reaker.  "Behave yourselves! Leave the old
man alone! Didn't you hear me?! Kostylkov! Bogorad! Do you hear?"
     "He'll turn you into a toad if we do!" Volka cried frantically, feeling
that he could not manage Hottabych.
     "Or  into  a  chopping-block on  which  butchers carve  mutton!" Zhenya
added. "Run, Varvara Stepanovna! Hurry  up and hide before he  breaks loose!
What Volka said is true!"
     "What nonsense!" Varvara Stepanovna said, raising her voice. "Children,
did you hear what I said?!"
     By then  Hottabych had wrenched free from his young friends and quickly
tore the hairs in two. The boys shut their eyes in horror.
     However,  they opened them  when they heard Varvara Stepanovna thanking
someone.  She was holding  a  bouquet of flowers and a  large bunch of  ripe
bananas.
     Hottabych replied  by bowing  with  a  nourish  and  touching first his
forehead and then his heart.
     When they were back in their cabin, the three friends had a show-down.
     "Oh,  Volka, why  didn't  you  tell  me  right  away, right  after  the
examination, the very first day of our happy acquaintance, that I failed you
by my over-confident and ignorant prompting? You've offended  me. If you had
only told me, I wouldn't have bothered you with my annoying  gratitude. Then
you could  have easily prepared for  your  re-examination, as is becoming an
enlightened youth like you."
     So spoke Hottabych, and there was real hurt in his voice.
     "But you'd have  turned Varvara  Stepanovna into  a chopping-block  for
carving mutton. No, Hottabych, I know you only too well. We spent all  these
days in terrible fear for her life. Tell me, would you have changed her into
a chopping-block?"
     Hottabych sighed.
     "Yes, I would  have, there's no use denying it.  Either that or  into a
terrible toad."
     "See! Is that what she deserves?"
     "Why,  if   anyone  ever  dares  to   turn  this  noble  woman  into  a
chopping-block  or a toad he'll  have  to deal with me first!" the  old  man
cried hotly and added, "I bless the day you induced me to learn the alphabet
and taught me how to read the papers. Now  I am  always up-to-date and  well
informed on which sea is being  built, and  where. And I also bless the  day
Allah gave me  the wisdom to  'filch' your geography  book-that's  the right
expression, isn't it, 0  Volka?  For that truly wise and  absorbing book has
opened before me the blessed expanses of true science and has  saved me from
administering  that  which  I,  in  my  blindness,  considered  a  deserving
punishment for your highly respected teacher. I mean Varvara Stepanovna."
     "I guess that takes care of that!" Volka said.
     "It sure does," Zhenya agreed.


        WHAT INTERFERES WITH SLEEPING?

     They were having  good sailing weather. For three days and three nights
they sailed in open seas and only towards the end of the third  day did they
enter a region of scattered ice.
     The boys were playing checkers in the lounge, when an excited Hottabych
burst in on them, holding on to the brim of his old straw hat.
     "My friends," he said with a broad  smile, "go  and have  a  look:  the
whole world, as far as the eye can see, is covered with sugar and diamonds!"
     We can  excuse Hottabych  these  funny  words, as never  before  in his
nearly forty centuries  of living had he seen  a single  mound  of ice worth
speaking of.
     Everyone  in the  lounge rushed on  deck and  discovered  thousands  of
snow-white drifting ice-floes sparkling and glittering in the bright rays of
the  midnight sun,  moving silently towards the  "Ladoga."  Soon  the  first
ice-floes crunched and crashed against the rounded steel stem of the boat.
     Late that night (but it was as bright  and sunny as on a clear noonday)
the passengers saw a group  of islands in  the distance. This was the  first
glimpse they had of the majestic  and sombre panorama of Franz Joseph  Land.
They saw  the  gloomy, naked cliffs  and  mountains covered  with glittering
glaciers which resembled sharp,  pointed clouds that had been  pressed close
to the harsh land.
     "It's time to go to bed, I guess," Volka said when everyone had had his
fill  of looking at the far islands.  "There's  really nothing to do, but  I
don't feel like sleeping. It all comes from not being used to sleeping while
the sun is shining!"
     "0  blessed  one,  it seems to  me that  it is  not the  sun  which  is
interfering, but something else entirely," Hottabych suggested timidly.
     However, no one paid attention to his words.
     For a while, the boys wandered up and down the decks. There  were  less
and less people  aboard. Finally they,  too, went back to their  cabin. Soon
the only  people on the ship who were not  asleep  were the  crew members on
duty.
     It was quiet and  peaceful aboard the "Ladoga." From every cabin  there
came  the sound of snoring  or deep  breathing, as if  this  were not taking
place on a ship some two and a  half thousand kilometres from  the mainland,
in the harsh and treacherous Barents  Sea, but in a cosy rest home somewhere
near Moscow, during the afternoon "quiet hour." The shades were drawn on the
port-holes, just  as on the  windows  in rest homes, to keep out  the bright
sunshine.

