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Hottabych exerted all his energy. In great despair he plunged sideways,
forcefully enough to fall completely out of the vessel. Before really waking
up, he slipped off the carpet into the cold black void below.
Fortunately, his shout awakened Volka. The boy was just able to grab
his left arm. Now it was Hottabych's turn to fly in tow behind the carpet.
However, the tow was not very firm: the old man was too heavy for Volka.
They would probably have plunged downwards from this great height to the
unseen Earth below, if Hottabych had not managed to yank a whole batch of
hair from his beard with his free hand and rattle off the necessary magic
words.
Suddenly, Volka found he could pull the old man up quite easily.
Our young fellow's happiness would have been complete, had not
Hottabych been bellowing, "Aha, 0 Volka! Everything's in top shape, 0 my
precious one!" and trying to sing something and laughing with such wild glee
all the while Volka was pulling him up that he really became worried: what
if the old man had lost his mind from fright? True, once Hottabych found
himself on the carpet, he stopped singing. Yet, he could think of nothing
better to do than begin a jig. And this in the middle of the night! On a
shabby, threadbare old magic carpet!
"Tra-la-la, 0 Volka! Tra-la-la, 0 ibn Alyosha!" Hottabych yelled in the
darkness, raising his long skinny legs high and constantly running the
danger of falling off the carpet again.
Finally, he gave in to Volka's pleas and stopped dancing. Instead, he
began to sing again. At first he sang "When Your Far-off Friend is Singing,"
terribly off-key and then went on to mutilate an old Gypsy love song called
"Open the Garden Gate," which he had heard goodness knows where. All at
once, he stopped singing, crouched, and yanked several hairs from his beard.
Volka guessed what he was doing by the slight crystal tinkling.
In a word, if you ever forget something very important and just can't
recall it, there's no better remedy than to fall off a magic carpet, if even
for a second. Such a fall really clears one's memory. At least it helped
Hottabych recall how to break spells he himself had cast.
Now there was no need to continue the difficult and dangerous flight to
rescue the unfortunate Zhenya Bogorad from slavery. Indeed, the sound of
crystal tinkling was still in the air when Zhenya fell out of the darkness
and onto the magic carpet, clutching a twenty-pound bunch of bananas.
"Zhenya!" Volka shouted happily.
The magic carpet could not withstand the extra weight and plunged
downward with a whistling sound. Suddenly, it became damp and chilly. The
stars shining overhead disappeared. They had entered a cloud bank.
"Hottabych!" Volka shouted. "We have to get out of here, up over the
clouds!"
But Hottabych did not answer. Through the heavy fog they could barely
make out the shrivelled figure with his collar turned up. The old man was
hurriedly yanking one hair after another from his beard. There was a sound
like plink, like a tightly stretched string on a home-made children's
balalaika. With a moan of despair, Hottabych would throw out the hair and
yank out another. Once again they'd hear the plink, once again the moan of
despair, and the despondent mumbling of the old Genie.
"Hey, Volka," Zhenya said, "What's this we're flying on? It looks like
a magic carpet."
"That's exactly what it is. Hottabych, what's taking you so long?"
"There's no such thing as a magic carpet," Zhenya said. "Help!"
The carpet had dipped sharply.
Volka had no time to argue with Zhenya.
"Hottabych, what's the matter?" he said, tugging at the old man's damp
coat sleeve.
"0 woe is me!" came the hollow, sobbing voice of a faintly visible
Hottabych through the whistling of the falling carpet. "0 woe is all of us!
I'm soaked from head to toe!"
"We're all drenched!" Volka shouted back angrily. "What selfishness!"
"My beard! Alas, my beard is wet!"
"Ha, what a thing to worry about!" Zhenya smirked.
"My beard is wet!" Hottabych repeated in terrible grief. "I'm as
helpless as a babe. You need dry hair for magic, the very driest kind of
hair!"
"We'll go smack against the ground!" Volka said in a wooden voice.
"There'll just be a little wet spot left from all of us."
"Wait! Wait a minute!" Zhenya panted. "The main thing is not to get
panicky! What do people in balloons do in such a case?
In such a case, people flying in balloons throw their extra ballast
overboard. Farewell, my dear Indian bananas!"
With these words he tossed the heavy bunch of bananas into the
darkness. They began to fall more slowly. Then they stopped falling
altogether. The carpet swerved upwards and was caught in an air current
which carried them to the right of their previous course.
Zhenya was dying to know what this was all about, and so he asked Volka
in a whisper:
"Volka, Volka! Who's the old man?"
"Later," Volka whispered back. "I'll tell you later, when we get back
on the ground. Understand?"
All Zhenya understood was that for some very important reason or other
all his questions would have to wait till later.
Volka shared his robe with Zhenya and gradually all three dozed off.
Volka awoke from a pleasant ringing sound, like the tinkling of crystal
chandelier pendants. Still half asleep, he thought it was Hottabych yanking
magic hairs. But no, the old man was snoring softly, sleeping like a babe.
The tinkling sound was coming from the icicles on his beard and the frozen
carpet fringes flying in the fresh morning wind.
In the East, the blinding sun was rising. It kept getting warmer and
warmer. The icicles on Hottabych's beard and on the fringes melted; the icy
crust that had covered the rest of the carpet also melted. Hottabych turned
over on his side, yawned and began to snore with a whistle, as if there
really was a pipe in his nose.
Zhenya woke up from the dampness and the warmth. Leaning towards
Volka's chilled ear he whispered:
"Do tell me who the old man is?"
"Come clean," Volka whispered back, keeping a wary eye on Hottabych.
"Did you want to talk to the fellows about me behind my back?"
"What of it?"
"Just that he doesn't like it."
"What doesn't he like?"
"He doesn't like people to go blabbering about me!"
"Humph!"
"Humph yourself! Presto! And you're in a desert. It's all very-simple."
Zhenya wasn't convinced.
Volka cast another wary glance at Hottabych and moved closer to his
friend's ear.
"Do you think I'm crazy?"
"What a silly question!"
"Not even a bit?"
"Of course not."
"Well, believe it or not, but this old man is a Genie, a real live
Genie from the Arabian Nights!"
"Boloney!"
"And he was the one who got everything messed up during the exam. He
prompted me and I had to repeat everything like a parrot."
"Him?!"
"But don't say a word about my having failed. He swore to kill all the
teachers if they failed me. And now I'm knocking myself out to save Varvara
Stepanovna from his magic. I have to keep distracting him all the time.
Understand?"
"Not really."
"Well, be quiet anyway!"
"Don't worry, I will," Zhenya whispered thoughtfully. "Then he was the
one who tossed me into India?"
"Sure he was. And he got you back from India, too. If you want to know,
he sent you there so they could sell you into slavery."
Zhenya giggled.
"Me, a slave? Ha-ha-ha!"
"Ssh! You'll wake him up."
But Volka's warning came too late. Hottabych opened his eyes and
yawned.
"Good morning, 0 Volka. Am I correct in assuming that this young man is
none other than your friend Zhenya?"
"Yes, I'd like you to meet him," Volka said, introducing his recovered
friend to Hottabych as if all this was taking place in the most ordinary of
circumstances and not on a magic carpet high above the Earth.
"Pleased to meet you," Zhenya said solemnly.
Hottabych was silent for a moment, looking at the boy closely to decide
whether or not he was worth a kind word. He apparently became convinced that
Volka had not made a mistake in choosing his friend and so smiled his most
amiable smile.
"There is no end to my happiness at meeting you. Any friend of my young
master is my best friend."
"Master?" Zhenya asked.
"Master and saviour."
"Saviour?!" Zhenya repeated and giggled.
"There's no need to laugh," Volka stopped him sternly. "There's nothing
to laugh about."
In as few words as possible, he told Zhenya everything our attentive
readers already know.
Twice that day the magic carpet passed through heavy cloud banks, and
each time Hottabych's nearly dry beard would again become so damp it was no
use thinking about even the simplest kind of magic-something that would get
them some food, for instance. They were beginning to feel hungry. Even
Zhenya's description of his adventures of the previous day could not take
their minds away from food. But, most important, there was no end to their
flight in sight.
They were hungry, bored, and extremely uncomfortable. The carpet seemed
to be stuck in mid-air, so slowly did it fly and so monotonous was the
steppe stretching far below them. At times, cities or little blue ribbons of
rivers would drift by slowly, and then once again they saw nothing but
steppe and endless fields of ripening wheat. Zhenya was right in saying they
were flying over the southern part of the country. Then, suddenly, ahead and
to the right of them, as far as the eye could see, there was blue water
below. To the left was the ragged line of distant mountains.
"It's the Black Sea!" the boys shouted in unison.
"0 woe is us," Hottabych cried. "We're going straight out to sea!"
Fortunately, a capricious air current turned the carpet a bit to the
left and tossed it into another cloud bank at top speed. Thus, it was
carried along the Caucasian coastline.
Through an opening in the clouds, Zhenya noticed the city of Tuapse far
below, its boats on anchor at the long, jutting pier.
Then everything was lost in a thick fog again. Our travellers' clothing
once again-for the hundredth time!-became wet. The carpet was so
water-logged and heavy that it began to fall sharply with a whistling sound.
In a few short seconds the clouds were left far above. Soon, the famous
resort city of Sochi flashed by below in the blinding rays of the setting
sun.
As it descended lower and lower, the carpet passed over the broad white
band of the Sochi-Matsesta Highway. The three passengers, horror-stricken in
expectation of their near and terrible end, thought that the highway,
studded on both sides by former palaces which were now rest homes, was
dashing towards them at a mad speed.
They had a momentary glimpse of a beautiful bridge thrown over a deep,
narrow valley.
