у


HEART
INFLAMES
Tales of Action and Intrigue
by Ukrainian Authors
Compiled
by Anatoly Kostetsky
DNIPRO PUBLISHERS
KIEV
ГАРЯЧЕ СЕРЦЕ
Казки украшських письменниюв
Translated from the Ukrainian
by Oles Kovalenko and Vasil Baryshev
Illustrated
by Olexandr Zastanchenko
It wouldn’t be
inaccurate to say that it is
the story-writers who actually introduce kids
to the world they live in...
Using words, they paint
a bizarre yet convincing pattern
of the essential human values Love, Beauty,
Honesty, Courage as opposed to Hatred,
Uglyness, Meanness, Cowardice...
This is a massive, wide-ranging collection
of tales full of action, ferocious energy
and imagination offered by leading Ukrainian
authors of several generations.
: Rocking with laughter and dissolving
in tears, praising the good and grappling
with the evil — these entertaining
and brilliantly plotted mysteries
have it all!
4803640101-224
М(205)04—90
ISBN 5-308-00767-5
Compilation © Anatoly Kostetsky 1990
Karmelyuk, translation © Oles Kovalenko 1990
The rest of the tales, translation
224.90	© Vasil Baryshev 1990
Illustrations © Olexandr Zastanchenko 1990
Printed in the USSR
CONTENTS
Karmelyuk..............................7
by Marko Vovchok
Misfit................................47
by Yuri Fedkovich
Lady Lily..............................57
by Lesya Ukrainka
A Tale of the Young Magicians
and the Bliss Bird.....................73
by Vsevolod Nestaiko
Seven Selected Stories
by Yuri Yarmish:
Merrymind and Wickedwink............117
Two Rivals..........................123
Merrymage and the Dragon............131
The Pure Heart......................138
The Bright Dawn
and the Dreary Darkness.............146
The Tale of Love. ..................154
Two Friends.........................162
The Flying Friends
and the Dream Snatcher................167
by Anatoly Kostetsky
Heart in Flames.......................221
by Anatoly Dimarov

Kannclyuk
by Marko Vovchok
I
Have you been to the Ukraine? Do you know the Ukraine?
If you have been there and do know the country, you will re-
member. Otherwise, try to imagine those whitewashed houses
which everywhere dot the cherry orchards, and how lovely —
how absolutely lovely it is there in springtime, when all the or-
chards are in blossom and the nightingales trill. In fact, there
are so many of those birds singing then, that a person couldn’t
probably count them all. Once, when I was travelling there,
I happened to spend a night in a village, in one of those houses
standing in a cherry orchard. We came late at night and went to
bed right away. The sun set, and before long voices died away,
and the whole village lapsed into quiet.
It was very still all about. I could hear only leaves stirring in
the trees outside the window, and the water murmuring in the
river, over at the mill. Also, not far away, a woman was softly
lulling a baby to sleep — and my eyelids became heavy. I dozed
off and dreamed that the fast-flowing river, which had glittered
so brightly as we were driving past, was now drawing nearer and
nearer, and that the trees which grew outside were rustling right
over my bed. The unseen baby being lulled to sleep assumed the
image of a lively little boy, now overcome with drowsiness, and
she who was rocking him took the appearance of a thoughtful,
7
slender young woman. It was then that a nightingale warbled
somewhere in the cherry trees just outside, then another a little
way off, and yet another until I couldn’t really tell how many of
them were there, trilling as though calling to one another. They
went on like this for a while, and then suddenly began singing
all at once, drowning out all the other noises. The rustle of the
leaves, the murmur of the river, and the lullaby could be heard
no more. I was suddenly wide awake, the nightingales having
chased away all my drowsiness and dreams. If I now closed my
eyes, their singing seemed to be, if anything, louder and clearer.
I felt quite tired, and the drowsiness soon returned, getting
worse all the time. But no matter how tired and drowsy I may
have been, I still couldn’t fall asleep again, because of all that
singing. Finally I thought it would be better to get up and sit
beside the window for a while. Even now I can still visualize most
vividly that narrow street, the little white houses with their dark
windows, and, beyond a low wattle fence, cherry trees covered
with radiant white flowers. The sickle of a horned new moon was
shining faintly, the sky was glowing with stars, and I can still
almost feel all that freshness, fragrance and warmth. And then
there was that singing, resounding and reverberating all about
until dawn. That night the nightingales didn’t let me catch a
wink of sleep until daybreak.
Years ago, there was one such village in the Ukraine. It
was small, with about twenty houses in all, and the people who
lived in it were rather poor. In one of the houses, which stood
near the fields on the edge of the village, there lived a widow
who had a son, an only child. Ivan Karmelyuk — that was his
name. He was such a good-looking lad, so brave and bright, that
to find another just like him, as they say, one would have had to
search all over this large world in broad daylight and bright
sunshine, carrying a blazing torch as well. Swimming straight
8
across the most terrible rapids and whirlpools, plunging deep in-
to the most impenetrable woods, climbing the tallest trees, de-
scending to the very bottom of the steepest ravines — it all came
as natural to him as drinking water comes natural to you and
me. Also, wherever he was sent, he could be counted on to find
the way, and whatever he began doing, he was sure to get it
done. If a friend asked him for something, he would fetch it from
the bottom of the sea, rather than turn down a friend’s request.
And if some humble poor man turned to him for a favor, it
seemed he would have moved heaven and earth to do whatever
was asked of him. As long as he could help such people, he just
didn’t care if it might mean hunger and cold, troubles and hard-
ships for him. The older the lad got, the better and more hand-
some he became, and at eighteen he was such an incredibly,
unbelievably handsome young man that whoever saw him then
for the first time stopped stunned and speechless and would
never forget his face. As for his mother, she just was never able
to look at him without a smile and a kiss. They lived more or
less like all the other people in the village, being a little better off
than some and a little poorer than others.
It was then that something went wrong with the young Kar-
melyuk, and trouble came his way. He suddenly became strange-
ly sad, and became sadder with every day and every hour God
sent him. What or who had first caused that sadness was more
than either his mother, or his friends, or anyone could tell.
Before, when with his companions he would speak louder and
laugh more heartily than the rest in any group. But now
he laughed no more and hardly ever spoke at all. More than
that, his friends now saw very little of him, and whenever they
came across him, he was pale and tight-mouthed. Where be-
fore he would join his friends for a stroll and a chat every eve-
ning after work, he now seemed to avoid them, slinking away
9
all alone somewhere into the woods, or the fields, or just
roaming off into the steppe.
His mother was at a total loss, not knowing what to think or
do. She’d been racking her brains trying to figure out whether he
might want this or that, or something else again; for if she only
knew, she would have been willing and ready to give him whate-
ver it was he did want. But no: he didn’t want anything. People
wondered what was the matter with him. They began talking
about it and making guesses, and word spread that it had all hap-
pened since he had begun to go to other villages where he en-
countered all kinds of strange people. It was believed that he
might have been mixed up with some evil man: hence all that
sadness and sorrow. As soon as the gossip reached his mother’s
ears, she went to ask him. “You go to all sorts of places, my
lad,” she said (he was going to country fairs, to hamlets, vil-
lages and towns, selling his own, and sometimes others’ rye,
grain, vegetables and fruits; and wayfaring like that was what
he liked doing best). “So what kind of people do you see there?”
she asked him.
“What kind of people do I see there?” Karmelyuk answered.
“They’re all of two kinds — rich and poor.”
“And what people do you associate with?” his mother went on.
“I make friends with the poor and needy,” Karmelyuk told
her. “Those are friends for me!”
Naturally his mother supposed that one of the rich had
harmed or hurt him, so she pressed him further. “Has somebody
harmed you, my darling? Who’s hurt you? Come on, tell me!”
She embraced her son and held him close, waiting for him to
tell her, so that she could soothe and comfort him. But he only
stared back at her and said nothing. The mother became even
more alarmed and anxious, not knowing what to think, and
imagining all kinds of horrible things happening to him. So she
10
continued entreating and imploring him to tell her what had
happened.
“No,” Karmelyuk said. “I’ve been neither harmed nor hurt.”
“Is that really so, my dear, my jewel, my treasure? Is it true
that nobody’s hurt you?”
“It’s true,” he said.
“Then what’s happened to you? What’s bothering you? Is
there something you want?”
So then Karmelyuk told her. “Whenever I go, whichever
way I look, I see poor people who work hard but stay poor.
That’s what torments my soul! That’s what rends my heart!”
His mother tried to reassure and comfort him. “You see, that’s
the way it’s been in this world as long as anyone can remember,”
she told him. “And for all we know, that’s the way it’s going to
be. It seems it just can’t be helped.” She went on soothing and
persuading him as best she could, and where she was lacking
in words, she made up in tenderness and caresses. But nothing
could console him, nothing could set his mind at rest.
One evening in spring — it was one of those wonderful eve-
nings when spring songs come naturally to one’s lips — the Kar-
melyuk widow lay in her house, brooding and wondering what
kind of misfortune had come upon her Ivan. The sun had already
set, and stars were shimmering in the window. The sound of
girls’ voices singing spring songs could be heard from afar. A
faint fragrance of flowers, not yet in full bloom, was in the air;
and the nightingales were just beginning to sing. Then she heard
soft steps; the door opened and Karmelyuk came into the house.
He looked about but failed to see his mother and went and sat by
the window. Perhaps it was just that faint evening light which
added pallor to his face, but it seemed to his mother that he
was terribly pale and wan, and her heart was gripped with such
pity for her dear child that she was speechless, unable to utter a
11
word. She didn’t speak nor stir, and just lay there watching him.
He looked through the window for some time and then began to
sing. It was quite something, that song he sang! Full of sadness
and sorrow, it was the kind of song that could only come from
the bottom of a pure heart.
Oh, the days come and go,
The hours are winging,
Not for me happiness,
But bitter woe bringing!
In misfortune I was bom,
In misfortune I shall die,
Oh, my mother gave me birth
When misfortune was nigh.
A young man, it would seem,
Should not know any sorrow —
Yet drown dead in a stream
From grief, on the morrow.
\
My poor head is so pain-wracked
That I close tight my eyes;
Don’t know why, for what reason
Upon me grief lies!
Pauper people! All forsaken!
I see you everywhere;
Your torments thoughts waken —
Tears with you I share.
Spring of my life, that joys unroll,
You scatter gifts round,
But for my unhappy soul —
Never a one is found.
I see their eyes everywhere,
Their faces grown pale,
Begging hands of the bowed with care —
Hands wearied, grown frail.
12
And among fragrant flowers,
’Neath streaming gold sunlight,
And among bright leafy bowers
’Neath the silvery moonlight —
Daytime or night, or evenfall,
Whatever the hour!
Nought consoles me at all —
Death from grief overpowers. *
He finished his song and remained silent. It was only then that
the old woman came to her senses. “Ivan,” she asked. “Just
where did you learn this song?”
On hearing her voice, Karmelyuk started, but then he reali-
zed it was his mother. “It just came to me,” he said. And it was
really something to hear him sing those songs he composed him-
self! By God, they were simply enchanting! There were some
who happened to overhear him while he was singing and learned
them from him. Only those songs’weren’t intended for joy or
merry-making, and they made those who learned or simply heard
them bow their heads and start thinking.
II
One day Karmelyuk went off to a mill which was in another
village about a dozen miles away. He left early at dawn and
drove for a while across the fields. The sky was crystal clear,
and the weather warm and wonderful. The fields spread out like
green velvet, and the dew-drops glistened everywhere. The
sun was rising, and larks were singing in the sky. It had rained
that night, so dust hardly rose from the road at all. The fields
appeared boundless in their blissful beauty, and the air was so
fresh that he couldn’t breathe his fill of it. He sang as he drove,
* Translation of poetry © Gladys Evans 1990.
13
sometimes just humming to himself, and sometimes raising his
voice until his song reverberated all over the fields. But even on
this untroubled cloudless morning, he was singing the same
melancholy and inquiring songs, almost like asking for guidance,
consolation and peace of mind. For as his gaze wandered all
about those blooming fields, he must have visualized the same
miserable figures of the poor.
He soon reached a large forest through which the road ran.
Old oaks, huge and mighty, stood motionless and silent. Scat-
tered amongst them were snowball trees and wild rose bushes,
and the ground was carpeted with thick grass and all kinds of
herbs.
As Karmelyuk drove through that forest, singing, he saw a
young girl picking herbs at the edge of the road. She was crying
bitterly, and was so desperate and in such distress that she hard-
ly turned her head at the sound of his song. As soon as Karme-
lyuk saw this, he jumped from his waggon and approached her.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” the girl replied, and as she lifted her sor-
rowful eyes to him, they dried up at once. For never in her life,
not even in a dream, had she seen such a handsome man as the
man now standing before her. She didn’t even hear him ask,
“Why are you crying, young lady?” Waiting for her to answer,
he stared fixedly at her, as though what he saw could somehow
give him a clue. And he saw that she was a poor girl, deeply
embittered by life. Her milk-white shoulders could be seen
through a threadbare blouse, her skirt was faded and patched:
there was no colour in her young face, and her rosy lips were
obviously not accustomed to smiling. Her eyes were sad and
sunken, and the tears which had stopped rolling at the sight of
him were still trembling on her cheeks. There she stood holding
a bunch of herbs.
