tin tub that once, very long ago, they had bathed Volka in. His
father had rolled up his sleeves and, with a mouthful of nails, just like a
shoemaker, had spent the evening hammering down the lids on crates of books.
Then they had all argued as to the best place to put the things so as
to have them handy when the truck arrived in the morning. Then they had
their tea on an uncovered table-as on a march. Then they decided their heads
would be clearer after a good night's sleep and they all went to bed.
In a word, there was just no explaining how he could have ever
forgotten that this was the morning they, were moving to a new apartment.
The movers barged in before breakfast was quite over. The first thing
they did was to open wide both halves of the door and ask in loud voices,
"Well, can we begin?"
"Yes, please do," both Mother and Grandma answered and began to bustle
about.
Volka marched downstairs, solemnly carrying the sofa pillows to the
waiting truck.
"Are you moving?" a boy from next door asked.
"Yes," Volka answered indifferently, as though he was used to moving
from one apartment to another every week and there was nothing very special
about it.
The janitor, Stepanych, walked over, slowly rolled a cigarette and
began an unhurried conversation as one grown-up talk to another. The boy
felt dizzy with pride and happiness. He gathered his courage and invited
Stepanych to visit them at their new home. The janitor said, "With
pleasure." A serious, important, man-to-man conversation was beginning, when
all at once Volka's mother's voice came through the open window:
"Volka! Volka! Where can that awful child be?" Volka raced up to the
strangely large and empty apartment in which shreds of old newspapers and
old medicine bottles were lying forlornly about the floor.
"At last!" his mother said. "Take your precious aquarium and get right
into the truck. I want you to sit on the sofa and hold the aquarium on your
lap. There's no other place for it. But be sure the water doesn't splash on
the sofa."
It's really strange, the way parents worry when they're moving to a new
apartment.
THE STRANGE VESSEL
Well, the truck finally choked exhaustedly and stopped at the
attractive entrance of Volka's new house. The movers quickly carried
everything upstairs and soon were gone.
Volka's father opened a few crates and said, "We'll do the rest in the
evening." Then he left for the factory.
Mother and Grandma began unpacking the pots and pans, while Volka
decided to run down to the river nearby. His father had warned him not to go
swimming without him, because the river was very deep, but Volka soon found
an excuse: "I have to go in for a dip to clear my head. How can I take an
exam with a fuzzy brain!"
It's wonderful, the way Volka was always able to think of an excuse
when he was about to do something he was not allowed to do.
How convenient it is to have a river near your house! Volka told his
mother he'd go sit on the bank and study his geography.
And he really and truly intended to spend about ten minutes leafing
through the text-book. However, he got undressed and jumped into the water
the minute he reached the river. It was still early, and there was not a
soul on the bank. This had its good and bad points. It was nice, because no
one could stop him from swimming as much as he liked. It was bad, because
there was no one to admire what a good swimmer and especially what an
extraordinary diver he was.
Volka swam and dived until he became blue. Finally, he realized he had
had enough. He was ready to climb out when he suddenly changed his mind and
decided to dive into the clear water one last time.
As he was about to come up for air, his hand hit a long hard object on
the bottom. He grabbed it and surfaced near the shore, holding a
strange-looking slippery, moss-covered clay vessel. It resembled an ancient
type of Greek vase called an amphora. The neck was sealed tightly with a
green substance and what looked like a seal was imprinted on top.
Volka weighed the vessel in his hand. It was very heavy. He caught his
breath.
A treasure! An ancient treasure of great scientific value! How
wonderful!
He dressed quickly and dashed home to open it in the privacy of his
room.
As he ran along, he could visualize the notice which would certainly
appear in all the papers the next morning. He even thought of a heading: "A
Pioneer Aids Science."
"Yesterday, a pioneer named Vladimir Kostylkov came to his district
militia station and handed the officer on duty a treasure consisting of
antique gold objects which he found on the bottom of the river, in a very
deep place. The treasure has been handed over to the Historical Museum.
According to reliable sources, Vladimir Kostylkov is an excellent diver."
