t 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.

        A CAMEL IN THE STREET

     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
large puffs of black smoke escaping his mouth at every word.
     People gasped, someone ran to call an ambulance, and Volka whispered to
Hottabych, taking advantage of the confusion:
     "Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab!  I order you to take this camel and us
as  far away  as possible. Immediately. Somewhere  outside  the city limits.
Otherwise, we can get in very bad trouble. Do you hear me? Im-me-di-ate-ly!"
     "I hear and I obey," the old man replied in a whisper.
     That  very instant,  the camel and its riders soared  into the air  and
disappeared, leaving everyone behind in the greatest confusion.
     A moment later it landed gracefully on the outskirts of the city. There
its passengers parted with it forever.
     The camel is probably still grazing there.  You'll recognize it at once
if you see it, for its bridle is studded with diamonds and emeralds.

        A MYSTERIOUS HAPPENING IN THE BANK

     Despite  the day's unpleasant  experiences, Volka  was in high  spirits
when he and Hottabych returned home. He had finally hit  upon an idea of how
to dispose of the endless treasures he had so suddenly acquired.
     First, he asked Hottabych whether he could make the drivers, elephants,
camels, mules and all their loads invisible.
     "You need only command me to do so, and it will be done."
     "Fine. Then please make them invisible for the time being, and let's go
to bed. We'll have to get up at sunrise tomorrow."
     "I hear and I obey!"
     And so, the people who had gathered in the yard to stare at the strange
and noisy caravan suddenly found the place to be completely empty. They went
back to their homes in amazement.
     Volka  gulped down his supper, undressed and climbed  into  bed with  a
happy sigh. He only had a sheet for a cover, since it was so hot.
     Hottabych, however, had decided to comply with an ancient custom Genies
had.  He  became  invisible and lay down  across the threshold, to guard his
young  master's  sleep.  Hottabych  was  just  about  to   begin  a   solemn
conversation when the door  opened and Volka's  grandmother  entered, to say
good night  as always. She tripped  over the invisible  old man  and  nearly
fell.
     "Why, something was definitely lying on the threshold!" she gasped when
Volka's father came running.
     "Where  was  that  something  lying?"  he  asked.  "And  what did  that
something look like?"
     "It didn't look like anything, Alyosha."
     "Mother,  do you mean to tell me you tripped over an  empty space?"  he
asked and laughed with relief, happy that she had not hurt herself.
     "Yes,  I  guess I did,"  Grandma  answered in bewilderment and laughed,
too.
     Volka's father and grandmother left.
     As for Hottabych, he had wisely decided to  crawl under  Volka's bed-at
least no one would step on him there, and he would be closer to Volka.
     For several minutes no one said  a  word. Volka could not decide how to
begin such a ticklish conversation.
     "Good night!" Hottabych said amiably from under the bed.
     Volka realized he had better begin.
     "Hottabych," he called,  hanging his head over  the side of the bed, "I
want to talk to you about something."
     "Not about my gifts to you  today?" Hottabych asked warily, and when he
received an affirmative answer he sighed.
     "You see, dear Hottabych, I'd like to know whether I can do as I please
with your presents?"
     "Undoubtedly."
     "And you won't be angry at me, no matter what I do with them?"
     "No, I won't,  0 Volka.  How can I dare be angry with  someone who  has
done so much for me?"
     "If  it's  not too much trouble, Hottabych,  could  you please swear to
that?"
     "I  swear!" Hottabych  said in a  hollow voice from  under the bed.  He
understood that there must be a catch to this.
     "That's fine," Volka said happily. "That means  you won't feel too  bad
if  I tell you that I have no earthly  use for  these presents,  though  I'm
awfully grateful to you for them."
     "0  woe is me!" Hottabych moaned. "You're refusing my gifts  again. But
these aren't palaces! Can't you see, 0 Volka, I'm not giving you palaces any
more.  You  might  as well tell me the  truth-that  the  gifts  of your most
devoted servant disgust you."
