Methodius Buslaev. Ticket to Bald Mountain

“Of course it’s possible. Even very simple,” Indexelina assured glumly. “The whole problem is that you intend to turn the diamonds into money, and this I know… Even on condition that they on Bald Mountain don’t find out anything, this will become known to the Book of Prohibitions, and then I’ll be deprived of my magic. Every drop. The Book of Prohibitions, you see, isn’t simply a book. It’s a law that fulfills itself without knowing leniency.”

Convinced that he could not count on voluntary enthusiasm, Eddy decided to induce forced enthusiasm. After jumping onto a chair, he launched into a heartfelt tirade. In his speech he especially emphasized that fairies always helped people, and at the end, in an oratorical fit, he stated his readiness to turn to Middlelina for help and become her page for eternity. In spite of the want of rhetorical figures, the speech, especially its final part, had a sobering effect on Indexelina.

The fairy moved uneasily and expressed her readiness to help. “Only without money! Think of something else!” she stated.

Eddy jumped from the chair. He decided not to nickel and dime but to promptly ask a lot. “No money, no need! Then something else. Anything that will help me to get rich quick. Some brilliant find from the future. For example, a perpetual motion machine? No? Then the secret of transforming pencil lead to diamonds or tap water to gasoline? Huh?”

“Jumbo, you’re quite silly!” the fairy said softly. “You overestimate me. I’m a sorceress, not a techie. If necessary, I can make a horse appear right here and now, but ask me for the blueprint of a machine to make live horses, and I’ll twirl a finger at my temple…”

Eddy grabbed his head. He wanted to get on all fours and howl at the moon. Jumping up, he ran around the kitchen. Suddenly, an old newspaper tenderly encircled his foot. Khavron kicked it, but meanwhile, his gaze involuntarily caught a headline.

“Prophet! Here it is! Prophet! Here’s what will help me!” he shouted, kissing the newspaper.

“Oh, wild insanity! This is what happens when the proportion of one to nine isn’t maintained between the head and the body!” Indexelina said with knowledge of the matter.

Finally, Eddy calmed down and began to express himself more clearly. “Our gold mine is prophecy!” he explained. “Prophet is a popular TV show. The more predictions that come true, the bigger the prize. Of course, much depends on the global character of the predictions. Such trifles as rain in the middle of the evening or an increase in oil price aren’t quoted on Prophet. Striking, unusual, sensational predictions are necessary. You’ll manage! Your sister said that you are excellent at guessing!”

After ascertaining that the giant no longer jumped nor howled, the fairy asked if the prize was large.

“The sum triples each time. I believe three for one correct prediction, nine for two, and twenty-seven thousand for three…” Eddy recalled.

“Twenty-seven thousand what?”

“Dollars.”

“Oh!” Indexelina was surprised. “Are dollars really still worth something? In my opinion, after America abandoned the national currency…”

Eddy leaned forward. “Wait! America gave up the dollar?”

“Didn’t it? I somehow idly foretold this on coffee ground. Dollars and Euros will be no more. The entire world will move onto one common currency. Called homosap, derivative of homo sapiens. I won’t even hint what all sorts of stupid people will immediately nickname it… He-he! You can’t imagine how predictable the first circle of association is, even among seemingly sensible moronoids!”

“Are you sure about the dollar?” Eddy asked seriously.

“What? How dare you, jumbo! Coffee grounds are my favourite,” the fairy stated.

Sensing the sensational, Eddy grabbed a pencil. “What year will these homosaps be adopted?”

The fairy furrowed her brow. “2050, I think. No, I lie, in 2050 Russia will again become a monarchy… That means, sometime in 2045,” she hummed lightly.

After making a note on paper, Eddy twirled the pencil in his fingers. “Too long to wait,” he said dejectedly. “If this were to happen tomorrow, then it’s quite a different matter. Do we have anything else?”

Eddy gripped the pencil tighter and inspiration wandered along his face. About ten minutes later, he thoughtfully contemplated a column of predictions.

“A surge in birthrate – 2012. Three years in a row, everyone will only have twins. The secret of eternal life – 2018…” he muttered. “The timeless novel The Thirty-first Piece of Silver – 2019. Shifting the capital to Saratov – 2040. Moscow becomes a health resort city after the formation of a new shelf sea in Ramenki. Pineapple and banana plantations turn green around Moscow – roughly 2060. The Chukchi migrate south and give humanity seven geniuses one after the other – after 2065 and beyond. In the Urals a new mountain with a height of nine kilometres will appear – 2068. The creation of cerebral prostheses – around 2090… Oh, no! If I announce this, they’ll put me away in the loony bin; moreover, before 2034 all loony bins will be closed for business…”

Eddy again looked skeptically at the paper and crumpled it, though for some reason very carefully. “No good! Prophet won’t take these. Such crazy predictions it has a dime a dozen. To make them believe, we need to add some zing to it! The event that’ll happen in the very near future! Tomorrow! The day after tomorrow!” he stated.