        SHIPWRECKED?

     However, it soon became clear that there was a very tangible difference
between the "Ladoga" and a rest  home.  Apart  from  the Crimean earthquake,
old-timers at rest homes do not recall having  been tossed out of their beds
in  their sleep. The passengers had  just fallen  asleep when  a  sharp jerk
threw them from their berths.
     That very  moment the steady hum of the engines stopped. In the silence
which  followed,  one could hear  the slamming  of  doors  and  the sound of
running feet, as the people rushed out of their cabins to  find out what had
happened. There were shouts of command coming from the deck. Volka was lucky
in  tumbling  out  of the top berth without  major  injuries. He immediately
jumped to  his feet and began to rub his sore  spots.  As he was still  half
asleep, he  decided that it had been his own fault and was about to climb up
again when  the murmur of  anxious voices coming from the corridor convinced
him that the reason was much more serious than he thought.
     "Perhaps we  hit  an underground  reef?"  he wondered,  pulling on  his
clothes. This thought,  far  from  frightening him, gave  him  a strange and
burning  feeling of  anxious exhilaration. "Golly! This is a real adventure!
Gee! There isn't a single ship  within a thousand kilometres, and maybe  our
wireless doesn't work!"
     He imagined  a  most  exciting  picture:  they were  shipwrecked, their
supplies of drinking  water  and  food  were  coming  to  an  end,  but  the
passengers  and  crew of  the  "Ladoga"  were calm  and courageous-as Soviet
people should be.  Naturally,  he,  Volka Kostylkov, had  the  greatest will
power. Yes,  Vladimir Kostylkov  could look  danger  in  the face.  He would
always be cheerful and outwardly carefree,  he would comfort those who  were
despondent. When  the  captain of the "Ladoga" would succumb to the  inhuman
strain and  deprivation, he, Volka,  would  rightly take over command of the
ship.
     "What has  disturbed  the sleep so  necessary  to your  young  system?"
Hottabych asked and yawned, interrupting Volka's day-dreams.
     "I'll find out right away, Hottabych. I  don't want you  to worry about
anything," Volka said comfortingly and ran off.
     Gathered on  the spardeck near  the  captain's bridge were about twenty
half-dressed passengers.  They were  all discussing  something  quietly.  In
order to raise  their spirits, Volka assumed a cheerful, carefree expression
and said courageously:
     "Be calm, everyone! Calmness above all! There's no need to panic!"
     "That's very true. Those are  golden words,  young man! And that is why
you should go right back to your cabin and go to sleep without fear," one of
the passengers replied with a smile.  "By the way, no one here is feeling at
all panicky."
     Everyone laughed,  to Volka's considerable embarrassment.  Besides,  it
was rather chilly on deck and he decided to run down and get his coat.
     "Calmness above all!" he said  to Hottabych, who was  waiting  for  him
below. "There's no reason to get panicky.  Before two days  are out, a giant
ice-breaker will  come  for  us and  set us afloat once  again. We certainly
could  have done it ourselves, but  can you hear?  The engines  have stopped
working.  Something went wrong,  but no one can find out  what  it is. There
will surely be deprivations, but let's hope that no one will die."
     Volka was listening to himself speak with pleasure. He had never dreamt
he could calm people so easily and convincingly.
     "0  woe is me!" the old  man cried suddenly, shoving his bare feet into
his  famous  slippers. "If you perish, I'll not survive  you. Have we really
come upon a shoal? Alas, alas!  It would be much better  if the engines were
making noise. And just look at me! Instead of using my magic powers for more
important things, I...."
     "Hottabych," Volka interrupted sternly, "tell me this minute: what have
you done?"
     "Why, nothing much. It's just  that I  so  wanted you to sleep soundly,
that I permitted myself to order the engines to stop making noise."
     "Oh, no!" Volka cried in horror. "Now I know what happened! You ordered
the engines to be still, but they  can't work silently.  That's why the ship
stopped so suddenly. Take back your order before the boilers explode!"
     "I hear and I obey," a rather frightened Hottabych answered shakily.
     That  very moment  the  engines began  to hum  again and  the  "Ladoga"
continued on its way as  before. Meanwhile, the captain, the chief  engineer
and everyone else  on board were  at  a loss to explain why  the engines had
stopped so  suddenly and mysteriously and had resumed  working again just as
suddenly and mysteriously.
     Only  Hottabych and  Volka  knew what  had  happened,  but  for obvious
reasons  they said nothing.  Not even to Zhenya. But then, Zhenya  had slept
soundly through it all.
     "If  there was ever  an international contest to see who's the soundest
sleeper,  I bet  Zhenya would  get  first prize and be  the world champion,"
Volka said.
     Hottabych giggled ingratiatingly, though he had no idea what  a contest
was, and especially an international one, or what a champion was. But he was
trying to appease Volka.