     "Figure  it out  yourself, Hottabych, you're a very wise old man:  now,
what in the world could I do with so many treasures?"
     "You  could  be the  richest  of  the  rich,  that's  what,"  Hottabych
grumbled.  "Don't tell me you wouldn't want to be the richest person in your
country? Yet,  it would be just  like you, 0 most capricious and puzzling of
all boys I have  ever met! Money means power, money means glory, money means
friends galore! That's what money means!"
     "Who  needs  bought  friends  and  bought  glory?  You  make me  laugh,
Hottabych!  What's  the use of  glory that's been bought,  instead of earned
through honest labour in your country's service?"
     "You  forget that  money gives you the most reliable  and durable power
over people, 0 my young and stubborn arguer."
     "But not in our country."
     "Next thing, you'll be saying that people in your country don't want to
get richer. Ha, ha, ha!" Hottabych thought this was really a cutting remark.
     "Sure  they  do," Volka answered  patiently. "A  person  who does  more
useful work  makes more money.  Sure, everyone wants to earn more, but  only
through honest work."
     "Be that as it  may, nothing could be further from my mind than to make
my precious young friend seek dishonest  earnings.  If you don't need  these
treasures, turn  them  into  money and lend  the money  out. You must agree,
that's a very honourable undertaking-to lend money to those who need it."
     "Why, you must be crazy! You  don't know what you're talking about. How
can a Soviet person be a usurer! And even if there was such a vampire, who'd
ever go to him? If a person needs money, he can ask for a loan at the Mutual
Aid, or borrow some from a friend."
     "Well then," a somewhat disheartened  Hottabych persisted, "buy as many
goods  as  you can and open up  your  own shops in every  part  of the city.
You'll become a well-known merchant and everyone will respect you  and  seek
your favour."
     "Don't you understand,  the  Government  and  the co-operatives are  in
charge  of all  trade?  Why, making a profit by  selling stuff  in  your own
shop...."
     "Hm!" Hottabych  pretended to agree. "Supposing it is as you say it is.
I hope you think creating goods is an honest occupation?"
     "Sure it is! See, you're beginning to understand!" Volka said happily.
     "I am extremely pleased." Hottabych  smiled sourly. "I recall you  once
said  that your  greatly respected father was  a foreman in a factory.  Am I
correct?"
     "Yes."
     "Is he the most important man in the factory?"
     "No. He's a foreman, but there's  a shop foreman, and a chief engineer,
and a director above him."
     "Well  then,"  Hottabych  concluded  triumphantly,  "you  can  use  the
treasures  I've given you to buy your excellent father the factory he  works
in and lots of other factories besides."
     "It belongs to him already."
     "Volka ibn Alyosha, you just said..."
     "If you want to know, he owns the factory he works in and all the other
factories and plants, and all the mines  and the railways, and the  land and
the  water,  and the  mountains  and  the shops and  the  schools,  and  the
universities and  the  clubs, and the palaces, and  the  theatres,  and  the
parks, and the  movies in  the country. And they belong  to me and to Zhenya
Bogorad, and to his parents, and...."
     "You wish to say that your father has partners, don't you?"
     "Yes, that's what it is-partners.  About two hundred million  partners.
As many as there are people in the country."
     "You have a very strange country, one that I cannot understand at all,"
Hottabych mumbled from under the bed and said no more.
     At  sunrise  the  next  day the  ringing of  a  telephone  awakened the
District Branch Manager of the State Bank. He was urgently being summoned to
the office. Worried  by such an early  phone  call, he dashed  to his office
and, upon entering the yard of the building in which the branch was located,
he saw a great number of heavily-laden elephants, camels and mules.
     "There's someone here who wants to make a deposit," the night  watchman
said in dismay.
     "A deposit?" the manager repeated. "So early in the morning? What  kind
of a deposit?"