Volka slipped by the kitchen, where his mother was cooking dinner. He
dashed into his room, nearly breaking his leg as he stumbled on a chandelier
lying on the floor. It was Grandma's famous chandelier. Very long ago,
before the Revolution, his deceased grandfather had converted it from a
hanging oil lamp. Grandma would not part with it for anything in the world,
because it was a treasured memory of Grandfather. Since it was not elegant
enough to be hung in the dining room, they decided to hang it in Volka's
room. That is why a huge iron hook had been screwed into the ceiling.
Volka rubbed his sore knee, locked the door, took his penknife from his
pocket and, trembling from excitement, scraped the seal off the bottle.
The room immediately filled with choking black smoke, while a noiseless
explosion of great force threw him up to the ceiling, where he remained
suspended from the hook by the seat of his pants.
THE OLD GENIE
While Volka was swaying back and forth on the hook, trying to
understand what had happened, the smoke began to clear. Suddenly, he
realized there was someone else in the room besides himself. It was a
skinny, sunburnt old man with a beard down to his waist and dressed in an
elegant turban, a white coat of fine wool richly embroidered in silver and
gold, gleaming white silk puffed trousers and petal pink morocco slippers
with upturned toes.
"Hachoo!" the old man sneezed loudly and prostrated himself. "I greet
you, 0 Wonderful and Wise Youth!"
Volka shut his eyes tight and then opened them again. No, he was not
seeing things. The amazing old man was still there. Kneeling and rubbing his
hands, he stared at the furnishings of Volka's room with lively, shrewd
eyes, as if it were all goodness-knows what sort of a miracle.
"Where did you come from?" Volka inquired cautiously, swaying back and
forth under the ceiling like a pendulum. "Are you... from an amateur
troupe?"
"Oh, no, my young lord," the old man replied grandly, though he
remained in the same uncomfortable pose and continued to sneeze. "I am not
from the strange country of Anamateur Troupe you mentioned. I come from this
most horrible vessel."
With these words he scrambled to his feet and began jumping on the
vessel, from which a wisp of smoke was still curling upward, until there was
nothing left but a small pile of clay chips. Then, with a sound like
tinkling crystalware, he yanked a hair from his beard and tore it in two.
The bits of clay flared up with a weird green flame until soon there was not
a trace of them left on the floor.
Still, Volka was dubious. You must agree, it's not easy to accept the
fact that a live person can crawl out of a vessel no bigger than a decanter.
"Well, I don't know..." Volka stammered. "The vessel was so small, and
you're so big compared to it."
"You don't believe me, 0 despicable one?!" the old man shouted angrily,
but immediately calmed down; once again he fell to his knees, hitting the
floor with his forehead so strongly that the water shook in the aquarium and
the sleepy fish began to dart back and forth anxiously. "Forgive me, my
young saviour, but I am not used to having my words doubted. Know ye, most
blessed of all young men, that I am none other than the mighty Genie Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab-that is, the son of Hottab, famed in all four
corners of the world."
All this was so interesting it made Volka forget he was hanging under
the ceiling on a chandelier hook.
"A 'gin-e'? Isn't that some kind of a drink?"
"I am not a drink, 0 inquisitive youth!" the old man flared up again,
then took himself in hand once more and calmed down. "I am not a beverage,
but a mighty, unconquerable spirit. There is no magic in the world which I
cannot do, and my name, as I have already had the pleasure of conveying to
your great and extremely respected attention, is Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn
Hottab, or, as you would say in Russian, Hassan Abdurrakhman Hottabych. If
you mention it to the first Ifrit or Genie you meet, you'll see him tremble,
and his mouth will go dry from fear," the old man continued boastfully.
"My story- hachoo!- is strange, indeed. And if it were written with
needles in the corners of the eyes, it would be a good lesson for all those
who seek learning. I, most unfortunate Genie that I am, disobeyed Sulayman,
son of David (on the twain be peace!)-I, and my brother, Omar Asaf
Hottabych. Then Sulayman sent his Vizier Asaf, son of Barakhiya, to seize
us, and he brought us back against our will. Sulayman, David's son (on the
twain be peace!), ordered two bottles brought to him: a copper one and a
clay one. He put me in the clay vessel and my brother Omar Hottabych in the
copper one. He sealed both vessels and imprinted the greatest of all names
of Allah on them and then ordered his Genies to carry us off and throw my
brother into the sea and me into the river, from which you, 0 my blessed
saviour- hachoo, hachoo!-have fished me. May your days be prolonged. 0....