14
“Why are you crying, young lady?” Karmelyuk asked again.
This time the girl heard his question, but even so she made no
attempts to answer and only turned her eyes away, staring into
the forest.
“Who are you, young lady? Where do you come from?” he
went on.
“I’m a servant working for the Knishes over at the village of
Lany,” the girl said.
“They must be bad folks, those Knishes, eh?” he said.
She didn’t speak and just resumed picking her herbs. Karme-
lyuk went along, picking the same herbs and giving them to her,
and asking her about her life and all. But as soon as he began
saying that it must be pretty tough and joyless to live as hired
help in somebody else’s home, the girl burst out crying again,
bitter tears streaming down her fair face. Karmelyuk felt such
pity for the girl that he thought he could even die for her. “Come
on, stop crying!” he urged her.
“I wish I could,” she said. “But the tears just flow anyway.”
And she shed tears while standing there for quite a while, as if
there was something.sweet in crying herself out like that. Final-
ly she said, “It’s time for me to go. My mistress is waiting for the
herbs.”
Two final tears rolled down her face, her rosy lips parted in
a smile which was sad but also charming, and her lovely clear
eyes looked up at him, candidly. “Goodbye,” she said.
But it seemed to Karmelyuk that he’d sooner die than part
with her. So he told her, “Come on, get onto the waggon, and
I’ll take you to Lany, as I’m also going that way.” He looked
around for his waggon and saw that it was quite far off, his oxen
having turned off the road to graze. He ran over to them, drove
them back onto the road, helped the girl onto the waggon, got
on next to her, and off they went.
15
Both were silent and thoughtful as they drove through the
green forest. They felt that they had suddenly found themselves
in an earthly paradise, where a fleeting bliss had engulfed them.
The girl’s face flushed with lively colour, and her lips parted
slightly, as if her heart were beating faster. It seemed to them
that they reached the village in no time at all, as though they
were a couple of fast-flying birds. They left the forest behind
and caught sight of Lany, a big and prosperous-looking village.
A manor house built of white stone and surrounded with shady
lanes and gay-coloured flower-beds stood like a palace on a hill,
rising above the entire village. It was a luxurious building, and
it was all that luxury which caught Karmelyuk’s eye. At the
sight of it, his handsome face clouded. The girl happened to be
looking at him at that very moment, and her bright eyes dimmed.
“Do you know this building?” she asked softly.
“It’s the first time I’ve ever seen it,” Karmelyuk said. “But
I’ve seen many like it everywhere.”
They entered the village and crossed three streets. Here the
girl jumped off the waggon, thanked him and said farewell. She
turned round the corner and vanished.
Karmelyuk started off again. And as he drove on, he constant-
ly glanced back at the village, wishing the girl hadn’t left him,
and promising himself that he would see her again soon. He was
still thinking of her when he came to the mill and went to ques-
tion the miller about the Knishes, trying to find out how they
were placed and what sort of people they were. But the miller
was a very taciturn man, quite tall and with very long mous-
taches. He didn’t like to talk, and liked answering questions even
less; so Karmelyuk would have never learned anything at all had
it not been for the miller’s daughter. For the miller’s daughter
did like to talk and liked answering questions even more, but
best of all she liked asking them. So she started by asking Kar-
16

melyuk all sorts of questions but got precious little out of him.
For he simply ignored her questions and just kept on asking his
own, not unlike a newborn baby which keeps turning its eyes
and stretching out its hands to the light, ignoring everything
else. Seeing this, the miller’s daughter stopped asking questions
and began to talk. She was small and lively like a bird, but no
bird could have done as much chirping in an hour as she did then.
Before long, Karmelyuk learned from her that the Knishes were
rather rich, having seven pairs of oxen and two cows; that they
had a good harvest of wheat the year before and were probably
going to have one again that year; that their daughter had
married a boy who was also from a rich family, so that she now
wore caps embroidered with gold; that the old Knishes had a
servant girl by the name of Marusya, an orphan, unmarried
and no relatives; and that for Marusya, the job meant long
hours and little pay.
The miller’s daughter would probably have chattered on and
on had Karmelyuk put in a word of his own every now and then.
But he sat there like a mute so that in the end she must have
become bored with such a taciturn guest, because she cut short
her prattle, picked up her needlework and went and sat at a
distance from him, striking up a song. The song rang out merri-
ly, her work went on rapidly, and the old miller, standing gloom-
ily in the doorway of his mill, watched it all and thought to
himself, “There’s probably nothing as gay and carefree in this
world as those silly young girls. And nothing could be as frivo-
lous. Isn’t it funny, the way that vain creature keeps looking
into the water, as if she can’t see enough of herself?”
His daughter did cast frequent glances at the water which mir-
rored her dark-skinned, rosy-cheeked bright-eyed face. But then
it was probably not only her own face she was admiring, for
along with it, the water also reflected the entire grass-covered
18
slope where she was sitting, the old oak trees the miller was so
proud of, and the young man who was so deeply immersed in
thought that he seemed unaware of the whole world around him
and of everything that was in it. So it was not necessarily her
own face that the miller’s daughter kept glancing at. But, as we
said already, the miller was a gloomy man, whom nothing could
move. Years ago, having buried his wife, he had come across
seven mirrors among her things, and from that time had been
convinced that every female, no matter how plain or humble-
looking, used at least seven mirrors to look at herself; that con-
viction was as unshakable as if it had been nailed to him. So the
miller’s daughter... Well, we’d rather leave the miller’s daughter
to herself now, because we aren’t really interested in what she
may have done or sung after that. The miller called Karmelyuk,
they loaded up the waggon with flour, Karmelyuk paid and left
for home.
All he was able to think about on his way back was the ser-
vant girl. When he went through the village of Lany, he drove
as slowly as though he were carrying somebody very ill, his eyes
darting here and there all about him. However, she was nowhere
to be seen, and he sighed for the rest of the way until he pulled
up at his house. He simply couldn’t oust the girl from his mind.
He spent a day alone with his thoughts, and discovered that
it was difficult but sweet as well. He spent another, only to find
that it had become even more difficult and sweeter. Early in
the third day he could stand it no longer. His head burned, his
heart throbbed, and his entire body ached. He somehow man-
aged to endure it until noon, then got out a waggon, harnessed
a horse to it and drove to Lany.
He was hardly aware of what he was doing as he flew across
the fields and sped through the forest. He just kept whipping
the horse, as it seemed to him that the fields were running away
19
from him, getting broader and longer, that the forest had never
been thicker and would never end. He eventually did reach
Lany, however. When he got there, it was a quiet afternoon,
and the sun was already low in the sky. Most people weren’t
yet back from work, so the village was deserted, except for
some children playing and fooling around in the streets, and a
couple of servant girls going towards the river for water.
Karmelyuk told himself that she, too, would sooner or later
come to the river, and, turning his horse in that direction, went
to wait for her on the bank. And when she appeared with the
pails in her hands, the mere sight of her took his breath away so
that he couldn’t even say “Oh!” And when she saw him, a flush
spread across her face, as if it had suddenly been enveloped by
flames. There was nobody on the bank except the two of them.
“Will you marry me, my love?” Karmelyuk asked her. And she
told him simply, “I’m yours.”
They sat down side by side on the low grassy riverbank, and
when the stars appeared in the sky, they found them still sitting
here together. That night, Marusya the servant girl did not even
hear her mistress as she nagged and scolded her, reproaching her
for being late; and her heart became impervious to bitterness,
throbbing with the newly discovered sweet ecstasy of love. And
after everybody had gone to bed, Marusya sat beside the win-
dow and stared at the stars twinkling in the cloudless sky. Kar-
melyuk was meanwhile slowly driving home, and he, too, was
staring at the bright stars in the clear sky. Only those who are
very much in love here on earth can gaze up at the sky like that.
“I’m going to marry,” Karmelyuk announced to his mother.
“Her name’s Marusya and she’s a servant.”
His mother tried to persuade him to change his mind. “Don’t
marry this Marusya, my dear,” she pleaded. “Why does it have
to be a servant? Better look around for somebody rich.”
20
“Mother!” Karmelyuk cried out, trembling and shaking all
over. “Are you not my mother?”
His face and reaction frightened the old woman, and she gave
in. “All right,” she said. “Go ahead and marry Marusya, my
darling. If she’s so dear to you, she’ll make a good daughter-in-
law to me as well.”
This is how Karmelyuk came to marry Marusya the servant
girl.
Ill
For a year after the wedding, Karmelyuk forgot his affliction
completely. There was no trace left of his sadness, his wife blos-
somed like a rose, and they got on like a pair of lovebirds.
A daughter was born to them, all was well in their household,
and the Karmelyuk widow would often say that, thank God,
she couldn’t really think of a better life for the young family and
herself.
Then Karmelyuk’s melancholy suddenly returned. He again
became sad and sullen. He again took to staying away from
home and wandering about alone. His pallor and frequent sighing
returned.
But why did it engulf him again? Where did it come from?
Wasn’t he loved and happy? Didn’t he have every reason to be
satisfied with life? What did he yearn for? What else could he
possibly want?
One evening, they all sat together after work. All the noises
had already died down, the sun had sunk behind the woods, and
the first star was about to come out. When people tired by the
day’s work sit like this, resting, engrossed in thought, both the
good and the bad things of their lives suddenly become clearer;
they come to better realize their own happiness or ill luck. This
2]
is the way they sat together and thought that, apparently, their
good fortune left practically nothing to be desired. The little
girl didn’t even ask for anything to play with, and seemed con-
tent just to sit quietly among them, her rosy lips smiling and her
eyes shining warmly. Indeed, what more could they want?
Then suddenly some thought troubled and worried Karme-
lyuk. It also seemed to frighten him, as if blotting out his vision.
He looked dismayed, and his whole appearance changed abrupt-
ly. He started for the door, saying, “It seems to be stuffy here.
I’d better go for a walk.” His old mother was worried and asked
if he was feeling unwell. “No, Mother, I’m all right,” he reassur-
ed her. His loving wife gave him an inquiring look, and he just
hugged her in reply.
He came back home late that night, when the moon and the
stars were shining bright in the sky, and everybody in the vil-
lage had long gone to sleep. His mother and his daughter were
both asleep. But not his wife. She stood in the doorway of their
house, waiting and looking out for him. She met him there and
pressed herself close, as though asking what she could do to ease
his pain — live or die, be happy or suffer.
“My dear Marusya!” he said, clutching her to his heart.
“I can’t bear to see people poor and unhappy. I must change it
all! I wish I could make things better for them.”
And from that night on he kept thinking, brooding, and griev-
ing.
His mother rushed here, there and everywhere, looking for
a cure, asking everybody for advice, and never without tears in
her eyes. Again and again, she ran to see a healer woman and
a doctor about her son who, she kept telling them, was lan-
guishing and simply wasting away. The poor old woman exhaus-
ted herself completely and was beside herself with fear
and anxiety.
22
Karmelyuk’s young wife didn’t go to a healer or a doctor,
sought no advice and did no complaining. Nobody knew what
was in her heart or her mind, for she kept it to herself and
wouldn’t tell. But the colour went out of her face, she sang no
more, and her pretty eyes brimmed with sadness.
If there were those who thought that something had gone
awry between Karmelyuk and his wife, it simply wasn’t true.
Anyone who wasn’t blind could easily see that their love was
as strong as ever and that their mutual affection and trust were
just as before. Their farm was doing quite nicely as well. So peo-
ple in the village kept telling one another that Karmelyuk was
really a happy man, if ever there was one. What more he might
desire was something which left everybody puzzled. Hadn’t God
given him everything to make him satisfied? Well, really! What
else could one possibly want? Didn’t he realize how lucky he
was? It must have been good luck that had spoiled him, and
there he was now, making a fool of himself and trying to fool
others. Some would even say as much in as many words straight
to his face. Karmelyuk wouldn’t bother to reply, though; he
spent whole days just walking about, hardly ever uttering a
word, grieving and brooding. But now and then, his voice would
suddenly ring out, singing a song which sounded like a warn-
ing...
People say that I am happy — it calls forth my laughter,
They don’t know how my tears fall, and often so bitter.
And wherever I wander, the rich I find in power —
Spending time in great luxury, each day, night and hour.
While the poor and unhappy are all doomed to hard labour,
To injustice, for ages the poor man’s close neighbour!
О my youth, my joyful heart, and the strength of my arm!
Tell me how to right the wrongs of this world without charm.
О my young years, О my sweet years, infinitely young,
If you’re given me for nothing, let my death song be sung.
23
There were those among the villagers who trembled at the
sound of this song, stopped in their tracks and stood, as if wait-
ing to state their case before a fair judge, as if in anticipation of
a long-awaited yet unexpected deliverance. There were many
cases when an unlucky labourer, driving cattle which weren’t
his own and singing his old bitter song which said that “the
fate of a young landless poor peasant is the worst in the world,”
stopped immediately the moment he heard Karmelyuk’s; and
when he came back to his master’s for the night, he was strange-
ly thoughtful, seemed not to hear when berated or to care when
insulted, and left his supper untouched. And on the following
day, he seemed sick and unfit for his job or any other work, and
refused the master’s food; but his eyes shone with new intensity
and vigour, as though he were suddenly rejuvenated and revi-
talized.
There must have also been quite a few cases when a wealthy
man happened to hear Karmelyuk’s song and stopped singing his
own, funny and frivolous, turned his astonished eyes all about
him, and hurried to make sure of his treasures, looking as con-
cerned as that virtuous rich man everybody has heard about.
And perhaps there were also a few men who after hearing him
gave up considerable riches willingly and without regret.
It was then that Karmelyuk suddenly disappeared from sight
and was not to be found either at home or anywhere else in the
village. No trace of him was discovered either the next day, or
the day after that, or a whole week later. He just vanished into
thin air without as much as a word to anyone.
His old mother was driven almost insane with grief, anxiety
and fear, searching for him here, there and everywhere, as if he
were a needle in a haystack. Marusya just sat in the house,
looking like somebody dying on a cross. Their little daughter
kept calling him and asking “Where’s Daddy?”
24
“What shall we do, Marusya?” the Karmelyuk widow asked
her daughter-in-law. “Is there anything we can do? Where are
we to look for him?”
“We’ll just wait,” Marusya said.
“Wait for him? But he may not even be alive!”
This is what Marusya then told the old woman: “The night
that he went away,” she said, “I saw him go, and asked him,
‘What shall we do, sweetheart?’ And he told me, ‘Don’t look or
enquire for me — just wait, and I’ll come back myself.’”
“Oh, good!” the Karmelyuk widow said. “All right, we’ll
just wait then.” She was so delighted as though Ivan were actu-
ally expected at any moment; she even peered through the win-
dow and then went to stand in the doorway, looking in every
direction. However, they spent many more days waiting for
their Ivan, but he failed to appear.
Once — it was a holiday and the weather was lovely — the
Karmelyuk widow sat outside her house, her eyes fixed on the
road running away into the fields. Marusya was sitting be-
side her, holding her daughter in her arms. The little girl was
chirping, “Mommy, are you deaf and dumb?” She was toying
with her mother’s necklace and poking her tiny fingers into
Marusya’s lips and ears. “You’ve turned deaf and dumb, Moth-
er!” she teased Marusya. “Deaf and dumb!” Every now and
again, Marusya smiled back, pressing the girl to her bosom.
A neighbour came round and greeted them. “Have you heard
of the robberies over in the Black Forest?” he asked. “They say
nobody can pass through there now, whether on foot or on
horseback.”
Karmelyuk’s mother started when the neighbour began “Have
you heard...?” but, hearing the story was about the Black For-
est, stopped listening. The Black Forest was far away, in anoth-
er district, and she decided that her son had no conceivable
25
reason for being there. Somehow, it didn’t occur to her that he
had no apparent reason to remain out of sight — whether within
their district or outside it. And then again, it wasn’t quite clear
what made her so sure he couldn’t be as far away as the Black
Forest. In any case, she paid no more attention to what the neigh-
bour was saying and turned her eyes back to the road.
But Marusya’s beautiful sad eyes were riveted to the man’s
face, and she was all ears.
“A few storekeepers and some nobles have been held up over
there,” he went on. “Only there’s a strange thing about it all.”
“What strange thing?” asked Marusya.
“The strange thing is,” the neighbour said sitting down next
to her, “that they don’t kill or harm anybody. If it’s somebody
rich, they just take all he has and let him go. But if they see a
man is poor and moneyless, he goes through scot-free — they
don’t touch him with a finger. They say there was a poor fellow
driving through there who came across those highwaymen.
Well, he just laughed when he saw them. 'I’m not afraid of you,
folks,’ he told them. ‘Robbery is nothing to a poor man, and even
his life has got a price that’s not too high. If you’re going to kill
me, go ahead, but if you aren’t let me go, because I’ve no time
to hang about. I have to hurry or my master’s bound to give me
hell.’ Then their leader stepped forward, so they say, and tossed
him a purse full of money, saying, ‘You may go on, friend.’ And
then he and his men disappeared in the woods. The fellow was
quite bewildered, having had such a miraculous thing happen
to him. His brains were still a little bit numb when he came home
bringing a purse packed with money — pure silver, all of it!”
Karmelyuk’s wife didn’t say anything at all this, but turned
white as a sheet and kissed her daughter, who had also pricked
up her ears, listening, as she sat in her mother’s lap.
26
IV
As one day followed another, every new day and every passing
hour brought more and more news and rumours about the rob-
bers in the Black Forest.
Those robbers were definitely strange and unusual; and so
were their robberies. Whenever a rich man fell into their hands,
he was forced to part with his money; whenever a poor man
encountered them, he was given money. But nobody was killed
or harmed. As well, they had a leader who was out of the ordi-
nary and mysterious. It was rumoured that he was a man of such
unbelievable, incredible, unsurpassed beauty that neither words
nor pen could describe him. Furthermore, it was claimed that
human eyes were not able to gaze on his beauty, it being as
blinding as the bright sun.
They say that once a particularly greedy old lady travelled
through those parts, carrying her hoarded treasure with her —
her greed was such that she never parted with her wealth day
or night. As she drove through the Black Forest, she was stopped
by the robbers. They circled her carriage, told the coachman
and servants to clear out for the moment, and demanded her
money. But the woman just let out a terrible crazy scream which
echoed throughout the dark forest, clung to her riches as if with
steel claws, and wouldn’t let go. They tried to wrest them away
by force; but her old fingers just crackled but wouldn’t release
their grip, her eyes glittering wildly in the moonlight like those of
a savage hungry she-wolf. Then the leader himself emerged from
the forest to speak to her. “Give up your riches!” he ordered.
“You’ve lived amidst luxury and gold long enough — now let
others enjoy some of it!” The old lady lifted her eyes — and her
treasures fell from her hands. And down she fell too, uncon-
scious, struck with his enchanting beauty as if by a thunderbolt,
27
her heart strained by her greed and her strength consumed by
his beauty.
On another occasion, the Black Forest robbers stopped a
young girl and her brother. The brother — he was no coward —
quickly glanced round, only to see that dark woods stood like
a wall on all sides and that they were surrounded by tall strong
men. So he knew at once that they were really in a difficult
spot; but he decided to try and fight his way through just the
same. “Sit still!” he told his sister. “Don’t be afraid!” Then, turn-
ing to the robbers, he called, “Let us pass, please!” “You’re a
rich man, so let’s have your money first!” they shouted back. His
sister was frightened to death. “I’ve just no money for your
kind,” he retorted. “Give it up, or we’ll take it by force,” they
threatened, drawing closer. The sister cried out and burst into
tears, covering her face with her hands. And then, amidst all
the din, shouting and yelling, she suddenly heard a voice reas-
suring her. “Stop crying, young lady!” the voice was saying.
“You’ve nothing to fear.” She took her hands from her face to
see who was standing before her — and she would never forget
his wondrous beauty as long as she lived. Her fear and terror
vanished; and she was enveloped by such calm that it would
have made no difference to her if she were to live or to die. She
folded her arms, and just stared and listened.
The robbers took her brother’s money and let them continue on
their journey. The same voice which had urged the girl to stop
crying and not be afraid spoke to them again. “Remember!”
the leader said. “Hunger and cold kill many poor people in this
world!”
Nobody even touched the girl’s rich necklace of gold coins —
she herself took it off and cast it at the leader’s feet. “Thank you,
young lady!” he said.
From that time things began to lose their colour and fade for
28
the girl, until everything and everybody had turned meaningless
and colourless in her eyes. “I’m going to become a nun,” she
announced to her father and mother. Before long, she took her
vows.
Her brother, without as much as a word to his father, mother,
friends or anyone else, gathered up all his possessions he could
carry, and, leaving all the rest behind, abandoned his quiet life
and fled from home to join the band in the Black Forest.
V
When the news that none other than Karmelyuk was the lead-
er of the band in the Black Forest spread about his native vil-
lage, it caused quite a stir among old and young, good and bad
alike. The men appeared concerned, while the women were
visibly worried and troubled.
The story also reached Karmelyuk’s mother and wife. The
widow was in tears as she told her daughter-in-law: “Wicked
and shameless — that’s what people are! Isn’t it horrible, how
they’re lying? They’re slandering my dear son! It simply can’t
be true! I don’t believe it! I’d sooner die than believe it. What
do you say, Marusya? What about you?”
“I’ll just keep living and loving him,” Marusya said. “And
so will I!” prattled her little daughter who stood beside her,
listening.
Days went by. Then there was a night — a lovely night when
the moon and stars were shining bright in a cloudless sky, the
orchards were in bloom, the houses looked peaceful and dreamy,
and the nightingales were singing. Karmelyuk’s daughter was
sleeping soundly, breathing evenly. Worn down by anxiety and
sorrow, the widow was also asleep, but her sleep was troubled;
29
she was continually sighing, crying out and sobbing. Sleep
had overcome the frail old woman; but it failed to bring her
peace.
Karmelyuk’s wife wasn’t asleep, though. She had spent many
sleepless nights and would most likely spend many more; for
she was young and too vigorous for the lack of sleep to tell on
her, and her anxiety grew by the day and by the hour. So she
stayed awake, thinking about the man she loved. Suddenly, she
heard the door being opened cautiously — ever so cautiously —
and saw him step inside; the next thing she knew he was in her
arms. And then she couldn’t tell whether everything suddenly
burst into light or dimmed to darkness before her eyes, or wheth-
er it was ecstasy or agony — only when she came to her sens-
es, she was out in the orchard where she could feel the fragrance
of the flowers and saw the bright moon and brilliant stars.
For quite a long time she wasn’t aware or conscious of anything
except that he was there with her and that she was in his arms.
She looked at him and slowly found herself again. Then they
began to talk, softly and gently, and spent the rest of that night
talking.
The moon had disappeared from the sky, the stars had faded
away, the nightingales had fallen silent, the sky had started to
colour in the east and the morning breeze was already brushing
the leaves in the trees, when Karmelyuk embraced his wife,
kissing her goodbye. They walked together across the fields
down to a valley outside the village where three black horses
were grazing and two of Karmelyuk’s comrades were waiting for
him, puffing away at their pipes. There Karmelyuk parted with
Marusya, and his comrades heard him tell her, “I’ll be back!”
Then the three of them jumped into their saddles and galloped
off, the horses’ hooves raising sparks, until they disappeared
from sight.
30
Marusya walked back home. Both at their house and at the
neighbours’, everybody was still asleep, and all was quiet. Only
the sky was glowing brighter and the leaves in the trees were
fluttering faster.
As time went on, the band of robbers in the Black Forest
grew stronger and stronger with every passing hour and with
every new day. Also, with every passing hour and with every
new day, the well-to-do and the titled grew increasingly con-
cerned and alarmed. Finally, they decided to have the leader
captured by might and main, no matter how. So they hired de-
tectives and informers, offering them lavish fees and promising
high rewards, only asking in return that they “get that man.”
Before long, detectives and spies swarmed all over in search of
trails and traces.
More time went by, and the leader was still at large. More
than once the news spread that he had been captured; and
crowds of people would then gather to have a look, driven by
the desire to make sure for themselves, attracted by the heady
atmosphere, aroused by disbelief, genuine interest or just com-
mon curiosity. However, the news proved to be false every time.
It was true, though, that a suspicious-looking man was detained
in the forest, but that was either some poor devil with nothing
to do with the band, whom want and need had forced to take to
robbery, or even harmless, innocent traveller seized by mistake.
As rumours had it, the leader enchanted people and could turn
away glances and touch the heart; no living soul could hear his
voice, meet his eyes or see his beautiful face and remain un-
moved and unimpressed. He was said to charm and captivate
everyone, and it was even claimed that several detectives had
actually tracked him down but had then fallen under his spell
and let him go, becoming totally unfit for similar jobs for the
rest of their lives.
31
It takes all sorts to make a world, though; there are always
people who can’t be charmed by any charm or deceived by any
deceit. It was such man who now joined the hunt and went to
trace and pursue him as tirelessly and incessantly as he escaped
from them — by day and by night, from dawn to dusk, through
thick woods and across boundless steppes, down in deep valleys
and high in the mountains...
VI
One dark night, when everybody was asleep, Karmelyuk’s
wife waited under a cherry tree in her orchard. She stood mo-
tionless, like a statue, until she spotted his tall figure approach-
ing fom the valley and dashed towards him — like a soul fly-
ing to Paradise.
Karmelyuk was breathing hard, weary and exhausted. Em-
bracing Marusya, he could not hold her for long in his fro-
zen hands. He spoke with effort.
“They’re hunting me like a wild beast, Marusya,” he said.
“I’ve been on the run for three straight days and four nights —
never once stopped... I’ve had to disband the company also...”
“Oh, my darling,” Marusya said. “They were here yesterday,
asking about you, but we all told them we knew nothing. Yester-
day — ” she paused. “What’s this?” she gasped as something
clanged and banged near by. Then suddenly, the lights went on
in the house, and there were loud voices inside, clamouring
and shouting. The next thing they knew, more voices rang out
in the orchard, all about them, and men fell on them from all
sides.
“Hold him! Seize him! We’ve got him! We’re holding him!”
Shouts resounded in the quiet of the night.
32
Karmelyuk was overpowered. He quickly turned to his wife.
“Marusya!” he whispered. “Just tell them you don’t know any-
thing. Do you hear?”
“All right,” Marusya whispered back.
Karmelyuk’s mother came running, unable to believe her eyes.
She was inconsolable, seeing him seized, and pleaded with his
captors to release her son. His little daughter also awoke and
rushed to her father as she was — wearing only a nightshirt, her
hair dishevelled — and clutched at him with her tiny hands.
They dragged everybody away from Karmelyuk, flung him
into a carriage and drove off. The whole village had turned out
to watch him being taken away, people thronging and buzzing
like a swarm of bees. Karmelyuk’s wife walked after the carriage
with her daughter in her arms. His old mother was unable to
walk; she kept fainting while several sympathetic young men,
who had been deeply moved by the entire scene, got a horse and
waggon ready for her.
Karmelyuk was brought in irons to a big town and thrown into
a sombre stone cell. “Karmelyuk’s had it!” shouted the rich.
“His day of reckoning has come!” The poor talked one to an-
other in hushed voices. Young women and girls wept; older
people crossed themselves, saying. “Lord, have mercy upon
us!”
Karmelyuk’s wife and daughter followed him to the town,
walking all the way. The widow was brought in the waggon.
Karmelyuk was put on trial which dragged on for quite a long
time.
Whoever then happened to walk or ride across the square past
the lifeless-looking jail would see at all hours an elderly woman
whose final remaining strength seemed to be fast ebbing away.
She sat on a large stone, weeping. If spoken to, she would tell
about her misfortune, wailing over it. There one could also see a
33
young woman, sitting still and silent, whose lack of any colour in
her face seemed to suggest the loss of all that was dear. At her
side was a little girl whom nobody ever saw merry or playful and
who was never seen in a nearby street, where, as she must have
known, sweets and toys were sold — never! She just sat quietly
beside her mother, sometimes questioning her softly about some-
thing or just speaking to her, sometimes snuggling up against
the older woman who wept as she hugged her with her feeble
aged hands. It was as though they lived there — around that
large grey stone about which nobody knew who and why had put
it there on the square outside the prison. It was there that they
ate their lunch and supper. It seems they would have slept there
as well, but since the town rules didn’t allow it, every night
they had to return to a hut where they had found shelter, and
slept there. Every night their last glances and thoughts were
directed to the dark windows of the jail; every morning their
first thoughts were about the jail, and they couldn’t wait to
again see that forbidding sight.
As time went on, nothing was made less burdensome for them
and nothing changed, except that the weather became chillier
as the autumn cold set in, and there was frost in the mornings
and at nights. People wrapped themselves up in sheepskin coats
and lit stoves; the little girl now ran faster and faster to the hut
every evening and back to the stone outside the jail every morn-
ing, and the old woman couldn’t walk a single step without sup-
port from her daughter-in-law.
They were all fairly certain about the verdict, and only waited
for the trial to end. Finally, the day came. It was bright and
crisp, and the snow was falling lightly when the prison door was
flung open and convicts began coming out in pairs, their chains
jangling. A small crowd had gathered in the square, a couple of
women were crying, looking out for their loved ones among the
34
shackled pairs. There were so many reckless, daring souls among
those convicts!
Karmelyuk also came out. Those convicts who had somebody
to say good-bye to, were allowed to do so. Karmelyuk’s mother
sank to the ground the moment she saw him; his wife and daugh-
ter rushed to his side, ready to follow him all the way. Having
said good-bye to his mother, Karmelyuk then began to say good-
bye to his wife and daughter, telling them something in a low
voice. Blood rushed to the young woman’s face as she listened, as
if his words had hurt her deeply, and their daughter cried out,
"We aren’t going to leave you, Daddy!” two or three times,
and then flung her little arms round her shackled father,
bursting into tears.
Meanwhile, shouts rang out in the crowd: “Karmelyuk! Kar-
melyuk! It’s Karmelyuk! Where’s he? There he is!” And the
crowd heaved and swayed, like a billowing sea wave.
The convicts were ordered to march and they did so. The
crowd followed them as far as the highway outside the town,
getting larger and larger all the time, and the shouts “Karme-
lyuk! Karmelyuk!” becoming louder and louder. From all sides,
pepple were throwing coins to the convicts and shouting to
them, “God be with you!” Karmelyuk’s mother was helped
along; his wife and daughter walked at his side. Then everybody
was ordered to turn back.
“I’ll die... I’ll die soon!” Karmelyuk’s mother gasped out.
breathless. The little girl kissed and caressed her father. “I wish
we could go with you!” she cried out.
“We’ll do as you say,” his loyal and faithful wife told him.
“Let’s hope for the better!” Karmelyuk said.
“Start! Get a move on!” And they went.
They marched further and further on. Soon the dull jan-
gling of their chains could be heard no more. Their figures could
35
barely be seen. Then they disappeared altogether; where they
were last seen there were now only trees, sharply outlined
against the bright sky.
Karmelyuk’s mother was led back to the town, and Marusya
carried the sobbing girl; the crowd trudging along, talking and
offering words of sympathy and advice. Before the day was
done, Karmelyuk’s family set off by waggon back to their native
village. Each night, the lights burned again in Karmelyuk’s
house, and all in it grieved, but their thoughts were with him
every step of his long journey to an unknown destination.
VII
A year passed. Karmelyuk’s old mother died, as she had foretold,
and by that spring her grave was already overgrown with tall
thick grass. Living in the house were his wife and daughter.
Once, shortly after Karmelyuk’s arrest, a kindly neighbour had
asked the little girl, patting her on the head: “What are you
and your mother doing, my dear?” “Waiting,” the girl had
replied. Which was precisely the answer. For Karmelyuk had
told them to stay at home and wait. “It will be easier to escape
and make my way back home on my own,” he had said. Marusya
had agreed to everything. “We’ll do what you want,” she had
told him. Their daughter had since grown up and learned to
watch her words, and nobody ever heard from her again that
they were waiting for Karmelyuk — but they were. They waited
for him every day, every night, every hour. They waited for him
before sunrise and at daybreak, by day and by night, from dawn
to dusk. They spent hours, days, weeks and months just waiting
for him. Their days were filled with work and the usual
chores, but they were also filled with hope and waiting. Their
evenings were set aside for rest, but they, likewise, were filled with
36

hope and waiting. During the day, a neighbour might sometimes
drop in, and then they would be momentarily overwhelmed with
chattering, the din, and the daily routine. But in the evening,
when all around them had lapsed into calm silence, the mother
and daughter lit the lamp, as though expecting visitors, and
just sat there, silently. The daughter would not play with her
toys; from time to time she would speak softly with her mother,
and sometimes she would also sing her father’s songs in her ten-
der voice. She tried really hard to sing them well — so hard
that her little face burned, her heart beat faster, and her whole
body trembled. Her mother’s eyes were fixed on her, her hands
stretched out towards her; and Marusya took her daughter in
her arms and held her close, the girl’s tiny arms entwined round
her mother’s neck. They sat together like this for a very, very
long time — often well into the night.
And in the dead of night they would still sit there. Towards
daybreak, with the lamp dying away, the girl, still not in bed,
would finally doze off by her mother’s side. And then the young
woman would bury her face in her hands, overcome with the
agony of despair.
And as time went on and on, they never ceased waiting.
One night they were sitting in the house, the lamp burning as
always, and were thinking the same thoughts and cherishing the
same hopes. And as she had so often done before, the little girl
said to her mother, hopefully, “Perhaps tonight...”
Then the door opened and he whom they had been waiting
for so long stood before them.
Oh, God! Glory to God!
In the morning, when the sun had risen in the clear sky and
the village stirred back to life, filling the day with its constant
din, Marusya left the house to start her work, as she usually
did at that hour. She looked all around, and it seemed to her
38
that all had changed overnight. And suddenly she burst into
tears. But it was not sorrow that made her weep, because
when her daughter scurried to her side, she smiled gently to her
and gave her a loving look, her pretty eyes shining with utter
joy.
Shortly afterwards Karmelyuk’s wife sold the house, bid fare-
well to all and left the village, taking her daughter with her.
She had told some of the villagers that she intended to move to
town, perhaps as far as Kiev, but, as a matter of fact, nobody
seemed to know exactly where she had gone to, nor where she
might have settled. To be sure, somebody was said to have seen
them in a remote, out-of-the-way village where Marusya appar-
ently worked to earn her living. It was also rumoured that she
was doing odd jobs in town. All who had known her were sorry
for this quiet young woman and her child, recalling their former
good fortune and talking over their present misfortune which
had struck them so hard, leaving them practically ruined and no
longer able to live as well as they used to.
Other people now lived in the Karmelyuk house, managing
things in their own way: some of the old trees were cut down in
the orchard and new ones planted, and different flowers were
sown in the garden in spring.
That same spring word spread that the robbers were back in
the forest. It seemed they were Karmelyuk’s men, just as before,
as Karmelyuk had escaped, returned and reorganized his band.
The news cheered up the poor, and many a humble man sudden-
ly bore himself proudly, despite his ragged clothes. There were
also many others, their faces long creased with cares and shriv-
elled up with want, who now smiled cheerfully, their eyes
beaming and sparkling. The rich, on the other hand, were again
frightened and nervous; they busily began to form their commit-
tees and councils, urging courts to take action, tossing money
39
about and bribing judges. They demanded that Karmelyuk be
recaptured, exiled farther, and guarded more closely. So the po-
lice resumed their search, and detectives again set forth to track
Karmelyuk down.
But it was a far more difficult job for them now, because
the robbers were now far more numerous and were to be found
in practically all the major forests and ravines, not just in one
district.
VIII
Quite close to a little, out-of-the-way village and not too far
from town, there was a large forest, dense and dark. If some-
body talkative had happened to walk along those gloomy, lonely
paths, he would probably say that he often encountered a young
woman with a little girl. Both carried baskets, and if asked
where they were going, they would tell they were picking berries
or gathering mushrooms to sell. And as they said, they could
often be seen at the marketplace in town, selling berries or
mushrooms. The forest was believed to be a safe place, as nobody
had ever heard of any robberies occurring there.
Reaching the forest, the woman and the child plunged straight
in its depths, almost instantly disappearing from view, like a
pair of snakes sliding through a hedgerow. Then they walked
quickly on, never pausing, following along those paths and trails
in a way only they themselves knew, until they reached a small
meadow deep in the thick of the forest and sat down to catch
their breath.
There, in the heart of the forest, it was still as a church. An-
cient trees seemed to be leaning on younger ones; their thick,
mighty arms resting on supple young crowns, bending them
down by their weight. Here and there a winding young branch
40
threaded its ways up through that maze, then reached higher
and higher, twisting and turning from side to side, as though it
feared that somehow its growth might be halted. The ground
beneath was covered with all kinds of shrubs. Only tiny patches
of sunlight sifted through from above, and flowers grew there
in the cool shade. Snowball-trees and elders blossomed with
flowers that were at least twice as big as anywhere else; wild
roses — usually a flaming red — were paler and more luxuriant,
and had a softer fragrance.
The woman and the girl paused there, listening carefully. At
first, they would hear nothing — not ever a bird in flight, not
even a breath of wind. The impenetrable forest remained still
and quiet, dark and fresh.
And thus it would be until the dried branches cracked softly
somewhere not far away. Then the two — the woman and the
girl — would pick up their heads and smile. Soon a man would
appear. He would be pale, out of breath, exhausted, hungry
and covered with dust; but to them he was still as beautiful
as the Sun. Here they met, here he had his respite and ate his
meals, here he listened to words of love and sympathy, here
his wife told him everything she had heard, seen and thought;
here he enjoyed hearing his daughter’s prattle. The girl occasio-
nally brought him some sweets; he thanked her heartily and
smiled at her gently. Here sometimes he laid his tired head on
his wife’s lap and slept, while the girl kept watch. She was
rather expert at it, never raising false alarms, but always giving
a timely warning if something seemed wrong.
They had little time to spend together and when it was spent,
they took leave of each other as they loved — with exceeding
pain and sorrow, yet at the same time with even greater faith
and hope. The man strode off into the forest; the woman and
child returned to town. They waited three days and three nights
41
before venturing into the forest again. In the meantime, the
woman went out to her work, leaving the girl alone at home.
They rented a small hut which stood clinging to a hillside by
the river, almost outside the town.
The woman was off at her work all day long. The girl, though
still quite young, wasn’t idle either; she would offer to fetch
water for the old woman next door or to weed her garden. “What
a smart little girl!” the neighbour would say every evening pat-
ting the girl on the head and giving her a small coin or two.
And before she retired for the night, she would always offer the
girl some work for the next day as well. The girl then went over
to the river, to a place where she could see the forest, and would
sit there, thinking and remembering, and sometimes also singing
a song — the song her father had taught her as he held her in his
arms, back there in the green forest.
Though I’m back from Siberia,
no future is mine!
Wear no shackles, just the same
I in slavery do pine!
I am shadowed day and night,
all the hours have eyes,
I have nowhere to go —
Oh, from sorrow I’ll die!
I’ve collected daring fellows —
what is that, after all?
And they lurk by the highroads
where the stagecoaches crawl.
Whether travellers come or not —
it’s no matter, wait they must!
Oh, it looks like Karmelyuk will die
a dog’s death in the dust!
They call me a highway robber,
and say that I murder—
But I don’t kill anyone,
for my soul is my preserver.
42
What I take from the rich,
I give out to the oppressed,
While I do good that way,
no commandment I’ve transgressed.
I’ve a wife and daughter —
but when do I see them?
When I think of their sorrows,
flow my tears faster then.
I would have gone to their village —
but my splendor is known —
Should I turn up anywhere,
into the jail I’ll be thrown.
Oh, my heart’s wrung with sorrow —
but where can I flee?
It’s a wide world, full of beauty.
But there’s no place for me!
On an early Sunday morning,
all the bells ring in chorus,
But they hunt down Karmelyuk,
like a beast of the forest.
Let them hunt me, try to catch me,
let them keep on the chase —
May the whole world remember
Karmelyuk’s name and face.
Her mother would then come down the road leading from the
town. Here they would meet and walk back home side by side,
talking affectionately, whether remembering, or encouraging
each other, or sharing their sorrow...
IX
Meanwhile, Karmelyuk’s enemies remained vigilant. The
agents and detectives were ordered to bear arms and to be pre-
pared to shoot if he couldn’t be captured alive. Day after day,
Marusya and her daughter watched every face, fearing to read
43
the terrible news written on it, and listened anxiously to every
word, expecting to hear the worst. Many were those days before
the news flashed throughout the town: Karmelyuk had been
wounded and captured, and would shortly be brought in!
He was escorted back to town to be again confined to a sombre
cell, to be put in stronger and heavier irons, to face more enraged
judges, to hear a harsher sentence, and to be banished to a more
remote destination. Again, as before, people gathered in crowds,
first to meet him, and then to watch him leave; talking excitedly
and sympathizing with him. It was then that his wife and daugh-
ter reappeared. They walked after him — just as they had the
first time. “We’ll do what you want,” Marusya told him — just
as she had once told him before. The girl wept again, kissing
44
him, and, as before, he told them to hope for the better. The
convicts were again ordered to march, and so they did. And then
he again was gone, and, as before, there were only trees, sharply
outlined against a bright sky...
He was driven on and on, and they again stayed behind, work-
ing harder and harder... and waiting. Then they, too, were
gone.
Marusya and her daughter were last seen when it was finally
rumoured that Karmelyuk had again escaped and returned. The
rumour faded away, but since that time neither Karmelyuk, nor
Marusya, nor their daughter have ever been seen again.
Where did they go? How did they end their days? No one
knows, even now.
They came and went; just as so many things come and go —
good and evil, love and hatred, strength and glory. But some-
times a living memory lingers.

Misfit
by Yuri Fedkovich
Once upon a time there lived a poor man who had an even
poorer son. He was a real weakling, feeble and sickly, frail and
skinny. That’s why he was known locally as Misfit. The old man
and his son lived in a shabby, damp room and they ate only
crusts. That was bad enough, but when the old man died, things
went from bad to worse for Misfit. His landlord told him to
clear out.
Nonplussed, the poor boy stood in the middle of a road. He
didn’t know where to go or what to do. Finally, he pulled him-
self together. “Somehow I’ll make it to the town and look for
a job there,” Misfit thought. “Even if nothing turns up, some
kind person might take pity on me and give me something to
eat.” And off he went towards the town.
...The town turned out to be a noisy place. People hurrying
in all directions and nobody even had time to ask the boy if he
was hungry let alone give him something to eat. Suddenly, a
window opened in a huge stone house and an ugly old woman
poked her head out and screeched at the top of her voice:
“Hallo, everybody, come to munch
Fried sausages as a home-made lunch!
Hallo, everybody, don’t hesitate,
It’s waiting for you, sizzling on the plate!"
47
“That’s just what I need,” Misfit thought. “I’m hungry. May-
be this good old woman will give me something to eat.” And he
hurried towards her.
The old hag saw the boy approach and asked, “What is it
you want, laddie?”
“Why, I heard you inviting people to have lunch...”
The old hag burst out laughing.
“Are you mad or what? I meant neither you nor the likes of
you! I was inviting the local cats and dogs to come and keep my
own animals company. But all right, come in, I shall find something
for you too... There, help yourself!”
She treated Misfit to a very good meal and after the boy had
had his fill, she asked, “I say, laddie, would you like to work for
me? I need someone to look after my pets and play with them.
What about it?”
“Done,” said Misfit. He was very glad that he had been of-
fered a job so quickly and a very easy one at that.
The months went by, but the old hag didn’t so much as men-
tion his wages. Finally, Misfit lost patience and demanded his
pay. The old hag grew furious with him:
“You good-for-nothing, how dare you! You should be glad
I feed such a miserable weakling like you! Just you wait, I’ll give
you what for!”
Misfit’s heart sank. “What have I done?” he thought desper-
ately. “I’d better get out of here before this nasty hab beats me
to a pulp!”
As soon as the old woman left, he wrapped his belongings
into a bundle and slipped out of the room. The boy was at the
outer door when he felt someone tugging at his pants. It was
one of the old woman’s dogs, the one Misfit liked to play with
most. The dog whined and wagged his tail, and it took Misfit
some time to realize what the dog wanted. Misfit followed the
48
dog who led him to the door of a small room which was usually
locked. But that day the old woman had been so angry that she
had forgotten to lock it, so Misfit pulled the door open and
stepped in.
To his disappointment, there was nothing in there except some
witchcraft tools like spinning wheels, reels, broken scythes,
sickles, knives and other odds and ends. None of these things
could be of any use to him, but as he was about to leave, he saw a
pair of old boots and a stick standing in the corner. “I might need
these,” the boy decided. He promptly took the boots and the
stick and went out.
But those boots were far from ordinary. The moment Misfit
pulled them on he found himself high up in the air! The magic
boots carried Misfit with breath-taking speed and he had to
shout “Stop it!” three times before they brought him gently
back to land. The boy stood trying to get his breath back. Then
he lay down on the grass and fell fast asleep.
In his dreams, Misfit saw the same dog which had shown
him the old woman’s secret room of the old woman’s house. The
dog said, “You don’t know how to use these boots, so I’ll tell you.
With them on, you can take gigantic strides moving seven miles
an hour, and if you turn around on your heel three times before
you start, they’ll take you wherever you like in a jiffy. The stick
is magic too. If you happen to pass by a place where money
is buried, the wand will dig itself into the ground; it will do
so twice when there’s silver, and three times when there’s gold.
Now you can go, Misfit, and good luck to you. Don’t be foolish
and everything’ll be just fine for you!”
At this moment Misfit woke up, the last words of the dog still
echoing in his ears.
The boy began to consider how he could use the magic things
to best advantage. Suddenly it dawned upon him that if he went
49
to the capital he could join the Royal Messengers. In any case,
he would be better off in the capital than in that sleepy little
town. So Misfit pulled on his magic boots, turned around on his
heel — one, two, three! — and instantly found himself standing
in front of the King himself.
The King looked at Misfit closely and asked, “What do you
want, boy?”
“I want to join the Royal Messengers, Your Majesty,” said
the boy, trying to smooth down his untidy hair.
“You, a Royal Messenger?” scoffed the King. “Grow yourself
a pair of strong legs first!”
But Misfit stood his ground boldly. “Give me a chance, Your
Majesty,” he insisted, “and if I don’t run twice as fast as your
quickest messengers, Your Majesty, you can do whatever you
choose with me, even hang me.”
“All right, you cheeky devil,” said the King. “Here is my
letter to another king. If you’re back with his answer within one
week, I shall make you Senior Royal Messenger.”
“Very well, Your Majesty,” said Misfit. He took the letter
and left.
Once out of the capital, Misfit put his magic boots on, turned
on his heel three times and — zoom! — in a splitsecond he stood
in front of the other king. The king read the message and
promptly wrote an answer. Then Misfit used his magic boots
again to get back to his King.
“Was I quick enough, Your Majesty?” the boy asked.
The King only gave him an astonished look and said, “Well,
I — I shall take you on as my senior messenger and I’ll pay you
as much as you ask.”
That’s how Misfit entered royal service. The King took a
great liking to him and often asked the boy to dine with him.
The other courtiers soon became terribly envious of Misfit.
50
They made up false stories about him and told the King. Misfit
felt very hurt by all this, for he was a good-natured boy and
couldn’t see what was wrong. He racked his brains eager to win
the friendship of the courtiers. “If I was rich,” he thought, “I’d
know what to do. I would shower all these men with money until
they stopped slandering me before the King.”
Suddenly Misfit remembered about his magic stick. He waited
impatiently for night to come. The boy had heard that the King’s
late father had buried his treasures in the royal orchard.
When darkness fell, Misfit got ready for his venture. He took
his magic wand, a lantern, a spade and a sack and slipped out of
his room. Soon after he began searching the royal orchard, the
magic wand stuck into the ground three times. Misfit began to
dig there and, before long, unearthed a large cauldron full of
golden coins. The boy stuffed bis sack with the coins and cover-
ed the rest with earth again. Then he returned to his quarters,
his sack being so heavy that he barely managed to carry it on
his back.
If Misfit had been cleverer, he would not have said a word
about his find. But he wasn’t so wise and he immediately started
to shower the courtiers with gold showing more generosity than
the King himself. However, the boy’s plan backfired. The cour-
tiers rushed to the King:
“Your Majesty, we believe Misfit is a thief. We are sure he has
found your treasure. Otherwise, how could he have got so much
money?”
The King believed what his courtiers told him. He called the
unlucky fellow in and asked him point-blank, “Now tell me,
Misfit, where did you get all that money from?”
At first Misfit tried to deceive the King, but the King cross-
questioned him mercilessly and in the end Misfit confessed about
the magic wand, the treasure, and the magic boots. Under the
5/
King’s orders, everything was
taken away from the boy and
locked in the royal treasure-
chamber. Then Misfit was driv-
en out of the palace. Now he
was even poorer than before.
Misfit walked and walked
until he found himself deep in
the middle of a dense forest.
There on the river bank, he spot-
ted two pear-trees with large
juicy pears the likes of which
he had never seen before. Think-
ing how fortunate he was to
find something to eat, Misfit
plucked some pears off the near-
est tree and ate them. Then he
went to the river to get a drink
of water. As he knelt down to
scoop up some water, he caught
sight of his reflection; some-
how his ears had grown very
long like those of an ass and his
nose was swollen and very simi-
lar to that of a turkey. “Serves
me right,” Misfit said to him-
self bitterly. “I really deserve
these ass ears. Now I’ll have
some pears from the other tree
before I drown myself.”
When he’d had enough fruit
from the other tree, he returned
52

to the river. He looked into the water and, to his great surprise,
he saw that his face was back to normal. The hideous ears and
nose were gone!
Misfit jumped up and down with joy. “Well,” he said to him-
self, “now I know what I should do!” By a lucky coincidence
he had two bags with him. He filled one bag with pears from
the first tree, and the other one with the pears from the second.
Then Misfit walked back to the capital.
He went straight to one of his friends and asked if he could
stay at his house for the night. In the morning, Misfit disguised
himself as a peasant. He smeared his face with dirt and pasted
on a fake moustache. Then he put on a tall sheepskin hat, took
the bag with the pears he had tried first and went to the King.
The King was absolutely amazed by the wonderful fruit. He
payed the peasant handsomely, called together his sons and
daughters and let them try those wonders of nature for even
pears in the Royal Orchard were never as ripe and tasty as these.
The King and his family ate the pears with gusto until they sud-
denly noticed each other’s faces and then they froze, terrified
by what they saw.
“What’s happened to your ears, Father?! They’re dreadful!”
“Goodness, just look at your nose, wife!”
“Oh, my daughter, you look so repulsive.”
“Hey, servants, why are you standing and gaping at us?!”
“Bring every single doctor in the city to the palace! Quick!”
“Oh my ears!...”
“Oh my nose!...”
“How am I going to appear before my army tomorrow?”
“And how can I possibly go to the ball tomorrow night?”
The King and his family wailed until the doctors came.
Meanwhile, Misfit ran out of the palace to buy himself some
clothes of the type doctors wore. Then he went back to the
54
friend he had stayed with, washed and changed into a white
smock. Misfit stuffed his pockets with the second kind of pears
and reappeared before the King pretending he was a healer from
a far-off land.
“Save me and my family, good man, for Goodness sake!”
the King begged him. “My so-called doctors are all idiots, they
can do nothing but stare at us!”
“I shall try,” Misfit answered calmly. He produced a pear
and gave it to the youngest prince. The prince took a bite and
instantly became his former self, his ears and nose were back to
normal. The King gasped and grabbed Misfit by the arm.
“Come with me, healer, I’ll take you to my treasure-chamber!
I’ll give you anything you want, only save me and my family
from this shame!”
The King led Misfit to the chamber where all his riches were.
But the boy took only his magic wand and the magic boots.
He pulled on his boots and said, “Don’t you recognize me,
Your Majesty? I’m the very boy you took on as a messenger
and then ruthlessly banished from your palace, without a penny
to my name. I didn’t steal your gold. I dug it up in the garden.
There was also a letter written by your late father. For you
to know, it read that the treasure was to go to he who found it!”
As he said this, Misfit turned round once and gave, his boots a
mental order to carry him away to his native village. And in a
moment he was there. But the King and the other members of
his family remained with disfigured faces forever.

Lady Lily
by Lesya Ukrainka
A small, rather frail-looking boy was lying in bed in his little
room. He was staring wide eyed at the window in front of which
hung an embroidered shawl. A very narrow beam of blue light
had found a gap between the shawl and the window frame and
was streaming into the boy’s room.
“What are you looking at, my dear?” asked the boy’s mother
who was sitting by his bed.
“That light. What is it, Ma? Where does it come from?”
“It’s moonlight, Little Pavlik. I mean it’s the moon shining.
If I fix the shawl better, there’ll be no more light. Shall I fix
it, dear?” the mother asked.
“No, please don’t. I like it as it is.”
“Don’t look at it, Pavlik. Better close your eyes and go to
sleep. You’re still weak, you must sleep a lot.”
“I don’t want to sleep yet, Mommy, I’m so hot... I don’t feel
like sleeping at all. Tell me a story.”
“Which one, my dear?”
“Remember, once you told me about the tiny creatures who
live inside flowers... they’re called elfs. You told me there is a
very small he-elf or she-elf inside each blossom and that at night
they come out to play, dance and sing. You said they have a
Queen, the eldest she-elf. What does she look like?”
57
“Her name is Lady Lily, my dear Pavlik. She lives in the best
lily in the whole world. These elfs borrow their names from the
flowers they live in.”
Pavlik propped himself up and begged, “Oh, Mommy, please,
tell me more about these elfs. I like your stories about them so
much!”
“Not now, Pavlik. It’s too late for telling tales and it’s high
time you were asleep. That story is very long and it might go
well into the night. I don’t want you to lie thinking about it till
morning. I’d better shade the candle from you. Sleep well and
get up healthy in the morning. Everything will be fine then and
I’ll tell you that tale. Sleep tight, my dear!”
The mother screened the candle with a large book, kissed
Pavlik and said again, “Good night, sleep tight.” Then she
sat into the armchair near the boy’s bed and started to sew.
The mother waited for Pavlik to go to sleep but he wouldn’t
drop off. Instead, he watched how his mother sewed, making
quick stitches with her shining needle...
Then Pavlik fixed his gaze on the clear moonbeam which
shone through the window. He kept thinking about his mother’s
tales, “It’s a pity Ma refused to tell me the story. I’m bored.
I wish I were asleep already... Lady Lily... What does she look
like? Is she tiny like the rest of her elfenfolks? Ma says they’re
as little as butterflies... But what about their Queen?...” Such
were the thoughts which passed slowly through Little Pavlik’s
head as he looked at the moon beam...
Suddenly, the moonlight beam trembled and grew dark, as
though something or someone had moved across it. Pavlik
peered into the darkness and, before long, made out an indistinct
human figure standing right by his bed. Cold shivers ran up
and down the boy’s spine but then he saw there was nothing to
be afraid of. In front of him was a small, in fact tiny girl. Pavlik
58
looked closer and saw that she was a very pretty girl with fair
eyes and long hair shining like silver. She was dressed in a white
gauzy robe and had a miniature golden crown on her tiny head.
Pavlik also noticed she had a pair of fine wings attached to her
shoulderblades. Those wings were as bright and richly coloured
as a rainbow. A white lily with a long stem which the girl held in
her hand gave out a sweet heavenly scent. The more Pavlik
looked at the mysterious girl, the more he believed it was Lady
Lily herself. And he had so wanted to meet her!
“You’re Lady Lily, aren’t you?” asked the boy.
“Yes, that’s right. I was told you wanted to see me, so here I
am. Are you happy to see me?”
“I’m very very happy!” Pavlik cried out and extended both
arms towards her. Lady Lily flashed a smile so radiant that for
an instant the dark room was aglow and the blue moonbeam
turned orange.
“Would you like to make a trip with me?” asked Lady Lily.
“Yes, but... I can’t fly,” replied Pavlik. “I don’t have any
wings!”
“It’s all right, I’ll carry you myself.”
“But... you are so small and I am big and — heavy!”
“Don’t worry,” Lady Lily said and smiling she touched Pavlik
with her flower and the boy instantly became a flower himself.
He was now a carmine poppy. Then, Lady Lily put one arm
around Pavlik, and holding on tight to him she took to the air.
She winged her way out of the room and came to land in the
garden. All the flowers bent low before her and began to sway.
They swayed until the elfs living inside flew out to meet her.
“Go back to sleep,” Lady Lily told the elfs. “I’ve got no time
to talk with you tonight.”
The elfs duly returned to their flowers, shut the petals behind
them and were soon fast asleep.
59
“Now, my dear Pavlik,” Lady Lily turned to the boy, “where
shall we go?”
“Wherever you want,” said Pavlik. Even though he was now
a flower he still could speak.
“In that case I’ll carry you to the landlord’s orchard on the
hill. My younger sisters bloom there. They may have some news
for us.”
And they zoomed up into the sky and soon reached the land-
lord’s premises. Some of the windows of the magnificent palace,
which looked out into a large orchard, were lit up. Obviously,
the palace residents were still awake. But there was no one to be
seen anywhere. Lady Lily landed right on the flower bed covered
with white lilies. The lilies stood still, none of them as much as
stirred.
“Fast asleep and dead to the world!” Lady Lily exclaimed,
indignant. “Wake up, all of you!”
She touched the drowsy plants with her magic flower. That
very second all the lilies started and began to sway. One by one
pale-faced elfins peered out of their flower homes and the lilies
started to speak in their thin melodic voices:
“We beg your Majesty’s pardon. If you only knew how little
sleep we’ve had these days!”
“Now tell me all about it! Who’s been keeping you awake?”
demanded Lady Lily.
“It’s terrible! We get no rest day or night. Our situation is
really miserable!”
“But what’s happened? What are you crying about?”
“What can we do except cry? We’re helpless. They grab at
us; they tear off our leaves and cut short our lives. Then they
carry us to the grand hall and put us into vases; to make them
glad we must be sad. О dear, too many of us have been destroyed
that way, tod many sisters are not here today... Every time
60

they have a celebration, they cut us down without hesita-
tion.”
“My poor little sisters,” Lady Lily exclaimed, tears welling
Up in her eyes. “Still, my dear ones, you benefit from this. Here
in this orchard, you are taken care of while you grow, then
you are admired — you have quite a nice life.”
“Oh no, Your Majesty, we have a most awful life! Sometimes
it’s just too much to bear. We’ve never been happy here, we only
want peace and tranquility... Every evening we pray for peace
with our white tops bent low — but our prayers do no good!
Our lord’s noble friends come to visit. They aren’t old or poor,
neither they are prim. They sing and joke till the dead of night
while we remain sleepless and mourn our plight... This orchard is
like a bed of nails for us, so please do not tell us our fate is
best...”
The lilies’ voices trailed off, their heads bent sadly even
lower.
Presently, the glass doors of the palace opened and a young
lady in a fashionable white dress stepped out onto the porch.
She plopped down in a chair and viewed the moonlit orchard
disapprovingly.
“My headache’s killing me,” she said to herself. “It’s throb-
bing, I can’t sleep at all. I know it’s because I’m bored! There’s no
doubt about it. I’m simply wasting away in this backwater of a
village. There’s no one to see, no one to talk to all day. I would
have died of boredom by now if it weren’t for the evening guests.
But they are boring too!
“Everything’s so dreary here: the palace, the orchard with
these flowers. Yes, I’m sick of everything, even the flowers!
What a foolish idea it was to have lilies galore, and white ones at
that! If only they were a more interesting colour, pink or some-
thing like that...
62
“Besides, you can find white lilies in any orchard! Even peas-
ants grow them. These lilies smell so strong they make my head
reel. And that’s supposed to be a delicate fragrance! Td better go
inside before my head gets worse!”
As the young lady said this, she went back into the palace bang-
ing the doors shut behind her.
“You’ve really got a difficult life, you poor things,” said Lady
Lily. Her heart was bleeding for her unfortunate sisters. “You
must grow somewhere else, but it’s beyond my power to carry
you to another place... I don’t know what else I can tell you, my
unfortunate friends...”
Lady Lily walked along the lilies looking sadly at each one in
turn. Suddenly she saw one was missing. She stopped abruptly
and asked:
“And where is Fair Lily? Can you tell me where my youngest
sister is?”
The lilies explained in their sweet voices:
“Fair Lily was born a lucky flower: she’s been taken away to
live in clover. There was a peasant girl Hanna who worked hard
in our landlord’s fields last summer. He said Hanna would take
any lily she asked for, since he knew that otherwise he would’ve
had to pay her more. Yes, our sister was born a lucky flower:
she’s been taken away to live in clover.”
“Then I must go and see her,” decided Lady Lily. “I wonder
how she feels in that Hanna’s garden.” She wanted to ask her
sisters about something else but Pavlik complained that he felt
uncomfortable in that strange orchard with the sad lilies and
the nasty people in the palace. He begged Lady Lily to carry
him away.
“All right, we’ll fly to a big city. We might find life more
attractive there.”
Lady Lily took Pavlik into her arms and soared into the sky.
63
Seconds later they found themselves above a big bustling city.
The streets were wide and the shop windows were brightly lit.
Pavlik had never seen so many people and they were all hurrying
up and down the streets, looking busy and excited. Lady Lily
was gliding above the crowds looking curiously at the shop
windows. There on display were a lot of earthly wonders: fine
dolls and super toys, choice sweets and exquisite jewellery, books
with lavish illustrations and loads more besides! It would be
simply impossible to list everything that was on sale in those
shops!
Finally, Lady Lily landed in front of a large florist’s with
plenty of flowers in the window. The flowers were delightful!
There was nearly every kind of flower imaginable. There were
also some exotic flowers which could not be found anywhere
else... Roses, lilies of every shade and shape, violets and some
strange blooms, silvery or golden yellow, with very odd sound-
ing names. The flowers were arranged in gorgeous garlands,
bouquets, and sprays, and all of them looked simply won-
derful.
Pavlik clapped his hands gleefully:
“These flowers are amazing! I’ve never seen anything like
them before. Your lilies back there in the orchard are nothing
compared to these. Are you going to speak with these flowers,
Lady Lily? I wonder what they will tell you.”
“No, Pavlik, they won’t tell me anything. They simply cannot
speak because they’re artificial.”
“What do you mean, artificial? How come they are so nice?
And why are there no elfs inside them?”
“Elfs, Pavlik, never live inside such flowers because these are
fake flowers, they are hand-made. They don’t smell, their leaves
are thick, and we don’t live inside such flowers however nice
they may look.”
64
‘Fake flowers...” repeated Pavlik and his heart sank. “But
'ho makes them and how?”
‘I can take you to those who make them, if you want,” said
Lady Lily. She held on tight to the boy and flew up towards the
:op floor of the building they were standing by.
Pavlik peered through the window and saw a large dingy
room with bare, dirty walls. In the centre of the room there
stood a long wooden table littered with heaps of paper cuts, thin
cord and bits of string, cotton strips, threads, glue bottles with
brushes sticking out of them, and platefuls of coloured paint and
gold paint. All these things were scattered around in a terrible
mess.
Sitting along the table on long benches- were young girls
in cheap but neat clothes. They had tarnished aprons wrapped
around their waists. Each girl was equipped with a small knife,
a set of tweezers and pincers and a vise to work with. Each
one had paper cuts and other necessary things piled up in front
of her.
Some of the girls were making paper leaves and petals while
the others were fastening the fake foliage to thin wires. -Still
others were painting the leaves that were later starched and
pressed. Some more girls were busy making the insides for the
flowers from cotton strips and threads.
Finally, all these things came into the deft hands of the most
skilled craftswomen who glued the leaves and petals together
shaping them into flowers, added final touches here, made mi-
nor corrections there.
The girls worked fast, keeping complete silence. They payed
no attention to the muck and grime all over the place, or to their
hands smeared with paint and glue. They had not a minute to
spare. They didn’t seem to notice that they were tired and pale
from doing their dull work in this stuffy room filled with the
65
smell of paint and glue. The faster they worked, the more flo-
wers they turned out at the end of the day — and that meant
more money for them. Or so they had been told. But it wasn’t
quite like that. The poor girls worked their fingers to the bone
but they were still payed less than they earned.
There was a senior craftswoman who walked to and fro behind
the girls’ backs and saw to it that nothing was made the wrong
way, or wasted, or stolen.
Two girls at the far end of the table arched their backs talking
to each other in muffled voices lest the senior craftswoman
should overhear them.
“O my dear Katrusya,” one of the girls said fitting a cord to
a green leaf, “even my hands are shaking from hunger. I’ve hard-
ly had a thing to eat since early morning! I reported for work late
today. I know it was crazy! Anyway they didn’t let me have my
lunch-break, and what’s more, they aren’t goin’ to pay me a pen-
ny for today, so I was told. You shouldn’t be so late, they said!
Oh, what a mess!...”
“Really,” the other girl replied. “As for me, you wouldn’t
catch me being late for work. It would have... Oh no! what have
I done!”
The girl shot a frightened glance over her shoulder.
“What’s up, Katrusya?” asked her neighbour.
“Shush, or she will hear us. How on earth did I do it? I’ve
knocked over the dratted plate with paint! And look, I’ve spoilt
so many paper cuts... This is the end! They won’t pay me for this
workday. Please, dear, don’t tell anybody about it, don’t give
me away! Maybe they won’t notice.”
But the supervisor saw that something was wrong and rushed
to the girls.
“Hey, you two! What do you think you are doing!” she yelled
at the girls so menacingly Pavlik broke out into a cold sweat.
66
“Oh, Lady Lily,” he cried, “let’s get out of here! I don’t like it
here at all. It’s so grim, so — nasty!”
Lady Lily promptly descended to the earth.
“Do you want to have one more look at those fake flowers?”
she asked the boy.
“Oh no, I don’t! No, I never want to see one again! I don’t
want to stay in this city, I want to get back to my dear Mom-
my...”
“Then back to your mother you shall go. Only, I would like
to see my younger sister first, the one that blooms in the Hanna’s
garden, remember? I wonder how they are getting along over
there...”
“Really, Lady Lily, I’d rather go home right away,” said
Pavlik. Then he heaved a sigh and added, “All right, do as you
please. But let’s be quick!”
“Sure, Pavlik, we’ll be there and back before you can say
‘knife’!”
And with these words Lady Lily tore off. As they zoomed over
the hustling and bustling city, Pavlik watched the flickering
lights way down below and the people swarming and bustling
up and down the streets. The next moment, the city vanished
in the night. They were flying like greased lightning, but Pav-
lik did have time enough to notice that a new day was being
born and a bright rosy dawn was vying against the silvery-blue
moon.
Meanwhile, Lady Lily levelled off and softly came to land
near a little tumble-down hut that leaned to one side. Pavlik
immediately realized that they were back in his own village
and that the “Hanna” the lilies had mentioned was, in fact, his
little neighbour friend. He saw her flower patch, small in size
but rich in plants. There were French marigolds, monkshoods,
lovage, rues, tansies, mints and a fine bush of roses. The
67
flowers were knit together by periwinkle creeping among
them.
A tiny, delicate white lily grew in the middle of the flower
bed. It was completely clear of weeds and protected with thin
and short twigs stuck into the ground around it. Obviously,
Hanna had taken very good care of the lily. And, as if in re-
sponse, the flower had blossomed with all its might.
Then Hanna herself came into view. A little boy with fair
hair toddled after her. It was her brother Ivasik. In his hand he
carried a pitcher filled with water.
Hanna led her little helper around the garden and showed
which flowers he should water. The girl could have done it
herself, of course, but she knew how her brother loved to help
her.
“Look here, Ivasik,” Hanna said to her little brother. “Water
this white flower carefully. Remember, it is called Fair Lily. It
needs a lot of water because it has recently been removed from
a rich man’s orchard to take root in our patch. Only, be careful
and don’t overdo it. Too much water may break its stalk. Well,
I think I’d better do it myself.”
Hanna watered her precious flower herself though Ivasik was
reluctant to part with the watering can.
“My Fair Lily has a nice smell, doesn’t it, Ivasik?”
“Of course it does!” replied the boy, bending over and sniffing
at the lily. “It smells better than any other flower.”
“It does, Ivasik, it does!” said Hanna, beaming. “Now we
shall have a bite to eat*and then I’ll go to work. You stay at
home, Ivasik, and chase the hens away from our flowers. And
see to it that the boys don’t ruin my lily. Will you do that?”
“I will, Hanna.”
“Be a good boy and I’ll bring you a toy. Or I’ll ask the land-
lady for some sugar for you. But if you don’t protect our lily, I’ll
68
be angry with you! The boys may come and break it and I can’t
get another one like that, you know!”
“I will look after the lily, dear sister, I will.”
When Hanna and Ivasik had gone into their hut, Lady Lily
and Pavlik came up to the white flower.
“I’m so glad to see you, Lady Lily,” Fair Lily said in her thin
ringing voice. “Where have you been and what have you seen?
Lady Lily, do you know where my poor sisters grow?”
“Yes, I’ve visited them, my dear, and they told me your
story.”
“I think of them both night and day, for their good luck I al-
ways pray! Do they still remember me, their lily-sister who
now is free?”
“Yes, they still remember you and they are missing you
badly.”
“Let them not cry, let them not moan. With such lovely mem-
ory I’m never alone. I’m happier now than I’ve ever been, I’m
looked after by Hanna as if I were a queen! I am safe and I am
sound, blooming on this quiet ground. To me Young Hanna is
everything, when I see her I just want to sing. She waters me
thoroughly day and night, and weeds and keeps on me her sweet
eye.
“Right from the dawn Hanna is busy. She leaves the hut
holding a watering can. She carries it full of water with her
strong little hands. As Hanna waters us in the morning, she
sings a merry song:
‘My garden is cleaned and sweapt,
Among the flowers periwinkle has crept...’
Her voice is ringing, sweetness bringing, like a small silver
bell. Even a Nightingale praising a good day couldn’t sing
so well! The song brings vigour, for work is hard. There’s no
69
time to rest. Hanna’s busy from morning till night doing her
very best.
“The field is not hers, she doesn’t work for herself. But those
are her legs which are aching. Cruel pastor’s lettuce hurts her
hands when she pulls it up so the roots are taken, she’s often so
tired she sways when she’s finished the work at the end of the
day. Then she feels so sorry for herself but looking at me and,
smiling, she says: ‘You give me comfort, my Fair Lily, and I’m
happy, my dear, I won’t be silly. Seeing you flourishing proudly
here, I quickly forget my sorrows and fears. Grow, my Fair Lily,
and bloom every day to make me feel happy always!’”
That’s how Fair Lily sang her song while Lady Lily listened to
her and smiled happily. She was glad her youngest sister had
bpen lucky enough to find the peasant girl Hanna!
Then Lady Lily drew nearer, touched Fair Lily with her magic
flower and pronounced solemnly:
“From now on, my Fair Lily, be grand and graceful!”
The moment she said so, Fair Lily turned into a very tall and
very magnificent plant with fantastic flowers emitting silver-
rosy light. Her leaves were wet with dew sparkling with all
colours of the rainbow!
...Then everything disappeared. Pavlik looked about him only
to find out he was in his bed again.
“Lady Lily!” he called out loud. “Lady Lily, I don’t want it
to be over so soon. I want you to bring me back to Hanna and
Fair Lily! Please, take me back to them!”
Lady Lily stood in front of him bathed in the pale orange light
of the newly-born day.
“Not now, Pavlik,” she said, “some other time. Enough is
enough. I’ve got some other things to attend to. The night is
over. Bye-bye!”
Lady Lily touched the boy with her flower, bent over to kiss
70
him on the forehead and — was gone. Pavlik stretched out both
his arms and was about to let out a cry of surprise when he...
woke up.
Warm sun light dazzled the boy. He squinted and saw his
mother bent over him and felt her warm and tender kiss on his
forehead.
“Why, you’re awake, dear!” the mother said. “How do you
feel?”
“I feel good,” Pavlik answered, embracing his mother. “Very
good indeed... You know, Mommy, what a fine dream I had!
I was with Lady Lily last night!”

Л Tale of the Young Magicians
and the Bliss Bird
by Vsevolod Nestaiko
Friends! I’m glad to be with you!
Sit down and feel at ease.
Here’s a tale designed to please.
There is magic and mystery and much much more,
And have you heard of the Bliss Bird before?
Are you ready? Off we go!*
Have you ever heard of Wonderland and its wonderful in-
habitants? If not, you should be ashamed of yourselves!
It was a mysterious land cut off from the rest of the world by
deep seas and high mountains. Among its fairy inhabitants there
lived Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Concordia. They had no
wonderful children of their own, so Grandpa Wisehead and
Grandma Concordia adopted seven boys from the ordinary
world.
They loved their adopted sons very much. Indeed, the boys
were cheerful and smart, strong and handsome. They had hazel
eyes and dark curly hair. So their grandparents just doted on
them and bent over backwards to please them and make life
easy for them. Especially, the grandma. She didn’t let the boys
do any work. She did all the chores herself saying, “Never mind!
* Translation of poetry © Olexander Gavinsky 1990
73
Boys will be boys! Let them play! They aren’t strong enough to
help us. They are too young!”
Grandpa Wisehead frowned when he heard this, but he never
argued with his wife. He was afraid she would say he didn’t care
about their boys as much as she did.
Finally, the youngsters grew accustomed to their carefree life
and believed that they had a natural right to a comfortable
life with no work. So, life was free and easy for the boys who
lived with Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Concordia in the
wonderland.
As the years flew by, the boys matured and became strong
young men. One day, Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Concor-
dia called their grandsons and said:
“We are much too old, our dear sonny-boys, we’re weak and
weary. We are going to move to Serene Mountain to live peacece-
ful life there reading books and watching our Imagavision set.
From now on you will be on your own. But before we go we’ll
make your dreams come true. Anything you like. Just remember
that only one dream will come true for each of you. Only one.
Think carefully before choosing your wish, there’s no hurry. And
take it seriously. This decision will effect your whole life...”
The seven brothers exchanged glances taking their time. It
was hard for them to decide.
“Of course!” one of the lads suddenly exclaimed. “I know
what I want! I want to be a magic builder. I would be glad to
build magnificent palaces by just waving my hand. One, two,
three — and there’s a palace, come and see!”
“Yes!” the second brother sprang to his feet. “I know what
I want too! I’ll be a magic gardener. I’ll just raise an eyebrow
and an apple-tree will pop up with golden fruit on every
branch...”
“I know what I...” jumped up the third brother.
74
“I know...” jumped up the fourth one.
“I...” jumped up the fifth one.
One by one, the brothers jumped up with their bright ideas.
Everyone of them wanted to be able to perform miracles.
“Are you sure you want to be magicians?” asked Grandpa
Wisehead.
“Dead sure!” the brothers answered as one.
“You won’t change your minds?” Grandpa Wisehead asked
again.
“No, we won’t!”
“Are you sure you won’t regret it?” Grandpa Wisehead asked
the brothers a third time.
“Regret it? Ha-ha!” the brothers laughed. “Why should we
regret performing miracles?! Ha-ha-ha!”
“Let them be what they want. Never mind!” Grandma Con-
cordia intervened.
“All right, so be it,” said Grandpa Wisehead. “Let it be as you
wish. Now go to bed, boys, and sleep well. You’ll wake up ma-
gicians tomorrow morning, all of you. Remember, we’ll miss you.
Take care of yourselves.”
And with these words Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Con-
cordia packed up and left for Serene Mountain. Meanwhile, the
seven brothers had their supper, cleaned their teeth, washed
behind their ears and went to sleep.
...They woke up in the morning, did their morning exercises,
and washed. Then they had their breakfast. When they had fin-
ished, they looked anxiously at each other not knowing whether
they had already become magicians or not. Each of them was
afraid to be the first to check, as none of the brothers had ever
tried to perform miracles before.
At last, the eldest brother plucked up courage, took a deep
breath and pronounced:
75
“Magic powers,
Give me a chance —
Let a palace
Rise at once."
As he said these words, he waved his hand and squatted, his
eyes half-closed... A moment later — z-zounds! the air was split
with an explosive sound as if a mountain had creacked into
halves. The astounded brothers saw a brand-new magnificent
palace rise in front of them in no time. Only dust was swirling
as though stirred up by a herd of cattle.
The lads again looked at each other, hardly believing what
they saw. It was several minutes before they got a grip on them-
selves. Then they congratulated each other on their new magic
powers.
The elder brother was now, as you can guess, the Magic
Builder. He proved that by having a magnificent palace pop up
with just a wave of his hand.
The second brother was now the Magic Gardener. He pro-
duced apple-trees laden with golden fruit by simply raising an
eyebrow.
The third brother was now the Magic Cook. He had a won-
derful tablecloth. As it was unrolled the most delicious food
and drink appeared in vast quantities. Any number of persons
could feast on it from morning till night.
The fourth brother was now the Magic Beautifier. He could
change the ugliest creature into a real beauty.
The fifth brother was now the Magic Tailor. He could make
wonderful clothes for the whole world.
The sixth brother was now the Magic Craftsman. He could
make the most intricate mechanisms and sophisticated devices
by a quick wish. Among his first creations were a set of auto-
matic servants that did all the housework.
76
The seventh brother was now the Magic Traveler. He had
flying carpets, seven-league boots and a variety of other fairy-
tale means of transportation at his disposal.
