orcing a yawn. "I am tired and want to sleep. Hurry and bring a fan and keep away the flies while I rest." "In the first place, there are no flies here. In the second place, what right have you to order me about?" Volka asked indignantly. "There will be flies soon enough," Omar Asaf muttered through clenched teeth. And sure enough, swarms of flies began buzzing about the cabin. "We can manage without a fan," Volka said in a friendlier tone, making believe he did not understand the humiliating nature of Omar Asaf's demand. He opened first the door, then the port-hole; a strong draught carried the flies out into the corridor. "All the same, you'll fan me!" Omar Asaf said capriciously, ignoring Hottabych's attempts at calming him. "No, I won't! No one has ever made me fulfil humiliating orders." "Then I'll be the first to do so." "No you won't!" "Omar, my sweet!" Hottabych said, trying to avert the imminent quarrel. But Omar Asaf, who had turned black with rage, waved him away angrily. "I'd rather die than fulfil your whims!" Volka shouted. "Then you'll die very soon, as soon as the Sun sets," Omar Asaf announced, smiling disgustingly. Suddenly, Volka had a wonderful idea. "If that's the case, then tremble, you despicable Genie!" he shouted in his most terrible voice. "You have tried my patience too long, and I must stop the Sun! It will not go down today, or tomorrow, or the day after. You have only yourself to blame!" Volka was taking a big chance. If Hottabych had had time to tell his brother that the Arctic Sun shone twenty-four hours a day at this time of the year, then all was lost. But in reply to Volka's words, Omar Asaf scoffed, "Braggart of braggarts! Boaster of boasters! I, too, like to boast at times, but even in my greatest rage I have never promised to stop the course of that great celestial body. Not even Sulayman, the Son of David (on the twain be peace!), could do that." Volka saw that he was saved. And not only saved, but that he could take Hottabych's disagreeable brother in hand. Hottabych, meanwhile, winked approvingly at Volka. As for Zhenya, there is no need to say he was delighted. He had guessed Volka's idea and was aglow from excitement, anticipating Omar Asaf's imminent downfall. "Rest assured, Omar Asaf. If I said I'll stop the Sun, you can be sure it won't go down today." "You brat!" Omar Asaf snapped. "You're a brat yourself!" Volka replied as arrogantly. "Don't worry, I'll take care of the Sun." "But what if it goes down anyway?" Omar Asaf asked, choking with laughter. "If it goes down, I will henceforth fulfil your most stupid orders." "Oh, no," Omar Asaf said triumphantly. "If the Sun, despite your conceited promise, does go down-and this will obviously happen-then I will eat you up. I'll eat you, bones and all!" "And my slippers too," Volka added courageously. "But if the Sun does not go down today, will you obey my every command?" "If the Sun does not go down, I will do so with the greatest pleasure, 0 most boastful and insignificant of magicians! But- ha-ha-ha-alas! This will never happen." "It's still an open question as to who will say 'alas!' a few hours from now," Volka cautioned. "Well then!" Omar Asaf said, shaking his finger in warning. "According to the present position of the Sun, it should go down in another eight or nine hours. I am even a tiny bit sorry for you, 0 shameless milksop, for you have less than twelve hours to live." "You can save your pity; you'd better pity yourself." Omar Asaf giggled scornfully, revealing two rows of small yellow teeth. "What awful teeth," Hottabych sighed. "Omar, why don't you get yourself gold teeth, like I have?" It was only then that Omar Asaf noticed Hottabych's unusual teeth, and his soul was filled with the blackest envy. "To tell you the truth. Brother, I don't find anything very special about gold teeth. I think I'd rather have diamond teeth." That very moment, thirty-two crystal-clear diamonds sparkled in his mouth as he smiled spitefully. Gazing at himself in the little bronze mirror the old dandy carried in his belt, Omar Asaf was quite pleased with what he saw. There were only three things that somehow clouded his triumph. First, Hottabych did not seem at all envious; second, his diamond teeth sparkled only when the light fell upon them directly. If the light did not fall upon them, he appeared completely toothless; third, his diamond teeth scratched his tongue and lips. In his heart of hearts, he was sorry he had been so greedy, but he did not show this so as not to lose face. "No, no," he giggled, noticing that Volka was about to leave the cabin. "You shall not leave until the Sun goes down. I understand you only too well. You want to flee, in order to escape your deserved end. I have no intention of searching for you all over the boat." "Why, I can stay in the cabin as long as you want. That will even be better. Otherwise, I'll have to hunt for you all over the boat when the Sun doesn't go down. How long do you