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followed another in quick succession. Those Zubilo players were really good!
A few more moments, and they would finally be able to score.
"Aha!" Volka's neighbour shouted behind his back. "See?! What did I
say! They'll show those Shaiba imbeciles a thing or two...."
Ah, how much better it would have been for all concerned if he had
curbed his joy. He should not have nudged Hottabych in the side with such a
triumphant look on his face, as if every man on the Zubilo team was his own
favourite son, or at least his favourite pupil!
Hottabych started, tore his eyes from the paper, and took in the field
at a glance. He sized up the situation like an expert and handed the paper
back to Zhenya, who accepted it with a long face.
"I'll finish reading it later," the old man said. He hurriedly yanked a
hair from his beard, and the Zubilo team's unexplainable and disgraceful
sufferings began anew.
The ball flew into the Zubilo goal on an average of once every 40
seconds.
But what had happened to the goalie? Why did he clutch at the side-post
and wail "Mamma!" every time the ball was kicked into the goal? Why did he
suddenly walk to the side with a thoughtful expression on his face-and for
no apparent reason at all-and this at a most decisive moment, in the middle
of a heated tangle right in front of the goal?
"Shame! It's outrageous! What's the matter with you!" the fans shouted
from all sides. But he, the famous goalie, the pride of his country,
staggered out of the goal and off to a side every time the opposite team
closed in.
"What's the matter with you? Have you gone crazy?" the spare player
croaked.
And the goalie moaned in reply:
"I sure have. Someone seems to be pulling me. I try to hold my ground,
but something keeps pushing me out of the goal.
When I want to turn towards the ball, that same something presses me
toward the goal-post so hard that I can't tear myself away."
"Things are really bad!"
"Couldn't be worse!"
The situation was so extraordinary that there was not a person present
at the stadium, including the ticket collectors, militia men and food
vendors, who was not taking the strange events
to heart and discussing them loudly.
There was only one fan among the thousands who, though
suffering keenly, was remarkably silent. This was an amazingly
uncommunicative man of about fifty-five, grey-haired, tall and lanky, with a
long, yellowish stony face. His face was equally stony during an unimportant
game and during the finals, when a successful kick decides the champion of
the year. He was always equally dour, straightlaced and immobile.
This day he was in his usual seat, which was right in front of
Hottabych. As he was a Zubilo fan, one can well imagine the anguish in his
sunken, bony chest. However, only the shifting of his eyes and the barely
discernible movements of his head indicated that he was far from indifferent
to the events taking place on the field. He apparently had a bad heart, and
had to take good care of himself, for any amount of emotion might have
produced grave results. However, even as he felt around with a practised
gesture for his box of sugar and his bottle of medicine and dropped the
medicine onto a bit of sugar, without ever tearing his eyes from the game,
his face remained as immobile as if he were staring into space.
When the score became 23:0 it nearly finished him. He opened his thin
pale lips and squeaked in a wooden voice:
"They could at least sell mineral water here!"
Hottabych, whose soul was singing joyfully at the unheard-of success of
the Shaiba team, was more willing than ever to do people favours.
Upon hearing the words of his phlegmatic neighbour, he snapped his
fingers softly. The man suddenly saw that he was holding a glass of ice-cold
mineral water which had appeared from nowhere.
Anyone else in his place would have been astounded, or, at any rate,
would have looked around at the people sitting to all sides of him. But this
man merely raised the frosted glass to his lips with the same stony
expression. However, he did not even take a sip: the poor Zubilo players
were about to get the twenty-fourth ball kicked into their goal. He sat
frozen to the spot with his glass raised and Zhenya, who was still
frantically searching for a way to save the disgraced team, snatched the
mineral water from him and dashed it onto Hottabych's beard.
"What treachery! What vile treachery!" the old Genie gasped and began
feverishly yanking out one hair after another. Instead of the clear crystal
tinkling, the boys were happy to hear a dull sound like that of a tightly
pulled piece of string.
"And isn't it treachery to help the Shaiba players?" Volka asked
acidly. "You'd better keep mum."
Meanwhile, just as had happened after the fourteenth goal, the revived
Zubilo players once again tore through the forward and defence lines of the
Shaiba team and raced the ball towards their goal.
The Shaiba defence had become unkeyed from their long idleness and
could not collect their wits quickly to ward off the unexpected danger.
Their goalie was really something to look at. There he sat on the grass,
shelling melon seeds.
Choking, he jumped to his feet, but the Zubilo players had already
kicked the ball straight towards the centre of the unprotected goal.
Just then, to the great torment of our young friends, they heard a
clear crystal tinkling. Yes, Hottabych had finally been able to find a dry
hair in his beard.
Oh, Zhenya, Zhenya! Where was your keen eye and sure hand? Why didn't
you take good aim? The Zubilo team was as good as dead now!
"Hottabych! Dear, sweet Hottabych! Let the Zubilo players score at
least once!" Volka wailed.
But Hottabych pretended to hear nothing. The ball, which was flying
straight at the centre of the goal, suddenly swerved to the left and hit
against the post with such force that it flew back across the whole field,
careful to avoid the Zubilo players in its way, as though it was alive. Then
it rolled softly into the long-suffering Zubilo goal!
"24:0!"
This was an amazing score, considering that the teams were equal.
Volka lost his temper completely.
"I demand-no, I order you to stop this mockery immediately!" he hissed.
"Otherwise, I'll never be friends with you again! You have your choice: the
Shaiba team or me!"
"Why, you're a football fan yourself. Can't you understand my
feelings?" the old man pleaded, but he sensed from Volka's expression that
this time their friendship might really end. And so, he whispered back, "I
await your further orders."
"The Zubilo team isn't to blame that you're a Shaiba fan. You've made
them the laughing-stock of the country. Make it so that everyone should see
they're not to blame for losing."
"I hear and I obey, 0 young goalie of my soul!"
No sooner had the umpire's whistle died down, announcing the end of the
first time, than the entire Zubilo team began to sneeze and cough for all it
was worth.
Forming a semblance of a formation, they dragged their feet listlessly
to their locker room, sneezing and coughing loudly.
A moment later a doctor was summoned, since all eleven players were
feeling ill. The doctor felt each one's pulse in turn, he asked them to take
off their shirts, then looked in their mouths and finally summoned the
umpire. "I'm afraid you'll have to call off the game."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"Because the Zubilo team can't play for at least seven more days. The
whole team is sick," the doctor answered dazedly.
"Sick! What's the matter?"
"It's a very strange case. All these eleven grown men have come down
with the measles. I would never have believed it if I had not given them a
thorough check-up just now."
Thus ended the only football match in history in which a fan had an
opportunity to influence the game. As you see, it did not come to any good.
The unusual instance of eleven adult athletes simultaneously
contracting the measles for the second time in their lives and waking up the
following morning in the pink of health was described in great detail in an
article by the famous Professor Hooping Cough and published in the medical
journal Measles and Sneezles. The article was entitled "That's a Nice How
D'You Do!" and is still so popular that one can never get a copy of the
magazine in the libraries, as they are always on loan. That is why, dear
readers, you might as well not look for it, since you'll only waste your
time for nothing.
The little cloud that was covering the sun floated off and disappeared,
as it was no longer needed. Once again it became hot. A hundred thousand
fans were slowly leaving the stadium through the narrow concrete passages.
No one was in a hurry. Everyone wanted to voice an opinion about the
amazing game which had ended so strangely.
These opinions were each more involved than the previous one. However,
not even the most vivid imaginations could think of an explanation that
would so much as resemble the true reason for all the queer things they had
witnessed.
Only three people took no part in these discussions. They left the
North Section in deep silence. They entered a crowded trolley-bus in silence
and alighted in silence at Okhotny Ryad, where they separated.
"Football is an excellent game," Hottabych finally mustered up the
courage to say.
"Mm-m-m," Volka replied.
"I can just imagine how sweet the moment is when you kick the ball into
the enemy's goal!" Hottabych continued in a crestfallen voice. "Isn't that
so, 0 Volka?"
"Mm-m-m."
"Are you still angry with me, 0 goalie of my heart? I'll die if you
don't answer me!"
He scurried along beside his angry friend, sighing sadly and cursing
the hour he had agreed to go to the game.
"What do you think!" Volka snapped, but then continued in a softer
tone, "Boy, what a mess! I'll never forget it as long as I live. Have a look
at this new-found fan! No sir, we'll never take
you to a football game again! And we don't need your tickets, either."
"Your every word is my command," Hottabych hurried to assure him,
pleased to have got off so easily. "I'll be quite content if you
occasionally find the time to tell me of the football matches."
So they continued on as good friends as ever.
To look at Hottabych's healthy face, no one would ever suspect he had
been seriously ill so recently.
His cheeks were a soft, even shade of old-age pink. His step was as
light and as quick as always, and a broad smile lighted his artless face.
And only Volka, who knew Hottabych so well, noticed that a secret thought
was constantly gnawing at the old Genie. Hottabych often sighed, he stroked
his beard thoughtfully, and large tears would ever so often roll from his
frank, friendly eyes.
Volka would pretend not to notice and did not bother the old man with
tactless questions. He was convinced that in the end Hottabych would be the
first to speak. That is exactly what happened.
"Grief and sadness rent my old heart, 0 noble saviour of Genies,"
Hottabych said softly one day when a magnificent sunset coloured the evening
waters of the Moskva River a delicate pink. "Thoughts of my poor lost
brother and of his terrible and hapless fate do not leave me for a moment.