     Yet, this in no way staved off  the unpleasant conversation. Volka  sat
down on the edge of Hottabych's berth and said:
     "You know what? Let's have a man-to-man talk."
     "I  am  all  ears,   0   Volka,"  Hottabych  replied  with  exaggerated
cheerfulness.
     "Did you ever try counting how many years older you are than me?"
     "Somehow, the thought never entered my  head, but  if you permit me to,
I'll gladly do so."
     "Never mind,  I figured it  out  already. You're three thousand,  seven
hundred  and  nineteen  years  older  than  me-or  exactly  two  hundred and
eighty-seven  times!  And when people see us  together on the deck or in the
lounge they probably  think: how nice  it is  that  these  boys  have such a
respectable, wise and elderly gentleman  to keep an  eye on them. Isn't that
right? What's the matter? Why don't you answer?"
     But Hottabych,  hanging  his unruly grey head, seemed to have  taken  a
mouthful of water.
     "But  how do things really  stand? Actually,  I  find that I'm suddenly
responsible for your life and the lives of all the passengers, because since
it was me who  let you  out of  the bottle an since you nearly sank  a whole
ice-breaker, it means I'm responsible for everything. I  deserve to have  my
head chopped off."
     "Just  let anyone try to chop off such a noble head as yours! Hottabych
cried.
     "All right, never mind that. Don't interrupt. To continue: Pi sick  and
tired of  your miracles. There's no doubt  about  it, you're  really a  very
mighty Genie (Hottabych puffed  out his chest),  bi as concerns modern times
and modern technical development; you don't know much  more than  a new-born
babe. Is the clear?"
     "Alas, it is."
     "Well  then,  let's agree:  whenever  you  feel  like  performing  some
miracle, consult other people."
     "I'll consult you, 0  Volka,  and if you  won't be on hand, or : you're
busy  preparing  for a  re-examination  (Volka  winced),  the  I'll  consult
Zhenya."
     "Do you swear?"
     "I swear," the old man exclaimed and struck his chest wit his fist.
     "And now, back to bed," Volka ordered.
     "Aye,  aye, Sir!" Hottabych answered loudly. He had  already managed to
pick up some nautical terms.


        HOTTABYCH AT HIS BEST

     By morning the  "Ladoga" had entered  a zone  of heavy  fogs. ; crawled
ahead slowly and every  five  minutes its siren wailed  loudly, breaking the
eternal silence.
     This was done in accordance with the  rules  of navigation. then it  is
foggy, all vessels must sound their fog horns, no matter whether they are in
the busiest harbours or in  the  empty wastes of  the Arctic Ocean.  This is
done to prevent collisions.
     The sound of the "Ladoga's" siren depressed the passengers.
     It was dull and  damp on deck,  and boring  in the cabins. That is  why
every seat  in the lounge was occupied. Some passengers  were playing chess,
some  were playing checkers, others were  reading. Then they tired of  these
pastimes, too. Finally they decided to sing.
     They sang  all  together  and  one  at  a  time;  they  danced  to  the
accompaniment  of  a guitar and an  accordion. A famous Uzbek  cotton-grower
danced to an accompaniment provided by Zhenya. There really should have been
a  tambourine, but since  there was none, Zhenya tapped out the rhythm quite
well on an enamelled tray. Everyone was pleased except the Uzbek, but he was
very polite  and praised Zhenya, too. Then a young man from a Moscow factory
began doing card tricks. This time everyone except  Hottabych thought it was
grand.
     He called Volka out into the corridor.
     "Permit me, 0 Volka, to entertain these kind people with several simple
miracles."
     Volka recalled  how  these "simple  miracles"  had nearly ended  in the
circus and protested vigorously, "Don't even think of it!" Finally, however,
he agreed, because Hottabych was looking at him with such sad-dog eyes.
     "All right,  but remember-just card tricks and maybe something with the
ping-pong balls, if you want to."
     "I shall never forget your wise generosity," Hottabych said gratefully,
and they returned to the  lounge. The  young  worker was in the midst  of  a
really good trick.  He offered anyone in the audience to choose a card, look
at it, replace  it, and then shuffle the  deck. Then he shuffled it too, and
the top card always turned out to be the right one.
     After he had  received  his well-earned  applause and  returned  to his
seat,  Hottabych asked to  be  permitted  to  entertain the  gathering  with
several simple tricks. That's how the boastful old man put it-simple.
     Naturally, everyone agreed. They applauded before he even began.