think I'll have to wait?" "Not more than nine hours, 0 young braggart," Omar Asaf said, bowing sarcastically. He snapped the fingers of his left hand and a cumbersome water-clock appeared on the table beneath the port-hole. "As soon as the water reaches this line," he said, tapping the side of the clock with a crooked brown nail, "the Sun will go down. It is the hour of your death." "Fine, I'll wait." "We'll wait, too," said Zhenya and Hottabych. Eight hours slipped by quickly, because Zhenya could not deny himself the pleasure of suggesting that the conceited Omar Asaf learn to play checkers. "I'll win anyway," Omar Asaf warned. Zhenya kept on winning. Omar Asaf got angrier and angrier. He tried to cheat, but each time they caught him at it, and so he would begin a new game, which would end just as sadly for him. "Well, the time's up, Omar Hottabych," Volka said finally. "Impossible!" Omar Asaf replied, tearing himself away from the checker board. Glancing quickly at the water-clock, he turned pale and jumped up from the berth where he and Zhenya had been sitting. He rushed to the port-hole, stuck his head out and groaned in terror and helpless rage: the Sun was just as high in the sky as it had been eight hours before! Then he turned to Volka and said in a flat voice: "I must have made a little mistake in my calculations. Let's wait two more hours." "Even three if you like, but it won't help you any. It'll be just as I said: the Sun will not go down today, or tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow." Four and a half hours later, Omar Asaf stuck his head out of the port-hole for the twentieth time, and for the twentieth time he saw that the Sun had no intention of sinking beyond the horizon. He turned as white as a sheet and trembled all over as he crashed to his knees. "Spare me, 0 mighty youth!" he cried in a pitiful voice. "Do not be angry at me, your unworthy slave, for when I shouted at you I did not know you were stronger than I!" "Does that mean you think you can shout at me if I'm weaker than you?" "Why, certainly." They all felt disgusted. "What a brother you have," Zhenya whispered to Hottabych. "Forgive me for saying so, but he's a most unpleasant, envious and vicious old man." "Yes, my brother is no lump of sugar," Hottabych replied sadly. "For goodness' sake, get up!" Volka said with annoyance, as the old Genie remained on his knees and kept trying to kiss Volka's hands. "What are your orders, 0 my young but mighty master?" Omar Asaf asked submissively, rubbing his soft palms together and rising. "At present, there's only one; don't you dare leave this cabin for a second without my permission!" "With the greatest of pleasure, 0 wisest and most powerful of youths," Omar Asaf replied in a self-abasing tone, as he regarded Volka with fear and awe. It was just as Volka had predicted. Neither that day nor the next, nor the third did the Sun go down. Making use of some small misdemeanour of Omar Asaf's, Volka said he would make the Sun shine round the clock until further notice. And not until he learned from the captain that the "Ladoga" had finally entered a latitude where there was a brief period of night, did he inform Omar Asaf of this, as his special favour to the undeserving, grumpy Genie. Omar Asaf was as quiet as a mouse. Not once did he leave the cabin. He crept back into the copper vessel without a murmur when the "Ladoga" docked to the strains of a band at its home pier, from which it had sailed away thirty days before. Naturally, Omar Asaf was extremely reluctant to return to his bottle, if even for a short period, since he had already spent so many unhappy and lonely centuries there. But Volka gave him his word of honour that he would let him out the minute they reached home. There is no use denying that as Volka left the hospitable "Ladoga," carrying the copper vessel under his arm, he was sorely tempted to toss it into the water. But there you are-if you've given your word you've got to keep it. And so Volka walked down the gang-plank, having conquered this momentary temptation. If no one aboard the "Ladoga" ever stopped to wonder why Hottabych and his friends were taking part in the expedition, it is quite clear that the old man had no trouble casting the same spell over his young friends' parents and acquaintances. At any rate, their relatives and friends accepted it as a matter of course that the children had been in the Arctic, without questioning how in the world they had ever booked berths on the Ladoga." After an excellent dinner, the children told their respective parents the story of their adventures in the Arctic, keeping almost true to the facts. They were wise enough to say nothing about Hottabych. Zhenya, however, was so carried away, that the rash words nearly slipped out of his mouth. When he described the performances the passengers had put on in the lounge, he said: "And then, of course, Hottabych could not leave it at that. So he said...." "What a