The more I think of him, the more I feel I should set out to search for him
as soon as possible. What do you think of this, 0 wise Volka ibn Alyosha?
And if you regard this decision kindly, would you not make me happy by
sharing the joys and sorrows of this journey with me?"
"Where do you want to start looking for your brother?" Volka asked in a
business-like way, since he was no longer surprised at the most unexpected
suggestions Hottabych might have.
"If you remember, 0 Volka, at the very dawn of our extremely happy
acquaintance, I told you that Sulayman's Genies threw him into one of the
Southern Seas, sealed in a copper vessel. There, along the shores of the hot
countries, is where one must naturally look for Omar Asaf."
The possibility of setting out on a journey to the Southern Seas really
appealed to Volka.
"All right. I'll come along with you. Wherever you go, I go. It would
be nice if.. ." Volka fumbled.
But a cheerful Hottabych continued: ".. .if we could take our wonderful
friend Zhenya ibn Kolya along. Have I understood you correctly, 0 my kind
Volka ibn Alyosha?"
"Uh-huh."
"There could not have been a shadow of doubt," Hottabych said. It was
decided then and there that the expedition setting out to search for
Hottabych's unfortunate brother would leave no later than in two days' time.
However, if the time of departure caused ho discord, it quite suddenly
became apparent that there were serious differences on the question of a
means of transportation.
"Let's go by magic carpet," Hottabych suggested. "There's enough room
for all of us."
"Oh no," Volka objected strongly. "No more magic carpets for me. Thanks
a lot! Our last trip was enough for me. I don't want to freeze like a dog a
second time."
"I'll supply you both with warm clothing, 0 blessed Volka. And if you
so desire, a large bonfire will constantly burn in the middle of the carpet.
We can warm ourselves beside it during our flight."
"No, no, no! The magic carpet is out of the question. Let's go to
Odessa by train. Then, from Odessa...."
Hottabych immediately accepted Volka's plan and Zhenya, who was told of
it in detail a short half hour later, enthusiastically approved.
HAPPENED ON THE NARA-MALY YAROSLAYETS LINE
(Told by the conductor to Ms assistant, who was asleep during the
events described herein)
"I woke you up just to tell you that a very strange thing has happened
in our car.
"Well, I made up the beds for the passengers, the same as always, and
the ones in Compartment 7, too. The passengers there were a bearded old bird
in an old-fashioned straw boater and two boys. The boys looked about the
same age. And what do you think: not a single piece of luggage !No, sir, not
a single one!
"Just then, one of the boys, a blond freckled lad, says:
" 'Can you please tell us where the dining car is?'
"And I says, 'I'm sorry, but we don't have a dining car, There'll be
tea and crackers in the morning.'
"Then the boy looks at the old man and the old man winks at him. So the
boy says, 'Never mind, we'll manage without your tea, since you haven't a
dining car.'
" 'Ha,' I thought, 'I'd like to see how you'll make out all the way to
Odessa without my tea.' So I came back here to our compartment, but I left a
chink in the door when I closed it.
"Everyone in the car was sound asleep, having sweet dreams, but all the
time there was buzz-buzz-buzz coming from Compartment 7-they kept on talking
and whispering all the time. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I
can tell you for sure they were talking.
"Then suddenly their door opens and the same old man sticks out his
head. He didn't notice me watching him so he pushed his old hat back. And
what d'you think he did? Upon my word, I'm tellin' the truth! He pulled a
fistful of hair from his beard-may I drop dead on the spot if he didn't!
" 'Goodness,' I thought, 'he's crazy! Just my luck to get a madman
while I'm on duty.' Well, I didn't say anything and waited to see what'd
happen.
"Well, the old man tore this same fistful of hair into little pieces,
then he threw this litter on the floor and mumbled something. I felt more
and more sure he was mad and that I'd have to put him off at Bryansk, no
doubt about it.
" 'Well,' I thought, 'there'll be no end of worry! Why, maybe he'll
start attacking the passengers this very minute, or breaking the windows!'
"No, he didn't start any trouble, but just stood there mumbling. After
he mumbled a while more, he went back into his compartment.
"All of a sudden I heard someone walking barefoot down the passage,
coming from behind. That meant whoever it was had come in from the platform.
I sure was surprised, because I always lock the platforms when we pull out
of a station. Well, I looked round, and-upon my sacred word of honour, I'm
telling the truth!-I saw four young fellows coming towards me from the
platform. They were as sunburned as vacationers and quite naked. All they
had on were little cloths round their hips. And barefoot. As skinny as could
be! You could count every rib.
"I came out of our compartment and said, 'Citizens, I believe you've
got your cars mixed. All our compartments are occupied.'
"And they all answered together, 'Silence, infidel! We know where we're
going! We've come exactly to the place we want.'
"So I says, 'Then I'd like to see your tickets, please.'
"And they all said together again, 'Don't annoy us, foreigner, for we
are hurrying to our lord and master!'
"So I says, 'I'm surprised that you call me a foreigner. I'm a Soviet
citizen and I'm in my own country. That's for one. And in the second place,
we haven't had any masters here since the Revolution. That,' I said, 'is in
the second place.'
"So their leader says, 'You should be ashamed, infidel! You are taking
advantage of the fact that our hands are occupied and we therefore cannot
kill you for your terrible insolence. It , is most dishonourable of you to
take advantage of us so.'
"I forgot to tell you that they were piled high with all sorts of food.
One was carrying a heavy tray with roast lamb and rice. Another had a huge
basket of apples, pears, apricots and grapes.
The third one was balancing something that looked like a pitcher on his
head, and something was splashing inside the pitcher. The fourth was holding
two large platters of meat pies and pastries. To tell you the truth, I just
stood there gaping.
"Then the leader says, 'Infidel, you'd do better to show us where
Compartment 7 is, for we are in a hurry to fulfil our orders.'
"Then I began to put two and two together and asked, 'What does your
boss look like? Is he a little old man with a beard?'
" 'Yes, that is he. That is whom we serve.'
"I showed them to Compartment 7, and on the way I said, 'I'll have to
fine your boss for letting you travel without tickets. Have you been working
for him long?'
"So the leader says, 'We've been serving him for three thousand five
hundred years."
"To tell you the truth, I thought I didn't hear him right. So I says
again, 'How many years did you say?'
" 'You heard me, that's exactly how long we've served him- three
thousand five hundred years.'
"The other three nodded.
" 'Good gracious,' I thought, 'as if one crazy man wasn't enough-now I
have four more on my neck!'
"But I went on talking to them as I would to any normal passengers.
'What a shame! Look how many years you've been working for him and he can't
even get you some ordinary overalls. If you'll pardon the expression, you're
absolutely naked.'
"So the leader says, 'We don't need overalls. We don't even know what
they are.'
" 'It's strange to hear that coming from someone who's worked so many
years. I guess you're from far away. Where d'you live?'
" 'We've just come from Ancient Arabia.'
"Then I says, 'Well, that clears everything up. Here's Compartment 7.
Knock on the door.'
"Just then, the same little old man comes out and all his men fall to
their knees and stretch out the food and drinks they've brought. But I
called the old man off to a side and said, 'Are these your employees?'
" 'Yes, they are.'
" 'They have no tickets. That means you have to pay a fine. Will you
pay it?'
" 'Right away, if you wish. But won't you first tell me what a fine
is?'
"I saw the old man was being sensible, so I began to explain things in
a whisper, 'One of your men has gone out of his mind:
he says he's been working for you for three thousand five hundred
years. I'm sure you'll agree he's crazy.'
"Then the old man says, 'I cannot agree, since he is not lying. Yes,
that's right-three thousand five hundred years. Even a little longer, since
I was only two hundred or two hundred and thirty when I became their
master.'
"So I says to him, 'Stop making a fool of me! It doesn't become your
age. If you don't pay the fine immediately, I'll put them off at the next
station. And, anyway, you look like a suspicious character, going on such a
long journey without any luggage.'
" 'What's luggage?'
" 'You know, bundles, suitcases and such stuff.'
"The old man laughed and said, 'Why are you inventing things, 0
conductor? Saying that I have no luggage. Just look at the shelves.'
"I looked up at the luggage racks and they were jammed! I'd looked a
moment before and there hadn't been anything there, and suddenly-just
imagine!-so many suitcases and bundles!
"Then I said, 'Something's wrong here. Pay the fine quickly and I'll
bring the chief conductor over at the next stop. Let him decide. I can't
understand what's going on.'
"The old man laughed again. 'What fine?' says he. 'Whom do I have to
pay a fine for?'
"Then I really got angry. I turned around and pointed to the passage,
but there was no one there! I ran up and down the whole car, but couldn't
find a trace of my four stray passengers.
"Then the old man said, '0 conductor, you had better go back to your
own compartment.' And so I went back.
"Now d'you understand why I woke you up? Don't you believe me?"
An hour before the train arrived in Odessa, the conductor entered
Compartment 7 to remove the bedding. Hottabych treated him to some apples.
It was quite apparent that the man did not remember anything of the
incident which had taken place the night before.
After he had left their compartment, Zhenya said with admiration: "I
must admit, Volka is a bright chap!"
"I should think so!" Hottabych exclaimed. "Volka ibn Alyosha is
unquestionably an excellent fellow and his suggestion is worthy of great
praise."