Then they were grazing the tree-tops. It seemed as if they could touch
them if they leaned over.
Then they flew over a sanatorium with a high escalator which took the
bathers up from the beach in a pretty little car.
Several minutes later, amidst a shower of spray, the carpet plunged
into the swimming pool of another sanatorium. The place was quiet and
deserted, as it was supper time and all the vacationers were in the dining
room. Shedding water and puffing, our ill-fated travellers climbed out of
the pool.
"It could have been worse," Volka said, looking around curiously.
"Sure," Zhenya agreed. "We could have crashed into a building just as
easy as pie. Or into a mountain."
It was a good thing there was no one close by. The travellers sat down
on beach chairs placed near the pool. They undressed, wrung out their wet
clothes, pulled them on again, shivering and groaning with cold, and then
left the swimming enclosure.
"If only I could dry my beard, everything would be just lovely,"
Hottabych said with concern and touched it, just to make sure. "Ah, me! It's
quite damp!"
"Let's look for the kitchen," Zhenya suggested. "Maybe they'll let you
dry it near the stove. Boy, what wouldn't I give for a big chunk of bread
and some sausage!"
"Or some fried potatoes," Volka added.
"You're breaking my heart, 0 my young friends," Hottabych cried
woefully. "It's all my fault that you...." .
"No, it's not your fault at all," Volka consoled him. "Let's go look
for the kitchen."
They passed the deserted tennis court, went down a paved path under a
high arch and found themselves before the majestic, snow-white columns of a
miners' sanatorium. A circular fountain with a pool as big as a dance floor
shot up foaming sprays of water, right to the third-storey windows. All the
windows of the main building were brightly lit.
"Our end has come!" Hottabych gasped. "We're in the palace of a most
wealthy and mighty potentate. His guards will be on us any minute and chop
off our heads, and I'm the only one to blame! 0 woe! Oh, such terrible shame
on my old grey head!"
Zhenya giggled. Volka nudged him, to make him still and not tease the
old man.
"What guards? Which heads?" Volka asked with annoyance. "It's a very
ordinary sanatorium. What I mean is, not very ordinary, but very nice.
Though I think they're all the same here in Sochi."
"I was an expert on palaces, 0 Volka, when your
great-great-great-grandfather wasn't even born, and I, for one, certainly
know that guards will come running any minute and.... 0 woe is us! Here they
come!"
The boys also heard the sounds of running feet on the staircase of the
main building.
"Jafar!" someone hanging over the banister shouted from above. "We'll
look for them together after supper! They can't disappear this late at
night! Jafar!"
"Did you hear him?" Hottabych cried, grabbing the boys' hands. He
dragged them off to a side path as fast as he could and from there into the
nearest bushes.
"Did you hear him? That was the Sergeant of the Guard shouting. They'll
go looking for us after supper, and they'll certainly find us. But my beard
has soaked up as much water as a sponge, and I'm as helpless as a babe!"
Just then he happened to glance at two towels hanging over the back of
a park bench.
"Allah be praised!" he cried excitedly, running towards the towels.
"These will help me dry my beard! Then we won't have to fear any guards in
the world."
He picked up first one and then the other towel and groaned:
"0 Allah! They are quite damp! And the guards are so close!"
Nevertheless, he hurriedly began to dry his beard.
It was while he was drying it that an Azerbaijanian of tremendous
height, dressed in a dark red robe, came upon them. He appeared from behind
the pink bushes as unexpectedly as a Jack-in-the-box.
"Aha!" he said rather calmly. "Here they are. Tell me, my dear man, is
this your towel?"
"Spare us, 0 mighty ruler!" Hottabych cried, falling to his knees. "You
can chop off my head, but these youths are in no way guilty. Let them go
free! They have lived but such a short while!"
"Hottabych, get up and don't make a fool of yourself!" Volka said in
great embarrassment. "What kind of a ruler are you talking about? He's just
a very ordinary man here on a holiday."
"I won't get up until this wonderful and merciful sultan promises to
spare your lives, 0 my young friends!"
The Azerbaijanian shrugged his mighty shoulders and said, "My dear
citizen, why are you insulting me? What kind of a sultan am I? I'm an
ordinary Soviet citizen." He puffed out his chest and added, "I'm Jafar Alt
Muhammedov, a drilling foreman. Do you know where Baku is?"
Hottabych shook his head.
"Do you know where Bibi-Aibat is?"
Hottabych shook his head again.
"Don't you read the papers? Now, what are you kneeling for? That's
shameful. Oh, how very shameful and embarrassing, my dear man!" Muhammedov
pulled the old man to his feet.
"Wait a minute!" Volka whispered like a conspirator, taking Muhammedov
off to a side. "Don't pay any attention to the old man. He's off his rocker.
And the worst part of it is, we're so wet."
"Ah! Did you get caught in the rain in the mountains too? I came back
as wet as a mouse. Vai, vai! The old man may catch cold. Dear man," he said,
catching Hottabych under the arms as he was about to fall to his knees
again. "You look very familiar. Are you from Gandji? You look like my
father, except that he's older. My father's going on eighty-three."
"Then know ye, 0 mighty ruler, that I am going on three thousand seven
hundred and thirty-three!" Hottabych replied hotly.
It was only to Muhammedov's credit that he didn't bat an eyelid upon
hearing these words. He merely nodded understandingly to Volka, who was
winking hard from behind Hottabych's back.
Pressing his right hand to his heart, the drilling foreman answered
Hottabych politely, "Of course, my good man, of course. But you're so well
preserved. Let's go and warm up. We'll have something to eat and rest or
else you might catch cold. Va, how you remind me of my father!" -
"I don't dare disobey, 0 mighty ruler," Hottabych answered fawningly,
touching his beard ever so often. Alas! It was still very, very damp.
Oh, how restless his soul was! All his many years' experience rose up
against the fact that the owner of the palace should invite a strange old
man and two young boys-all dressed in a far from elaborate fashion-to share
his meal. That meant there was some mischief to be expected. Perhaps this
Jafar Alt ibn Mohammed was trying to coax them into his palace in order to
play a joke on them and then, having had his fill of torturing them, would
order his servants to chop off their heads, or throw them into cages with
wild beasts. Oh, how cautious he had to be!
So thought Hottabych as he and his young friends ascended the broad
stairway to the first block of dormitories.
They encountered no one, either on the stairs or in the hall, and this
but served to confirm Hottabych's suspicions. Muhammedov took them to his
room, induced the old man to change into a pair of pyjamas, and left,
telling them to make themselves at home. "I'll be back soon, after I give a
few orders. I'll be right back."
"Aha! We know to whom you'll give those orders and what they'll be
about, you crafty, two-faced ruler!" Hottabych thought. "You have a heart of
stone, one that is immune to mercy. To chop off such noble boys' heads!"
Meanwhile, the noble boys were looking round the comfortable room.
"Look, d'you see this?" Volka cried happily. He picked up a small table
fan, a thing Hottabych had never seen.
"It's a fan," Volka explained. "We'll dry your beard in a flash!"
True enough, in two minutes' time Hottabych's beard was ready for use.
"We'll test it," the sly old man mumbled innocently.
He yanked out two hairs. Before the crystal tinkling sound had died
down, our friends suddenly found themselves about three miles away, on the
warm sandy beach. At their feet, the blue-black waves of the rising tide
softly lapped against the shore.
"This is much better," Hottabych said contentedly. Before the boys
could utter a sound, he yanked three more hairs from his beard.
That very instant a large tray of steaming roast lamb and a second,
smaller tray of fruit and biscuits appeared on the sand.
Hottabych snapped his fingers and two strange-looking bronze pitchers
with sherbet appeared.
"Golly!" Zhenya cried. "But what about our clothes?"
"Alas, I am becoming forgetful before my time," Hottabych said
critically and yanked out another hair. Their clothes and shoes became dry
the same instant.
Moreover, their things appeared freshly pressed and their shoes shined
brightly and even smelling of the most expensive shoe polish.
"And may this treacherous ruler, Jafar Alt ibn Muhammed, call for as
many guards as he wishes!" the old man said with satisfaction, pouring
himself a cup of icy, fragrant sherbet. "The birds have flown out from under
the knife!"
"Why, he's no ruler!" Volka said indignantly. "He's a real nice man.
And if you want to know, he didn't go off to call any guards, he went to get
us something to eat."
"You're too young to teach me, 0 Volka!" Hottabych snapped, for he was
really displeased that his young companions were not in the least thankful
for having been saved from death's jaws. "Who but I should know what rulers
look like and how they behave! Know ye, that there are no more treacherous
men than sultans."
"But he's no sultan, he's a foreman. D'you understand, a drilling
foreman!"
"Let's not argue, 0 Volka," the old man answered glumly.
"Don't you think it's time we sat down to eat?"
"What about your pyjamas?" Zhenya said, seeing that they could not
out-talk the old man this time. "You've carried off someone else's pyjamas!"
"Oh, Allah! I've never yet degraded myself by stealing," Hottabych
cried unhappily.
If all the people at the sanatorium were not then in the dining hall,
they probably would have seen a pair of striped pyjamas appear suddenly in
the dark sky, coming from the direction of Matsesta, flying at the height of
the third-storey windows. The pyjamas flew into Muhammedov's room through
the open balcony doors and draped themselves neatly over the back of the
chair, from which the kind drilling foreman had so recently picked them up
and handed them to a shivering Hottabych.
Muhammedov, however, forgot all about the old man and the boys before
he even reached the dining hall.
"I found them," he said to his room-mate. "I found both towels. We left
them on the bench when we sat down to rest."
Then he joined the others at the table and applied himself to his
supper.
IT'S SO EMBARRASSING TO BE AN ILLITERATE GENIE!