strange name-Hottabych!" Zhenya's mother said. "I didn't say 'Hottabych,' Mother, I said 'Potapych.' That was our boatswain's name," Zhenya said resourcefully, though he blushed. However, this went unnoticed. Everyone looked at him with awe, because he had met and talked with a real live boatswain every single day of the journey. Volka, on the other hand, nearly had an accident with the copper bottle. He was sitting on the couch in the dining room, explaining the difference between an ice-breaker and an iceboat to his parents with a true knowledge of his subject. He did not notice his grandmother leaving the room. After she had been gone for about five minutes, she returned holding ... the vessel with Omar Asaf inside! "What's this? Where did you get it. Mother?" Volka's father asked. "Just imagine, I found it in Volka's suitcase. I started unpacking his things and found this very nice pitcher. It will be lovely as a decanter. I'll have to polish it, though, because it's so terribly green." "That's no decanter!" Volka cried and turned pale. He grabbed the vessel from his grandmother. "The First Mate asked me to give this to his friend. I promised him I'd deliver it today." "My, isn't this a strange vessel," said his father, a great lover of antiques. "Let me have a look at it. Why, there's a lead cap on it. That's very interesting...." He tried to pry it off, but Volka grabbed the vessel frantically and stammered: "You're not supposed to open it! It's not supposed to be opened at all! Anyway, it's empty inside. I promised the First Mate I wouldn't open it, so's not to spoil the threads on the screw." "Look how upset he is! All right, you can have the old pitcher back," his father said, letting go of it. Volka sat back on the couch in exhaustion, clutching the terrible vessel; but the conversation was all spoiled. Soon he rose. Trying to sound casual, he said he would go to , hand in the pitcher and dashed out of the room. "Come back soon!" his mother called, but by then he had already vanished. WHAT GOOD OPTICAL INSTRUMENTS CAN LEAD TO Zhenya and Hottabych had been awaiting Volka on the bank for a long time. It was very still. The vast sky was spread above them. The full moon cast its cold, bluish light. Zhenya had brought his binoculars along and was now looking at the moon. "You can dismiss the astronomy club," Volka said, coming up to them. "The next act on our show is the solemn freeing of our good friend, Omar Asaf! Music! Curtain!" "That mean old thing will have to manage without music," Zhenya muttered. In order to emphasize his loathing for the horrible Genie, he turned his back on the vessel and studied the moon through his binoculars for such a long time, that he finally heard Omar Asaf's squeaky voice: "May your humble servant, 0 mighty Volka, ask what purpose these black pipes serve which your friend Zhenya- and my greatly esteemed master-has pressed to his noble eyes?" "They're binoculars. It's to see things closer," Volka tried to explain. "Zhenya's looking at the moon through them, to see it better. It makes things bigger." "I can imagine how pleasant such a pastime can be," Omar Asaf said ingratiatingly. He kept trying to peep into the binoculars, but Zhenya purposely turned away from him. The conceited Genie was cut to the quick by such a lack of respect. Oh, if not for the presence of the almighty Volka, who had stopped the Sun itself with a single word, then Omar Asaf would certainly have known how to deal with the unruly boy! But Volka was standing beside them, and the enraged Genie had no choice but to ask Zhenya in a wheedling voice to let him have a look at the great planet of the night through such interesting binoculars. "I join my brother in asking you to do him this favour," Hottabych added. Zhenya reluctantly handed Omar Asaf the binoculars. "The despicable boy has cast a spell on the magic pipes!": Omar Asaf cried a few moments later and crashed the binoculars to the ground. "Instead of making things bigger, they make the moon much smaller! Oh, some day I will lay my hands on this boy!" "You're always ready to abuse people!" Volka said in disgust. "What has Zhenya to do with it? You're looking through the wrong end." He picked up the binoculars and handed them back to the angry Genie. "You have to look through the small end." Omar Asaf followed his advice cautiously and soon sighed: "Alas, I had a much better opinion of this celestial body. I see that it is all pock-marked and has ragged edges, just like the tray of the poorest day-labourer. The stars are much better.