Since the reader might not be too clear on the meaning of this short
conversation, we hurry to explain.
When the completely confused conductor left Compartment 7 the previous
night, Volka said to Hottabych, "Can you do something to make him forget
what's happened?"
"Why, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha, that's as simple as pie."
"Then please do it and as quickly as possible. He'll go to sleep then,
and when he wakes up in the morning he won't remember anything."
"Excellent, 0 treasure-store of common sense!" Hottabych said
admiringly, waved his hand and made the conductor forget everything.
Several passengers were talking leisurely as they leaned on the rail of
the excursion ship "Kolkhida," sailing from Odessa to Batumi. Powerful
diesel engines hummed far below, in the depths of the ship. The water
whispered dreamily as it lapped against the steep sides, and high above,
over the spar deck, the ship's wireless piped anxiously.
"You know, it's really a shame that the large sailing ships of yore,
those white-winged beauties, are a thing of the past. How happy I would be
to find myself on a real frigate... . Just to enjoy the sight of those
billowing white sails, to listen to the creaking of the mighty yet graceful
masts, to watch in amazement as, at the captain's command, the crew
scrambles up the rigging! If I could only see a real sailing ship! I mean a
real genuine one! Nowadays even a bark has to have a motor, you know, even
though-mark my words-it's considered a sailboat!"
"A motor-sailboat," a man wearing the uniform of the Merchant Marine
added. They fell silent. All except the sailor went over to the left side to
watch a school of tireless dolphins splash and cavort in the warm noonday
sea. Dolphins were nothing new to the sailor. He stretched out in a deck
chair and picked up a magazine lazily. Soon the sun made him drowsy. He
closed the magazine and fanned himself with it.
Then something attracted his attention. He stopped fanning himself,
jumped to his feet and rushed to the railing. Far off, near the very
horizon, he saw a beautiful but terribly old-fashioned sailing ship skimming
over the waves. It seemed like something from a fairy tale.
"Everybody! Everybody hurry over here!" he shouted. "Look at that
sailing ship! Isn't it ancient! Oh, and something's wrong with its mainmast!
It doesn't have a mainmast! Why, it just isn't there! My goodness! Just
look! The sails are all billowed out the wrong way! According to every law
of nature, the foremast should have been blown overboard long ago! It's
really a miracle!"
However, by the time the other passengers heeded his words and returned
to the starboard side, the unknown vessel had disappeared from sight. We say
"unknown," because the sailor was ready to swear that the wonderful sailing
ship was not registered at any Soviet port on the Black Sea. This is true.
In fact, it wasn't registered at any foreign port, either; it wasn't
registered any place, for the simple reason that it had appeared in the
world and was launched but a few short hours before.
The name of the vessel was the "Sweet Omar," in honour of the
unfortunate brother of our old friend, Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab.
Had our friend the conductor on the Moscow-Odessa express miraculously
found himself aboard the twin-masted "Sweet Omar," he would not have been
most amazed at the fact that he had suddenly found himself aboard a sailing
vessel, nor that this vessel did not in any way resemble a usual sea or
river craft. He would have been most amazed at finding that he was already
acquainted with the passengers and crew.
The old man and his two young companions who had left Compartment 7
that morning were its passengers, while the four dark-skinned citizens whose
term of service dated back to the 16th century B.C. were its crew.
One can well imagine that a second encounter would have landed the
impressive conductor in bed for a long time.
Despite the fact that Volka and Zhenya had become accustomed to
witnessing the most unexpected events during the past few days, they were
most amazed to find their recent acquaintances aboard the ship and to
discover that they were also excellent sailors.
After the boys had stood gazing at the quick and skilful movements of
the small crew scurrying up and down the riggings just as if they were on a
polished floor, they went to explore the rest of the ship. It was very
beautiful, but small-no larger than a Moscow river launch. However,
Hottabych assured them that even Sulayman, the Son of David, did not have a
ship as big as the "Sweet Omar."
Everything on the ship glittered with cleanliness and splendour. Its
sides and high, carved bow and stern were inlaid with gold and ivory. The
priceless rosewood deck was covered with rugs as magnificent as those which
adorned the cabins.
That is why Volka was so surprised at suddenly coming upon a dark and
filthy cubby-hole in the prow. In it were plank beds covered with rags.
As he looked in disgust at the meagre furnishings of this tiny room,
Zhenya joined him. After careful scrutiny, Zhenya decided the unsightly hole
was intended for the pirates they might capture on the way.
"Not at all," Volka persisted. "This place was forgotten about after a
complete overhauling. Sometimes, after repairs, there's a forgotten corner
full of rags and all kinds of rubbish."
"What do you mean by 'a complete overhauling' when this ship didn't
even exist this morning?" Zhenya protested.
Volka had no answer to this question, and so the boys set off to find
Hottabych, to ask him to help solve the mystery. But they found the old man
asleep and thus did not speak to him until an hour or two later, at dinner
time.
Tucking their feet under them uncomfortably, they sat down on a thick,
brightly-coloured carpet. There were neither chairs nor tables in the cabin
or anywhere else on board.
One of the crew remained above at the wheel, while the others brought
in and placed before them many various dishes, fruits and beverages. When
they turned to leave, the boys called to them:
"Why are you leaving?"
And Volka added politely, "Aren't you going to have lunch?"
The servants only shook their heads in reply.
Hottabych was confused.
"I must not have been listening intently, 0 my young friends. For a
moment, I thought you had invited these servants to join us at the table."
"Sure we did," Volka said. "Why, what's wrong with that?"
"But they are only ordinary sailors," Hottabych objected in a voice
that indicated that the matter was now closed.
However, to his great surprise, the boys held their ground.
"All the more so, if they're sailors. They're not parasites, they're
real hard workers," Volka said.
And Zhenya added:
"And let's not forget that they seem to be Negroes and that means they
are an oppressed nation. That's why we should be especially considerate."
"This seems to be a most unfortunate misunderstanding," Hottabych said
excitedly, confused by the solid opposition of the boys. "I must ask you
again to remember that these are plain sailors. It is not becoming to us to
sit down to eat with them. This would lower us both in their eyes and in our
own."
' "It wouldn't lower me at all," Volka objected heatedly.
"Or me, either. On the contrary, it'll be very interesting," Zhenya
said, looking at the steaming turkey with hungry eyes. "Hurry up and ask
them to sit down, otherwise the turkey'll get cold."
"I don't feel like eating, 0 my young friends. I'll eat later on,"
Hottabych said glumly and clapped loudly three times.
The sailors appeared immediately.
"These young gentlemen have kindly expressed the desire to partake of
their meal together with you, my undeserving servants."
"0 great and mighty ruler!" the eldest of the sailors cried, falling to
his knees before Hottabych and touching the precious carpet with his
forehead. "We don't feel like eating at all. We are very full. We are so
full, that if we eat a single chicken leg our stomachs will burst and we
will die in terrible agony."
"They're lying!" Volka whispered to Zhenya with conviction;
"I'm ready to bet anything that they're lying. They wouldn't mind
eating, but they're afraid of Hottabych." Then he addressed the sailors.
"You say you're full, but won't you please tell me when you've had time to
eat?"
"Then know ye, 0 young and noble master, that we can go without food
for a year or more and never feel hungry," the sailor replied evasively.
"They'll never agree, they're afraid of him," Zhenya said in
disappointment.
The sailors backed out and were gone.
"To my great pleasure, I suddenly feel hungry again," Hottabych said
cheerfully. "Let us begin quickly."
"No, Hottabych, you eat by yourself. We're no company for you!" Zhenya
muttered angrily and got up. "Come on, Volka!"
"Come on. Golly! You try to educate a person and change his ways, but
nothing good comes of it...."
And so, the old man was left alone with the untouched dinner. He sat
there with his legs tucked under him, as straight and stiff and solemn as an
Eastern god. But the moment the boys disappeared behind the drapery that
separated the cabin from the deck, he began to pound his head with his small
fists that were nevertheless as hard as iron.
0 woe to him, poor Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab! Something had gone
wrong again! Yet, how happily the "Sweet Omar" had started on its journey!
How sincerely delighted the boys had been with its adornments, its sparkling
sails, the soft carpets in which their bare feet sank up to their ankles,
the priceless handrails of ebony and ivory, the mighty masts covered with a
mosaic of precious stones! Why had they suddenly conceived such a strange
idea? But what if it wasn't just an idea or a caprice, but something quite
different? How queer these boys were to have refused such a feast, despite
their hunger, and only because his servants were not allowed to share the
meal as equals! Oh, how puzzling and unfair it was, and how hungry, how very
hungry Hottabych was!
While his feeling of attachment for Volka and Zhenya was struggling
with prejudices of thousands of years' standing, our young travellers were
discussing the situation heatedly. Hottabych's servants tried to keep out of
sight, but one of them, either absent-mindedly or from lack of caution,
suddenly appeared from the very cubby-hole Volka had believed was intended
for captive pirates. Then the dingy hole on the luxurious "Sweet Omar" was
the sailors' quarters!
"Oh, no!" Volka said indignantly. "We'll never remain on such a ship.
Either Hottabych changes the rules immediately, or else we call off our
friendship and he gets us back home."
Suddenly they heard Hottabych's voice behind them.