Before Muhammedov had a chance to start on his dessert, the clouds that
our travellers had left somewhere between Tuapse and Sochi finally reached
the spa and burst forth in a loud, torrential, sub-tropical storm.
In a moment the streets, parks and beaches became deserted.
Soon the storm reached the spot where, by Hottabych's grace, the small
crew of the drowned magic carpet were to spend the night on the shore of the
Black Sea.
Luckily, they noticed the approaching storm in time; the prospect of
getting drenched to the bone again did not appeal to them in the least.
However, the most important thing to keep dry was the old man's beard. The
simplest thing to do would have been to fly somewhere farther south, but in
the pitch darkness of the southern night they might easily crash into a
mountain.
For the time being, they took refuge under some bushes and considered
where to go.
'"I've got it!" Zhenya cried, jumping to his feet. "Golly, what an
idea! We should smear his beard with oil!"
"And then what?" the old man shrugged.
"Then it won't even get wet in another Flood, that's what!"
"Zhenya's right," Volka agreed, feeling a bit peeved that it was not he
who had thought of such a wonderful, scientifically sound idea. "Hottabych,
go into action!"
Hottabych yanked out several hairs, tore one of them in two, and his
beard became covered with a thin layer of excellent palm oil.
Then he tore a second hair in two and they all found themselves in a
comfortable, marble-faced cave that suddenly appeared on the steep bank. And
while a warm June storm was booming loudly over the Caucasian coast, they
sat on thick carpets, had a plentiful dinner and then fell asleep soundly
till morning.
They were awakened by the soft whispering of the crystal-clear waves.
The sun had long since risen.
Stretching and yawning, they went out onto the deserted beach, bathed
in the slanting rays of the morning sun. Immediately, as if it had never
existed, the cave that had sheltered them for the night disappeared.
The boys were splashing delightedly in the cool waves when they heard
the far-off hum of an airplane motor coming from the direction of Adler
Airport.
A large passenger plane with glistening silver wings was flying over
the sea.
"Ah-h!" Zhenya sighed dreamily. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could go to
Moscow in that plane?"
"That's not a bad idea at all," Volka agreed.
Thereupon Hottabych drew something very thin and white from his pocket.
It resembled a delicate silver thread. He tore it into several pieces and
suddenly all three of them found themselves in comfortable reclining seats
inside the airplane.
The most surprising thing was that none of the passengers paid the
slightest attention to them, as if they had been aboard the plane right from
the start.
"Hottabych," Zhenya whispered. "What was it you tore that looked just
like a silver thread?"
"Just a little hair from my beard," Hottabych replied, though he seemed
strangely embarrassed.
"But you took it from your pocket."
"I tore it out of my beard beforehand and hid it in my pocket, just ...
in case.... Forgive me, but I wasn't sure my oiled beard would stay dry."
"Don't you believe in science?" Zhenya cried in amazement.
"I am quite well versed in the sciences," Hottabych said in a hurt
voice, "but I don't know what kind of a science teaches you to protect a
magic beard from getting wet by oiling it." To change the subject he said,
"How comfortable and speedy this air chariot is! At first, I thought we were
inside a tremendous and truly unusual iron bird and was indeed surprised."
All conversation stopped at this point, because the old man became just
a tiny bit air-sick. Rather, he was very tired. He dozed off in his seat and
did not open his eyes until they were quite near Moscow. Beneath them was
the great Moscow Sea.
Volka, who was sitting beside him, whispered proudly, "My uncle made
this sea."
"This sea?"
"Yes."
"Your uncle?"
"Yes."
"You mean to say that you're Allah's nephew?" the old man sounded very
sad.
"My uncle's an excavator operator. He's in charge of a walking
excavator. His name's Vladimir Nekrasov. If you want to know, he's digging
the Kuibyshev Sea right now."
"My, oh my! You most blessed one!" Hottabych said turning an angry red.
"I so believed you, 0 Volka! I respected you so! And suddenly you tell such
horrid, shameful lies!"
"Is Vladimir Nekrasov really your uncle?" the stocky man with a broad,
weather-beaten face sitting behind them asked loudly. "Is he really?"
"He's my mother's cousin."
"Why didn't you say so before!" the man exclaimed. "The boy's got such
a man for an uncle, and he doesn't say a thing! Why, he's a rare man,
indeed! I'm on my way back from the Kuibyshev Sea right now. We're working
on the same sector. Why, if you want to know, we...."
Volka nodded towards a gloomy Hottabych.
"But he doesn't believe my uncle made the Moscow Sea."
"Ai-ai-ai, citizen. That's not nice at all!" the man began to shame
Hottabych. "How can you doubt it? Vladimir Nekrasov dug that sea and now
he's digging another, and if a third sea has to be dug, he'll dig that one,
too! What's the matter? Don't you read the papers? Here, have a look. Right
here. This is our paper." He pulled a newspaper from his battered brief-case
and pointed to a photograph. "See?"
"Look! That's my uncle!" Volka shouted. "Can I have this paper? I want
to give it to my mother."
"Take it, it's yours," the man said. "Do you still doubt him?" he asked
Hottabych, who now seemed very small. "Here, read the heading: 'Our
Wonderful Sea-Builders.' It's all about his uncle."
"Is it about you, too?" Zhenya asked.
"It's mostly about Nekrasov. I'm not famous. Here, read it."
Hottabych took the paper and pretended to read. Really now, he couldn't
admit he didn't know how to read, could he?
That is why, on the way home from the airport, he asked his young
friends to teach him how to read and write, for he said he had nearly died
of shame when the man had asked him to read the words "Our Wonderful
Sea-Builders."
They agreed that at the very first opportunity they would teach him how
to read the papers, because the old man was very insistent that he begin
with them. Nothing else would do.
"So's I'll know which sea is being built, and where," he explained,
looking away shyly.
WHO'S THE RICHEST?
"Let's go for a walk, 0 crystal of my soul," Hottabych said the next
day.
"On one condition only, and that's that you won't shy away from every
bus like a village horse. But I'm insulting village horses for nothing. They
haven't shied away from cars in a long, long time. And it's about time you
got used to the idea that these aren't any Jirjises, but honest-to-goodness
Russian internal combustion engines."
"I hear and I obey, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha," the old man answered timidly.
"Then repeat after me: I will never again be afraid of...."
"I will never again be afraid of...."
". .. buses, trolley-buses, trolley-cars, trucks, helicopters...."
"... buses, trolley-buses, trolley-cars, trucks, helicopters...."
"... automobiles, searchlights, excavators, typewriters...."
"... automobiles, searchlights, excavators, typewriters...." "...
gramophones, loud-speakers, vacuum-cleaners...." "... gramophones,
loud-speakers, vacuum-cleaners...." "... electric plugs, TV-sets, fans and
rubber toys that squeak.'
"... electric plugs, TV-sets, fans and rubber toys that squeak." "Well,
I guess that takes care of everything," Volka said. "Well, I guess that
takes care of everything," Hottabych repeated automatically, and they both
burst out laughing.
In order to harden the old man's nerves, they crossed the busiest
streets at least twenty times. Then they rode on a trolley-car for a long
while and, finally, tired but content, they boarded a bus.
They rode off, bouncing softly on the leather-upholstered seats.
Volka was engrossed in a copy of Pionerskaya Pravda, the children's
newspaper. The old man was lost in thought and kept glancing at his young
companion kindly from time to time. Then his face broke into a smile,
evidently reflecting some pleasant idea he had conceived.
The bus took them to the doorstep. Soon they were back in Volka's room.
"Do you know what, 0 most honourable of secondary school pupils?"
Hottabych began the minute the door closed behind them. "I think you should
be more aloof and reserved in your relations with the young inhabitants of
your house. Believe it or not, my heart was ready to break when I heard them
shouting:
'Hey, Volka!' 'Hello, Volka!' and so forth, all of which is obviously
unworthy of you. Forgive me for being so outspoken, 0 blessed one, but you
have slackened the reins unnecessarily. How can they be your equals when you
are the richest of the rich, to say nothing of your other innumerable
qualities?"
"Huh! They certainly are my equals. One boy is even a grade ahead of
me, and we're all equally rich."
"No, you are mistaken here, 0 treasure of my soul!" Hottabych cried
delightedly and led Volka to the window. "Look, and be convinced of the
truth of my words."
A strange sight met Volka's eyes.
A few moments before, the left half of their tremendous yard had been
occupied by a volley-ball pitch, a big pile of fresh sand for the toddlers,
"giant steps" and swings for the daring, exercise bars and rings for
athletics fans, and one long and two round bright flower-beds for all the
inhabitants to enjoy.
Now, instead of all this, there towered in glittering magnificence
three marble palaces in an ancient Asiatic style. Great columns adorned the
facades. Shady gardens crowned the flat roofs, and strange red, yellow and
blue flowers grew in the flower-beds. The spray issuing from exotic
fountains sparkled like precious stones in the sunlight. Beside the entrance
of each palace stood two giants holding huge curved swords. Volka and
Hottabych went down to the yard. At the sight of Volka, the giants fell to
their knees as one and greeted him in thunderous voices, while terrible
flames escaped their mouths. Volka shuddered.
"May my young master not fear these beings, for these are peaceful
Ifrits whom I have placed at the entrance to glorify your name."
The giants again fell to their knees and, spitting flames, they
thundered obediently, "Order us as you wish, 0 mighty master!"
"Please get up! I do wish you'd get up," Volka said in great
embarrassment. "Why do you keep falling on your knees all the time? It's
just like feudalism. Get up this minute, and don't you ever let me catch you
crawling like this. Shame on you! Shame on both of you!"