-Though they are much smaller than the moon, they at least have no visible faults." "0 my brother, let me see for myself," Hottabych said and he, too, looked through the binoculars with interest. "This time I believe my brother is right," he added with surprise. This made it only too clear that Omar Asaf had long since fallen greatly in his estimation. "What ignorance," Zhenya scoffed. "It's high time you knew that the moon is millions of times smaller than any of the stars." "Enough! I can no longer take the constant mockery of this brat!" Omar Asaf roared and grabbed Zhenya by the collar. "Next, you'll say that a speck of sand is bigger than a mountain. I wouldn't put it past you. Enough! This time I'll do away with you for good!" "Stop!" Volka shouted. "Stop, or I'll bring the Moon down upon you, and not even a wet spot will remain where you now stand! You know I can do it with my eyes closed. I think you know me by now." The enraged Omar Asaf reluctantly let go of a frightened Zhenya. "You're raving for nothing again," Volka continued. "Zhenya's right. Sit down and I'll try to explain things to you." "You don't have to explain anything to me. I know everything already," Omar Asaf objected conceitedly. Yet, he dared not disobey. Volka could talk about astronomy for hours on end. This was his favourite subject. He had read every popular book on the structure of the Universe and could retell their contents to anyone who'd care to listen. But Omar Asaf obviously did not want to listen. He kept on snickering contemptuously. Finally unable to control himself any longer, he grumbled: "I'll never believe your words until I convince myself of their truth." "What do you mean 'convince yourself? Don't tell me you want to fly to the Moon in order to be convinced that it's a huge sphere and not a little saucer?" "And why not?" Omar Asaf asked haughtily. "Why, I can fly off today, if I want to." "But the Moon is millions of miles away." "Omar Asaf is not afraid of great distances. And all the more so, since-forgive me-I greatly doubt the truth of your words." "But the way to the Moon lies through outer space, where there's no air," Volka objected conscientiously. "I can manage quite well without breathing." "Let him go! We'll have plenty of trouble with him if he stays," Zhenya whispered fiercely. "Sure, he can go," Volka agreed quietly, "but still, I consider it my duty to warn him about what awaits him on the way.... Omar Asaf," he continued, turning towards the conceited Genie, "bear in mind that it's terribly cold there." "I am not afraid of the cold. I'll be seeing you soon. Good-bye!" "If that's the case, and if you've decided to fly to the Moon, come what may, then at least listen to one piece of advice. Do you promise to obey my words?" "All right, I promise," the Genie answered condescendingly, his awe of Volka obviously diminishing. "You must leave the Earth at a speed of no less than eleven kilometres a second; otherwise you can be sure you'll never reach the Moon." "With the greatest of pleasure," Omar Asaf said, compressing his thin blue lips. "And how big is a kilometre? Tell me, for I know of no such measurement." "Let's see now. How can I explain?... Well, a kilometre is about a thousand four hundred steps." "Your steps? That means there are no more than a thousand two hundred of my steps in a kilometre. Maybe even less." Omar Asaf had an exaggerated idea about his height. He was no taller than Volka, but they could not convince him of this. "Be sure not to crash into the cupola of the Heavens," Hottabych admonished his brother, not being completely convinced of Volka's stories about the structure of the Universe. "Don't teach someone who knows more than you," Omar Asaf said coldly and soared into the air. He instantly became white hot and disappeared from view, leaving a long fiery trail behind. "Let's wait for him here, my friends," Hottabych suggested timidly, for he felt guilty for all the unpleasantness Omar Asaf had caused them. "No, there's no use waiting for him now. You'll never see him again," Volka said. "He didn't listen to my advice, which was based on scientific knowledge, and he'll never return to the Earth. Since your Omar took off at a speed which was less than eleven kilometres a second, he'll be circling the Earth forever. If you want to know, he's become a sputnik." "If you have no objections, I'll wait for him here a while," a saddened Hottabych whispered. Late that night he slipped into Volka's room. Turning into a goldfish, he dived silently into the aquarium. Whenever Hottabych was upset by anything, he spent the night in the aquarium instead of under Volka's bed. This time he was especially upset. He had waited for his brother for over five hours, but Omar Asaf had not returned. Some day scientists will develop precision instruments that will make it possible to note the smallest amount of gravitation the Earth experiences from the tiniest of celestial bodies passing close to its surface. And then an astronomer, who, perhaps, read this book in his childhood, will determine, after long and laborious calculations, that someplace, comparatively close to the Earth, there rotates a celestial body weighing a hundred and thirty pounds. Then, Omar Asaf, a grouchy and narrow-minded Genie who turned into an Earth satellite because of his impossible character and ignorant scoffing at scientific