     Bowing  smartly to all sides like an old-timer on the stage,  Hottabych
took two ping-pong balls from a table and threw them into the air. Suddenly,
there were four balls; he  threw  them up again  and they became eight, then
thirty-two.  He  began  juggling  all  thirty-two   balls,   and  then  they
disappeared  and were found to be in thirty-two pockets of thirty-two people
in the audience. Then they flew out of the pockets, formed a chain and began
spinning around  a bowing Hottabych like sputniks until  they became a white
hoop. Hottabych put this large hoop  on Varvara Stepanovna's lap with a  low
bow. The hoop began to flatten out  until it turned into a roll of excellent
silk. Hottabych  cut it  into pieces with Volka's  pen-knife. The pieces  of
silk flew into  the  air  like birds and  wound themselves  into turbans  of
remarkable beauty around the heads of the amazed audience.
     Hottabych  listened to  the applause  blissfully.  Then  he snapped his
fingers. The turbans  turned into  pigeons which flew out  through the  open
port-holes and  disappeared. Everyone was now convinced that  the old man in
the funny oriental slippers was one of the greatest conjurors.
     Hottabych wallowed  in the  applause. The  boys knew him well enough to
understand how dangerous such unanimous and exciting approval was for him.
     "Just wait  and see! Watch him go to town now,"  Zhenya whispered in  a
worried voice. "I have a funny feeling, that's all."
     "Don't worry, we have a very strict agreement on this point."
     "One minute, my friends," Hottabych said  to the applauding passengers.
"Will you permit me to...."
     He  yanked a single hair from  his  beard.  Suddenly  a  shrill whistle
sounded on deck. They could hear the heavy clatter of running feet.
     "That's the militia  coming to fine someone!" Zhenya joked. "Somebody's
jumped overboard  at full speed!" No  one  had  time  to laugh, because  the
"Ladoga" shuddered  and something  clanged menacingly  below. For the second
time that day the ship came to a stop.
     "See! What did I  say!"  Zhenya  hissed  and looked  at Hottabych  with
loathing. "He couldn't control himself.  Just look at him boast! Golly! I've
never met a more conceited, boastful and undisciplined  Genie  in  my  whole
life!"
     "Are you up to your  old tricks  again, Hottabych?  You swore yesterday
that...."
     There was such shouting in the lounge that Volka didn't bother lowering
his voice.
     "Oh, no! No! Do not  insult  me with  such  suspicions, 0 serpent among
boys, for  I have never broken the  smallest  promise, to say nothing of  an
oath. I  swear I know no more than you  do about the  reasons for our sudden
stop."
     "A  snake?" Volka shouted  angrily. "Oh, so  on top of everything else,
I'm a snake! Thank you, Hottabych! My best merci to you!"
     "Not  a snake,  a  serpent, for know ye that a  serpent  is  the living
embodiment of wisdom."
     This time the old man was really not to  blame. The  "Ladoga"  had lost
its  way in the fog and gone aground.  Passengers crowded the deck, but they
had  difficulty in  even  making out the rails. However, by leaning over the
side  near the bow  they  could see the  propellers  churning  up  the  dark
unfriendly waters.
     Half an hour passed, but all attempts to get the ship off  the shoal by
putting it in reverse  ended in  failure. Then the captain ordered  the spry
boatswain to pipe all on deck.
     Everyone  except those  standing watch  gathered  on  the spardeck. The
captain said, "Comrades, this is  an emergency. There's only one way to  get
off the  shoal under our own steam and that's transfer the coal from the bow
to the stern; then we'll be able make free of the shoal. If everyone pitches
in, it won't take more than ten or twelve hours to do the job. The boatswain
will  divide you into teams. Put  on your worst clothes  and let's start the
ball rolling.
     "You, boys, and  you, Hassan Hottabych, need not  worry. its  is no job
for you: the boys are too young and it's a  little too late for you to carry
heavy loads."
     "What do  you mean  by  saying I  can't carry heavy  loads?"  Hottabych
replied scornfully. "Please be informed that no one present here  can  equal
me in weight-lifting, 0 most respected captain."
     The other passengers began to smile.
     "What  an  old  man!"  "Listen  to  him  boast."  "Just  look  at  that
muscle-man!"
     "There's nothing to laugh at, he feels offended. It's no fun be old."
     "See for yourself!" Hottabych shouted. He grabbed his two young friends
and, to the general amazement,  began juggling them as  if they were plastic
billiard balls  stead of sturdy thirteen-year-old  boys. The  applause which
followed was so deafening, the whole scene might very well have taken  place
at a weight-lifting contest and not on board a ship in danger.
     "I  take  my words back," the captain said  solemnly after the applause
had died down. "And now, let's get to work! There's time to waste!"
     "Hottabych," Volka said,  -taking the old man off to a side "what's the
use of dragging coal from one hold to another for twelve long hours? I think
you should do something to get the ship off the shoal."
     "That's not within my powers," the old man answered sadly "I thought of
it already. Naturally, I can pull it off the rocks, but then the bottom will
be all scratched and ripped, and I won't  b able to fix it, because I  never
saw what a ship looks like on the  bottom. Then we'll certainly drown  in no
time."
