by Lazar Lagin
The name of the vessel was the “Sweet Omar,” in honour of the unfortunate brother of our old friend, Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab.
ABOARD THE “SWEET OMAR”
Had our friend the conductor on the Moscow-Odessa express miraculously found himself aboard the twin-masted “Sweet Omar,” he would not have been most amazed at the fact that he had suddenly found himself aboard a sailing vessel, nor that this vessel did not in any way resemble a usual sea or river craft. He would have been most amazed at finding that he was already acquainted with the passengers and crew.
The old man and his two young companions who had left Compartment 7 that morning were its passengers, while the four dark-skinned citizens whose term of service dated back to the 16th century B.C. were its crew.
One can well imagine that a second encounter would have landed the impressive conductor in bed for a long time.
Despite the fact that Volka and Zhenya had become accustomed to witnessing the most unexpected events during the past few days, they were most amazed to find their recent acquaintances aboard the ship and to discover that they were also excellent sailors.
After the boys had stood gazing at the quick and skilful movements of the small crew scurrying up and down the riggings just as if they were on a polished floor, they went to explore the rest of the ship. It was very beautiful, but small — no larger than a Moscow river launch. However, Hottabych assured them that even Sulayman, the Son of David, did not have a ship as big as the “Sweet Omar.”
Everything on the ship glittered with cleanliness and splendour. Its sides and high, carved bow and stern were inlaid with gold and ivory. The priceless rosewood deck was covered with rugs as magnificent as those which adorned the cabins.
That is why Volka was so surprised at suddenly coming upon a dark and filthy cubby-hole in the prow. In it were plank beds covered with rags.
As he looked in disgust at the meagre furnishings of this tiny room, Zhenya joined him. After careful scrutiny, Zhenya decided the unsightly hole was intended for the pirates they might capture on the way.
“Not at all,” Volka persisted. “This place was forgotten about after a complete overhauling. Sometimes, after repairs, there’s a forgotten corner full of rags and all kinds of rubbish.”
“What do you mean by ‘a complete overhauling’ when this ship didn’t even exist this morning?” Zhenya protested.
Volka had no answer to this question, and so the boys set off to find Hottabych, to ask him to help solve the mystery. But they found the old man asleep and thus did not speak to him until an hour or two later, at dinner time.
Tucking their feet under them uncomfortably, they sat down on a thick, brightly-coloured carpet. There were neither chairs nor tables in the cabin or anywhere else on board.
One of the crew remained above at the wheel, while the others brought in and placed before them many various dishes, fruits and beverages. When they turned to leave, the boys called to them:
“Why are you leaving?”
And Volka added politely, “Aren’t you going to have lunch?”
The servants only shook their heads in reply.
Hottabych was confused.
“I must not have been listening intently, O my young friends. For a moment, I thought you had invited these servants to join us at the table.”
“Sure we did,” Volka said. “Why, what’s wrong with that?”
“But they are only ordinary sailors,” Hottabych objected in a voice that indicated that the matter was now closed.
However, to his great surprise, the boys held their ground.
“All the more so, if they’re sailors. They’re not parasites, they’re real hard workers,” Volka said.
And Zhenya added:
“And let’s not forget that they seem to be Negroes and that means they are an oppressed nation. That’s why we should be especially considerate.”
“This seems to be a most unfortunate misunderstanding,” Hottabych said excitedly, confused by the solid opposition of the boys. “I must ask you again to remember that these are plain sailors. It is not becoming to us to sit down to eat with them. This would lower us both in their eyes and in our own.”
’ “It wouldn’t lower me at all,” Volka objected heatedly.
“Or me, either. On the contrary, it’ll be very interesting,” Zhenya said, looking at the steaming turkey with hungry eyes. “Hurry up and ask them to sit down, otherwise the turkey’ll get cold.”
“I don’t feel like eating, O my young friends. I’ll eat later on,” Hottabych said glumly and clapped loudly three times.
The sailors appeared immediately.
“These young gentlemen have kindly expressed the desire to partake of their meal together with you, my undeserving servants.”
“O great and mighty ruler!” the eldest of the sailors cried, falling to his knees before Hottabych and touching the precious carpet with his forehead. “We don’t feel like eating at all. We are very full. We are so full, that if we eat a single chicken leg our stomachs will burst and we will die in terrible agony.”
“They’re lying!” Volka whispered to Zhenya with conviction;
“I’m ready to bet anything that they’re lying. They wouldn’t mind eating, but they’re afraid of Hottabych.” Then he addressed the sailors. “You say you’re full, but won’t you please tell me when you’ve had time to eat?”
“Then know ye, O young and noble master, that we can go without food for a year or more and never feel hungry,” the sailor replied evasively.
“They’ll never agree, they’re afraid of him,” Zhenya said in disappointment.
The sailors backed out and were gone.
“To my great pleasure, I suddenly feel hungry again,” Hottabych said cheerfully. “Let us begin quickly.”
“No, Hottabych, you eat by yourself. We’re no company for you!” Zhenya muttered angrily and got up. “Come on, Volka!”
“Come on. Golly! You try to educate a person and change his ways, but nothing good comes of it…”
And so, the old man was left alone with the untouched dinner. He sat there with his legs tucked under him, as straight and stiff and solemn as an Eastern god. But the moment the boys disappeared behind the drapery that separated the cabin from the deck, he began to pound his head with his small fists that were nevertheless as hard as iron.
O woe to him, poor Hassan Abdurrakhman ibn Hottab! Something had gone wrong again! Yet, how happily the “Sweet Omar” had started on its journey! How sincerely delighted the boys had been with its adornments, its sparkling sails, the soft carpets in which their bare feet sank up to their ankles, the priceless handrails of ebony and ivory, the mighty masts covered with a mosaic of precious stones! Why had they suddenly conceived such a strange idea? But what if it wasn’t just an idea or a caprice, but something quite different? How queer these boys were to have refused such a feast, despite their hunger, and only because his servants were not allowed to share the meal as equals! Oh, how puzzling and unfair it was, and how hungry, how very hungry Hottabych was!
While his feeling of attachment for Volka and Zhenya was struggling with prejudices of thousands of years’ standing, our young travellers were discussing the situation heatedly. Hottabych’s servants tried to keep out of sight, but one of them, either absent-mindedly or from lack of caution, suddenly appeared from the very cubby-hole Volka had believed was intended for captive pirates. Then the dingy hole on the luxurious “Sweet Omar” was the sailors’ quarters!
“Oh, no!” Volka said indignantly. “We’ll never remain on such a ship. Either Hottabych changes the rules immediately, or else we call off our friendship and he gets us back home.”
Suddenly they heard Hottabych’s voice behind them.
“O sails of my heart,” the crafty old man said, as if nothing untoward had happened. “Why are you wasting your time here on deck, when a most delightful and filling dinner awaits you? The turkey is still steaming, but it can get cold, and then it
certainly will taste worse. Let us hurry back to the cabin, for my beloved sailors and I, your faithful servant, are dying of hunger and thirst.”
The boys looked into the cabin they had just left and saw the sailors sitting primly on the rug, awaiting their return.
“All right,” Volka said dryly. “But we’re still going to have a long and serious talk with you, Hottabych. Meanwhile, let’s have our dinner.”
No sooner was dinner over, than the sea became turbulent;
the small ship now flew up on the crest of a huge wave, now plunged down into a deep chasm between two tremendous walls of water. The waves thundered and crashed as they washed over the deck and carried off the carpets that covered it. Streams of water kept rushing into the cabins. It became chilly, but the brazier with hot coals was tossed back and forth so violently that they had to throw it overboard to prevent a fire. The servant-sailors, whose only clothing were their loincloths, turned grey from the cold, as they battled the flapping sails.
In another half hour nothing but a sad memory would have remained of the “Sweet Omar.” However, the storm ceased as unexpectedly as it had begun. The sun peeped out. It became warm again. But everything became terribly calm. The sails hung limply on the masts and the ship began to rock softly on the water without moving forward an inch.
Hottabych decided that this was just the time to improve his shaky relations with his young companions. Rubbing his hands together merrily, he said, “Calm? Why you should know, O benevolent and just youths, that a calm means nothing to us. We can do fine without the wind. The ‘Sweet Omar’ will go forward faster than ever. May it be so!” He snapped the fingers of his left hand.
Instantly the “Sweet Omar” sped forward at top speed; the sails, meeting the resistance of the air, naturally filled out in a direction opposite to the ship’s movement.
In the entire history of sailing ships, no one had ever seen such a strange sight. However, neither Volka nor Zhenya, nor Hottabych, who at the time the ship started were all standing on the stern, had time to enjoy the sight, since the sudden forward thrust threw them overboard. The next moment the mainmast, unable to withstand the terrible resistance of the air, came crashing down on the very spot where the three travellers had been standing but a moment before.
The “Sweet Omar” disappeared from sight immediately.
“A life-boat, or even a life-saver would really come in handy now,” Volka thought as he splashed about in the water and blew air like a horse. “We can’t even see the shore.”
And true, no matter which way he looked, he could see nothing but the calm and endless sea.
THE “VK-1” MAGIC-CARPET-SEAPLANE
“Where are you going?” Volka shouted to Zhenya, who was swimming off rapidly. “You won’t reach the shore anyway, Don’t waste your energy! Turn over and float on your back.”
Zhenya took his advice. Hottabych also turned over, holding his hat carefully above water.
Thus began the only conference of shipwrecked people in the history of sailing, in which the speakers expressed their opinions while floating on their backs.
“Well, we’re shipwrecked!” Volka said with something close to satisfaction. He had taken upon himself the duties of chairman. “What are you planning to do?” he asked, noticing that Hottabych had begun yanking hairs from his beard with his free hand.
“I want to return our ship. It’s a great stroke of luck that my beard is completely dry.”
“There’s no hurry,” Volka interrupted. “The question is: do we want to return to it or not? I, for one, do not. To tell you the truth, there are inhuman rules aboard. It’s disgusting to even think of it.”
“I agree. The ‘Sweet Omar’ is out of the question,” Zhenya added. “But you know, Hottabych, you’ll have to act quickly to save the sailors, otherwise they’ll go down with the ship!”