facts, will be entered into the great astronomical catalogue as a many-numbered figure. Someone who heard of this instructive tale about Hottabych's brother once told us in all seriousness that one night he had seen something flash across the sky which in shape resembled an old man with a long flowing beard. As concerns the author of this book, he does not believe the story, for Omar Asaf was a very insignificant man. HOTTABYCH'S FATAL PASSION For several days Hottabych remained in the aquarium, pining away for his brother. Gradually, however, he got used to his absence and once again everything was back to normal. One day he and the boys were talking quietly. It was still rather early and the old man was lolling under the bed. "It looks like rain," Zhenya said, looking out the window. Soon the whole sky became overcast with clouds. It started to drizzle. "Shall we turn it on?" Volka asked off-handedly, nodding towards a new radio set his parents had given him for being promoted to 7B. He turned it on with obvious pleasure. The loud sounds of a symphony orchestra filled the room. Hottabych stuck his head out from under the bed. "Where are all those people playing so sweetly on various instruments?" "Golly! Hottabych doesn't know anything about radios!" Zhenya said. (There was one omission on the "Ladoga" for all its excellent equipment-they forgot to install a radio set in the lounge.) For nearly two hours the boys watched Hottabych delightedly. The old man was overwhelmed. Volka tuned in on Vladivostok, Tbilisi, Kiev, Leningrad, Minsk and Tashkent. Songs, thunderous marches, and the voices of people speaking in many tongues obediently poured forth from the set. Then the boys got fed up. The sun peeped out and they decided to go for a walk, leaving a fascinated Hottabych behind. The strange events which then occurred remain a mystery to Volka's grandmother to this very day. Soon after the boys left, she entered Volka's room to turn off the radio and distinctly heard an old man coughing in the empty room. Then she saw the dial turn by itself and the indicator move along the scale. The frightened old woman decided not to touch the set, but to find Volka immediately. She caught up with him at the bus stop. Volka was very upset. He said he was improving the set, that he was making it automatic, and he begged his grandmother not to tell his parents what she had seen, because it was supposed to be a surprise for them. His grandmother was not at all comforted by these words. Nevertheless, she promised to keep his secret. All afternoon she listened anxiously to the strange mumbling coming from the empty room. That day the radio played on and on. At about two o'clock at night it went off, but only because the old man had forgotten how to tune in on Tashkent. He woke Volka up, asked him how to do it, and returned to the set. A fatal thing had happened: Hottabych had become a radio fan. HOTTABYCH'S NEW YEAR VISIT During the winter vacation, Zhenya went to visit his relatives in Zvenigorod. On January 4th he received a letter, which was of extreme interest for at least three reasons. In the first place, this was the first letter he had ever received in which he was addressed by his full name, as a grown man. In the second place, it was the first letter Hottabych had ever written to his young friend. But of greatest interest were the contents of this most remarkable message. Following is the letter, slightly abridged: "0 most lovable and precious friend, the sweet and singular adornment of all schools and sports fields, the fond hope of your native arts and sciences, the joy and pride of your parents and friends, Zhenya ibn Kolya, from the famous and noble family of Bogorads, may your life's road be strewn with thornless roses and may it be as long as your pupil, Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab, wishes it to be! "I hope you remember how great my joy and gratitude were when, six months ago, you, 0 my young friend and friend of my young saviour, released my unfortunate brother Omar Asaf ibn Hottab, from whom I was so grievously separated for many centuries, from his horrible imprisonment in the copper vessel. "But immediately following my first joy of a long-awaited reunion, there came a terrible disappointment, for my brother turned out to be an ungrateful, short-sighted, narrow-minded, grouchy and envious person. And he, as you well remember, took it upon himself to fly to the Moon, in order to be convinced whether its surface was truly covered with mountains, as our highly educated friend Volka ibn Alyosha stated, basing his knowledge on a science called Astronomy. "Alas! It was not a selfless thirst for knowledge that guided my unwise brother, nor the noble and exemplary desire to discover the World, but a vain and ignorant wish to belittle and shame a person who had tried to hold him back from committing a fatal deed. "He did not even take into account the laws of another science called 