     "Think again, Hottabych! Maybe you'll think of some thing!"
     "I'll try my best, 0  compass of my soul," the old man replied. After a
short pause he asked, "What if I make the rocks disappear?"
     "Oh, Hottabych! How smart you are!" Volka said  and  began to shake his
hand. "That's a wonderful idea."
     "I hear and I obey."
     The first emergency  team was down in the hold, loading  the first iron
bins with coal, when  the "Ladoga"  suddenly lurched and then began  to spin
around in a  whirlpool over the  spot where there had just  been a shoal. In
another  minute,  the  ship would  have broken to bits, had  not Volka sense
enough to tell  Hottabych to  make  the  whirlpool disappear. The sea became
calm; the "Ladoga" spun  around a while longer from  sheer force of inertia.
Then it continued on its way.
     Once again, no one but Hottabych and Volka knew what he happened.
     Ahead were more exciting days, each unlike the other, as they journeyed
across  little-known  seas  and channels, past bleak  islands  upon which no
human foot had ever stepped. The passengers often left the ship to go ashore
on  deserted cliffs  and  on  islands where polar station teams greeted them
with  rifle salvos. Our three friends joined the rest in climbing  glaciers,
wandering over the naked stones of basalt plateaux, jumping from ice-floe to
ice-floe  over black  open  patches  of water, and  hunting polar bears. The
fearless Hottabych dragged one bear aboard the "Ladoga" by the scruff of its
neck. Under his  influence the  animal soon became  as tame and playful as a
cat, and so provided many happy hours for both  passengers and crew. Now the
bear often tours with circuses,  and many of  our  readers  have undoubtedly
seen him. His name is Kuzya.

        "SALAAM, SWEET OMAR!"

     After  stopping off  at Rudolph Island, the "Ladoga" began  its  return
journey. The passengers were worn out from the mass of new impressions, from
the  sun  which shone round the  clock from the frequent  fogs  and  endless
crashing of ice against the stem and sides  of  the ship. At each stop there
were  less and less passengers who  wished to go ashore on deserted islands,
and  towards the end of  the  journey  our friends  and two  or three  other
tireless explorers  were the only ones to take advantage o a chance to climb
the inhospitable cliffs.
     One morning the captain said, "Well, this is the last time you're going
ashore. There's no sense stopping the ship for six or seven people."
     That is why Volka  talked the others going ashore into staying there as
long as possible, in order to really have one good last look at the islands.
They could do it  in peace since Hottabych, who was usually in a rush to get
back, was staying behind to play chess with the captain.
     "Volka," Zhenya said  mysteriously when they dragged their feet  aboard
the "Ladoga" three hours  later. "Come on down to  the cabin! I want to show
you something.  Here, look at this," he continued,  after shutting  the door
tightly.  He pulled a longish object from under  his coat. "What d'you think
it is? I found it on the opposite side of the island. Right near the water."
     Zhenya was holding a small copper vessel the size of a decanter. It was
all green from age and brine.
     "We should give it  to the captain right away," Volka  said  excitedly.
"Some expedition probably put  a letter inside and threw it  into the water,
hoping someone would come to the rescue."
     "That's what I thought at first, too, but then I decided  nothing would
happen if we opened it first to have a look  inside. It's interesting, isn't
it?"
     "It sure is."
     Zhenya turned pale from excitement. He quickly knocked off the tar-like
substance that  covered the mouth of  the  bottle. Under it was a heavy lead
cap covered with a seal. Zhenya had great difficulty prying it loose.
     "And now we'll see what's inside," he said, turning it upside-down over
his berth.
     Before he had  time to finish the sentence, clouds of black smoke began
pouring from the bottle, filling the entire cabin. It became dark and choky.
Presently, the  thick vapour condensed and became an unsightly  old man with
an angry face and a pair of eyes that burnt like coals. He fell to his knees
and knocked his forehead on the floor so hard that the things hanging on the
cabin wall swayed as if the ship was rolling.
     "0 Prophet of Allah, do not kill me!" he shouted.
     "I'd  like  to  ask  you something,"  a  frightened  but curious  Volka
interrupted  his wailing. "If  I'm not  mistaken,  you mean the  former King
Solomon, don't you?"
     "Yes, 0 miserable youth! Sulayman, the Son  of David (may  the  days of
the twain be prolonged on earth!)."
     "I don't know about who's miserable,"  Volka  objected calmly,  "but as
far as  your  Sulayman is concerned-his  days can in no  way  be  prolonged.
That's out completely: he's dead."
     "You lie, wretch, and will pay dearly for it!"
     "There's  nothing to get mad  about. That Eastern king die two thousand
nine  hundred  and  nineteen  years   ago.  You  ca   look  it  up   in  the
Encyclopaedia."
     "Who  opened the bottle?"  the  old man asked  in a  business like way,
having obviously accepted Volka's information an not  appearing  to  be  too
saddened by it.