Indexelina sighed. “Well, fine… All right… I’ll try to predict something from the nearest future. Just to annoy my sister. But consider, jumbo, just you dare become her page after this! If I see her mark on you again, the next mark will be on your coffin!” she warned.

The fairy wiped her lips and, standing up, squinted out the window. Eddy heard her mutter, “So, what do we have here? The moon’s on the wane. Venus is no longer visible… North-West wind at nine drafts per second. The third leaf has dried on the violet… First letter in the name of this blockhead’s great-grandfather is ‘V’… Well now, friend, pull out as much of your own hair as you want!” she suddenly demanded, raising her voice.

“What, just like that?” Eddy was alarmed.

“Yes, are you also a coward? Rip! Be brave! Magic needs sacrifice… How many did you pull out? Count! What, nine? Exactly nine? Well, all the worse for you…”

“Why worse? Did it not turn out?” Khavron was uneasy.

“On the contrary, everything turned out just superbly!” Indexelina assured him. “Listen, silly jumbo! Tomorrow, the picture Boy with a Sabre by an unknown artist will be stolen from the restoration workshop at the Pushkin Museum. It’ll vanish in broad daylight from the guarded premises, and nothing will be recorded by the around-the-clock video camera directed at it. Someone will put on it – on the video camera, that is! – a sock with the price tag left on.”

The low-hanging lamp swayed, caught by the back of Eddy’s head flying up. “When will they rob the workshop?” he shouted.

Indexelina raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Well, I believe I said tomorrow! And again I repeat: don’t even think about becoming my sister’s page. Do you understand, jumbo? Just you try to serve her and not me, and I’ll change your ears into those of pigs! Hey, where are you going? Who am I talking to?”

But Eddy was already rushing to the door, as if a swarm of wasps were after him.

“Oh, these jumbos! Ran away and didn’t even kiss my hand! Perhaps I’ll drink cognac? Let my sister’s head crack later!” Indexelina uttered dreamily.

* * *

An hour later, the glass door of the canteen in the main building of Stakankino reflected a rapidly rushing Eddy. By some miracle, he had snuck past the police post in the entrance below, clinging to the group of participants in the sports show Pull-Push. Barely slipping through the squeaking metal detector, which perceived a threatening weapon in the usual keys, he boldly fled from the sports show’s assistant and immediately lost his way in one of the hallways. Here, switching from a cross-country run to a jogging, he caught the elbow of a very young secretary, just finishing a piece of shortbread on the way.

“Where is Prophet?” Eddy shouted into the newcomer’s ear.

“Sixth floor. Third room from the elevator,” the secretary explained, timidly dropping crumbs.

Soon the former waiter pensively contemplated the identical iron doors. On the first was: NOT ACCOUNTING! OUTSIDERS DO NOT ENTER! On the second: ACCOUNTING! DO NOT ENTER! and on the third: RECEIVING PREDICTIONS STRICTLY BY PHONE! Besides the mentioned inscriptions, one of the doors flaunted a soiled shooting schedule, on which someone had added sarcastic question marks with a pencil.

“Let’s consider that I’m not an outsider! I’m the chicken who will create a sensation for them. They’ll accept me with open arms,” Eddy said to himself, with dread opening the first door.

The former waiter naively expected to find himself in a creative hell, where, by trial-and-error, in endless takes and directorial shouts, popular art is forged, but, alas, the room cluttered with tables was almost empty. Only by the window did some semblance of activity take place. At a table, with the back of his head to Eddy, a young man in a light T-shirt sat and, suffering in sweat, pounded the computer keyboard with two fingers.

“Good day! Have you seen Morzhuev? The anchor, in a sense?” Eddy shouted, addressing his question to the lonely back of the head.

The back of the head did not answer. Eddy made out the headphones adorning the man’s head. “All’s clear with this. He’s like the three little monkeys at once – sees nothing, hears nothing, says nothing to anyone,” Eddy commented, pushing the next door open.

But, alas, this room in no way made him happy either. Khavron found in it only a lone electrician, who, standing on a stepladder, was trying not to drop the plastic ceiling light onto his own head. In spite of the warm season, a long red scarf was wound around the electrician’s neck.

“Greetings! Do you know where…” Eddy started, contemplating this picture.

“Close the door! Draft! Didn’t they tell you I have a cold!” the electrician said hoarsely.

He turned to Eddy with such fury that the stepladder swayed dangerously. Florescent tubes scattered from its wooden, paint-splotched platform. Not waiting for the furious howl to overtake him, Eddy retreated and, rather puzzled, poked his head into the third room. A curly young person with very red lips immediately rushed towards him, gesturing threateningly.

“Dearie, don’t you know how to read? This is not accounting!” he groaned in a whining voice, trying to push Khavron out.

Eddy carefully unstuck the young person’s hands and extended them at attention. “Don’t panic! Where’s the fire? There is no fire! Is Morzhuev here?” he said sternly.

The red-lipped young person stared at Eddy apprehensively. “Andrew Richardovich is busy. He has a recording soon. And, actually, who are you to him?” he asked with sudden suspicion, looking askance at Eddy’s strong shoulders.