'Mechanics,' and thereby doomed himself to an eternal and useless circling of the Earth, which, as I recently discovered (who could have ever dreamed of it!) in turn revolves around the Sun! "Three days ago I received a message from you, 0 Zhenya ibn Kolya, which bears the scientific name of 'Telegram,' and in which you so graciously and pleasantly wished me a Happy New Year. And then I recalled that my unpleasant, but extremely unfortunate brother is spinning round in the sky day and night and that there is no one to wish him a Happy New Year. And so, I prepared for a journey, and exactly at noon I took off for the far distances of Outer Space, in order to visit Omar Asaf, to wish him a Happy New Year, and, if it were at all possible, to help him return to the Earth. "I will not tire your kind attention, 0 Zhenya ibn Kolya, with a description of how I was able to manage the Law of Universal Gravitation. For this is not the purpose of my message. Suffice it to say that at first I took off at approximately the same speed as Omar Asaf, and, as he, I turned into a satellite of the Earth, but only temporarily, and only long enough for a meeting with Omar. Then, when I saw it was time for me to return to the Earth, I turned to face it and assumed the speed necessary for overcoming the forces which revolved me about the Earth, just as a pail of water tied to a string would revolve round a boy who held the string. It is of no use to write what my speed was. When I next see you, I will show you all the calculations I did with the aid of my knowledge of Mathematics, Astronomy and Mechanics, which you and Volka ibn Alyosha so graciously and patiently taught me. But this is not the point in question. I sincerely wished to visit my poor brother...." Hottabych had apparently burst into tears at this point, for the ink was all smudged. That is why we find we must leave out several lines. "Leaving the Earth, so full of cheerful noonday light behind, I soon entered an area as black as pitch that was terribly and unbearably cold. As before, the far-off stars sparkled in the icy darkness with a bright but dead, unblinking light, and the pale yellow disk of the flaming Sun blinded my eyes. "I flew on and on, amidst the cold darkness and silence. I was about to despair, when, suddenly, on the black velvet of the sky, there appeared a skinny body, brightly illumined by the Sun. It was approaching me at tremendous speed, and the long beard flowing behind like the tail of a comet, as well as the incessant and vicious grumbling, told me beyond doubt it was my brother. " 'Salaam, dear Omar!' I cried, when he came abreast of me. 'How is your health?' " 'Not bad,' Omar answered reluctantly and in an unfriendly voice. 'As you see, I revolve around the Earth.' He chewed his lips and added dryly, 'Tell me what you want. Don't forget that I'm a busy man. State what you want and be off.' " 'What are you so busy at, 0 my good brother?' " 'What do you mean what at?! Didn't you hear me say I'm now working as a sputnik? I keep revolving like mad, day and night, without a moment's rest.' " '0 woe is me!' I cried in great sorrow. 'How sad and uninteresting your life must be, amidst this eternal cold and darkness, in constant and useless revolving, apart from all living things!' And I burst into tears, for I was so terribly sorry for my brother. But in answer to my heartfelt words, Omar Asaf replied coldly and haughtily: " 'Don't feel sorry for me, for I am less in need of pity than anyone else on Earth. Just look around and you'll be convinced that I'm the largest of all celestial bodies. True enough, both the Sun and the Moon shed light-though I don't-and are even quite bright, but I am much larger than they are. I don't even mention the stars, which are so small that a great multitude of them could fit on my finger-nail.' Something which resembled a kindly smile appeared on his face. 'If you wish, you can join me and become my sputnik. We will revolve together. Then, not counting me, you'll be the largest of all celestial bodies.' "In vain did I rejoice at this brotherly show of affection, though it may have taken a rather strange form, for Omar Asaf continued as follows: " 'All celestial bodies have their sputniks, but I have none. It makes me feel inferior.' "I was amazed at the ignorance and stupid conceit of my brother. I understood that he did not want to return to the Earth and so said with a heavy heart: " 'Farewell, for I am in a hurry. I still have to wish some of my friends a Happy New Year.' "But Omar, who, apparently, had his heart set on this idea of his, roared: " 'Then who will be my sputnik? You had better remain of your own free will, or I'll tear you to bits!' "With these words he grabbed hold of my left leg. I kept my wits and turned sharply to a side, wrenching free of Omar, though leaving in his grasp one of my slippers. Naturally, he wanted to catch up with me, but he could not do so, for he had to continue his endless