Looking at each other in dismay, the Ifrits rose and silently resumed
their previous stand of "attention."
"Well now!" Volka mumbled. "Come on, Hottabych, let's have a look at
your palaces." He skipped up the steps lightly and entered the first palace.
"These are not my palaces, they are your palaces," the old man objected
respectfully as he followed Volka in.
However, the boy paid no attention to his words.
The first palace was made entirely of rare pink marble. Its heavy
carved sandalwood doors were studded with silver nails and adorned with
silver stars and bright red rubies.
The second palace was made of light blue marble and had ten doors of
rare ebony studded with gold nails and adorned with diamonds, sapphires and
emeralds.
In the middle of the second palace was the mirror-like surface of a
large pool, the home of goldfish the size of sturgeon.
"That's instead of your little aquarium," Hottabych explained shyly. "I
think this is the only kind of aquarium in keeping with your great dignity."
"Hm, imagine picking up one of those fishes. It'll bite your hand off,"
Volka thought.
"And now, do me the honour of casting a kindly glance at the third
palace," Hottabych said.
They entered the portals of the third palace. It glittered so
magnificently that Volka gasped:
"Why, it's just like the Metro! It's just like the Komsomolskaya
Station!"
"You haven't seen it all yet, 0 blessed one!" Hottabych said quickly.
He led Volka out into the yard. Once again the giants "presented arms,"
but Hottabych ignored them and pointed to the shining golden plaques
adorning the entrances to the palaces. On each the same words were engraved,
words which made Volka both hot and cold at the same time:
"These palaces belong to the most noble and glorious of youths of this
city, to the most beautiful of the beautiful, the most wise of the wise, to
him who is replete with endless qualities and perfections, the unmatched and
unsurpassed scholar in geography and other sciences, the first among divers,
the best of all swimmers and volley-ball players, the unchallenged champion
of billiards and ping-pong-to the Royal Young Pioneer Volka ibn Alyosha, may
his name be glorified for ages to come as well as the names of his fortunate
parents."
"With your permission," Hottabych said, bursting with pride and
happiness, "I wish, when you come to live here with your parents, that you
appoint me a corner, too, so that your new residence will not separate us
and I may thus have the opportunity at all times to express my deep respect
and devotion to you."
"In the first place, these inscriptions aren't very objective," Volka
said after a short pause, "but that's not the most important thing in the
long run. It's not important, because we'll have to hang up new signs."
"I understand you and cannot but blame myself for being so
short-sighted," the old man said in an embarrassed tone. "Naturally, the
inscriptions should have been made in precious stones. You are most worthy
of it."
"You misunderstood me, Hottabych. I wanted the inscriptions to read
that these palaces belong to the RONO. (District Department of Education.)
You see, in our country all the palaces belong to the RONO, or to the
sanatoriums."
"Which RONO?"
Volka misunderstood Hottabych's question.
"It doesn't matter which, but I'd rather it belonged to the
Krasnopresnensky RONO. That's the district I was born in, that's where I
grew up and learned how to read and write."
"I don't know who that RONO is," Hottabych said bitterly, "and I'm
quite ready to believe that he is a worthy person. But did RONO free me from
my thousands of years of imprisonment in the vessel? No, it was not RONO, it
was you, 0 wonderful youth, and that is why these palaces will belong to you
alone and no one else."
"But don't you see...."
"I don't want to! They are yours or no one's!"
Never before had Volka seen Hottabych so angry. His face was purple and
his eyes were flashing. The old man was obviously trying hard to keep his
temper.
"Does that mean you don't agree, 0 crystal of my soul?"
"Of course not. What do I need these palaces for? What do you think I
am, a clubhouse, or an office, or a kindergarten?"
"Ah-h-h!" Hottabych sighed unhappily and shrugged. "We'll have to try
something else then!"
The palaces became hazy, swayed, and dissolved into thin air, like a
fog blown by the wind. The giants howled and shot upwards, where they, too,
disappeared.
Instead, the yard suddenly filled with heavily laden elephants, camels
and mules. New caravans kept arriving constantly. The shouts of the
dark-skinned drivers, dressed in snow-white robes, blended with the
elephants' trumpeting, the camels' snorting, the mules' braying, the
stamping of hundreds of hooves and the melodious tinkling of bells.
A short sunburnt man in rich silk robes climbed down from his elephant,
approached the middle of the yard, and tapped the pavement thrice with his
ivory cane. Suddenly, a huge fountain appeared. Immediately drivers carrying
leather pails formed a long queue; soon the yard was filled with the
snorting, chomping and wheezing of the thirsty animals.
"All this is yours, 0 Volka," Hottabych cried, trying to make himself
heard above the din. "Won't you please accept my humble gift?"
"What do you mean by 'all this'?"
"Everything. The elephants, and the camels, and the mules, and all the
gold and precious stones they carry, and the people who are accompanying
them-everything is yours!"
Things were going from bad to worse. Volka had nearly become the owner
of three magnificent but quite useless palaces, and now he was to be the
owner of a vast fortune, an owner of elephants and, to top it all-a
slave-owner!
His first thought was to beg Hottabych to make all these useless gifts
disappear before anyone had noticed them. But he immediately recalled how
things had gone with the palaces. If he had been smarter, he probably would
have been able to talk the old man into letting the city keep them.
He had to stall for time to think and map out a plan of action.
"You know what, Hottabych?" he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What
do you say if we go for a ride on a camel, while the men take care of the
caravan?"
"It would really be a pleasure," answered the unsuspecting old man.
A moment later, a double-humped camel appeared on the street, swaying
majestically and looking round with an arrogant air. On its back were an
excited Volka and Hottabych, who felt quite at home and was fanning himself
lazily with his hat.
"A camel! A camel!" the children shouted excitedly. They had poured out
into the street in great numbers, just as if they had all been waiting for
the camel to appear.
They surrounded the unruffled animal in a close circle, and it towered
over them like a double-decker bus towers over an ice-cream cart. One of the
little boys was skipping and shouting:
They're coming
on a camel!
They're coming
on a camel!
The camel approached the crossing just as the light turned red. Since
it was not used to traffic rules, it coolly stepped across the white line
with the word "STOP!" written in large letters in front of it. In vain did
Volka try to hold it back. The camel continued on its way, straight towards
the militia man who was quickly pulling out his receipt book for fines.
Suddenly a horn blared, brakes screeched and a light blue car came to a
stop right under the steely-nerved camel's nose. The driver jumped out and
began yelling at the animal and its two passengers. And true enough, in
another second there would have been a terrible accident.
"Kindly pull over to the curb," the militia man said politely as he
walked up to them.
Volka had great difficulty in making the camel obey this fatal order. A
crowd gathered immediately, and everyone had an opinion to offer:
"This is the first time I've seen people riding a camel in Moscow."
"Just think, there could have been a terrible accident!"
"What's wrong with a child going for a ride on a camel?"
"No one's allowed to break traffic rules."
"You try and stop a proud animal like that. That's no car, you know!"
"I can't imagine where people get camels in Moscow!"
"It's obviously from the zoo. There are several camels there."
"It makes me shiver to think what could have happened. He's an
excellent driver!"
"The militia man is absolutely right."
Volka felt he was in a jam. He hung down over the camel's side and
began to apologize:
"It'll never happen again! Please let us go! It's time to feed the
camel. This is a first offence."
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it," the militia man
replied dryly. "They always say it's the first time in cases like this."
Volka was still attempting to soften the stern man's heart when he felt
Hottabych tugging at his sleeve.
"0 my young master, it makes me sad to see you lower yourself in order
to shield me from any unpleasantness. All these people are unworthy of even
kissing your heels. You should let them know of the chasm that separates
them from you."
Volka waved the old man away impatiently, but all at once he felt as he
had during the geography examination: once again he was not the master of
his own words.
He wanted to say:
"Please, won't you let us go? I promise never to break any traffic
rules as long as I live."
Instead of this humble plea, he suddenly bellowed at the top of his
voice:,
"How dare you, 0 despicable guard, detain me during the precious hour
of my promenade! On your knees! On your knees immediately, or I'll do
something terrible to you! I swear by my beard-I mean, by his beard!" And he
nodded towards Hottabych.
At these .words, Hottabych grinned smugly and stroked his beard fondly.
As concerns the militia man and the crowd, the child's insolence was so
unexpected that they were more dumbfounded than indignant.
"I am the most outstanding boy in this whole city!" Volka kept on
shouting, inwardly wishing he were dead. "You're unworthy of even kissing my
heels! I am handsome! I am wise!"
"All right," the militia man answered darkly. "They'll see just how
wise you are down at the station."
"Goodness! What nonsense I'm saying! It's really hooliganism!" Volka
thought and shuddered. Nevertheless, he continued:
"Repent, you, who have dared to spoil my good spirits! Cease your
insolence before it's too late!"
Just then, something distracted Hottabych's attention. He stopped
whispering to Volka and for a few moments the boy was once again on his own.
As he hung down over the side of the camel and looked at the crowd
pathetically he began to plead:
"Citizens! Dear people! Don't listen to me. Do you think it's me
talking? It's him, this old man, who's making me talk like this."
But here Hottabych once again picked up the reins and in the same
breath Volka screamed:
"Tremble before me and do not anger me, for I am terrible in my wrath!
Oh, how fearsome I am!"
He understood only too well that his words did not frighten anyone;
instead, they made some indignant, while others found them simply funny. But
there was nothing he could do. Meanwhile, the crowd's feeling of surprise
and indignation began to change to one of concern. It was clear that no
schoolboy could ever speak so foolishly and rudely if he were normal.
Then a woman shouted, "Look! The child has a fever! Look, he's
steaming!"