"0 sails of my heart," the crafty old man said, as if nothing untoward
had happened. "Why are you wasting your time here on deck, when a most
delightful and filling dinner awaits you? The turkey is still steaming, but
it can get cold, and then it certainly will taste worse. Let us hurry back
to the cabin, for my beloved sailors and I, your faithful servant, are dying
of hunger and thirst."
The boys looked into the cabin they had just left and saw the sailors
sitting primly on the rug, awaiting their return.
"All right," Volka said dryly. "But we're still going to have a long
and serious talk with you, Hottabych. Meanwhile, let's have our dinner."
No sooner was dinner over, than the sea became turbulent;
the small ship now flew up on the crest of a huge wave, now plunged
down into a deep chasm between two tremendous walls of water. The waves
thundered and crashed as they washed over the deck and carried off the
carpets that covered it. Streams of water kept rushing into the cabins. It
became chilly, but the brazier with hot coals was tossed back and forth so
violently that they had to throw it overboard to prevent a fire. The
servant-sailors, whose only clothing were their loincloths, turned grey from
the cold, as they battled the flapping sails.
In another half hour nothing but a sad memory would have remained of
the "Sweet Omar." However, the storm ceased as unexpectedly as it had begun.
The sun peeped out. It became warm again. But everything became terribly
calm. The sails hung limply on the masts and the ship began to rock softly
on the water without moving forward an inch.
Hottabych decided that this was just the time to improve his shaky
relations with his young companions. Rubbing his hands together merrily, he
said, "Calm? Why you should know, 0 benevolent and just youths, that a calm
means nothing to us. We can do fine without the wind. The 'Sweet Omar' will
go forward faster than ever. May it be so!" He snapped the fingers of his
left hand.
Instantly the "Sweet Omar" sped forward at top speed; the sails,
meeting the resistance of the air, naturally filled out in a direction
opposite to the ship's movement.
In the entire history of sailing ships, no one had ever seen such a
strange sight. However, neither Volka nor Zhenya, nor Hottabych, who at the
time the ship started were all standing on the stern, had time to enjoy the
sight, since the sudden forward thrust threw them overboard. The next moment
the mainmast, unable to withstand the terrible resistance of the air, came
crashing down on the very spot where the three travellers had been standing
but a moment before.
The "Sweet Omar" disappeared from sight immediately.
"A life-boat, or even a life-saver would really come in handy now,"
Volka thought as he splashed about in the water and blew air like a horse.
"We can't even see the shore."
And true, no matter which way he looked, he could see nothing but the
calm and endless sea.
"Where are you going?" Volka shouted to Zhenya, who was swimming off
rapidly. "You won't reach the shore anyway, Don't waste your energy! Turn
over and float on your back."
Zhenya took his advice. Hottabych also turned over, holding his hat
carefully above water.
Thus began the only conference of shipwrecked people in the history of
sailing, in which the speakers expressed their opinions while floating on
their backs.
"Well, we're shipwrecked!" Volka said with something close to
satisfaction. He had taken upon himself the duties of chairman. "What are
you planning to do?" he asked, noticing that Hottabych had begun yanking
hairs from his beard with his free hand.
"I want to return our ship. It's a great stroke of luck that my beard
is completely dry."
"There's no hurry," Volka interrupted. "The question is: do we want to
return to it or not? I, for one, do not. To tell you the truth, there are
inhuman rules aboard. It's disgusting to even think of it."
"I agree. The 'Sweet Omar' is out of the question," Zhenya added. "But
you know, Hottabych, you'll have to act quickly to save the sailors,
otherwise they'll go down with the ship!"
Hottabych frowned.
"The fate of my unworthy servants should not bother you at all. They
have been in Arabia for not less than five minutes already. That is where
they reside, that is where they are now awaiting my orders. But please tell
me, 0 masts of my heart, why should we not continue our journey aboard the
'Sweet Omar'?"
"I thought we made that clear," Volka said.
"And anyway, a sailing ship is too slow and unreliable. We're dependent
on every little change in the weather. No, the 'Sweet Omar' is out," Zhenya
said.
"0 anchors of my happiness!" Hottabych whined pitifully. "I'll do
anything to...."
"No, it's out, and that's the end of it," Volka interrupted and
shivered. It was most unpleasant to lie in the water fully dressed. "It
remains to be seen what else Hottabych can suggest."
"I can take you under my arms and fly."
"No good!" Volka said. "Who wants to fly under somebody's arms!"
"Not somebody's-mine!" Hottabych replied in a hurt voice.
"It makes no difference."
"Then I would venture to suggest to your enlightened attention the
magic carpet. It is an excellent means of transportation, 0 my choosy
friends!"
"There's nothing excellent about it. You freeze on it, and it's too
slow, and there's no comforts at all," Volka said thoughtfully and suddenly
exclaimed, "I've got it! Upon my word of honour, I have a wonderful idea!"
At this, he went under, as in his excitement he could think of nothing
better to do than clap his hands. He bobbed up again, huffing and spitting
water, and then resumed his comfortable position on his back, continuing as
if nothing had happened:
"We have to modernize the magic carpet: it should be streamlined and
cold-resistant, and it should have bunks and be on pontoons."
It was most difficult to explain Volka's idea to Hottabych. In the
first place, the old man did not know what "streamlined" meant. In the
second place, he could not visualize a pair of pontoons.
It would seem that "streamlined" was such a simple word, but they had
to explain and explain until they finally hit upon the thought of saying
that a streamlined magic carpet should look like a hollowed-out cucumber. It
also took a great deal of explaining to make Hottabych understand what
pontoons were like. Finally, a streamlined "VK-1" magic-carpet-seaplane
soared into the air and set its course at South-South-West. In translation
to ordinary words, "VK-1" meant "Vladimir Kostylkov. First Model."
This magic-carpet-seaplane, resembling a huge cucumber with a tiny stem
in back, had three berths and two windows on each side, cut through the
heavy carpeting.
The flying qualities of Volka's plane were immeasurably superior to
those of an ordinary magic carpet. The Black Sea, the Bosporus, the
Dardanelles, Asia Minor and the sun-parched plateau of Arabia flashed by
below. Then they saw the yellow sands of the Sinai Desert. The thin ribbon
of the Suez Canal separated it from the no less yellow sands of the Arabian
Desert, which was Africa, Egypt. Hottabych had planned to begin his search
for Omar Asaf here, in the Mediterranean, from its eastern point to its
western end. But no sooner had the "VK-1" descended to an altitude of 200
metres, than Hottabych groaned and said he was an old fool. The
magic-carpet-seaplane gained altitude and headed west. After spending so
many years in the vessel, Hottabych had forgotten that this was where the
Nile discharged into the Mediterranean and where the water was always muddy
from the slime and sand the great river carried far out to sea. How could
one even attempt a search in such sticky yellow mire? It would only irritate
the eyes.
Hottabych decided to put off the exploration of this inconvenient area
till last, if their search for Omar Asaf in other parts of the Mediterranean
proved futile.
A short while later they landed in a quiet blue lagoon close to the
Italian city of Genoa.
"Well, wish me luck!" Hottabych exclaimed, turning into a fish and
disappearing into the lagoon.
The water was crystal-clear, so very unlike the water of the Nile
Delta, and they had a good view of the old man working his fins quickly as
he headed for the open sea.
While awaiting his return, the boys went in for a good dozen dips, they
dived to their heart's content, lay in the sun until they were dizzy, and,
finally, with hunger clawing at their insides, they began to worry.
Hottabych had been gone for a suspiciously long time, though he had promised
not to be away longer than an hour. The sun had long since set, colouring
the horizon and the calm sea in tints of amazing beauty; thousands of city
lights twinkled in the distance, but still the old man had not returned.
"Could he have got lost?" Zhenya said despondently.
"He can't get lost," Volka answered. "Chaps like him never get lost."
"He might have been swallowed by a shark."
"There aren't any sharks in these waters," Volka objected, though he
wasn't too sure of his words.
"I'm hungry!" Zhenya confessed after a long silence.
Just then, a rowboat nosed into the beach with a soft splash. Three
fishermen climbed out. One of them began to lay a fire of driftwood, while
the others picked out the smaller fish. They cleaned it and threw it into a
kettle of water.
"Let's go ask them for something to eat," Zhenya suggested. "They look
like nice working people. I'm sure they'll give us something."
Volka agreed.
"Good evening, Signores!" Zhenya bowed politely, as he addressed the
fishermen.
"Just think how many homeless children there are in our poor Italy!"
one of the three, a thin, grey-haired man, said hoarsely. "Giovanni, give
them something to eat."
"We've just enough bread for ourselves, but there's plenty of onions
and more than enough salt!" a curly-haired stocky youth of about nineteen
answered cheerfully. He was busy cleaning fish.
"Sit down, boys. Soon the best fish soup ever cooked in or around Genoa
will be ready."
Either the cheerful Giovanni was truly a gifted cook by nature, or else
the boys were famished, but they agreed that they had never eaten anything
more delicious in their lives. They ate with such gusto, smacking their lips
from sheer joy, that the fishermen watching them chuckled.
"If you want some more, you can cook it yourselves, there nothing
complicated about it," Giovanni said and stretched. "We'll doze off
meanwhile. Be sure you don't take any big fishes, they go to market
tomorrow, so we'll have money to pay our taxes."
Zhenya began puttering around the fire, while Volka rolled up his
trousers and made his way to the boat full of fish.
He had gathered as much as he needed and was about to re turn to the
beach, when his eyes chanced upon the net folded near the mast. A lonely
A few more moments, and they would finally be able to score.