journey around a circle known by the scientific name of 'orbit.' "Flying off to a good distance, and still feeling a bit sorry for my unpleasant and conceited brother, I shouted: " 'If you are so in need of sputniks, 0 Omar Asaf, you shall have them!' "I yanked five hairs from my beard, tore them to bits and scattered them about. Then many-coloured, beautiful balls, ranging in size from a pea to a large pumpkin, began revolving around Omar Asaf. These were sputniks worthy of him both in size and in beauty. "My brother, a short-sighted person, had apparently never thought of making his own sputniks. Now, in his great pride, he desired to have a sputnik the size of a mountain. And so, such a sputnik immediately appeared. But since the mass of matter within this mountain was hundreds of thousands of times greater than the weight of my scatter-brained and ignorant brother Omar Asaf, he immediately crashed into the new celestial body he had created and bounded off it like a football. With a terrible wail, he began revolving around it at top speed. "Thus, Omar Asaf fell a victim to his terrible vanity by becoming the sputnik of his own sputnik. "I returned to the Earth and sat down to write you this letter, 0 you, who have all good assets, in order that you do not remain in ignorance of the above events. "I also hurry to add that on Gorky Street, at the radio store, I saw a wonderful set with nine tubes. And its virtues are endless. Its appearance would please the most choosy eye. It occurred to me that if I were to attach...." The letter then continued as a typical radio fan's letter would, and there is no sense quoting it, for radio fans will not find anything new in it, and those who are not interested in this branch of communications will find nothing in it worthy of their attention. EPILOGUE If any of the readers of this really truthful story are in Moscow on Razin Street and look in at the offices of the Central Board of the Northern Sea Route, they will probably see among the dozens of people putting in applications for work in the Arctic an old man in a straw boater and pink slippers embroidered in silver and gold. This is Hottabych. Despite all his efforts, he has not been able to procure a job as a radio-operator on some polar station. His appearance alone, with the long grey beard reaching down to his waist, a sure sign of his undoubtedly advanced age, is a great hindrance in finding employment in the harsh conditions of the Arctic. However, his situation becomes still more hopeless when he begins to fill in the application form. In answer to the question: "Occupation," he writes: "Professional Genie." In answer to the question: "Age," he writes: "3,732 years and five months." As to family status, he replies simple-heartedly: "Orphan. Single. I have a brother named Omar Asaf who, until July of last year, lived on the bottom of the Arctic Ocean in a copper vessel, but who now works as an Earth satellite," etc., etc., etc. After reading his application form, the personnel manager decides that Hottabych is slightly crazy, though the readers of our story know only too well that what the old man has written is nothing but the truth. Naturally, it would be no trouble for him at all to become a young man and to fill in the form as it should be; or, if the worst came to the worst, to cast the same spell on the personnel manager as he had once before, when he and his friends boarded the "Ladoga." But the trouble is the old man has decided he wants to get a job in the Arctic honestly, without any fakery at all. However, he has been visiting the Board offices less and less frequently lately. Instead, he has decided to study radio technology, to learn how to design his own radio equipment. Knowing his abilities and his love for work, it is not such a hopeless matter. What he needs now are competent teachers. Hottabych wants his young friends to be his teachers. All they could promise him, as we already know, is that they will teach him what they learn from day to day. Hottabych considered this and decided that it was not such a bad idea after all. Thus, both Volka and Zhenya are very conscientious, straight "A" pupils, for they don't want to fail their elderly student. They have agreed that they will help Hottabych finish secondary school together with them. But at this point their roads will part. As you recall, Zhenya had long since decided to become a doctor, while Volka shares Hottabych's passion. He wants to become a radio engineer, and I assure you that he will make his way in this difficult but fascinating field. It remains for us to bid farewell to the characters of this story and to wish the three friends good health and good luck in their studies and their future lives. If you ever meet them, please say hello to them from the author who invented them with great love and tenderness. Moscow 1938-1955 _________________________________________ Printed in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics