Before Muhammedov had a chance to start on his dessert, the clouds that our travellers had left somewhere between Tuapse and Sochi finally reached the spa and burst forth in a loud, torrential, sub-tropical storm.
In a moment the streets, parks and beaches became deserted.
Soon the storm reached the spot where, by Hottabych’s grace, the small crew of the drowned magic carpet were to spend the night on the shore of the Black Sea .
Luckily, they noticed the approaching storm in time; the prospect of getting drenched to the bone again did not appeal to them in the least. However, the most important thing to keep dry was the old man’s beard. The simplest thing to do would have been to fly somewhere farther south, but in the pitch darkness of the southern night they might easily crash into a mountain.
For the time being, they took refuge under some bushes and considered where to go.
“I’ve got it!” Zhenya cried, jumping to his feet. “Golly, what an idea! We should smear his beard with oil!”
“And then what?” the old man shrugged.
“Then it won’t even get wet in another Flood, that’s what!”
“Zhenya’s right,” Volka agreed, feeling a bit peeved that it was not he who had thought of such a wonderful, scientifically sound idea. “Hottabych, go into action!”
Hottabych yanked out several hairs, tore one of them in two, and his beard became covered with a thin layer of excellent palm oil.
Then he tore a second hair in two and they all found themselves in a comfortable, marble-faced cave that suddenly appeared on the steep bank. And while a warm June storm was booming loudly over the Caucasian coast, they sat on thick carpets, had a plentiful dinner and then fell asleep soundly till morning.
They were awakened by the soft whispering of the crystal-clear waves.
The sun had long since risen.
Stretching and yawning, they went out onto the deserted beach, bathed in the slanting rays of the morning sun. Immediately, as if it had never existed, the cave that had sheltered them for the night disappeared.
The boys were splashing delightedly in the cool waves when they heard the far-off hum of an airplane motor coming from the direction of Adler Airport .
A large passenger plane with glistening silver wings was flying over the sea.
“Ah-h!” Zhenya sighed dreamily. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could go to Moscow in that plane?”
“That’s not a bad idea at all,” Volka agreed.
Thereupon Hottabych drew something very thin and white from his pocket. It resembled a delicate silver thread. He tore it into several pieces and suddenly all three of them found themselves in comfortable reclining seats inside the airplane.
The most surprising thing was that none of the passengers paid the slightest attention to them, as if they had been aboard the plane right from the start.
“Hottabych,” Zhenya whispered. “What was it you tore that looked just like a silver thread?”
“Just a little hair from my beard,” Hottabych replied, though he seemed strangely embarrassed.
“But you took it from your pocket.”
“I tore it out of my beard beforehand and hid it in my pocket, just … in case… Forgive me, but I wasn’t sure my oiled beard would stay dry.”
“Don’t you believe in science?” Zhenya cried in amazement.
“I am quite well versed in the sciences,” Hottabych said in a hurt voice, “but I don’t know what kind of a science teaches you to protect a magic beard from getting wet by oiling it.” To change the subject he said, “How comfortable and speedy this air chariot is! At first, I thought we were inside a tremendous and truly unusual iron bird and was indeed surprised.”
All conversation stopped at this point, because the old man became just a tiny bit air-sick. Rather, he was very tired. He dozed off in his seat and did not open his eyes until they were quite near Moscow . Beneath them was the great Moscow Sea .
Volka, who was sitting beside him, whispered proudly, “My uncle made this sea.”
“This sea?”
“Yes.”
“Your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“You mean to say that you’re Allah’s nephew?” the old man sounded very sad.
“My uncle’s an excavator operator. He’s in charge of a walking excavator. His name’s Vladimir Nekrasov. If you want to know, he’s digging the Kuibyshev Sea right now.”
“My, oh my! You most blessed one!” Hottabych said turning an angry red. “I so believed you, O Volka! I respected you so! And suddenly you tell such horrid, shameful lies!”
“Is Vladimir Nekrasov really your uncle?” the stocky man with a broad, weather-beaten face sitting behind them asked loudly. “Is he really?”
“He’s my mother’s cousin.”
“Why didn’t you say so before!” the man exclaimed. “The boy’s got such a man for an uncle, and he doesn’t say a thing! Why, he’s a rare man, indeed! I’m on my way back from the Kuibyshev Sea right now. We’re working on the same sector. Why, if you want to know, we…”
Volka nodded towards a gloomy Hottabych.
“But he doesn’t believe my uncle made the Moscow Sea .”
“Ai-ai-ai, citizen. That’s not nice at all!” the man began to shame Hottabych. “How can you doubt it? Vladimir Nekrasov dug that sea and now he’s digging another, and if a third sea has to be dug, he’ll dig that one, too! What’s the matter? Don’t you read the papers? Here, have a look. Right here. This is our paper.” He pulled a newspaper from his battered brief-case and pointed to a photograph. “See?”
“Look! That’s my uncle!” Volka shouted. “Can I have this paper? I want to give it to my mother.”
“Take it, it’s yours,” the man said. “Do you still doubt him?” he asked Hottabych, who now seemed very small. “Here, read the heading: ‘Our Wonderful Sea-Builders.’ It’s all about his uncle.”
“Is it about you, too?” Zhenya asked.
“It’s mostly about Nekrasov. I’m not famous. Here, read it.”
Hottabych took the paper and pretended to read. Really now, he couldn’t admit he didn’t know how to read, could he?
That is why, on the way home from the airport, he asked his young friends to teach him how to read and write, for he said he had nearly died of shame when the man had asked him to read the words “Our Wonderful Sea-Builders.”
They agreed that at the very first opportunity they would teach him how to read the papers, because the old man was very insistent that he begin with them. Nothing else would do.
“So’s I’ll know which sea is being built, and where,” he explained, looking away shyly.