     The watchman handed  him a sheet of paper torn from a school  notebook.
It was covered with  a firm, childish scrawl. The manager read the paper and
asked the watchman to pinch  him.  The puzzled  man did  as he was told. The
manager winced, looked at the page again and said:
     "Impossible! It's absolutely incredible!"
     A  person who  wished to remain anonymous was giving the State Bank two
hundred and  forty-six bags  of gold, silver  and precious stones, valued at
three  thousand four  hundred  and  sixty-seven  million,  one  hundred  and
thirty-five thousand, seven hundred and  three  roubles and eighteen kopeks,
to use as it saw fit.
     The  most  amazing thing happened a moment  later. First,  the  animals
which  had  delivered the treasure,  then, the people  who  had  driven  the
animals, and then, the treasures they had brought began to sway; they became
transparent  and  dissolved  in the  air, just  like  steam. A fresh morning
breeze tore  the sheet  of paper from the  amazed manager's hand, whipped it
high into  the air  and  carried it off  into an open window. It  was  Volka
Kostylkov's  room. As  he  slept soundly, the page was fitted back into  the
notebook it had recently been torn  from and once again became a clean piece
of paper.
     But that is not all. Strange as it may seem, neither  the people at the
branch  office of the bank, nor Volka's neighbours,  nor Volka himself  ever
remembered anything at all about the event afterwards. It was  as if someone
had erased it from their memories completely.

        HOTTABYCH AND SIDORELLI

     It  was pitiful  to look at the old man.  He spent the whole day in the
aquarium,  saying that he  was  having an  attack  of  rheumatism.  This was
certainly a foolish excuse, for nothing can be sillier than  sitting in cold
water if you have rheumatism.
     Hottabych lay on the bottom of the aquarium, moving his fins sluggishly
and swallowing water lazily. When either Volka or Zhenya approached, the old
man would swim  off  to the far side and rudely turn  his tail towards them.
However, whenever Volka left the room, Hottabych  would get out of the water
to  stretch his  legs; but as soon as he'd hear  him approaching, he'd  dash
back into the aquarium with a soft splash, as though he had never thought of
leaving it. He apparently found  some bitter pleasure in the fact that Volka
kept pleading with him to get out of the water and stop sulking. The old man
would listen to all his entreaties with his tail turned towards the boy. Yet
the moment his young friend would open his geography book and begin to study
for his exam, Hottabych would stick his head out of the aquarium and  accuse
Volka of having no heart at all.  How could he be occupied with all sorts of
nonsense, when an old man was suffering so from rheumatism?!
     No  sooner would Volka  close his book, however,  than  Hottabych would
again  turn his  tail towards him. This went  on  till evening.  At a little
after seven o'clock, he swished his tail and hopped out on to  the floor. He
squeezed the water from  his beard and  moustache and dried them  quickly at
the buzzing table fan. Then he said with some reserve:
     "You hurt me by refusing to accept my humble gifts. It's your good luck
that I promised you I wouldn't get angry. But I  did promise and, therefore,
I'm  not angry at you,  for I now  see who  is really  responsible for  your
offending me so,  though  you do it unconsciously. It is  your teachers-they
are  the  root  of all  evil! Varvara  Stepanovna,  not you, 0 youthful  and
inexperienced boy, will be  held fully responsible for all the bitterness of
the past few  days. And  now that undeserving Varvara,  daughter  of Stepan,
will...."
     He yanked  four hairs at once  from his  beard. Something extraordinary
was about to happen.
     "Oh, no! No, Hottabych! Dear, dear Hottabych!" Volka babbled as he hung
on the angry Genie's arms. "My  word of honour! Varvara Stepanovna's not  at
all to blame! It was only me..."
     "No! She's to blame, she's to blame!"  Hottabych droned, trying to free
his hands.