     "I did, but you really shouldn't thank me," Zhenya said modestly.
     "There  is  no God  but  Allah!"  the  stranger  exclaimed. "Rejoice, 0
undeserving brat."
     "Why should I rejoice? It's you who've been freed from your prison, and
you should be the one to rejoice. What's there for me to rejoice about?"
     "Rejoice, because you must die an ill death this very hour"
     "That's what I  call real mean! After all, I  freed you from the copper
vessel.  If not  for me, who-knows how many thousands of  years longer you'd
have to lie around in smoke and soot."
     "Don't tire me with idle chatter! Ask of me only what mode of death you
choose and in what manner I shall slay you! Gr-r-r!
     "I'll  thank you  not to  act so  fierce!  And  anyway, what's that all
about?" Zhenya flared up.
     "Know,  0  undeserving boy,  that I am  one of the Genies who disobeyed
Sulayman,  David's Son (on the twain be peace!), whereupon Sulayman sent his
minister,  Asaf,  son of Barakhiya, to seize me. And  this Vizier brought me
against  my  will and led me in  bonds to Sulayman and he placed me standing
before  him.  When Sulayman  saw me,  he sent for this  bottle, shut  me  up
therein and stoppered it over with lead."
     "Good for him!" Zhenya whispered to Volka.
     "What are you whispering about?" the old man asked suspiciously.
     "Nothing, nothing at all," Zhenya answered hurriedly.
     "Take care!"  the  old man warned. "I am not one to have tricks  played
upon me. To continue: he imprisoned me in the bottle and ordered his  Genies
to throw me into the ocean. There I abode a hundred years, during which time
I said in my heart, 'Whoso shall  release me, him will I enrich for ever and
ever.' But the full century went  by and, when no one set me free, I entered
upon the second five score  saying, 'Whoso shall release me, for him I shall
open the  hoards of the Earth.'  Still,  no  one set me free, and  thus four
hundred years passed away. Then quoth I, 'Whoso shall  release  me, for  him
will I fulfil three wishes.' Yet ho one set me free. Thereupon I waxed wroth
and said to myself, 'Whoso shall release me from this time forth, him will I
slay, and I will give him choice of what death he will die,' and now, as you
have released me, I give you full choice of death."
     "But it's not at all logical to kill your saviour!  It's  illogical and
downright ungrateful," Zhenya objected heatedly.
     "Logic  has nothing  to  do  with it,"  the Genie interrupted  harshly.
"Choose the death that most  appeals to you and do not detain  me, for I  am
terrible in my wrath!"
     "May I ask you something?" Volka said, raising his hand.
     But the  Genie glared  at  him  so  frightfully, it made  Volka's knees
tremble.
     "Well then,  will  you at least  permit me to  ask a  question?" Zhenya
pleaded with such despair that the Genie relented.
     "All right. But be brief."
     "You say that you  spent several thousand years in  this copper vessel,
but  it's even too small to hold your hand. How  should the whole of you fit
in it?"
     "What! Do you not believe that I was there?"
     "I'll never believe it until I see you inside with my own eyes."
     "Well then, look  and be  convinced," the  Genie roared. He  shook  and
became a smoke which condensed and  entered the jar  little by little, while
the boys clapped softly in excitement.
     More than half the vapour had disappeared into the vessel. Zhenya, with
bated  breath,  had the  stopper ready to imprison the Genie once again, but
the old man seemed to change his mind, for he filtered out again and assumed
a human form.
     "Oh, no you  don't!" he said, squinting slyly and shaking  a hooked and
dirty finger in front of  Zhenya's face, while the boy hurriedly slipped the
stopper  in  his  pocket.  "You  didn't  want  to  outsmart  me, did  you, 0
despicable  brat? What a  terrible  memory I have!  I  nearly forgot  that a
thousand  one hundred and forty-two  years ago a fisherman fooled me in just
the same manner.  He asked me the very same question and I trustingly wished
to prove that I had indeed been  in the vessel. So I turned into smoke again
and entered the jar, while the fisherman snatched up the leaden cap with the
seal and stoppered therewith  the mouth  of  it. Then he tossed it back into
the sea. Oh no, you can't play that trick on me twice!"
     "Why, I had no intention of fooling you," Zhenya lied in a shaky voice,
feeling that now he was a goner for sure.
     "Hurry and choose what  manner  of death you will die  and detain me no
longer, for I am weary of all this talk!"
     "All right," Zhenya said  after thinking a  bit.  "But promise me  that
I'll die in exactly the way I choose."
     "I  swear!"  the  Genie promised  solemnly and  his eyes  burnt with  a
devilish fire.
     "Well, then," Zhenya  said and  swallowed hard. "Well then... I want to
die of old age."
     "Good for you!" Volka shouted.
     The Genie turned purple from rage and cried, "But your old age is still
very far off. You are still so young!"