"What disrespect!" Volka shouted back, but, to his utter horror, he saw
forcefully enough to fall completely out of the vessel. Before really waking
up, he slipped off the carpet into the cold black void below.
Fortunately, his shout awakened Volka. The boy was just able to grab
his left arm. Now it was Hottabych's turn to fly in tow behind the carpet.
However, the tow was not very firm: the old man was too heavy for Volka.
They would probably have plunged downwards from this great height to the
unseen Earth below, if Hottabych had not managed to yank a whole batch of
hair from his beard with his free hand and rattle off the necessary magic
words.
Suddenly, Volka found he could pull the old man up quite easily.
Our young fellow's happiness would have been complete, had not
Hottabych been bellowing, "Aha, 0 Volka! Everything's in top shape, 0 my
precious one!" and trying to sing something and laughing with such wild glee
all the while Volka was pulling him up that he really became worried: what
if the old man had lost his mind from fright? True, once Hottabych found
himself on the carpet, he stopped singing. Yet, he could think of nothing
better to do than begin a jig. And this in the middle of the night! On a
shabby, threadbare old magic carpet!
"Tra-la-la, 0 Volka! Tra-la-la, 0 ibn Alyosha!" Hottabych yelled in the
darkness, raising his long skinny legs high and constantly running the
danger of falling off the carpet again.
Finally, he gave in to Volka's pleas and stopped dancing. Instead, he
began to sing again. At first he sang "When Your Far-off Friend is Singing,"
terribly off-key and then went on to mutilate an old Gypsy love song called
"Open the Garden Gate," which he had heard goodness knows where. All at
once, he stopped singing, crouched, and yanked several hairs from his beard.
Volka guessed what he was doing by the slight crystal tinkling.
In a word, if you ever forget something very important and just can't
recall it, there's no better remedy than to fall off a magic carpet, if even
for a second. Such a fall really clears one's memory. At least it helped
Hottabych recall how to break spells he himself had cast.
Now there was no need to continue the difficult and dangerous flight to
rescue the unfortunate Zhenya Bogorad from slavery. Indeed, the sound of
crystal tinkling was still in the air when Zhenya fell out of the darkness
and onto the magic carpet, clutching a twenty-pound bunch of bananas.
"Zhenya!" Volka shouted happily.
The magic carpet could not withstand the extra weight and plunged
downward with a whistling sound. Suddenly, it became damp and chilly. The
stars shining overhead disappeared. They had entered a cloud bank.
"Hottabych!" Volka shouted. "We have to get out of here, up over the
clouds!"
But Hottabych did not answer. Through the heavy fog they could barely
make out the shrivelled figure with his collar turned up. The old man was
hurriedly yanking one hair after another from his beard. There was a sound
like plink, like a tightly stretched string on a home-made children's
balalaika. With a moan of despair, Hottabych would throw out the hair and
yank out another. Once again they'd hear the plink, once again the moan of
despair, and the despondent mumbling of the old Genie.
"Hey, Volka," Zhenya said, "What's this we're flying on? It looks like
a magic carpet."
"That's exactly what it is. Hottabych, what's taking you so long?"
"There's no such thing as a magic carpet," Zhenya said. "Help!"
The carpet had dipped sharply.
Volka had no time to argue with Zhenya.
"Hottabych, what's the matter?" he said, tugging at the old man's damp
coat sleeve.
"0 woe is me!" came the hollow, sobbing voice of a faintly visible
Hottabych through the whistling of the falling carpet. "0 woe is all of us!
I'm soaked from head to toe!"
"We're all drenched!" Volka shouted back angrily. "What selfishness!"
"My beard! Alas, my beard is wet!"
"Ha, what a thing to worry about!" Zhenya smirked.
"My beard is wet!" Hottabych repeated in terrible grief. "I'm as
helpless as a babe. You need dry hair for magic, the very driest kind of
hair!"
"We'll go smack against the ground!" Volka said in a wooden voice.
"There'll just be a little wet spot left from all of us."
"Wait! Wait a minute!" Zhenya panted. "The main thing is not to get
panicky! What do people in balloons do in such a case?
In such a case, people flying in balloons throw their extra ballast
overboard. Farewell, my dear Indian bananas!"
With these words he tossed the heavy bunch of bananas into the
darkness. They began to fall more slowly. Then they stopped falling
altogether. The carpet swerved upwards and was caught in an air current
which carried them to the right of their previous course.
Zhenya was dying to know what this was all about, and so he asked Volka
in a whisper:
"Volka, Volka! Who's the old man?"
"Later," Volka whispered back. "I'll tell you later, when we get back
on the ground. Understand?"
All Zhenya understood was that for some very important reason or other
all his questions would have to wait till later.
Volka shared his robe with Zhenya and gradually all three dozed off.
Volka awoke from a pleasant ringing sound, like the tinkling of crystal
chandelier pendants. Still half asleep, he thought it was Hottabych yanking
magic hairs. But no, the old man was snoring softly, sleeping like a babe.
The tinkling sound was coming from the icicles on his beard and the frozen
carpet fringes flying in the fresh morning wind.
In the East, the blinding sun was rising. It kept getting warmer and
warmer. The icicles on Hottabych's beard and on the fringes melted; the icy
crust that had covered the rest of the carpet also melted. Hottabych turned
over on his side, yawned and began to snore with a whistle, as if there
really was a pipe in his nose.
Zhenya woke up from the dampness and the warmth. Leaning towards
Volka's chilled ear he whispered:
"Do tell me who the old man is?"
"Come clean," Volka whispered back, keeping a wary eye on Hottabych.
"Did you want to talk to the fellows about me behind my back?"
"What of it?"
"Just that he doesn't like it."
"What doesn't he like?"
"He doesn't like people to go blabbering about me!"
"Humph!"
"Humph yourself! Presto! And you're in a desert. It's all very-simple."
Zhenya wasn't convinced.
Volka cast another wary glance at Hottabych and moved closer to his
friend's ear.
"Do you think I'm crazy?"
"What a silly question!"
"Not even a bit?"
"Of course not."
"Well, believe it or not, but this old man is a Genie, a real live
Genie from the Arabian Nights!"
"Boloney!"
"And he was the one who got everything messed up during the exam. He
prompted me and I had to repeat everything like a parrot."
"Him?!"
"But don't say a word about my having failed. He swore to kill all the
teachers if they failed me. And now I'm knocking myself out to save Varvara
Stepanovna from his magic. I have to keep distracting him all the time.
Understand?"
"Not really."
"Well, be quiet anyway!"
"Don't worry, I will," Zhenya whispered thoughtfully. "Then he was the
one who tossed me into India?"
"Sure he was. And he got you back from India, too. If you want to know,
he sent you there so they could sell you into slavery."
Zhenya giggled.
"Me, a slave? Ha-ha-ha!"
"Ssh! You'll wake him up."
But Volka's warning came too late. Hottabych opened his eyes and
yawned.
"Good morning, 0 Volka. Am I correct in assuming that this young man is
none other than your friend Zhenya?"
"Yes, I'd like you to meet him," Volka said, introducing his recovered
friend to Hottabych as if all this was taking place in the most ordinary of
circumstances and not on a magic carpet high above the Earth.
"Pleased to meet you," Zhenya said solemnly.
Hottabych was silent for a moment, looking at the boy closely to decide
whether or not he was worth a kind word. He apparently became convinced that
Volka had not made a mistake in choosing his friend and so smiled his most
amiable smile.
"There is no end to my happiness at meeting you. Any friend of my young
master is my best friend."
"Master?" Zhenya asked.
"Master and saviour."
"Saviour?!" Zhenya repeated and giggled.
"There's no need to laugh," Volka stopped him sternly. "There's nothing
to laugh about."
In as few words as possible, he told Zhenya everything our attentive
readers already know.
Twice that day the magic carpet passed through heavy cloud banks, and
each time Hottabych's nearly dry beard would again become so damp it was no
use thinking about even the simplest kind of magic-something that would get
them some food, for instance. They were beginning to feel hungry. Even
Zhenya's description of his adventures of the previous day could not take
their minds away from food. But, most important, there was no end to their
flight in sight.
They were hungry, bored, and extremely uncomfortable. The carpet seemed
to be stuck in mid-air, so slowly did it fly and so monotonous was the
steppe stretching far below them. At times, cities or little blue ribbons of
rivers would drift by slowly, and then once again they saw nothing but
steppe and endless fields of ripening wheat. Zhenya was right in saying they
were flying over the southern part of the country. Then, suddenly, ahead and
to the right of them, as far as the eye could see, there was blue water
below. To the left was the ragged line of distant mountains.
"It's the Black Sea!" the boys shouted in unison.
"0 woe is us," Hottabych cried. "We're going straight out to sea!"
Fortunately, a capricious air current turned the carpet a bit to the
left and tossed it into another cloud bank at top speed. Thus, it was
carried along the Caucasian coastline.
Through an opening in the clouds, Zhenya noticed the city of Tuapse far
below, its boats on anchor at the long, jutting pier.
Then everything was lost in a thick fog again. Our travellers' clothing
once again-for the hundredth time!-became wet. The carpet was so
water-logged and heavy that it began to fall sharply with a whistling sound.
In a few short seconds the clouds were left far above. Soon, the famous
resort city of Sochi flashed by below in the blinding rays of the setting
sun.
As it descended lower and lower, the carpet passed over the broad white
band of the Sochi-Matsesta Highway. The three passengers, horror-stricken in
expectation of their near and terrible end, thought that the highway,
studded on both sides by former palaces which were now rest homes, was
dashing towards them at a mad speed.
They had a momentary glimpse of a beautiful bridge thrown over a deep,
narrow valley.
Then they were grazing the tree-tops. It seemed as if they could touch
them if they leaned over.
Then they flew over a sanatorium with a high escalator which took the
bathers up from the beach in a pretty little car.
Several minutes later, amidst a shower of spray, the carpet plunged
into the swimming pool of another sanatorium. The place was quiet and
deserted, as it was supper time and all the vacationers were in the dining
room. Shedding water and puffing, our ill-fated travellers climbed out of
the pool.
"It could have been worse," Volka said, looking around curiously.
"Sure," Zhenya agreed. "We could have crashed into a building just as
easy as pie. Or into a mountain."
It was a good thing there was no one close by. The travellers sat down
on beach chairs placed near the pool. They undressed, wrung out their wet
clothes, pulled them on again, shivering and groaning with cold, and then
left the swimming enclosure.
"If only I could dry my beard, everything would be just lovely,"
Hottabych said with concern and touched it, just to make sure. "Ah, me! It's
quite damp!"
"Let's look for the kitchen," Zhenya suggested. "Maybe they'll let you
dry it near the stove. Boy, what wouldn't I give for a big chunk of bread
and some sausage!"
"Or some fried potatoes," Volka added.
"You're breaking my heart, 0 my young friends," Hottabych cried
woefully. "It's all my fault that you...." .
"No, it's not your fault at all," Volka consoled him. "Let's go look
for the kitchen."
They passed the deserted tennis court, went down a paved path under a
high arch and found themselves before the majestic, snow-white columns of a
miners' sanatorium. A circular fountain with a pool as big as a dance floor
shot up foaming sprays of water, right to the third-storey windows. All the
windows of the main building were brightly lit.
"Our end has come!" Hottabych gasped. "We're in the palace of a most
wealthy and mighty potentate. His guards will be on us any minute and chop
off our heads, and I'm the only one to blame! 0 woe! Oh, such terrible shame
on my old grey head!"
Zhenya giggled. Volka nudged him, to make him still and not tease the
old man.
"What guards? Which heads?" Volka asked with annoyance. "It's a very
ordinary sanatorium. What I mean is, not very ordinary, but very nice.
Though I think they're all the same here in Sochi."
"I was an expert on palaces, 0 Volka, when your
great-great-great-grandfather wasn't even born, and I, for one, certainly
know that guards will come running any minute and.... 0 woe is us! Here they
come!"
The boys also heard the sounds of running feet on the staircase of the
main building.
"Jafar!" someone hanging over the banister shouted from above. "We'll
look for them together after supper! They can't disappear this late at
night! Jafar!"
"Did you hear him?" Hottabych cried, grabbing the boys' hands. He
dragged them off to a side path as fast as he could and from there into the
nearest bushes.
"Did you hear him? That was the Sergeant of the Guard shouting. They'll
go looking for us after supper, and they'll certainly find us. But my beard
has soaked up as much water as a sponge, and I'm as helpless as a babe!"
Just then he happened to glance at two towels hanging over the back of
a park bench.
"Allah be praised!" he cried excitedly, running towards the towels.
"These will help me dry my beard! Then we won't have to fear any guards in
the world."
He picked up first one and then the other towel and groaned:
"0 Allah! They are quite damp! And the guards are so close!"
Nevertheless, he hurriedly began to dry his beard.
It was while he was drying it that an Azerbaijanian of tremendous
height, dressed in a dark red robe, came upon them. He appeared from behind
the pink bushes as unexpectedly as a Jack-in-the-box.
"Aha!" he said rather calmly. "Here they are. Tell me, my dear man, is
this your towel?"
"Spare us, 0 mighty ruler!" Hottabych cried, falling to his knees. "You
can chop off my head, but these youths are in no way guilty. Let them go
free! They have lived but such a short while!"
"Hottabych, get up and don't make a fool of yourself!" Volka said in
great embarrassment. "What kind of a ruler are you talking about? He's just
a very ordinary man here on a holiday."
"I won't get up until this wonderful and merciful sultan promises to
spare your lives, 0 my young friends!"
The Azerbaijanian shrugged his mighty shoulders and said, "My dear
citizen, why are you insulting me? What kind of a sultan am I? I'm an
ordinary Soviet citizen." He puffed out his chest and added, "I'm Jafar Alt
Muhammedov, a drilling foreman. Do you know where Baku is?"
Hottabych shook his head.
"Do you know where Bibi-Aibat is?"
Hottabych shook his head again.
"Don't you read the papers? Now, what are you kneeling for? That's
shameful. Oh, how very shameful and embarrassing, my dear man!" Muhammedov
pulled the old man to his feet.
"Wait a minute!" Volka whispered like a conspirator, taking Muhammedov
off to a side. "Don't pay any attention to the old man. He's off his rocker.
And the worst part of it is, we're so wet."
"Ah! Did you get caught in the rain in the mountains too? I came back
as wet as a mouse. Vai, vai! The old man may catch cold. Dear man," he said,
catching Hottabych under the arms as he was about to fall to his knees
again. "You look very familiar. Are you from Gandji? You look like my
father, except that he's older. My father's going on eighty-three."
"Then know ye, 0 mighty ruler, that I am going on three thousand seven
hundred and thirty-three!" Hottabych replied hotly.
It was only to Muhammedov's credit that he didn't bat an eyelid upon
hearing these words. He merely nodded understandingly to Volka, who was
winking hard from behind Hottabych's back.
Pressing his right hand to his heart, the drilling foreman answered
Hottabych politely, "Of course, my good man, of course. But you're so well
preserved. Let's go and warm up. We'll have something to eat and rest or
else you might catch cold. Va, how you remind me of my father!" -
"I don't dare disobey, 0 mighty ruler," Hottabych answered fawningly,
touching his beard ever so often. Alas! It was still very, very damp.
Oh, how restless his soul was! All his many years' experience rose up
against the fact that the owner of the palace should invite a strange old
man and two young boys-all dressed in a far from elaborate fashion-to share
his meal. That meant there was some mischief to be expected. Perhaps this
Jafar Alt ibn Mohammed was trying to coax them into his palace in order to
play a joke on them and then, having had his fill of torturing them, would
order his servants to chop off their heads, or throw them into cages with
wild beasts. Oh, how cautious he had to be!
So thought Hottabych as he and his young friends ascended the broad
stairway to the first block of dormitories.
They encountered no one, either on the stairs or in the hall, and this
but served to confirm Hottabych's suspicions. Muhammedov took them to his
room, induced the old man to change into a pair of pyjamas, and left,
telling them to make themselves at home. "I'll be back soon, after I give a
few orders. I'll be right back."
"Aha! We know to whom you'll give those orders and what they'll be
about, you crafty, two-faced ruler!" Hottabych thought. "You have a heart of
stone, one that is immune to mercy. To chop off such noble boys' heads!"
Meanwhile, the noble boys were looking round the comfortable room.
"Look, d'you see this?" Volka cried happily. He picked up a small table
fan, a thing Hottabych had never seen.
"It's a fan," Volka explained. "We'll dry your beard in a flash!"
True enough, in two minutes' time Hottabych's beard was ready for use.
"We'll test it," the sly old man mumbled innocently.
He yanked out two hairs. Before the crystal tinkling sound had died
down, our friends suddenly found themselves about three miles away, on the
warm sandy beach. At their feet, the blue-black waves of the rising tide
softly lapped against the shore.
"This is much better," Hottabych said contentedly. Before the boys
could utter a sound, he yanked three more hairs from his beard.
That very instant a large tray of steaming roast lamb and a second,
smaller tray of fruit and biscuits appeared on the sand.
Hottabych snapped his fingers and two strange-looking bronze pitchers
with sherbet appeared.
"Golly!" Zhenya cried. "But what about our clothes?"
"Alas, I am becoming forgetful before my time," Hottabych said
critically and yanked out another hair. Their clothes and shoes became dry
the same instant.
Moreover, their things appeared freshly pressed and their shoes shined
brightly and even smelling of the most expensive shoe polish.
"And may this treacherous ruler, Jafar Alt ibn Muhammed, call for as
many guards as he wishes!" the old man said with satisfaction, pouring
himself a cup of icy, fragrant sherbet. "The birds have flown out from under
the knife!"
"Why, he's no ruler!" Volka said indignantly. "He's a real nice man.
And if you want to know, he didn't go off to call any guards, he went to get
us something to eat."
"You're too young to teach me, 0 Volka!" Hottabych snapped, for he was
really displeased that his young companions were not in the least thankful
for having been saved from death's jaws. "Who but I should know what rulers
look like and how they behave! Know ye, that there are no more treacherous
men than sultans."
"But he's no sultan, he's a foreman. D'you understand, a drilling
foreman!"
"Let's not argue, 0 Volka," the old man answered glumly.
"Don't you think it's time we sat down to eat?"
"What about your pyjamas?" Zhenya said, seeing that they could not
out-talk the old man this time. "You've carried off someone else's pyjamas!"
"Oh, Allah! I've never yet degraded myself by stealing," Hottabych
cried unhappily.
If all the people at the sanatorium were not then in the dining hall,
they probably would have seen a pair of striped pyjamas appear suddenly in
the dark sky, coming from the direction of Matsesta, flying at the height of
the third-storey windows. The pyjamas flew into Muhammedov's room through
the open balcony doors and draped themselves neatly over the back of the
chair, from which the kind drilling foreman had so recently picked them up
and handed them to a shivering Hottabych.
Muhammedov, however, forgot all about the old man and the boys before
he even reached the dining hall.
"I found them," he said to his room-mate. "I found both towels. We left
them on the bench when we sat down to rest."
Then he joined the others at the table and applied himself to his
supper.
IT'S SO EMBARRASSING TO BE AN ILLITERATE GENIE!