"Aha!" Volka's neighbour shouted behind his back. "See?! What did I
say! They'll show those Shaiba imbeciles a thing or two...."
Ah, how much better it would have been for all concerned if he had
curbed his joy. He should not have nudged Hottabych in the side with such a
triumphant look on his face, as if every man on the Zubilo team was his own
favourite son, or at least his favourite pupil!
Hottabych started, tore his eyes from the paper, and took in the field
at a glance. He sized up the situation like an expert and handed the paper
back to Zhenya, who accepted it with a long face.
"I'll finish reading it later," the old man said. He hurriedly yanked a
hair from his beard, and the Zubilo team's unexplainable and disgraceful
sufferings began anew.
The ball flew into the Zubilo goal on an average of once every 40
seconds.
But what had happened to the goalie? Why did he clutch at the side-post
and wail "Mamma!" every time the ball was kicked into the goal? Why did he
suddenly walk to the side with a thoughtful expression on his face-and for
no apparent reason at all-and this at a most decisive moment, in the middle
of a heated tangle right in front of the goal?
"Shame! It's outrageous! What's the matter with you!" the fans shouted
from all sides. But he, the famous goalie, the pride of his country,
staggered out of the goal and off to a side every time the opposite team
closed in.
"What's the matter with you? Have you gone crazy?" the spare player
croaked.
And the goalie moaned in reply:
"I sure have. Someone seems to be pulling me. I try to hold my ground,
but something keeps pushing me out of the goal.
When I want to turn towards the ball, that same something presses me
toward the goal-post so hard that I can't tear myself away."
"Things are really bad!"
"Couldn't be worse!"
The situation was so extraordinary that there was not a person present
at the stadium, including the ticket collectors, militia men and food
vendors, who was not taking the strange events
to heart and discussing them loudly.
There was only one fan among the thousands who, though
suffering keenly, was remarkably silent. This was an amazingly
uncommunicative man of about fifty-five, grey-haired, tall and lanky, with a
long, yellowish stony face. His face was equally stony during an unimportant
game and during the finals, when a successful kick decides the champion of
the year. He was always equally dour, straightlaced and immobile.
This day he was in his usual seat, which was right in front of
Hottabych. As he was a Zubilo fan, one can well imagine the anguish in his
sunken, bony chest. However, only the shifting of his eyes and the barely
discernible movements of his head indicated that he was far from indifferent
to the events taking place on the field. He apparently had a bad heart, and
had to take good care of himself, for any amount of emotion might have
produced grave results. However, even as he felt around with a practised
gesture for his box of sugar and his bottle of medicine and dropped the
medicine onto a bit of sugar, without ever tearing his eyes from the game,
his face remained as immobile as if he were staring into space.
When the score became 23:0 it nearly finished him. He opened his thin
pale lips and squeaked in a wooden voice:
"They could at least sell mineral water here!"
Hottabych, whose soul was singing joyfully at the unheard-of success of
the Shaiba team, was more willing than ever to do people favours.
Upon hearing the words of his phlegmatic neighbour, he snapped his
fingers softly. The man suddenly saw that he was holding a glass of ice-cold
mineral water which had appeared from nowhere.
Anyone else in his place would have been astounded, or, at any rate,
would have looked around at the people sitting to all sides of him. But this
man merely raised the frosted glass to his lips with the same stony
expression. However, he did not even take a sip: the poor Zubilo players
were about to get the twenty-fourth ball kicked into their goal. He sat
frozen to the spot with his glass raised and Zhenya, who was still
frantically searching for a way to save the disgraced team, snatched the
mineral water from him and dashed it onto Hottabych's beard.
"What treachery! What vile treachery!" the old Genie gasped and began
feverishly yanking out one hair after another. Instead of the clear crystal
tinkling, the boys were happy to hear a dull sound like that of a tightly
pulled piece of string.
"And isn't it treachery to help the Shaiba players?" Volka asked
acidly. "You'd better keep mum."
Meanwhile, just as had happened after the fourteenth goal, the revived
Zubilo players once again tore through the forward and defence lines of the
Shaiba team and raced the ball towards their goal.
The Shaiba defence had become unkeyed from their long idleness and
could not collect their wits quickly to ward off the unexpected danger.
Their goalie was really something to look at. There he sat on the grass,
shelling melon seeds.
Choking, he jumped to his feet, but the Zubilo players had already
kicked the ball straight towards the centre of the unprotected goal.
Just then, to the great torment of our young friends, they heard a
clear crystal tinkling. Yes, Hottabych had finally been able to find a dry
hair in his beard.
Oh, Zhenya, Zhenya! Where was your keen eye and sure hand? Why didn't
you take good aim? The Zubilo team was as good as dead now!
"Hottabych! Dear, sweet Hottabych! Let the Zubilo players score at
least once!" Volka wailed.
But Hottabych pretended to hear nothing. The ball, which was flying
straight at the centre of the goal, suddenly swerved to the left and hit
against the post with such force that it flew back across the whole field,
careful to avoid the Zubilo players in its way, as though it was alive. Then
it rolled softly into the long-suffering Zubilo goal!
"24:0!"
This was an amazing score, considering that the teams were equal.
Volka lost his temper completely.
"I demand-no, I order you to stop this mockery immediately!" he hissed.
"Otherwise, I'll never be friends with you again! You have your choice: the
Shaiba team or me!"
"Why, you're a football fan yourself. Can't you understand my
feelings?" the old man pleaded, but he sensed from Volka's expression that
this time their friendship might really end. And so, he whispered back, "I
await your further orders."
"The Zubilo team isn't to blame that you're a Shaiba fan. You've made
them the laughing-stock of the country. Make it so that everyone should see
they're not to blame for losing."
"I hear and I obey, 0 young goalie of my soul!"
No sooner had the umpire's whistle died down, announcing the end of the
first time, than the entire Zubilo team began to sneeze and cough for all it
was worth.
Forming a semblance of a formation, they dragged their feet listlessly
to their locker room, sneezing and coughing loudly.
A moment later a doctor was summoned, since all eleven players were
feeling ill. The doctor felt each one's pulse in turn, he asked them to take
off their shirts, then looked in their mouths and finally summoned the
umpire. "I'm afraid you'll have to call off the game."
"Why? What do you mean?"
"Because the Zubilo team can't play for at least seven more days. The
whole team is sick," the doctor answered dazedly.
"Sick! What's the matter?"
"It's a very strange case. All these eleven grown men have come down
with the measles. I would never have believed it if I had not given them a
thorough check-up just now."
Thus ended the only football match in history in which a fan had an
opportunity to influence the game. As you see, it did not come to any good.
The unusual instance of eleven adult athletes simultaneously
contracting the measles for the second time in their lives and waking up the
following morning in the pink of health was described in great detail in an
article by the famous Professor Hooping Cough and published in the medical
journal Measles and Sneezles. The article was entitled "That's a Nice How
D'You Do!" and is still so popular that one can never get a copy of the
magazine in the libraries, as they are always on loan. That is why, dear
readers, you might as well not look for it, since you'll only waste your
time for nothing.
The little cloud that was covering the sun floated off and disappeared,
as it was no longer needed. Once again it became hot. A hundred thousand
fans were slowly leaving the stadium through the narrow concrete passages.
No one was in a hurry. Everyone wanted to voice an opinion about the
amazing game which had ended so strangely.
These opinions were each more involved than the previous one. However,
not even the most vivid imaginations could think of an explanation that
would so much as resemble the true reason for all the queer things they had
witnessed.
Only three people took no part in these discussions. They left the
North Section in deep silence. They entered a crowded trolley-bus in silence
and alighted in silence at Okhotny Ryad, where they separated.
"Football is an excellent game," Hottabych finally mustered up the
courage to say.
"Mm-m-m," Volka replied.
"I can just imagine how sweet the moment is when you kick the ball into
the enemy's goal!" Hottabych continued in a crestfallen voice. "Isn't that
so, 0 Volka?"
"Mm-m-m."
"Are you still angry with me, 0 goalie of my heart? I'll die if you
don't answer me!"
He scurried along beside his angry friend, sighing sadly and cursing
the hour he had agreed to go to the game.
"What do you think!" Volka snapped, but then continued in a softer
tone, "Boy, what a mess! I'll never forget it as long as I live. Have a look
at this new-found fan! No sir, we'll never take
you to a football game again! And we don't need your tickets, either."
"Your every word is my command," Hottabych hurried to assure him,
pleased to have got off so easily. "I'll be quite content if you
occasionally find the time to tell me of the football matches."
So they continued on as good friends as ever.
To look at Hottabych's healthy face, no one would ever suspect he had
been seriously ill so recently.
His cheeks were a soft, even shade of old-age pink. His step was as
light and as quick as always, and a broad smile lighted his artless face.
And only Volka, who knew Hottabych so well, noticed that a secret thought
was constantly gnawing at the old Genie. Hottabych often sighed, he stroked
his beard thoughtfully, and large tears would ever so often roll from his
frank, friendly eyes.
Volka would pretend not to notice and did not bother the old man with
tactless questions. He was convinced that in the end Hottabych would be the
first to speak. That is exactly what happened.
"Grief and sadness rent my old heart, 0 noble saviour of Genies,"
Hottabych said softly one day when a magnificent sunset coloured the evening
waters of the Moskva River a delicate pink. "Thoughts of my poor lost
brother and of his terrible and hapless fate do not leave me for a moment.