     "That's all right," Zhenya answered courageously, "I can wait."
     When Volka heard this, he laughed happily, but the Genie began to curse
in Arabic as he dashed back and forth in the cabin, tossing aside everything
in his way in helpless rage.
     This went on for a good five minutes until he finally seemed to come to
a decision. He laughed so  fiendishly  as  to  give the  boys goose-pimples.
Standing before Zhenya, he said maliciously:
     "There  is no denying it, you are cunning. But Omar  Asaf ibn Hottab is
more cunning than you, 0 despicable one."
     "Omar  Asaf  ibn  Hottab?" the boys  cried  in unison.  The  Genie  was
trembling with wrath and bellowed:
     "Silence! Or  I'll destroy you  immediately! Yes,  I  am Omar Asaf  ibn
Hottab,  and I am more cunning  than this  brat! I'll fulfil his wish and he
will surely die of old age. But," he said, looking at the boys triumphantly,
"his old age will come upon him before you count to a hundred!"
     "Help!" Zhenya cried in his usual voice.  "Help!" he  groaned in a deep
basso  a few  seconds later.  "Help!" he  squeaked  in a trembling old man's
voice a few" moment's later. "Help! I'm dying!"
     Volka looked on horror-struck as Zhenya  quickly turned into  a  youth,
then into a grown man with a long black beard; then his beard turned to grey
and he became middle-aged; and, finally, he became a bald, bony, scrawny old
man.  All  would  have been  over  in a few  seconds if Omar  Asaf,  who was
gleefully watching Zhenya's quick deterioration, had not exclaimed:
     "Oh,  if my unfortunate brother were  only here now! How happy he would
be at my triumph!"
     "Wait!"  Volka  shouted.  "Tell me,  was  your  brother's  name  Hassan
Abdurrakhman?"
     "How  did you  discover  that?" Omar  Asaf asked  in amazement. "Do not
remind me of him, for my heart is rent at the memory of poor Hassan. Yes,  I
had a brother named so, but all the worse for you, for reopening my terrible
wounds!"
     "If  I tell you your brother is alive and bring  him to you, alive  and
healthy, will you spare Zhenya then?"
     "Oh, if  I could only see  my dear Hassan! Oh, then  your  friend would
remain alive until he aged  naturally and that  will not happen for many and
many a  year. But if you deceive  me ... I swear, neither of you will escape
my rightful wrath!"
     "Then wait a minute, just one minute!" Volka shouted.
     A few  moments later, he rushed into  the  lounge where  Hottabych  was
engrossed in his game of chess with the captain.
     "Dear Hottabych,  hurry! Let's  run back  to the cabin, there's a great
joy awaiting you there."
     "I can think of no  greater joy than  to check-mate my sweetest friend,
the captain," Hottabych replied solemnly, studying the board intently.
     "Hottabych, we can't spare a minute! I beg you, come below with me!"
     "All right," Hottabych replied and moved his castle. "Check! Run along,
Volka. I'll be with you as soon as I win, and, according to my calculations,
this will be in about three more moves."
     "We'll see  about that  yet," the captain  replied  cheerfully.  "Three
moves indeed! Just you let me see...."
     "Yes, yes,  do see," the old man chuckled. "You won't think of anything
anyway. I can wait. I'll be only too happy to wait."
     "We've no time to wait!" Volka wailed in despair, and  knocked all  the
figures off the board. "If  you don't come below  with me  this minute, both
Zhenya and I will die a horrible death! Hurry! Run!"
     "You're behaving atrociously," Hottabych  grumbled, but  followed Volka
out nonetheless.
     "That means it's a draw!" the captain  shouted happily, pleased to have
escaped a completely hopeless situation.
     "No, sir! What do you mean a draw?" Hottabych objected and was ready to
turn back.
     But Volka shouted angrily:
     "Sure it's a draw!  It's a  typical draw!" and shoved the  old man into
their cabin, where Omar Asaf was about to fulfil his terrible threat.
     "Who's the old man?" Hottabych asked, seeing a decrepit old man moaning
on  the  berth.  Actually,  but  a  few short moments ago,  he  had  been  a
thirteen-year-old boy named  Zhenya Bogorad. "And who's that other old man?"
he continued, noticing Omar Asaf. Suddenly  he turned pale. Not trusting his
eyes, he took several hesitant  steps forward and  whispered, "Salaam, sweet
Omar!"
     "Is that you, 0 my dear Hassan Abdurrakhman?" Omar Asaf cried.
     The  brothers fell into each other's arms, for  they had been separated
for nearly three thousand years.
     At first,  Volka was so touched by this unusual meeting of  brothers in
the midst of the Arctic icebergs, and so happy for Hottabych's sake, that he
completely forgot about the unfortunate Zhenya. Soon a barely  audible groan
from the berth reminded him that urgent aid was needed.