Hottabych frowned.
“The fate of my unworthy servants should not bother you at all. They have been in Arabia for not less than five minutes already. That is where they reside, that is where they are now awaiting my orders. But please tell me, O masts of my heart, why should we not continue our journey aboard the ‘Sweet Omar’?”
“I thought we made that clear,” Volka said.
“And anyway, a sailing ship is too slow and unreliable. We’re dependent on every little change in the weather. No, the ‘Sweet Omar’ is out,” Zhenya said.
“O anchors of my happiness!” Hottabych whined pitifully. “I’ll do anything to…”
“No, it’s out, and that’s the end of it,” Volka interrupted and shivered. It was most unpleasant to lie in the water fully dressed. “It remains to be seen what else Hottabych can suggest.”
“I can take you under my arms and fly.”
“No good!” Volka said. “Who wants to fly under somebody’s arms!”
“Not somebody’s — mine!” Hottabych replied in a hurt voice.
“It makes no difference.”
“Then I would venture to suggest to your enlightened attention the magic carpet. It is an excellent means of transportation, O my choosy friends!”
“There’s nothing excellent about it. You freeze on it, and it’s too slow, and there’s no comforts at all,” Volka said thoughtfully and suddenly exclaimed, “I’ve got it! Upon my word of honour, I have a wonderful idea!”
At this, he went under, as in his excitement he could think of nothing better to do than clap his hands. He bobbed up again, huffing and spitting water, and then resumed his comfortable position on his back, continuing as if nothing had happened:
“We have to modernize the magic carpet: it should be streamlined and cold-resistant, and it should have bunks and be on pontoons.”
It was most difficult to explain Volka’s idea to Hottabych. In the first place, the old man did not know what “streamlined” meant. In the second place, he could not visualize a pair of pontoons.
It would seem that “streamlined” was such a simple word, but they had to explain and explain until they finally hit upon the thought of saying that a streamlined magic carpet should look like a hollowed-out cucumber. It also took a great deal of explaining to make Hottabych understand what pontoons were like. Finally, a streamlined “VK-1” magic-carpet-seaplane soared into the air and set its course at South-South-West. In translation to ordinary words, “VK-1” meant “Vladimir Kostylkov. First Model.”
This magic-carpet-seaplane, resembling a huge cucumber with a tiny stem in back, had three berths and two windows on each side, cut through the heavy carpeting.
The flying qualities of Volka’s plane were immeasurably superior to those of an ordinary magic carpet. The Black Sea, the Bosporus, the Dardanelles, Asia Minor and the sun-parched plateau of Arabia flashed by below. Then they saw the yellow sands of the Sinai Desert . The thin ribbon of the Suez Canal separated it from the no less yellow sands of the Arabian Desert, which was Africa, Egypt . Hottabych had planned to begin his search for Omar Asaf here, in the Mediterranean , from its eastern point to its western end. But no sooner had the “VK-1” descended to an altitude of 200 metres, than Hottabych groaned and said he was an old fool. The magic-carpet-seaplane gained altitude and headed west. After spending so many years in the vessel, Hottabych had forgotten that this was where the Nile discharged into the Mediterranean and where the water was always muddy from the slime and sand the great river carried far out to sea. How could one even attempt a search in such sticky yellow mire? It would only irritate the eyes.
Hottabych decided to put off the exploration of this inconvenient area till last, if their search for Omar Asaf in other parts of the Mediterranean proved futile.
A short while later they landed in a quiet blue lagoon close to the Italian city of Genoa .
HOTTABYCH IS LOST AND FOUND AGAIN
“Well, wish me luck!” Hottabych exclaimed, turning into a fish and disappearing into the lagoon.
The water was crystal-clear, so very unlike the water of the Nile Delta, and they
had a good view of the old man working his fins quickly as he headed for the open sea.
While awaiting his return, the boys went in for a good dozen dips, they dived to their heart’s content, lay in the sun until they were dizzy, and, finally, with hunger clawing at their insides, they began to worry. Hottabych had been gone for a suspiciously long time, though he had promised not to be away longer than an hour. The sun had long since set, colouring the horizon and the calm sea in tints of amazing beauty; thousands of city lights twinkled in the distance, but still the old man had not returned.
“Could he have got lost?” Zhenya said despondently.
“He can’t get lost,” Volka answered. “Chaps like him never get lost.”
“He might have been swallowed by a shark.”
“There aren’t any sharks in these waters,” Volka objected, though he wasn’t too sure of his words.
“I’m hungry!” Zhenya confessed after a long silence.
Just then, a rowboat nosed into the beach with a soft splash. Three fishermen climbed out. One of them began to lay a fire of driftwood, while the others picked out the smaller fish. They cleaned it and threw it into a kettle of water.
“Let’s go ask them for something to eat,” Zhenya suggested. “They look like nice working people. I’m sure they’ll give us something.”
Volka agreed.
“Good evening, Signores!” Zhenya bowed politely, as he addressed the fishermen.
“Just think how many homeless children there are in our poor Italy !” one of the three, a thin, grey-haired man, said hoarsely. “Giovanni, give them something to eat.”