The more I think of him, the more I feel I should set out to search for him
as soon as possible. What do you think of this, 0 wise Volka ibn Alyosha?
And if you regard this decision kindly, would you not make me happy by
sharing the joys and sorrows of this journey with me?"
"Where do you want to start looking for your brother?" Volka asked in a
business-like way, since he was no longer surprised at the most unexpected
suggestions Hottabych might have.
"If you remember, 0 Volka, at the very dawn of our extremely happy
acquaintance, I told you that Sulayman's Genies threw him into one of the
Southern Seas, sealed in a copper vessel. There, along the shores of the hot
countries, is where one must naturally look for Omar Asaf."
The possibility of setting out on a journey to the Southern Seas really
appealed to Volka.
"All right. I'll come along with you. Wherever you go, I go. It would
be nice if.. ." Volka fumbled.
But a cheerful Hottabych continued: ".. .if we could take our wonderful
friend Zhenya ibn Kolya along. Have I understood you correctly, 0 my kind
Volka ibn Alyosha?"
"Uh-huh."
"There could not have been a shadow of doubt," Hottabych said. It was
decided then and there that the expedition setting out to search for
Hottabych's unfortunate brother would leave no later than in two days' time.
However, if the time of departure caused ho discord, it quite suddenly
became apparent that there were serious differences on the question of a
means of transportation.
"Let's go by magic carpet," Hottabych suggested. "There's enough room
for all of us."
"Oh no," Volka objected strongly. "No more magic carpets for me. Thanks
a lot! Our last trip was enough for me. I don't want to freeze like a dog a
second time."
"I'll supply you both with warm clothing, 0 blessed Volka. And if you
so desire, a large bonfire will constantly burn in the middle of the carpet.
We can warm ourselves beside it during our flight."
"No, no, no! The magic carpet is out of the question. Let's go to
Odessa by train. Then, from Odessa...."
Hottabych immediately accepted Volka's plan and Zhenya, who was told of
it in detail a short half hour later, enthusiastically approved.
HAPPENED ON THE NARA-MALY YAROSLAYETS LINE
(Told by the conductor to Ms assistant, who was asleep during the
events described herein)
"I woke you up just to tell you that a very strange thing has happened
in our car.
"Well, I made up the beds for the passengers, the same as always, and
the ones in Compartment 7, too. The passengers there were a bearded old bird
in an old-fashioned straw boater and two boys. The boys looked about the
same age. And what do you think: not a single piece of luggage !No, sir, not
a single one!
"Just then, one of the boys, a blond freckled lad, says:
" 'Can you please tell us where the dining car is?'
"And I says, 'I'm sorry, but we don't have a dining car, There'll be
tea and crackers in the morning.'
"Then the boy looks at the old man and the old man winks at him. So the
boy says, 'Never mind, we'll manage without your tea, since you haven't a
dining car.'
" 'Ha,' I thought, 'I'd like to see how you'll make out all the way to
Odessa without my tea.' So I came back here to our compartment, but I left a
chink in the door when I closed it.
"Everyone in the car was sound asleep, having sweet dreams, but all the
time there was buzz-buzz-buzz coming from Compartment 7-they kept on talking
and whispering all the time. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I
can tell you for sure they were talking.
"Then suddenly their door opens and the same old man sticks out his
head. He didn't notice me watching him so he pushed his old hat back. And
what d'you think he did? Upon my word, I'm tellin' the truth! He pulled a
fistful of hair from his beard-may I drop dead on the spot if he didn't!
" 'Goodness,' I thought, 'he's crazy! Just my luck to get a madman
while I'm on duty.' Well, I didn't say anything and waited to see what'd
happen.
"Well, the old man tore this same fistful of hair into little pieces,
then he threw this litter on the floor and mumbled something. I felt more
and more sure he was mad and that I'd have to put him off at Bryansk, no
doubt about it.
" 'Well,' I thought, 'there'll be no end of worry! Why, maybe he'll
start attacking the passengers this very minute, or breaking the windows!'
"No, he didn't start any trouble, but just stood there mumbling. After
he mumbled a while more, he went back into his compartment.
"All of a sudden I heard someone walking barefoot down the passage,
coming from behind. That meant whoever it was had come in from the platform.
I sure was surprised, because I always lock the platforms when we pull out
of a station. Well, I looked round, and-upon my sacred word of honour, I'm
telling the truth!-I saw four young fellows coming towards me from the
platform. They were as sunburned as vacationers and quite naked. All they
had on were little cloths round their hips. And barefoot. As skinny as could
be! You could count every rib.
"I came out of our compartment and said, 'Citizens, I believe you've
got your cars mixed. All our compartments are occupied.'
"And they all answered together, 'Silence, infidel! We know where we're
going! We've come exactly to the place we want.'
"So I says, 'Then I'd like to see your tickets, please.'
"And they all said together again, 'Don't annoy us, foreigner, for we
are hurrying to our lord and master!'
"So I says, 'I'm surprised that you call me a foreigner. I'm a Soviet
citizen and I'm in my own country. That's for one. And in the second place,
we haven't had any masters here since the Revolution. That,' I said, 'is in
the second place.'
"So their leader says, 'You should be ashamed, infidel! You are taking
advantage of the fact that our hands are occupied and we therefore cannot
kill you for your terrible insolence. It , is most dishonourable of you to
take advantage of us so.'
"I forgot to tell you that they were piled high with all sorts of food.
One was carrying a heavy tray with roast lamb and rice. Another had a huge
basket of apples, pears, apricots and grapes.
The third one was balancing something that looked like a pitcher on his
head, and something was splashing inside the pitcher. The fourth was holding
two large platters of meat pies and pastries. To tell you the truth, I just
stood there gaping.
"Then the leader says, 'Infidel, you'd do better to show us where
Compartment 7 is, for we are in a hurry to fulfil our orders.'
"Then I began to put two and two together and asked, 'What does your
boss look like? Is he a little old man with a beard?'
" 'Yes, that is he. That is whom we serve.'
"I showed them to Compartment 7, and on the way I said, 'I'll have to
fine your boss for letting you travel without tickets. Have you been working
for him long?'
"So the leader says, 'We've been serving him for three thousand five
hundred years."
"To tell you the truth, I thought I didn't hear him right. So I says
again, 'How many years did you say?'
" 'You heard me, that's exactly how long we've served him- three
thousand five hundred years.'
"The other three nodded.
" 'Good gracious,' I thought, 'as if one crazy man wasn't enough-now I
have four more on my neck!'
"But I went on talking to them as I would to any normal passengers.
'What a shame! Look how many years you've been working for him and he can't
even get you some ordinary overalls. If you'll pardon the expression, you're
absolutely naked.'
"So the leader says, 'We don't need overalls. We don't even know what
they are.'
" 'It's strange to hear that coming from someone who's worked so many
years. I guess you're from far away. Where d'you live?'
" 'We've just come from Ancient Arabia.'
"Then I says, 'Well, that clears everything up. Here's Compartment 7.
Knock on the door.'
"Just then, the same little old man comes out and all his men fall to
their knees and stretch out the food and drinks they've brought. But I
called the old man off to a side and said, 'Are these your employees?'
" 'Yes, they are.'
" 'They have no tickets. That means you have to pay a fine. Will you
pay it?'
" 'Right away, if you wish. But won't you first tell me what a fine
is?'
"I saw the old man was being sensible, so I began to explain things in
a whisper, 'One of your men has gone out of his mind:
he says he's been working for you for three thousand five hundred
years. I'm sure you'll agree he's crazy.'
"Then the old man says, 'I cannot agree, since he is not lying. Yes,
that's right-three thousand five hundred years. Even a little longer, since
I was only two hundred or two hundred and thirty when I became their
master.'
"So I says to him, 'Stop making a fool of me! It doesn't become your
age. If you don't pay the fine immediately, I'll put them off at the next
station. And, anyway, you look like a suspicious character, going on such a
long journey without any luggage.'
" 'What's luggage?'
" 'You know, bundles, suitcases and such stuff.'
"The old man laughed and said, 'Why are you inventing things, 0
conductor? Saying that I have no luggage. Just look at the shelves.'
"I looked up at the luggage racks and they were jammed! I'd looked a
moment before and there hadn't been anything there, and suddenly-just
imagine!-so many suitcases and bundles!
"Then I said, 'Something's wrong here. Pay the fine quickly and I'll
bring the chief conductor over at the next stop. Let him decide. I can't
understand what's going on.'
"The old man laughed again. 'What fine?' says he. 'Whom do I have to
pay a fine for?'
"Then I really got angry. I turned around and pointed to the passage,
but there was no one there! I ran up and down the whole car, but couldn't
find a trace of my four stray passengers.
"Then the old man said, '0 conductor, you had better go back to your
own compartment.' And so I went back.
"Now d'you understand why I woke you up? Don't you believe me?"
An hour before the train arrived in Odessa, the conductor entered
Compartment 7 to remove the bedding. Hottabych treated him to some apples.
It was quite apparent that the man did not remember anything of the
incident which had taken place the night before.
After he had left their compartment, Zhenya said with admiration: "I
must admit, Volka is a bright chap!"
"I should think so!" Hottabych exclaimed. "Volka ibn Alyosha is
unquestionably an excellent fellow and his suggestion is worthy of great
praise."