     "Help!" he cried and  rushed to separate Hottab's two sons. "A person's
dying and they...."
     "Help, I'm dying! "the old man Zhenya croaked,  as  if  to  corroborate
Volka's words. Hottabych looked at him in surprise and asked:
     "Who is this white-haired  old man, and how does he come to be lying in
our friend Zhenya's bed?"
     "But this is Zhenya," Volka wailed. "Save him, Hottabych!"
     "I  beg your pardon, 0 dearest Hassan," Omar Asaf said irritably to his
newly-found  brother.  "I  shall have to interrupt these pleasant moments of
reunion in order to fulfil my promise."
     With these words he went  over to the berth, touched Zhenya's shoulder,
and hissed:
     "Ask forgiveness before it is too late."
     "Forgiveness? Of whom?" the old man Zhenya croaked.
     "Of me, 0 despicable youth!"
     "What for?"
     "For trying to trick me."
     "You should ask my  forgiveness," Zhenya objected. "I saved you and you
want to kill me for it. I won't ask your forgiveness!"
     "Be it  as you wish," Omar Asaf agreed maliciously. "I  do not  insist.
But bear in mind that you shall die in a few seconds if you do not."
     "So what?  Who cares?"  Zhenya whispered  proudly if weakly,  though he
certainly did care.
     "Omar, my sweet!" Hottabych interrupted kindly but firmly. "Don't cloud
our  long-awaited  reunion  by  a dishonest act.  You  must  immediately and
unconditionally fulfil the  promise  given  to my precious friend, Volka ibn
Alyosha. And please  bear in mind that the most noble Zhenya is a very  good
friend of mine to."
     Omar  Asaf  ground his  teeth  in helpless rage.  Yet,  he took hold of
himself and muttered:
     "Change,  0 insolent  youth, and be as  you were  before!" "Now  you're
talking," Zhenya said.
     Everyone present had the pleasure of witnessing a most unusual sight: a
dying old man turned into a thirteen-year-old boy.
     First, his withered, sunken cheeks became rosy; then, his bald head was
covered  with white hair which soon  turned black,  as did his  heavy beard.
Feeling  stronger,  Zhenya  hopped off the  berth and winked  at his friends
happily. Standing before them  was a husky man of  forty, who differed  from
other men  of his age in that his beard kept on shrinking  until it  finally
turned into a  barely  noticeable  fringe  of  fluff which soon  disappeared
completely.  The man  was  becoming  smaller in  height and narrower in  the
shoulders. Finally, he took on Zhenya Bogorad's usual appearance.
     Thus, Zhenya was now the only person  in the world who could say. "Long
ago. when  I was  still an old man," the same as  millions  of old  men say,
"When I was still a young rascal."

        OMAR ASAF BARES HIS CLAWS

     "There's one thing I  can't understand," Omar Asaf said thoughtfully as
he shivered with cold. "I clearly heard Sulayman's Genies  say, 'Let's throw
him-meaning  me-into the West Ethiopian Sea.' That's why I thought that if I
was ever lucky enough to look upon the sun and earth again, it would be near
the shores of sunny Africa. But this,"  and  he pointed  to the island  fast
disappearing through the port-hole, "this is  not  at all like Africa. Isn't
it so, my dear brother Hassan?"
     "You  are right, my dear Omar Asaf, one so pleasing to my heart. We are
now near other shores, quite a distance from Africa. We are now...."
     "I  know!  Really,  I  know!"  Volka interrupted  and did  a  jig  from
excitement. "Golly! Now I know! Now I know!"
     "What do you know?" Omar Asaf asked haughtily.
     "Now I know how you came to be in the Arctic."
     "0 insolent and boastful boy, how unpleasant I find your undue  pride!"
Omar Asaf said in disgust. "How can you understand something which remains a
mystery even to me, the wisest  and most powerful of all Genies!  Well then,
express your opinion, so that I and my dear brother may have a good laugh at
your expense."
     "That's as you wish. You can laugh if you want to. But it's all because
of the Gulf Stream."
     "Because of what?" Omar Asaf asked acidly.
     "The Gulf Stream, the warm current which brought you to the Arctic from
the Southern Seas."
     "What nonsense!" Omar Asaf smirked, turning to his brother for support.
     But his brother said nothing.
     "It's not rubbish at all," Volka began.
     But Omar Asaf corrected him:
     "I did not say 'rubbish,' I said 'nonsense.' "
     "It's neither rubbish  nor nonsense," Volka replied  with annoyance. "I
got an 'A' in geography for the Gulf Stream."
     Since  Zhenya  supported  Volka's  scientific  theory,  Hottabych  also
supported him.
     Omar  Asaf, seeing  that he was a minority of  one,  pretended to agree
about the Gulf Stream, but actually concealed a grudge against Volka and his
friend.
     "I am tired of  arguing with  you, 0 conceited boy," he said, f