     "She's not to blame! She's not to blame! Upon my  word of honour, she's
not to blame!" Volka repeated in a frightened voice, while feverishly trying
to think of a way to distract the raging Genie's attention from his teacher.
"You  know what? You know what?" He had finally thought of something: "Let's
go to the circus.  Huh, Hottabych? Let's go to the circus! Zhenya and I will
never get tickets, but it's so easy for you to get them. You're the only one
who can  help  us  get  into  the circus.  You're so powerful, so  amazingly
all-powerful!"
     The old  man was very  inquisitive  and an easy prey to  flattery. Most
important, unlike all other Genies, he never remained angry long.
     "And what  does this funny  word  mean?" Hottabych's eyes  burned  with
interest. "Is it a market where they sell  parrots  and other unusual birds?
Then, know ye, that I am  completely indifferent to birds. I've  had my fill
of the sight of parrots."
     "Oh, no, this is a thousand times more interesting. Why, it's a million
times, a million million times more interesting!"
     Hottabych immediately forgot about Varvara Stepanovna.
     "Let's  go there on  a camel.  No, better still,  on  an elephant. Just
imagine how everyone will envy you."
     "No, don't bother. I don't want  you to go to all  that trouble," Volka
objected with  suspicious haste.  "If  you're not  afraid,  let's go on  the
trolley-bus."
     "What's there  to be afraid  of?" the  old  man sounded offended. "Why,
I've been looking at these iron carts for four days now without any fear  at
all."
     Half an hour later, Volka, Zhenya and Hottabych reached the  recreation
park and approached the entrance to the summer circus.
     The old man ran  over  to the box-office to have a look at the tickets,
and soon he, Volka and Zhenya were holding pink tickets.
     They entered the brightly-lit big top.
     There were three empty  seats in one of the boxes right near the arena,
but Hottabych was quite vigorous in refusing them.
     "I cannot agree  to  having  anyone  in this place  sitting higher than
myself and my greatly respected friends. It would be below our dignity."
     It was  no  use arguing with  the old man. With  heavy  hearts the boys
climbed to the last row of the second balcony.
     Soon  attendants in crimson and gold uniforms lined up along both sides
of the entrance to the arena.
     The ring-master announced the first act. A bare-back rider dressed in a
sequined suit and looking like a Christmas tree ornament rode into the ring.
     "Do you like it?" Volka asked Hottabych.
     "It is not devoid of interest, and it is pleasant to the eye," the  old
man replied cautiously.
     The bare-back  rider  was  followed  by acrobats,  who were followed by
clowns, who were followed by a  dog act-this attraction met with Hottabych's
reserved praise-who were followed by jugglers and spring-board jumpers. Then
there was an intermission.
     It  was a shame to  leave and miss the second half of the  show, but  a
geography book opened at the very first chapter awaited Volka at home.
     He  sighed  heavily  and whispered  to  Zhenya, "Well, I guess I'll  be
going. But you try and  keep him here for at least another two hours. Go for
a walk with him after the show, or something...."
     Zhenya mumbled softly, but with great emphasis:
     "We  should all three leave, all three  of us.  V. S. is here! V. S. is
here!"
     And he nodded towards the side isle.
     Volka turned round and froze: Varvara Stepanovna and  her five-year-old
granddaughter Irisha were making their way down the isle to the foyer.
     As if by agreement, the boys jumped to their feet and stood in front of
the unsuspecting old man in a way to shield their teacher from him.
     "You know what, Hottabych?" Volka  choked. "Let's go home! Huh? There's
nothing of interest here today."
     "Sure," Zhenya agreed, trembling like  a leaf  in his  fear for Varvara
Stepanovna's life. "That's right, let's go  home. We'll walk in the park and
all kinds of things...."
     "Oh,  no,  my  young  friends!" Hottabych  answered  innocently. "Never
before have I been so interested as I am in this truly magic tent. I'll tell
you what: you run along and I'll return as soon as this amazing  performance
ends."