Since the reader might not be too clear on the meaning of this short
conversation, we hurry to explain.
When the completely confused conductor left Compartment 7 the previous
night, Volka said to Hottabych, "Can you do something to make him forget
what's happened?"
"Why, 0 Volka ibn Alyosha, that's as simple as pie."
"Then please do it and as quickly as possible. He'll go to sleep then,
and when he wakes up in the morning he won't remember anything."
"Excellent, 0 treasure-store of common sense!" Hottabych said
admiringly, waved his hand and made the conductor forget everything.
Several passengers were talking leisurely as they leaned on the rail of
the excursion ship "Kolkhida," sailing from Odessa to Batumi. Powerful
diesel engines hummed far below, in the depths of the ship. The water
whispered dreamily as it lapped against the steep sides, and high above,
over the spar deck, the ship's wireless piped anxiously.
"You know, it's really a shame that the large sailing ships of yore,
those white-winged beauties, are a thing of the past. How happy I would be
to find myself on a real frigate... . Just to enjoy the sight of those
billowing white sails, to listen to the creaking of the mighty yet graceful
masts, to watch in amazement as, at the captain's command, the crew
scrambles up the rigging! If I could only see a real sailing ship! I mean a
real genuine one! Nowadays even a bark has to have a motor, you know, even
though-mark my words-it's considered a sailboat!"
"A motor-sailboat," a man wearing the uniform of the Merchant Marine
added. They fell silent. All except the sailor went over to the left side to
watch a school of tireless dolphins splash and cavort in the warm noonday
sea. Dolphins were nothing new to the sailor. He stretched out in a deck
chair and picked up a magazine lazily. Soon the sun made him drowsy. He
closed the magazine and fanned himself with it.
Then something attracted his attention. He stopped fanning himself,
jumped to his feet and rushed to the railing. Far off, near the very
horizon, he saw a beautiful but terribly old-fashioned sailing ship skimming
over the waves. It seemed like something from a fairy tale.
"Everybody! Everybody hurry over here!" he shouted. "Look at that
sailing ship! Isn't it ancient! Oh, and something's wrong with its mainmast!
It doesn't have a mainmast! Why, it just isn't there! My goodness! Just
look! The sails are all billowed out the wrong way! According to every law
of nature, the foremast should have been blown overboard long ago! It's
really a miracle!"
However, by the time the other passengers heeded his words and returned
to the starboard side, the unknown vessel had disappeared from sight. We say
"unknown," because the sailor was ready to swear that the wonderful sailing
ship was not registered at any Soviet port on the Black Sea. This is true.
In fact, it wasn't registered at any foreign port, either; it wasn't
registered any place, for the simple reason that it had appeared in the
world and was launched but a few short hours before.
The name of the vessel was the "Sweet Omar," in honour of the
unfortunate brother of our old friend, Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab.
Had our friend the conductor on the Moscow-Odessa express miraculously
found himself aboard the twin-masted "Sweet Omar," he would not have been
most amazed at the fact that he had suddenly found himself aboard a sailing
vessel, nor that this vessel did not in any way resemble a usual sea or
river craft. He would have been most amazed at finding that he was already
acquainted with the passengers and crew.
The old man and his two young companions who had left Compartment 7
that morning were its passengers, while the four dark-skinned citizens whose
term of service dated back to the 16th century B.C. were its crew.
One can well imagine that a second encounter would have landed the
impressive conductor in bed for a long time.
Despite the fact that Volka and Zhenya had become accustomed to
witnessing the most unexpected events during the past few days, they were
most amazed to find their recent acquaintances aboard the ship and to
discover that they were also excellent sailors.
After the boys had stood gazing at the quick and skilful movements of
the small crew scurrying up and down the riggings just as if they were on a
polished floor, they went to explore the rest of the ship. It was very
beautiful, but small-no larger than a Moscow river launch. However,
Hottabych assured them that even Sulayman, the Son of David, did not have a
ship as big as the "Sweet Omar."
Everything on the ship glittered with cleanliness and splendour. Its
sides and high, carved bow and stern were inlaid with gold and ivory. The
priceless rosewood deck was covered with rugs as magnificent as those which
adorned the cabins.
That is why Volka was so surprised at suddenly coming upon a dark and
filthy cubby-hole in the prow. In it were plank beds covered with rags.
As he looked in disgust at the meagre furnishings of this tiny room,
Zhenya joined him. After careful scrutiny, Zhenya decided the unsightly hole
was intended for the pirates they might capture on the way.
"Not at all," Volka persisted. "This place was forgotten about after a
complete overhauling. Sometimes, after repairs, there's a forgotten corner
full of rags and all kinds of rubbish."
"What do you mean by 'a complete overhauling' when this ship didn't
even exist this morning?" Zhenya protested.
Volka had no answer to this question, and so the boys set off to find
Hottabych, to ask him to help solve the mystery. But they found the old man
asleep and thus did not speak to him until an hour or two later, at dinner
time.
Tucking their feet under them uncomfortably, they sat down on a thick,
brightly-coloured carpet. There were neither chairs nor tables in the cabin
or anywhere else on board.
One of the crew remained above at the wheel, while the others brought
in and placed before them many various dishes, fruits and beverages. When
they turned to leave, the boys called to them:
"Why are you leaving?"
And Volka added politely, "Aren't you going to have lunch?"
The servants only shook their heads in reply.
Hottabych was confused.
"I must not have been listening intently, 0 my young friends. For a
moment, I thought you had invited these servants to join us at the table."
"Sure we did," Volka said. "Why, what's wrong with that?"
"But they are only ordinary sailors," Hottabych objected in a voice
that indicated that the matter was now closed.
However, to his great surprise, the boys held their ground.
"All the more so, if they're sailors. They're not parasites, they're
real hard workers," Volka said.
And Zhenya added:
"And let's not forget that they seem to be Negroes and that means they
are an oppressed nation. That's why we should be especially considerate."
"This seems to be a most unfortunate misunderstanding," Hottabych said
excitedly, confused by the solid opposition of the boys. "I must ask you
again to remember that these are plain sailors. It is not becoming to us to
sit down to eat with them. This would lower us both in their eyes and in our
own."
' "It wouldn't lower me at all," Volka objected heatedly.
"Or me, either. On the contrary, it'll be very interesting," Zhenya
said, looking at the steaming turkey with hungry eyes. "Hurry up and ask
them to sit down, otherwise the turkey'll get cold."
"I don't feel like eating, 0 my young friends. I'll eat later on,"
Hottabych said glumly and clapped loudly three times.
The sailors appeared immediately.
"These young gentlemen have kindly expressed the desire to partake of
their meal together with you, my undeserving servants."
"0 great and mighty ruler!" the eldest of the sailors cried, falling to
his knees before Hottabych and touching the precious carpet with his
forehead. "We don't feel like eating at all. We are very full. We are so
full, that if we eat a single chicken leg our stomachs will burst and we
will die in terrible agony."
"They're lying!" Volka whispered to Zhenya with conviction;
"I'm ready to bet anything that they're lying. They wouldn't mind
eating, but they're afraid of Hottabych." Then he addressed the sailors.
"You say you're full, but won't you please tell me when you've had time to
eat?"
"Then know ye, 0 young and noble master, that we can go without food
for a year or more and never feel hungry," the sailor replied evasively.
"They'll never agree, they're afraid of him," Zhenya said in
disappointment.
The sailors backed out and were gone.
"To my great pleasure, I suddenly feel hungry again," Hottabych said
cheerfully. "Let us begin quickly."
"No, Hottabych, you eat by yourself. We're no company for you!" Zhenya
muttered angrily and got up. "Come on, Volka!"
"Come on. Golly! You try to educate a person and change his ways, but
nothing good comes of it...."
And so, the old man was left alone with the untouched dinner. He sat
there with his legs tucked under him, as straight and stiff and solemn as an
Eastern god. But the moment the boys disappeared behind the drapery that
separated the cabin from the deck, he began to pound his head with his small
fists that were nevertheless as hard as iron.
0 woe to him, poor Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab! Something had gone
wrong again! Yet, how happily the "Sweet Omar" had started on its journey!
How sincerely delighted the boys had been with its adornments, its sparkling
sails, the soft carpets in which their bare feet sank up to their ankles,
the priceless handrails of ebony and ivory, the mighty masts covered with a
mosaic of precious stones! Why had they suddenly conceived such a strange
idea? But what if it wasn't just an idea or a caprice, but something quite
different? How queer these boys were to have refused such a feast, despite
their hunger, and only because his servants were not allowed to share the
meal as equals! Oh, how puzzling and unfair it was, and how hungry, how very
hungry Hottabych was!
While his feeling of attachment for Volka and Zhenya was struggling
with prejudices of thousands of years' standing, our young travellers were
discussing the situation heatedly. Hottabych's servants tried to keep out of
sight, but one of them, either absent-mindedly or from lack of caution,
suddenly appeared from the very cubby-hole Volka had believed was intended
for captive pirates. Then the dingy hole on the luxurious "Sweet Omar" was
the sailors' quarters!
"Oh, no!" Volka said indignantly. "We'll never remain on such a ship.
Either Hottabych changes the rules immediately, or else we call off our
friendship and he gets us back home."
Suddenly they heard Hottabych's voice behind them.
