Hottabych had acted unwisely in giving Volka’s address for a reply. It was only by the merest chance that Volka met the postman on the stairs. What if this lucky meeting had not taken place? The letter from the Central Excursion Bureau would have been delivered to his parents; all sorts of questions would have followed, resulting in such a mess, that he didn’t even care to think of it.
The younger Kostylkov did not often receive mail addressed to him, personally. In fact, not more than three or four times in all his life. That is why, when the postman said he had a letter for him, Volka was greatly surprised. When he saw the return address of the Central Excursion Bureau he was stunned. He examined the envelope carefully and even smelled it, but it only smelled of the paste on the flap. With trembling fingers he opened it and read the section chief’s short but polite reply several times over without understanding a thing:
“Dear Citizen H. Abdurrakhmanov,
“We regret to inform you that we received your request too late. There are no cabins left on the ‘Ladoga.’
“My best regards to your princes and sheiks.
“Sincerely yours,
“Can it be that the old man tried to get us on the ‘Ladoga’?” it suddenly occurred to Volka. He was deeply touched. “What a wonderful old man! But I don’t understand which princes and sheiks this Domosedov is sending his regards to. I’ll find out right away, though.”
“Hottabych! Hey, Hottabych!” he shouted when he reached the river bank. “Come here for a minute, will you?” The old man was dozing in the shade of the great oak. When he heard Volka calling, he started, jumped to his feet, and shuffled over to the boy.
“Here I am, O goalie of my soul,” he panted. “I await your orders.”
“Come clean now. Did you write to the Central Excursion Bureau?”
“Yes, but I wanted it to be a surprise. Did you receive an answer already?”
“Sure, here it is,” Volka said, showing the old man the letter.
Hottabych snatched the paper from him. After reading the tactful answer slowly, syllable by syllable, he turned purple and began to tremble all over. His eyes became bloodshot. In a great rage he ripped open his embroidered collar.
“I beg your pardon,” he wheezed, “I beg your pardon! I must leave you for a few minutes to take care of that most despicable Domosedov. Oh, I know what I’ll do to him! I’ll annihilate him! No, that’s no good! He doesn’t deserve such merciful punishment. Better still, I’ll turn him into a filthy rag, and on rainy days people will wipe their dirty shoes on him before entering a house. No! That’s not enough to repay him for his insolent refusal!”
With these words the old man zoomed into the air. But Volka shouted sternly:
“Come back! Come back this minute!”
The old man returned obediently. His heavy grey brows were drawn together gloomily.
“Really now!” Volka shouted, truly alarmed on the section chief’s account. “What’s the matter! Are you crazy? Is it his fault there’s no more room on the ship? After all, it’s not made of rubber, it can’t stretch. And will you please tell me who the sheiks and princes he refers to are?”
“You, O Volka ibn Alyosha, you and our friend Zhenya ibn Kolya, may Allah grant you both a long life. I wrote and told this most degraded of all section chiefs that he need not worry about your not being famous enough, for no matter how famous the other passengers aboard the ‘Ladoga’ are, I can make you, my friends, more famous still. I wrote this small-brained Domosedov — may Allah forget him completely — that he may regard you as sheiks or princes or tsars without even having seen you.”
Despite the tenseness of the situation, Volka could not help laughing. He laughed so loudly, that several very serious-minded jackdaws rose noisily from the nearest tree and flew off indignantly.
“Help! That means I’m a prince!” Volka choked the words out through peals of laughter.
“I must admit, I cannot understand the reason for your laughter,” Hottabych said in a wounded tone. “But if we are to discuss the question seriously, I had planned on making Zhenya a prince. I think you deserve to be a sultan.”
“Honestly, you’ll be the death of me yet! Then Zhenya would be a prince, while I’d be a sultan? What political backwardness!” Volka gasped when he had finally stopped laughing. “What’s so glorious about being a prince or a king? Why, they’re the most good-for-nothing people in the world!”
“I’m afraid you’ve gone out of your mind,” Hottabych said, looking anxiously at his young companion. “As I understand it, even sultans aren’t good enough for you. Whom then do you consider to be famous? Name me at least one such person.”
“Why, Chutkikh, or Lunin, or Kozhedub, or Pasha Angelina.”
“Who is this Chutkikh, a sultan?”
“Much higher than that! He’s one of the best textile specialists in the country!”
“And Lunin?”
“Lunin is the best engine driver!”
“And Kozhedub?”
“He’s one of the very, very best pilots!”
“And whose wife is Pasha Angelina for you to consider her more famous than a sheik or a king?”
“She’s famous in her own right. It has nothing at all to do with her husband. She’s a famous tractor driver.”
“O precious Volka, how can you play such tricks on an old man like me! Do you want to convince me that a plain weaver or a locomotive driver is more famous than a tsar?”
“In the first place, Chutkikh isn’t a plain weaver. He’s a famous innovator, known to the entire textile industry; and Lunin is a famous engineer. And in the second place, the most ordinary worker in our country is more respected than the tsar of tsars. Don’t you believe me? Here, read this.”
Volka handed Hottabych the paper and there, with his own eyes, he read the following heading: “Famous People of Our Country,” beneath which were over a dozen photographs of fitters, agronomists, pilots, collective farmers, weavers, teachers and carpenters.
“I would never have believed you,” Hottabych said with a sigh. “I would never have believed you if your words had not been corroborated on the pages of this newspaper I so respect. I beg you, O Volka, explain why everything is so different in this wonderful country of yours?”
“With pleasure,” Volka answered. And sitting down on the river bank, he spoke at length and with great pride, explaining the essence of the Soviet system to Hottabych.
There is no use repeating their long conversation.
“All you have said is as wise as it is noble. And to anyone who is honest and just all this gives plenty to think about,” Hottabych said candidly when his first lesson in current events was over. After a short pause he added:
“That is all the more reason why I want you and your friend to sail on the ‘Ladoga.’ Believe me, I will see that it is arranged.”
“But please, no rough stuff,” Volka warned. “And no monkey-business. That means no fakery. For instance, don’t think of making me out to be a straight ‘A’ pupil. I have ‘B’s in three subjects.”
“Your every wish is my command,” Hottabych replied and bowed low.
The old man was as good as his word. He did not lay a finger on a single employee of the Central Excursion Bureau.
He just arranged matters so, that when our three friends boarded the “Ladoga,” they were met very warmly and were given an excellent cabin; and no one ever inquired why in the world they had been included in the passenger list — it simply did not occur to anyone to ask such a question.
To the captain’s great surprise, twenty minutes before sailing time a hundred and fifty crates of oranges, as many crates of excellent grapes, two hundred crates of dates and a ton and a half of the finest Eastern delicacies were delivered to the ship. The following message was stencilled on each and every crate:
“For the passengers and the members of the fearless crew of the ‘Ladoga,’ from a citizen who wishes to remain anonymous.”
One does not have to be especially clever to guess that these were Hottabych’s gifts: he did not want the three of them to take part in the expedition at someone else’s expense.
And if you ask any of the former passengers, they still cherish the kindest feelings for the “citizen who wished to remain anonymous.” His gifts were well liked by all.
Now, having made it sufficiently clear to the readers how our friends found themselves aboard the “Ladoga,” we can continue our story with a clear conscience.