Begging your pardon, I would be indescribably happy to know your name, most
beautiful of all youths."
"My name's Volka," our hero replied as he swayed softly to and fro
under the ceiling.
"And what is your fortunate father's name, may he be blessed for
eternity? Tell me the most gentle of all his names, as he is certainly
deserving of great love and gratitude for presenting the world with such an
outstanding offspring."
"His name's Alexei. And his most gentle ... most gentle name is
Alyosha."
"Then know ye, most deserving of all youths, the star of my heart,
Volka ibn Alyosha, that I will henceforth fulfil all your wishes, since you
have saved me from the most horrible imprisonment. Hachoo!"
"Why do you keep on sneezing so?" Volka asked, as though everything
else was quite clear.
"The many thousand years I spent in dampness, deprived of the
beneficial rays of the sun, in a cold vessel lying on the bottom of a river,
have given me, your undeserving servant, a most tiresome running nose.
Hachoo! Hachoo! But all this is of no importance at all and unworthy of your
most treasured attention. Order me as you wish, 0 young master!" Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab concluded heatedly with his head raised, but still
kneeling.
"First of all, won't you please rise," Volka said.
"Your every word is my command," the old man replied obediently and
rose. "I await your further orders."
"And now," Volka mumbled uncertainly, "if it's not too much trouble ..
. would you be kind enough ... of course, if it's not too much trouble....
What I mean is, I'd really like to be back on the floor again."
That very moment he found himself standing beside old man Hottabych, as
we shall call our new acquaintance for short. The first thing Volka did was
to grab the seat of his pants. There was no hole at all.
Miracles were beginning to happen.
THE GEOGRAPHY EXAMINATION
"Order me as you wish!" Hottabych continued, gazing at Volka devotedly.
"Is there anything that grieves you, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha? Tell me, and I
will help you."
"My goodness!" Volka cried, glancing at the clock ticking away loudly
on the table. "I'm late! I'm late for my exam!"
"What are you late for, 0 most treasured Volka ibn Alyosha?" Hottabych
asked in a business-like way. "What does that strange word 'ex-am' mean?"
"It's the same as a test. I'm late for my test at school."
"Then know ye, 0 Volka, that you do not value my powers at all," the
old man said in a hurt voice. "No, no, and no again! You will not be late
for your exam. Just tell me what your choice is:
to hold up the exam, or to find yourself immediately at your school
gates?"
"To find myself at the gates," Volka replied.
"Nothing could be simpler! You will now find yourself where your young
and honourable spirit draws you so impatiently. You will stun your teachers
and your comrades with your great knowledge."
With the same pleasant tinkling sound the old man once again pulled a
hair from his beard; then a second one.
"I'm afraid I won't stun them," Volka sighed, quickly changing into his
school uniform. "To tell you the truth, I have little chance of getting an
'A' in geography."
"In geography?" the old man cried and raised his thin hairy arms
triumphantly. "So you're to take an exam in geography?! Then know ye, 0 most
wonderful of all wonderful ones, that you are exceptionally lucky, for I
know more about geography than any other Genie-I, your devoted Hassan
Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab. We shall go to school together, may its foundation
and roof be blessed! I'll prompt you invisibly and tell you all the answers.
You will become the most famous pupil of your school and of all the schools
of your most beautiful city. And if anyone of your teachers does not accord
you the greatest praise, he will have to deal with me! Oh, they will be
very, very sorry!" Hottabych raged. "I'll turn them into mules that carry
water, into homeless curs covered with scabs, into the most horrible and
obnoxious toads-that's what I'll do to them! However," he said, calming down
as quickly as he had become enraged, "things will not go that far, for
everyone, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha, will be astounded by your answers."
' "Thank you, Hassan Hottabych," Volka sighed miserably. "Thank you,
but I don't want you to prompt me. We pioneers are against prompting as a
matter of principle. We're conducting an organized fight against prompting."
Now, how could an old Genie who had spent so many years in prison know
such a scholarly term as "a matter of principle"? However, the sigh his
young saviour heaved to accompany his sad and honourable words convinced
Hottabych that Volka ibn Alyosha needed his help more than ever before.