Before Muhammedov had a chance to start on his dessert, the clouds that
our travellers had left somewhere between Tuapse and Sochi finally reached
the spa and burst forth in a loud, torrential, sub-tropical storm.
In a moment the streets, parks and beaches became deserted.
Soon the storm reached the spot where, by Hottabych's grace, the small
crew of the drowned magic carpet were to spend the night on the shore of the
Black Sea.
Luckily, they noticed the approaching storm in time; the prospect of
getting drenched to the bone again did not appeal to them in the least.
However, the most important thing to keep dry was the old man's beard. The
simplest thing to do would have been to fly somewhere farther south, but in
the pitch darkness of the southern night they might easily crash into a
mountain.
For the time being, they took refuge under some bushes and considered
where to go.
'"I've got it!" Zhenya cried, jumping to his feet. "Golly, what an
idea! We should smear his beard with oil!"
"And then what?" the old man shrugged.
"Then it won't even get wet in another Flood, that's what!"
"Zhenya's right," Volka agreed, feeling a bit peeved that it was not he
who had thought of such a wonderful, scientifically sound idea. "Hottabych,
go into action!"
Hottabych yanked out several hairs, tore one of them in two, and his
beard became covered with a thin layer of excellent palm oil.
Then he tore a second hair in two and they all found themselves in a
comfortable, marble-faced cave that suddenly appeared on the steep bank. And
while a warm June storm was booming loudly over the Caucasian coast, they
sat on thick carpets, had a plentiful dinner and then fell asleep soundly
till morning.
They were awakened by the soft whispering of the crystal-clear waves.
The sun had long since risen.
Stretching and yawning, they went out onto the deserted beach, bathed
in the slanting rays of the morning sun. Immediately, as if it had never
existed, the cave that had sheltered them for the night disappeared.
The boys were splashing delightedly in the cool waves when they heard
the far-off hum of an airplane motor coming from the direction of Adler
Airport.
A large passenger plane with glistening silver wings was flying over
the sea.
"Ah-h!" Zhenya sighed dreamily. "Wouldn't it be nice if we could go to
Moscow in that plane?"
"That's not a bad idea at all," Volka agreed.
Thereupon Hottabych drew something very thin and white from his pocket.
It resembled a delicate silver thread. He tore it into several pieces and
suddenly all three of them found themselves in comfortable reclining seats
inside the airplane.
The most surprising thing was that none of the passengers paid the
slightest attention to them, as if they had been aboard the plane right from
the start.
"Hottabych," Zhenya whispered. "What was it you tore that looked just
like a silver thread?"
"Just a little hair from my beard," Hottabych replied, though he seemed
strangely embarrassed.
"But you took it from your pocket."
"I tore it out of my beard beforehand and hid it in my pocket, just ...
in case.... Forgive me, but I wasn't sure my oiled beard would stay dry."
"Don't you believe in science?" Zhenya cried in amazement.
"I am quite well versed in the sciences," Hottabych said in a hurt
voice, "but I don't know what kind of a science teaches you to protect a
magic beard from getting wet by oiling it." To change the subject he said,
"How comfortable and speedy this air chariot is! At first, I thought we were
inside a tremendous and truly unusual iron bird and was indeed surprised."
All conversation stopped at this point, because the old man became just
a tiny bit air-sick. Rather, he was very tired. He dozed off in his seat and
did not open his eyes until they were quite near Moscow. Beneath them was
the great Moscow Sea.
Volka, who was sitting beside him, whispered proudly, "My uncle made
this sea."
"This sea?"
"Yes."
"Your uncle?"
"Yes."
"You mean to say that you're Allah's nephew?" the old man sounded very
sad.
"My uncle's an excavator operator. He's in charge of a walking
excavator. His name's Vladimir Nekrasov. If you want to know, he's digging
the Kuibyshev Sea right now."
"My, oh my! You most blessed one!" Hottabych said turning an angry red.
"I so believed you, 0 Volka! I respected you so! And suddenly you tell such
horrid, shameful lies!"
"Is Vladimir Nekrasov really your uncle?" the stocky man with a broad,
weather-beaten face sitting behind them asked loudly. "Is he really?"
"He's my mother's cousin."
"Why didn't you say so before!" the man exclaimed. "The boy's got such
a man for an uncle, and he doesn't say a thing! Why, he's a rare man,
indeed! I'm on my way back from the Kuibyshev Sea right now. We're working
on the same sector. Why, if you want to know, we...."
Volka nodded towards a gloomy Hottabych.
"But he doesn't believe my uncle made the Moscow Sea."
"Ai-ai-ai, citizen. That's not nice at all!" the man began to shame
Hottabych. "How can you doubt it? Vladimir Nekrasov dug that sea and now
he's digging another, and if a third sea has to be dug, he'll dig that one,
too! What's the matter? Don't you read the papers? Here, have a look. Right
here. This is our paper." He pulled a newspaper from his battered brief-case
and pointed to a photograph. "See?"
"Look! That's my uncle!" Volka shouted. "Can I have this paper? I want
to give it to my mother."
"Take it, it's yours," the man said. "Do you still doubt him?" he asked
Hottabych, who now seemed very small. "Here, read the heading: 'Our
Wonderful Sea-Builders.' It's all about his uncle."
"Is it about you, too?" Zhenya asked.
"It's mostly about Nekrasov. I'm not famous. Here, read it."
Hottabych took the paper and pretended to read. Really now, he couldn't
admit he didn't know how to read, could he?
That is why, on the way home from the airport, he asked his young
friends to teach him how to read and write, for he said he had nearly died
of shame when the man had asked him to read the words "Our Wonderful
Sea-Builders."
They agreed that at the very first opportunity they would teach him how
to read the papers, because the old man was very insistent that he begin
with them. Nothing else would do.
"So's I'll know which sea is being built, and where," he explained,
looking away shyly.
WHO'S THE RICHEST?
"Let's go for a walk, 0 crystal of my soul," Hottabych said the next
day.
"On one condition only, and that's that you won't shy away from every
bus like a village horse. But I'm insulting village horses for nothing. They
haven't shied away from cars in a long, long time. And it's about time you
got used to the idea that these aren't any Jirjises, but honest-to-goodness
Russian internal combustion engines."
"I hear and I obey, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha," the old man answered timidly.
"Then repeat after me: I will never again be afraid of...."
"I will never again be afraid of...."
". .. buses, trolley-buses, trolley-cars, trucks, helicopters...."
"... buses, trolley-buses, trolley-cars, trucks, helicopters...."
"... automobiles, searchlights, excavators, typewriters...."
"... automobiles, searchlights, excavators, typewriters...." "...
gramophones, loud-speakers, vacuum-cleaners...." "... gramophones,
loud-speakers, vacuum-cleaners...." "... electric plugs, TV-sets, fans and
rubber toys that squeak.'
"... electric plugs, TV-sets, fans and rubber toys that squeak." "Well,
I guess that takes care of everything," Volka said. "Well, I guess that
takes care of everything," Hottabych repeated automatically, and they both
burst out laughing.
In order to harden the old man's nerves, they crossed the busiest
streets at least twenty times. Then they rode on a trolley-car for a long
while and, finally, tired but content, they boarded a bus.
They rode off, bouncing softly on the leather-upholstered seats.
Volka was engrossed in a copy of Pionerskaya Pravda, the children's
newspaper. The old man was lost in thought and kept glancing at his young
companion kindly from time to time. Then his face broke into a smile,
evidently reflecting some pleasant idea he had conceived.
The bus took them to the doorstep. Soon they were back in Volka's room.
"Do you know what, 0 most honourable of secondary school pupils?"
Hottabych began the minute the door closed behind them. "I think you should
be more aloof and reserved in your relations with the young inhabitants of
your house. Believe it or not, my heart was ready to break when I heard them
shouting:
'Hey, Volka!' 'Hello, Volka!' and so forth, all of which is obviously
unworthy of you. Forgive me for being so outspoken, 0 blessed one, but you
have slackened the reins unnecessarily. How can they be your equals when you
are the richest of the rich, to say nothing of your other innumerable
qualities?"
"Huh! They certainly are my equals. One boy is even a grade ahead of
me, and we're all equally rich."
"No, you are mistaken here, 0 treasure of my soul!" Hottabych cried
delightedly and led Volka to the window. "Look, and be convinced of the
truth of my words."
A strange sight met Volka's eyes.
A few moments before, the left half of their tremendous yard had been
occupied by a volley-ball pitch, a big pile of fresh sand for the toddlers,
"giant steps" and swings for the daring, exercise bars and rings for
athletics fans, and one long and two round bright flower-beds for all the
inhabitants to enjoy.
Now, instead of all this, there towered in glittering magnificence
three marble palaces in an ancient Asiatic style. Great columns adorned the
facades. Shady gardens crowned the flat roofs, and strange red, yellow and
blue flowers grew in the flower-beds. The spray issuing from exotic
fountains sparkled like precious stones in the sunlight. Beside the entrance
of each palace stood two giants holding huge curved swords. Volka and
Hottabych went down to the yard. At the sight of Volka, the giants fell to
their knees as one and greeted him in thunderous voices, while terrible
flames escaped their mouths. Volka shuddered.
"May my young master not fear these beings, for these are peaceful
Ifrits whom I have placed at the entrance to glorify your name."
The giants again fell to their knees and, spitting flames, they
thundered obediently, "Order us as you wish, 0 mighty master!"
"Please get up! I do wish you'd get up," Volka said in great
embarrassment. "Why do you keep falling on your knees all the time? It's
just like feudalism. Get up this minute, and don't you ever let me catch you
crawling like this. Shame on you! Shame on both of you!"
Looking at each other in dismay, the Ifrits rose and silently resumed
their previous stand of "attention."