"0 sails of my heart," the crafty old man said, as if nothing untoward
had happened. "Why are you wasting your time here on deck, when a most
delightful and filling dinner awaits you? The turkey is still steaming, but
it can get cold, and then it certainly will taste worse. Let us hurry back
to the cabin, for my beloved sailors and I, your faithful servant, are dying
of hunger and thirst."
The boys looked into the cabin they had just left and saw the sailors
sitting primly on the rug, awaiting their return.
"All right," Volka said dryly. "But we're still going to have a long
and serious talk with you, Hottabych. Meanwhile, let's have our dinner."
No sooner was dinner over, than the sea became turbulent;
the small ship now flew up on the crest of a huge wave, now plunged
down into a deep chasm between two tremendous walls of water. The waves
thundered and crashed as they washed over the deck and carried off the
carpets that covered it. Streams of water kept rushing into the cabins. It
became chilly, but the brazier with hot coals was tossed back and forth so
violently that they had to throw it overboard to prevent a fire. The
servant-sailors, whose only clothing were their loincloths, turned grey from
the cold, as they battled the flapping sails.
In another half hour nothing but a sad memory would have remained of
the "Sweet Omar." However, the storm ceased as unexpectedly as it had begun.
The sun peeped out. It became warm again. But everything became terribly
calm. The sails hung limply on the masts and the ship began to rock softly
on the water without moving forward an inch.
Hottabych decided that this was just the time to improve his shaky
relations with his young companions. Rubbing his hands together merrily, he
said, "Calm? Why you should know, 0 benevolent and just youths, that a calm
means nothing to us. We can do fine without the wind. The 'Sweet Omar' will
go forward faster than ever. May it be so!" He snapped the fingers of his
left hand.
Instantly the "Sweet Omar" sped forward at top speed; the sails,
meeting the resistance of the air, naturally filled out in a direction
opposite to the ship's movement.
In the entire history of sailing ships, no one had ever seen such a
strange sight. However, neither Volka nor Zhenya, nor Hottabych, who at the
time the ship started were all standing on the stern, had time to enjoy the
sight, since the sudden forward thrust threw them overboard. The next moment
the mainmast, unable to withstand the terrible resistance of the air, came
crashing down on the very spot where the three travellers had been standing
but a moment before.
The "Sweet Omar" disappeared from sight immediately.
"A life-boat, or even a life-saver would really come in handy now,"
Volka thought as he splashed about in the water and blew air like a horse.
"We can't even see the shore."
And true, no matter which way he looked, he could see nothing but the
calm and endless sea.
"Where are you going?" Volka shouted to Zhenya, who was swimming off
rapidly. "You won't reach the shore anyway, Don't waste your energy! Turn
over and float on your back."
Zhenya took his advice. Hottabych also turned over, holding his hat
carefully above water.
Thus began the only conference of shipwrecked people in the history of
sailing, in which the speakers expressed their opinions while floating on
their backs.
"Well, we're shipwrecked!" Volka said with something close to
satisfaction. He had taken upon himself the duties of chairman. "What are
you planning to do?" he asked, noticing that Hottabych had begun yanking
hairs from his beard with his free hand.
"I want to return our ship. It's a great stroke of luck that my beard
is completely dry."
"There's no hurry," Volka interrupted. "The question is: do we want to
return to it or not? I, for one, do not. To tell you the truth, there are
inhuman rules aboard. It's disgusting to even think of it."
"I agree. The 'Sweet Omar' is out of the question," Zhenya added. "But
you know, Hottabych, you'll have to act quickly to save the sailors,
otherwise they'll go down with the ship!"
Hottabych frowned.
"The fate of my unworthy servants should not bother you at all. They
have been in Arabia for not less than five minutes already. That is where
they reside, that is where they are now awaiting my orders. But please tell
me, 0 masts of my heart, why should we not continue our journey aboard the
'Sweet Omar'?"
"I thought we made that clear," Volka said.
"And anyway, a sailing ship is too slow and unreliable. We're dependent
on every little change in the weather. No, the 'Sweet Omar' is out," Zhenya
said.
"0 anchors of my happiness!" Hottabych whined pitifully. "I'll do
anything to...."
"No, it's out, and that's the end of it," Volka interrupted and
shivered. It was most unpleasant to lie in the water fully dressed. "It
remains to be seen what else Hottabych can suggest."
"I can take you under my arms and fly."
"No good!" Volka said. "Who wants to fly under somebody's arms!"
"Not somebody's-mine!" Hottabych replied in a hurt voice.
"It makes no difference."
"Then I would venture to suggest to your enlightened attention the
magic carpet. It is an excellent means of transportation, 0 my choosy
friends!"
"There's nothing excellent about it. You freeze on it, and it's too
slow, and there's no comforts at all," Volka said thoughtfully and suddenly
exclaimed, "I've got it! Upon my word of honour, I have a wonderful idea!"
At this, he went under, as in his excitement he could think of nothing
better to do than clap his hands. He bobbed up again, huffing and spitting
water, and then resumed his comfortable position on his back, continuing as
if nothing had happened:
"We have to modernize the magic carpet: it should be streamlined and
cold-resistant, and it should have bunks and be on pontoons."
It was most difficult to explain Volka's idea to Hottabych. In the
first place, the old man did not know what "streamlined" meant. In the
second place, he could not visualize a pair of pontoons.
It would seem that "streamlined" was such a simple word, but they had
to explain and explain until they finally hit upon the thought of saying
that a streamlined magic carpet should look like a hollowed-out cucumber. It
also took a great deal of explaining to make Hottabych understand what
pontoons were like. Finally, a streamlined "VK-1" magic-carpet-seaplane
soared into the air and set its course at South-South-West. In translation
to ordinary words, "VK-1" meant "Vladimir Kostylkov. First Model."
This magic-carpet-seaplane, resembling a huge cucumber with a tiny stem
in back, had three berths and two windows on each side, cut through the
heavy carpeting.
The flying qualities of Volka's plane were immeasurably superior to
those of an ordinary magic carpet. The Black Sea, the Bosporus, the
Dardanelles, Asia Minor and the sun-parched plateau of Arabia flashed by
below. Then they saw the yellow sands of the Sinai Desert. The thin ribbon
of the Suez Canal separated it from the no less yellow sands of the Arabian
Desert, which was Africa, Egypt. Hottabych had planned to begin his search
for Omar Asaf here, in the Mediterranean, from its eastern point to its
western end. But no sooner had the "VK-1" descended to an altitude of 200
metres, than Hottabych groaned and said he was an old fool. The
magic-carpet-seaplane gained altitude and headed west. After spending so
many years in the vessel, Hottabych had forgotten that this was where the
Nile discharged into the Mediterranean and where the water was always muddy
from the slime and sand the great river carried far out to sea. How could
one even attempt a search in such sticky yellow mire? It would only irritate
the eyes.
Hottabych decided to put off the exploration of this inconvenient area
till last, if their search for Omar Asaf in other parts of the Mediterranean
proved futile.
A short while later they landed in a quiet blue lagoon close to the
Italian city of Genoa.
"Well, wish me luck!" Hottabych exclaimed, turning into a fish and
disappearing into the lagoon.
The water was crystal-clear, so very unlike the water of the Nile
Delta, and they had a good view of the old man working his fins quickly as
he headed for the open sea.
While awaiting his return, the boys went in for a good dozen dips, they
dived to their heart's content, lay in the sun until they were dizzy, and,
finally, with hunger clawing at their insides, they began to worry.
Hottabych had been gone for a suspiciously long time, though he had promised
not to be away longer than an hour. The sun had long since set, colouring
the horizon and the calm sea in tints of amazing beauty; thousands of city
lights twinkled in the distance, but still the old man had not returned.
"Could he have got lost?" Zhenya said despondently.
"He can't get lost," Volka answered. "Chaps like him never get lost."
"He might have been swallowed by a shark."
"There aren't any sharks in these waters," Volka objected, though he
wasn't too sure of his words.
"I'm hungry!" Zhenya confessed after a long silence.
Just then, a rowboat nosed into the beach with a soft splash. Three
fishermen climbed out. One of them began to lay a fire of driftwood, while
the others picked out the smaller fish. They cleaned it and threw it into a
kettle of water.
"Let's go ask them for something to eat," Zhenya suggested. "They look
like nice working people. I'm sure they'll give us something."
Volka agreed.
"Good evening, Signores!" Zhenya bowed politely, as he addressed the
fishermen.
"Just think how many homeless children there are in our poor Italy!"
one of the three, a thin, grey-haired man, said hoarsely. "Giovanni, give
them something to eat."
"We've just enough bread for ourselves, but there's plenty of onions
and more than enough salt!" a curly-haired stocky youth of about nineteen
answered cheerfully. He was busy cleaning fish.
"Sit down, boys. Soon the best fish soup ever cooked in or around Genoa
will be ready."
Either the cheerful Giovanni was truly a gifted cook by nature, or else
the boys were famished, but they agreed that they had never eaten anything
more delicious in their lives. They ate with such gusto, smacking their lips
from sheer joy, that the fishermen watching them chuckled.
"If you want some more, you can cook it yourselves, there nothing
complicated about it," Giovanni said and stretched. "We'll doze off
meanwhile. Be sure you don't take any big fishes, they go to market
tomorrow, so we'll have money to pay our taxes."
Zhenya began puttering around the fire, while Volka rolled up his
trousers and made his way to the boat full of fish.
He had gathered as much as he needed and was about to re turn to the
beach, when his eyes chanced upon the net folded near the mast. A lonely