"Your refusal grieves me," Hottabych said. "After all, no one will
notice me prompting you."
"Ha!" Volka said bitterly. "You don't know what keen ears our teacher
Varvara Stepanovna has."
"You not only upset me, you now offend me, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha! If
Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab says that no one will notice, it means no one
will notice!"
"Not a single soul?" Volka asked again, just to make sure.
"Not a single soul. The words which I will have the pleasure of telling
you will go straight from my deferential lips to your greatly respected
ears."
"I really don't know what to do, Hassan Hottabych," Volka said sighing,
as though with reluctance. "I really hate to upset you by refusing. All
right, have your own way! Geography isn't Math or Grammar. I'd never agree
to even the tiniest prompt in those subjects, but since geography isn't
really the most important subject.... Come on, let's hurry!" He looked at
the old man's unusual clothing with a critical eye. "Hm-m-m.... D'you think
you could change into something else, Hassan Hottabych?"
"Don't my garments please your gaze, 0 most noble of Volkas?" Hottabych
asked unhappily.
"Sure they do, they certainly do," Volka answered diplomatically. "But
you're dressed ... if you know what I mean.... Our styles are a little bit
different.... Your clothes will attract too much attention."
"But how do respectable, honourable gentlemen of advanced age dress
nowadays?"
Volka tried to explain what a jacket, trousers and a hat were, but
though he tried very hard, he wasn't very successful. He was about to
despair, when he suddenly glanced at his grandfather's portrait on the wall.
He led Hottabych over to the time-darkened photograph and the old man gazed
long at it with curiosity, surprised to see clothing so unlike his own.
A moment later, Volka, holding Hottabych's arm, emerged from the house.
The old man was magnificent in a new linen suit, an embroidered Ukrainian
shirt, and a straw boater. The only things he had refused to change,
complaining of three thousand-year-old corns, were his slippers. He remained
in his pink slippers with the upturned toes, which, in times gone by, would
have probably driven the most stylish young man at the Court of Caliph Harun
al Rashid out of his mind with envy.
When Volka and a transformed Hottabych approached the entrance of
Moscow Secondary School No. 245 the old man looked at himself coyly in the
glass door and remained quite pleased with what he saw.
The elderly doorman, who was sedately reading his paper, put it aside
with pleasure at the sight of Volka and his companion. It was hot and the
doorman felt like talking to someone.
Skipping several steps at a time, Volka dashed upstairs. The corridors
were quiet and empty, a true and sad sign that the examination had begun and
that he was late.
"And where are you going?" the doorman asked Hottabych good-naturedly
as he was about to follow his young friend in.
"He's come to see the principal," Volka shouted from the top 'of the
stairs.
"You won't be able to see him now. He's at an examination. Won't you
please come by again later on in the day?"
Hottabych frowned angrily.
"If I be permitted to, 0 respected old man, I would prefer to wait for
him here." Then he shouted to Volka, "Hurry to your classroom, 0 Volka ibn
Alyosha! I'm certain that you'll astound your teachers and your comrades
with your great knowledge!"
"Are you his grandfather or something?" the doorman inquired, trying to
start up a conversation. Hottabych said nothing. He felt it beneath his
dignity to converse with a doorkeeper.
"Would you care for a cup of tea?" the doorman continued. "The heat's
something terrible today."
He poured a full cup of tea and, turning to hand it to the untalkative
stranger, he saw to his horror that the old man had disappeared into thin
air. Shaken by this impossible occurrence, the doorman gulped down the tea
intended for Hottabych, poured himself a second cup, and then a third, and
did not stop until there wasn't a drop left. Then he sank into his chair and
began to fan himself exhaustedly with his newspaper.
All the while, a no less unusual scene was taking place on the second
floor, right above the doorman, in the classroom of 6B. The teachers, headed
by the principal, Pavel Vasilyevich, sat at a table covered with a heavy
cloth used for special occasions. Behind them was the blackboard, hung with
various maps. Facing them were rows of solemn pupils. It was so quiet in the
room that one could hear a lonely fly buzzing monotonously near the ceiling.