"Well now!" Volka mumbled. "Come on, Hottabych, let's have a look at
your palaces." He skipped up the steps lightly and entered the first palace.
"These are not my palaces, they are your palaces," the old man objected
respectfully as he followed Volka in.
However, the boy paid no attention to his words.
The first palace was made entirely of rare pink marble. Its heavy
carved sandalwood doors were studded with silver nails and adorned with
silver stars and bright red rubies.
The second palace was made of light blue marble and had ten doors of
rare ebony studded with gold nails and adorned with diamonds, sapphires and
emeralds.
In the middle of the second palace was the mirror-like surface of a
large pool, the home of goldfish the size of sturgeon.
"That's instead of your little aquarium," Hottabych explained shyly. "I
think this is the only kind of aquarium in keeping with your great dignity."
"Hm, imagine picking up one of those fishes. It'll bite your hand off,"
Volka thought.
"And now, do me the honour of casting a kindly glance at the third
palace," Hottabych said.
They entered the portals of the third palace. It glittered so
magnificently that Volka gasped:
"Why, it's just like the Metro! It's just like the Komsomolskaya
Station!"
"You haven't seen it all yet, 0 blessed one!" Hottabych said quickly.
He led Volka out into the yard. Once again the giants "presented arms,"
but Hottabych ignored them and pointed to the shining golden plaques
adorning the entrances to the palaces. On each the same words were engraved,
words which made Volka both hot and cold at the same time:
"These palaces belong to the most noble and glorious of youths of this
city, to the most beautiful of the beautiful, the most wise of the wise, to
him who is replete with endless qualities and perfections, the unmatched and
unsurpassed scholar in geography and other sciences, the first among divers,
the best of all swimmers and volley-ball players, the unchallenged champion
of billiards and ping-pong-to the Royal Young Pioneer Volka ibn Alyosha, may
his name be glorified for ages to come as well as the names of his fortunate
parents."
"With your permission," Hottabych said, bursting with pride and
happiness, "I wish, when you come to live here with your parents, that you
appoint me a corner, too, so that your new residence will not separate us
and I may thus have the opportunity at all times to express my deep respect
and devotion to you."
"In the first place, these inscriptions aren't very objective," Volka
said after a short pause, "but that's not the most important thing in the
long run. It's not important, because we'll have to hang up new signs."
"I understand you and cannot but blame myself for being so
short-sighted," the old man said in an embarrassed tone. "Naturally, the
inscriptions should have been made in precious stones. You are most worthy
of it."
"You misunderstood me, Hottabych. I wanted the inscriptions to read
that these palaces belong to the RONO. (District Department of Education.)
You see, in our country all the palaces belong to the RONO, or to the
sanatoriums."
"Which RONO?"
Volka misunderstood Hottabych's question.
"It doesn't matter which, but I'd rather it belonged to the
Krasnopresnensky RONO. That's the district I was born in, that's where I
grew up and learned how to read and write."
"I don't know who that RONO is," Hottabych said bitterly, "and I'm
quite ready to believe that he is a worthy person. But did RONO free me from
my thousands of years of imprisonment in the vessel? No, it was not RONO, it
was you, 0 wonderful youth, and that is why these palaces will belong to you
alone and no one else."
"But don't you see...."
"I don't want to! They are yours or no one's!"
Never before had Volka seen Hottabych so angry. His face was purple and
his eyes were flashing. The old man was obviously trying hard to keep his
temper.
"Does that mean you don't agree, 0 crystal of my soul?"
"Of course not. What do I need these palaces for? What do you think I
am, a clubhouse, or an office, or a kindergarten?"
"Ah-h-h!" Hottabych sighed unhappily and shrugged. "We'll have to try
something else then!"
The palaces became hazy, swayed, and dissolved into thin air, like a
fog blown by the wind. The giants howled and shot upwards, where they, too,
disappeared.
Instead, the yard suddenly filled with heavily laden elephants, camels
and mules. New caravans kept arriving constantly. The shouts of the
dark-skinned drivers, dressed in snow-white robes, blended with the
elephants' trumpeting, the camels' snorting, the mules' braying, the
stamping of hundreds of hooves and the melodious tinkling of bells.
A short sunburnt man in rich silk robes climbed down from his elephant,
approached the middle of the yard, and tapped the pavement thrice with his
ivory cane. Suddenly, a huge fountain appeared. Immediately drivers carrying
leather pails formed a long queue; soon the yard was filled with the
snorting, chomping and wheezing of the thirsty animals.
"All this is yours, 0 Volka," Hottabych cried, trying to make himself
heard above the din. "Won't you please accept my humble gift?"
"What do you mean by 'all this'?"
"Everything. The elephants, and the camels, and the mules, and all the
gold and precious stones they carry, and the people who are accompanying
them-everything is yours!"
Things were going from bad to worse. Volka had nearly become the owner
of three magnificent but quite useless palaces, and now he was to be the
owner of a vast fortune, an owner of elephants and, to top it all-a
slave-owner!
His first thought was to beg Hottabych to make all these useless gifts
disappear before anyone had noticed them. But he immediately recalled how
things had gone with the palaces. If he had been smarter, he probably would
have been able to talk the old man into letting the city keep them.
He had to stall for time to think and map out a plan of action.
"You know what, Hottabych?" he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "What
do you say if we go for a ride on a camel, while the men take care of the
caravan?"
"It would really be a pleasure," answered the unsuspecting old man.
A moment later, a double-humped camel appeared on the street, swaying
majestically and looking round with an arrogant air. On its back were an
excited Volka and Hottabych, who felt quite at home and was fanning himself
lazily with his hat.
"A camel! A camel!" the children shouted excitedly. They had poured out
into the street in great numbers, just as if they had all been waiting for
the camel to appear.
They surrounded the unruffled animal in a close circle, and it towered
over them like a double-decker bus towers over an ice-cream cart. One of the
little boys was skipping and shouting:
They're coming
on a camel!
They're coming
on a camel!
The camel approached the crossing just as the light turned red. Since
it was not used to traffic rules, it coolly stepped across the white line
with the word "STOP!" written in large letters in front of it. In vain did
Volka try to hold it back. The camel continued on its way, straight towards
the militia man who was quickly pulling out his receipt book for fines.
Suddenly a horn blared, brakes screeched and a light blue car came to a
stop right under the steely-nerved camel's nose. The driver jumped out and
began yelling at the animal and its two passengers. And true enough, in
another second there would have been a terrible accident.
"Kindly pull over to the curb," the militia man said politely as he
walked up to them.
Volka had great difficulty in making the camel obey this fatal order. A
crowd gathered immediately, and everyone had an opinion to offer:
"This is the first time I've seen people riding a camel in Moscow."
"Just think, there could have been a terrible accident!"
"What's wrong with a child going for a ride on a camel?"
"No one's allowed to break traffic rules."
"You try and stop a proud animal like that. That's no car, you know!"
"I can't imagine where people get camels in Moscow!"
"It's obviously from the zoo. There are several camels there."
"It makes me shiver to think what could have happened. He's an
excellent driver!"
"The militia man is absolutely right."
Volka felt he was in a jam. He hung down over the camel's side and
began to apologize:
"It'll never happen again! Please let us go! It's time to feed the
camel. This is a first offence."
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it," the militia man
replied dryly. "They always say it's the first time in cases like this."
Volka was still attempting to soften the stern man's heart when he felt
Hottabych tugging at his sleeve.
"0 my young master, it makes me sad to see you lower yourself in order
to shield me from any unpleasantness. All these people are unworthy of even
kissing your heels. You should let them know of the chasm that separates
them from you."
Volka waved the old man away impatiently, but all at once he felt as he
had during the geography examination: once again he was not the master of
his own words.
He wanted to say:
"Please, won't you let us go? I promise never to break any traffic
rules as long as I live."
Instead of this humble plea, he suddenly bellowed at the top of his
voice:,
"How dare you, 0 despicable guard, detain me during the precious hour
of my promenade! On your knees! On your knees immediately, or I'll do
something terrible to you! I swear by my beard-I mean, by his beard!" And he
nodded towards Hottabych.
At these .words, Hottabych grinned smugly and stroked his beard fondly.
As concerns the militia man and the crowd, the child's insolence was so
unexpected that they were more dumbfounded than indignant.
"I am the most outstanding boy in this whole city!" Volka kept on
shouting, inwardly wishing he were dead. "You're unworthy of even kissing my
heels! I am handsome! I am wise!"
"All right," the militia man answered darkly. "They'll see just how
wise you are down at the station."
"Goodness! What nonsense I'm saying! It's really hooliganism!" Volka
thought and shuddered. Nevertheless, he continued:
"Repent, you, who have dared to spoil my good spirits! Cease your
insolence before it's too late!"
Just then, something distracted Hottabych's attention. He stopped
whispering to Volka and for a few moments the boy was once again on his own.
As he hung down over the side of the camel and looked at the crowd
pathetically he began to plead:
"Citizens! Dear people! Don't listen to me. Do you think it's me
talking? It's him, this old man, who's making me talk like this."
But here Hottabych once again picked up the reins and in the same
breath Volka screamed:
"Tremble before me and do not anger me, for I am terrible in my wrath!
Oh, how fearsome I am!"
He understood only too well that his words did not frighten anyone;
instead, they made some indignant, while others found them simply funny. But
there was nothing he could do. Meanwhile, the crowd's feeling of surprise
and indignation began to change to one of concern. It was clear that no
schoolboy could ever speak so foolishly and rudely if he were normal.
Then a woman shouted, "Look! The child has a fever! Look, he's
steaming!"
"What disrespect!" Volka shouted back, but, to his utter horror, he saw