     What an  idea-to leave Varvara Stepanovna alone  with a Genie who hated
her so!
     They had  to  think of  something, of  anything at all, to  occupy  him
during intermission. Once the  performance was resumed,  his  eyes  would be
glued on the arena. They had to  think of  something urgently,  but, fearing
for  Varvara Stepanovna's very  life, Volka was  completely at a  loss.  His
teeth  even began to chatter. This  attracted Hottabych's attention,  for he
was interested in everything.
     "I tell  you, Hottabych," Zhenya came to the  rescue, "it's  either one
way or the other: either we study or not!"
     Both Volka and Hottabych looked at him in bewilderment.
     "What I mean is, since we've promised  Hottabych  to teach him  to read
and write, we  should  use every free minute  for study.  Isn't  that right,
Hottabych?"
     "Your  perseverance  is  worthy  of  the greatest  praise,  0  Zhenya,"
Hottabych answered. He was really touched.
     "Well, if that's the case, here's the circus programme. Let's sit right
down and learn the alphabet. We'll study all through intermission...."
     "With happiness and pleasure, 0 Zhenya."
     Zhenya opened the programme and pointed to the first letter "A" he saw.
     "This is the letter 'A,' understand?"
     "Yes, 0 Zhenya."
     "Now, what letter did I say it was?"
     "It's the letter 'A,' 0 Zhenya."
     "Right. Now find me all the 'A's you can on this page."
     "Here's a letter 'A,' 0 Zhenya."
     "Fine! Do you see any more?"
     "Here, and here, and here, and here, and here...."
     Hottabych was so engrossed in  his studies that he paid no attention at
all to anything else. By the time the intermission was over and the audience
had  returned to  its  seats,  Hottabych had  learned the alphabet  and  was
reading in syllables:
     "An ac-ro-bat on a spring ... board."
     "D'you know, Hottabych, you  really are  gifted!" Zhenya said with true
amazement.
     "What did you think?" Volka replied.  "Why, there has never been such a
talented Genie in all the world."
     Hottabych read on delightedly: " 'Jum-ping ac-ro-bats un-der the di-rec
. ..  di-rec-tion of  Phil-lip  Bel-ykh.'  We saw  that already.  'Ev-en-ing
per-for-man-ces beg-in  at  8  p.m.  Ma-ti-nees  at  12  no-on.' 0 my  young
teachers, I have read the entire programme. Does that mean I'll now  be able
to read the newspapers, too?"
     "Certainly! Sure you will!" the boys said.  "Now let's try  to read the
greetings hanging over the orchestra pit," Volka said.
     Just then a young lady in a little white  apron  carrying  a large tray
appeared.
     "Would  you care for some ice-cream?" she asked the old man.  He looked
at Volka questioningly.
     "Take some, Hottabych, it's very nice.  Try it!" Hottabych tried it and
he  liked it. He bought some for the  boys and another portion  for himself,
then a third and, finally, being carried away, he bought the astounded young
lady's  entire supply-forty-three bars  of ice-cream  covered with  delicate
frost. The girl said she'd be back later for the tray  and went off, turning
back to look at the strange customers.
     "Oho!" Zhenya  winked. "Look at him pack it away." In the space of five
minutes' time,  Hottabych had gulped down all forty-three bars. He ate it as
one would  eat a  cucumber, biting off big  chunks  and  chewing loudly.  He
swallowed the last mouthful just as the performance began.
     "A  world-famous  act!  Presenting  Afanasy  Sidorelli!"  The  audience
applauded and the band played a loud viva.  A  short, middle-aged  man  in a
blue silk robe  embroidered with  gold dragons entered the arena, bowing and
smiling  in all directions. It  was the famous Sidorelli himself. While  his
assistants laid out his props on a small lacquered table, in preparation for
the first magic trick, he continued to bow and smile. A gold tooth glittered
in his mouth w