If the pupils of 6B were always this quiet, theirs would undoubtedly be the
most disciplined class in all of Moscow.
It must be noted, however, that the quiet in the classroom was not only
due to the hush accompanying any examination, but also to the fact that
Volka Kostylkov had been called to the board-and he was not in the room.
"Vladimir Kostylkov!" the principal repeated and looked at the quiet
children in surprise.
It became still more quiet.
Then, suddenly, they heard the loud clatter of running feet in the hall
outside, and at the very moment the principal called "Vladimir Kostylkov"
for the third and last time, the door burst open and Volka, very much out of
breath, gasped:
"Here!"
"Please come up to the board," the principal said dryly. "We'll speak
about your being late afterwards."
"I ... I feel ill," Volka mumbled, saying the first thing that came to
his head, as he walked uncertainly towards his examiners.
While he was wondering which of the slips of paper laid out on the
table he should choose, old man Hottabych slipped through the wall in the
corridor and disappeared through the opposite one into an adjoining
classroom. He had an absorbed look on his face.
Volka finally took the first slip his hand touched. Tempting his fate,
he turned it over very slowly, but was pleasantly surprised to see that he
was to speak on India. He knew quite a lot about India, since he had always
been interested in that country.
"Well, let's hear what you have to say," the principal said.
Volka even remembered the beginning of the chapter on India word for
word as it was in his book. He opened his mouth to say that the Hindustan
Peninsula resembled a triangle and that this triangle bordered on the Indian
Ocean and its various parts: the Arabian Sea in the West and the Bay of
Bengal in the East, that two large countries-India and Pakistan-were located
on the peninsula, that both were inhabited by kindly and peace-loving
peoples with rich and ancient cultures, etc., etc., etc., but just then
Hottabych, standing in the adjoining classroom, leaned against the wall and
began mumbling diligently, cupping his hand to his mouth like a horn:
"India, 0 my most respected teacher...!"
And suddenly Volka, contrary to his own desires, began to pour forth
the most atrocious nonsense:
"India, 0 my most respected teacher, is located close to the edge of
the Earth's disc and is separated from this edge by desolate and unexplored
deserts, as neither animals nor birds live to the east of it. India is a
very wealthy country, and its wealth lies in its gold. This is not dug from
the ground as in other countries, but is produced, day and night, by a
tireless species of gold-bearing ants, which are nearly the size of a dog.
They dig their tunnels in the ground and three times a day they bring up
gold sand and nuggets and pile them in huge heaps. But woe be to those
Indians who try to steal this gold without due skill! The ants pursue them
and, overtaking them, kill them on the spot. From the north and west, India
borders on a country of bald people. The men and women and even the children
are all bald in this country. And these strange people live on raw fish and
pine cones. Still closer to them is a country where you can neither see
anything nor pass, as it is filled to the top with feathers. The earth and
the air are filled with feathers, and that is why you can't see anything
there."
"Wait a minute, Kostylkov," the geography teacher said with a smile.
"No one has asked you to tell us of the ancients' views on Asia's geography.
We'd like you to tell us the modern, scientific facts about India."
Oh, how happy Volka would have been to display his knowledge of the
subject! But what could he do if he was no longer the master of his speech
and actions! In agreeing to have Hottabych prompt him, he became a toy in
the old man's well-meaning but ignorant hands. He wanted to tell his
teachers that what he had told them obviously had nothing to do with modern
science. But Hottabych on the other side of the wall shrugged in dismay and
shook his head, and Volka, standing in front of the class, was compelled to
do the same.
"That which I have had the honour of telling you, 0 greatly respected
Varvara Stepanovna, is based on the most reliable sources, and there exist
no other, more scientific facts on India than those I have just, with your
permission, revealed to you."
"Please keep to the subject. This is an examination, not a masquerade.
If you don't know the answers, it would be much more honourable to admit it
right away. What was it you said about the Earth's disc by the way? Don't
you know that the Earth is round?"
Did Volka Kostylkov, an active member of the Moscow Planetarium's
Astronomy Club, know that the Earth was round? Why, any first-grader knew
that. But Hottabych, standing behind the wall, burst out laughing, and no
matter how our poor boy tried to press his lips together, a haughty smirk
escaped him:
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