It was just as he had imagined. It sat on its side in the cave, the tarnished copper unembellished form. Unclipping his carabiner and crawled into the narrow space to fetch it. It had been a difficult climb with ropes. The thought of how anyone could make it up without equipment baffled him. And then the questions arose. Who would leave it here? Why? If he had three wishes what would they be? Riches and power? What would truly make him happy?
With no obvious answers he stretched out and picked up the lamp. It was light and airy. Staring closely, it appeared to be quite old. Using his sleeve, in a clichéd move, he buffed up the side. Sure enough, a smoky trail left the lamp and created a genie, an apparition close to transparency. It had the form of a human, radiating colour and power.
“I am the genie of the lamp, of the smokeless fire, the invisible, the wise. In gratitude for my release, you may be granted three wishes.”
He was not afraid. It was as if he was watching a very bad children’s TV show. He also thought to himself that he expected this genie to arrive, just as the 1-2-3 recipe for genie creation said it should: 1) find lamp in cave, 2) rub lamp, 3) get three wishes.
But what should he do now? The genie was hovering, brooding slightly as it awaited his command. He thought carefully, but only for a moment.
“Wow! My first wish… Money – and lots of it! I want millions – no, wait, billions of dollars in my account.”
In a theatrical gesture he genie clicked his fingers with a deafening, bone-shattering smack. “It is done! Your next wish?”
“That’s great!” He rubbed his hands. “Let me see… How about… perfect health.”
The genie cracked his fingers again; it sounded like a small thunderclap. “It is done! Your last wish?”
He did indeed feel in perfect health. His lungs were not tired, neither were his legs. It was a strange sensation to suddenly not have even the faintest tinge of tiredness about him.
“My third wish?” He instantly came up with a wisecrack: “I want another three wishes!”
The genie’s mood grew dark, like a turbulent cloud of seething mud. It billowed like sparked smoke from a foundry and came within singeing distance of his face. For the first time he began to have some fears.
And then with leopard-like teeth the genie growled, “You can only have three, human. Those are the rules.”
The rules? Even though he was cowering, those words sounded infantile, like kids at play. But the power of this entity was evident. He realised that the safest thing now would be to get his wish said and to get out alive.
“OK, OK!” He blurted, in a pitiful excuse for an apology. “I’ll just make one more.” He thought a little, as the djin slowly settled back into his normal wraith-like form. And then it struck him – of course! “OK, my last wish is… that I can do anything instantly – that I can travel anywhere instantly, complete any task instantly, to say it and have it done with a click of my fingers, just like you.”
The genie scowled. “This thing you ask is hard, but it is asked. So I obey.” He clicked his fingers again, this time with an earthquake resonance. “Now, I am free.” So saying those last words he dissipated into the air and was gone.
He was left holding the lamp. It took on the appearance of a worthless piece of junk of the sort that would be left unsold at a car boot sale. But now was the time to try out his last wish.
“I wish I had a bottle of water.” He clicked his fingers. Instantly beside him was a bottle of cold water. He cracked it open and eagerly drank down the cool contents.
“It works!” He was elated. “I wish I was at the bottom of the mountain.” Again, he clicked his fingers and again the thing was done. He found himself beside the end of the ropes where he had left his rucksack, tent and walking boots.
This is amazing! he loudly declared to himself. “I wish I was… on the Empire State Building.” He clicked his fingers and instantly found himself atop the building, clinging to the radio mast for dear life. Using what rope he had on his belt, he quickly attached himself to the metal structure and tried to remain calm. After a few breaths, it occurred to him to be specific about his destination.
And then it occurred to him that, of course, he could now instantly leave this spot and go anywhere. He untied the rope, held out his hand and saying, “I wish I was in London at the British Museum.” Instantly he was there, before the entranceway colonnade.
And so he continued, dashing from one place to another, as if opening web pages on a browser. He stood and looked for moments, then said the magic words and disappeared.
When he became hungry he commanded the most exquisite food to appear before him. Over the next few weeks, he put the two together, constructing in his mind the best food to eat in the best location. It became so much fun.
His bank account truly was in the billions, his health maintained at peak perfection, he found he could attempt almost anything and achieve it; running, cycling, swimming for hours at a time. Eventually fatigue did come, but it was also the fatigue of perfection. He bought his dream house in Malibu, ordered the best clothes and began collecting art.
And then two months later a peculiar thought occurred to him. He awoke at dawn, ready to begin flitting around the globe again, perhaps to visit locations like Pyongyang that would be potentially dangerous, when he slid back the vast glass door of his bedroom and took a walk into the grounds of his estate. The gardeners were already at work. He could hear the sound of the waterfalls in the fountains, the birds were tweeting and beneath his feet he could feel the dewy grass. He was about to bring into existence his morning cup of rich blue mountain coffee, when he remembered that he actually liked making coffee. He was about to click his fingers to take him to the kitchen when he remembered he also like walking into the kitchen. In fact, he really liked doing it all. He remembered the sensation of climbing, just as on the day he had met the genie he was enjoying the sensations of strain and of tension, of effort and achievement. In the period of a few weeks he had left it all in the pursuit of instant gratification. And it had left him… ungratified!
He walked slowly into the kitchen, savouring each footstep, noticing the way his moist soles gripped the beautiful bamboo block flooring. He slowly filled the kettle, his hands enjoying the increasing weight of the kettle. He watched the kettle boil, luxuriating in the amount of time this banal procedure took. Each moment was now precious to him precisely because he was allowing it to happen without his instant interference. He slowly ground the coffee beans by hand, savouring the aroma with each laboured intake of breath. Both ground beans and boiling water filled the cafetiere and he experienced the luscious moment of waiting – waiting for the water and bean granules to mix. He pushed gently on the plunger and savoured the sight of the swirls in the dark brown liquid. It was such a delight. The taste was even better. He took a full 15 minutes with each cup – four in all. He had never spent one hour in contemplation of coffee before.
Feeling the need for more experiences, he walked into town, taking in the trees, the scrub, the suburbs, the boulevards and people like some amazing trip. Nothing was to be rushed. The knowledge that he could instantly achieve something and go anywhere stayed in the back of his mind, but the longer he drank in the slow pleasures of this new life, the more he wanted it.
He became known as the weird bearded hobo who stared at flowers. He walked everywhere; ate anything he was given, took time to speak to people, laughed heartily at sunrise and made beautiful wooden toys that he gave to children. His wishes were fulfilled, not by the genie, but by himself.
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