The lads were beside themselves with joy. They praised their
Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Concordia:
“Good for them!”
“We’ve received royal gifts indeed.”
“This is wonderful.”
“We must be unique.”
“Is it really possible?”
“Now we’re going to be happy for the rest of our lives!”
“Let us build ourselves a city where there’ll be all play and
no work!”
“We’ll live there in real style!”
“Sure thing!”
“Absolutely!”
And that’s just what the magician brothers did. They built a
Fun City with a luxurious palace for each of them. And in each
palace there was an Imagavision set to watch and an Imaga-
phone to speak into. There were also swimming pools, gardens
of the golden apple-trees and a horde of clever machines doing
all the work for the brothers.
In the centre of the Fun City there was a huge Amusement
Palace offering amusements and games for every taste, play-
grounds and skating rinks, a library and shooting gallery, merry-
go-rounds and a maze. In short, it was the perfect place for our
seven young magicians to while away their time.
Soon after the brothers layed out their Fun City and settled
there, Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Concordia gave them a
ring:
“Hallo! It’s your grandpa and grandma speaking. How are
you, dear boys? Hope you enjoy yourselves!”
77
“Hallo, dear grandpa! Hallo, dear grandma! It’s great to hear
you! Yes, we’re enjoying ourselves alright. It’s all play and no
work for us, can you imagine that? We’ve got a really easy life!
You’ve been so kind to us, dear grandpa and grandma! Thanks
a lot! We’re extremely grateful for all you’ve done for us...”
“Very good. We are glad you are having fun. Keep well and
take care, bye-bye!”
And the grandparents rang off.
The seven brothers then decided to have a party, a celebration
of their new life, as one of them put it. So they did.
...They woke up late next morning. But, they did their morn-
ing exercises, washed and had breakfast as usual. Then they
hesitated. The brothers looked at each other questioningly, not
knowing what to do with themselves.
“What shall we do now, boys?” one of the brothers asked.
The rest shrugged. None of them had expected that they would
ever be bored in their Fun City...
“Let’s go to the Amusement Palace!”
“Why not?”
They walked over to the Amusement Palace. There the lads
spent some of their time in the Playground. Then they spent a
few minutes in the Maze and after that they started to play
games but soon they’d had enough of that too.
The brothers tried to kill time trailing around the palace...
They didn’t feel like playing or laughing, or reading anymore.
They were bored...
Then Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Concordia phoned
their boys again:
“How are you doing, boys? Are you in good health?”
“We are fairly well, thank you,” the brothers answered in
restrained yet rather cheerful voices. They simply couldn’t
tell their grandparents how boring their lives had become!
18

“Very well. Keep cheerful. Hope everything’s fine. Good-
bye, dear boys!”
“Bye!” the brothers said and hung up.
...Some days passed.
...Then a week.
...Then a month.
It was as if a dark cloud was hanging over the Fun City. The
seven brothers traipsed about looking very downhearted. They
just didn’t know what to do with themselves. They had every-
thing they could think of. But that didn’t make them happy at
all because they could make any dream come true in no time
at all. And it is no fun at all when all your wishes become reality
without any effort.
Soon the brothers felt they had no wishes left. Their heads
were as empty as their hearts. They didn’t want anything!
Anything at all.
If you don’t want anything at all, you can hardly enjoy your-
self. There was no excitement. There was no happiness.
The brothers forgot how to smile, how to feel happy, how to
laugh. They were on the verge of tears all the time.
Then one day their Imagaphones rang again:
“Hallo? How are you doing, dear boys? Are you keeping
cheerful in your Fun City?”
The brothers couldn’t pretend any longer. They broke down
and wept into the receivers of their Imagaphones:
“Oh, dear Grandpa! Oh, dear Grandma! We’ve been so silly!
We’re very ashamed, but it’s so — dull here! We can’t remember
the last time we smiled. Help us, please! Do something!”
“Didn’t we warn you, poor dears: Think twice before asking!
Now we can do nothing for you. We have retired, don’t you remem-
ber?”
“What shall we do then?!” the brothers sobbed even louder.
80
“Are we going to live bored and die bored? Tell us what
to do! You’re so clever, so wise. You must know some way to
help us.”
“Well... there is one possibility. There is an old soothsayer,
Merrythought. Go and see him. He may be able to help you...”
“But where does this Never — say — ... where does he live?”
“Old Merrythought has a house beyond three seas: the Blue
Sea, the Green Sea and the Red Sea.”
“We’ll go there right away!”
“Hold on,, dear boys! Don’t be in such hurry. It’s growing
dark already. Go to bed now and get up in the morning to make
an early start because it’s a long long way. Good night, dear
children, and we wish you a good journey!”
And with these words Grandpa Wisehead and Grandma Con-
cordia rang off. Following their advice, the seven brothers had
their supper, brushed their teeth, washed their ears and went
to bed.
When the day broke, they woke up, did their morning exer-
cises, washed and had breakfast. Then they looked at each other
questioningly:
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Let’s get going!” the Magic Builder ordered. “You, the
Magic Traveler, make us a flying ship and quickly!”
“Sure thing,” said the Magic Grower.
“Absolutely,” said the Magic Cook.
And the rest said, “Absolutely sure thing!”
The Magic Traveler clapped his hands one-two-three and —
lo! the flying ship appeared right in front of them. The brothers
quickly climbed on board, wasting no time. The Magic Traveler
immediately took the helm and switched on the magarocket en-
gine. As he did so, his ringing voice called out:
81
“There are lots of stars in heaven!
Eighty-nine plus sixty-seven
Multiplied by fifty-eight.
Climb up, as if you have no weight!
Reach the sky and gather speed!
Take us to the place we need!
Z-o-o-om!”
The rocket engine roared at such an earsplitting pitch that the
earth shook! The brothers saw trees nearby bent low to the
ground. Golden apples were shaken off the trees by the power-
ful blast and dust clouds soared skywards.
But their ship didn’t as much as stir as if unable to overcome
the force of gravity.
“What’s the matter? Why aren’t we taking off?!” the brothers
shouted through the roar of the engine.
The Magic Traveler turned off the engine and sighed:
“It seems the ship is overloaded... She is not designed to carry
so much weight. One of us will have to get out or...”
Their faces fell. They all looked down at the ground for none
of them wanted to get off. All the brothers were eager to go to
the old soothsayer.
Suddenly, an idea flashed across the Magic Master’s mind.
“Brothers!” he called out cheerfully, “let our ship ride the waves
since she cannot fly!”
“Sure thing!” said the Magic Gardener.
“Absolutely!” said the Magic Cook.
And the rest said, “Absolutely sure thing!”
The Magic Traveler was again in good humour.
“Never say die!” he exclaimed. “Nothing is impossible for me!
Hey, brothers, help me to launch her!”
The brothers quickly got out and prepared to put all their
strength into pushing the ship, three of them on each side. The
Magic Traveler helped them at the stern, shouting:
82
“Ready boys, one, two, push with all your might. Come on,
lads, push hard, push, the sea’s in sight!”
Inch by inch, they pushed the ship towards the sea, leaving a
deep trail in the sand. Then the seven brothers climbed aboard
again and took their seats on the deck.
The Magic Traveler put his hands on the helm and switched
on the engine. Brimming with excitement he pronounced:
“There are lots of stars in heaven!
Thirty-nine plus forty-seven
Multiplied by twenty-eight.
Ship, ahead! Pick up the rate!
Now sail ahead, my ship! Full speed!
Take us to the place we need!
Zip!”
The water churned at the stern as the ship plowed on.
“At last we’re on our way! Full speed ahead!” shouted the
brothers excitedly.
It turned out to be a very long journey indeed. First, they
sailed across the Blue Sea.
One day passed...
Then a second...
Then a third.
At last the Blue Sea was left behind them.
Then, the seven brothers cruised across the Green Sea.
One day passed...
Then a second...
Then a third.
The Green Sea was now left behind them.
Finally, the brave navigators plied across the Red Sea.
One day passed...
Then a second...
On a third day, the seven brothers approached the land.
83
They went ashore and made their way uphill. Soon they saw
a hut the likes of which none of them had ever seen before.
The hut had evidently been made to look like a human head. It
had a pair of round-shaped windows for the eyes, a door for the
mouth, a thatched roof was its hair and there were oddly-shaped
eaves for the nose. The green ivy twined about the hut, arching
above the entrance was just like a moustache and running down
the porch like a long green beard.
Presently, an old man came out, his face was obviously the
model for his house. He smiled a friendly smile. The seven bro-
thers immediately realized it was Merrythought, the old sooth-
sayer they were looking for. They greeted him politely and
explained what their trouble was. *Merrythought listened atten-
tively and said:
“It’s not me you need, I’m afraid, but the Bliss Bird. There’s
no doubt she’s the only one who can help you, no doubt about it.
Only the Bliss Bird can make you smile again. Only she can
make you feel joy. That’s all I can advise you.”
“But where can we find this Bliss Bird? How can we catch
her?” the brothers cried out together.
“It is almost impossible to catch the Bliss Bird.”
“But maybe it’s possible to see her at least?”
“To see her, you say?... Well, I don’t know... You’d better go
and talk to the fair maidens who guard the Bliss Bird. That
is much easier and I can tell you how to go about. There is a
strawberry glade in the nearby forest. At midnight, the Bliss
Bird wings her way there to peck strawberries. She just loves
strawberries, you know. She can’t get enough of them. It’s not
surprising because strawberries are immensely popular with the
local folks who eat them to be strong and healthy...
“As I told you, there are seven fair maidens who keep watch
on the Bliss Bird while she’s enjoying the strawberries. Their
oldest maiden’s name is Belle Beautia, by the way. The sisters
take turns, each one watches for one night. Only, don’t go
there all together, or you’ll scare the Bliss Bird and won’t see
her again. You’d better go one by one. That’s all.”
The brothers had no choice but to wait impatiently for the
night to come.
As darkness fell, the Magic Builder, the eldest of the brothers,
went to the glade and hid behind a bramble bush.
At exactly midnight the Magic Builder heard a flapping
sound. The next moment the strawberry glade was bathed in soft
flame-coloured light. Although the Magic Builder strained his
eyes to make out the Bliss Bird, he could see only an orange halo-
shaped light roving around the glade.
Suddenly, the bushes rustled and someone stepped into the
pool of soft light. It was a tall slender girl with dark hair. She
was pretty as a picture. She sat on the grass and began to weave
a wreath from marigolds, smiling softly to herself. The’ Magic
Builder couldn’t take his eyes off the girl. Neither could he utter
a word, stunned by the girl’s beauty. At last he managed to
whisper:
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“Oh beautiful maiden! Don’t be afraid of me, I just want to
have the Bliss Bird. Let me catch her!”
Belle Beautia (for it was she!) turned around and asked:
“Who are you? And tell me what you can do.”
The Magic Builder told Belle Beautia about himself.
“Well, show me your skills then.”
The Magic Builder rose to his feet and pronounced:
“Magic powers,
Give me a chance —
Let a palace
Rise at once.”
He waved his hand and in a split-second a wonderful palace
grew up in front of him. Belle Beautia glanced at the palace
and shook her head dejectedly.
“No, I don’t like it!”
“What?” The Magic Builder was amazed. “But you must
admit it’s magnificent.”
“No, it is not. You didn’t seem to put your heart into it. Good-
bye!”
With those words Belle Beautia was gone before the Magic
Builder could utter another word. His palace disappeared also.
The strawberry glade was now dark again.
The Magic Builder stayed there till sunrise waiting for Belle
Beautia and the Bliss Bird to come back. But neither of them
appeared again.
As the sun rose, the Magic Builder saw that the beautiful
maiden left her wreath on the ground. He picked it up and put
it inside his shirt. Then the Magic Builder returned to his wait-
ing brothers and told them about his failure.
When the second night came, the Magic Gardener went to the
strawberry glade. He hid behind the bramble bush and waited
impatiently for the Bliss Bird to appear.
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At midnight the Magic Gardener heard wings flapping over-
head. The next moment the strawberry glade was bathed in
soft, flame-coloured light. The Magic Gardener strained his
eyes but he saw only an orange radiance moving about grass.
Presently, the bushes rustled and a young maiden stepped
into the pool of light. Her gray eyes were shining with kind-
ness and her full lips were as bright as red poppies. The girl sat
on the grass and began to weave a poppy wreath, smiling softly
to herself. The young man was stunned by her tremendous beau-
ty. At last he managed to whisper:
“Don’t be afraid, fair maiden! I came here for the Bliss Bird
as I need her badly. Let me catch her.”
“Who are you?” asked the girl, turning around. “Tell me who
you are and what you can do.”
The Magic Gardener duly rose to his feet and stepped for-
ward. He told the maiden who he was and what his trouble was.
“Well, show me your skills then.”
The Magic Gardener pronounced:
“Let a golden apple-tree
Grow quickly! One, two, three!”
He raised an eyebrow and in a flash there was an apple-tree
covered with golden fruit.
But the girl only shook her head and turned away:
“No, I don’t like it!”
“What?” The Magic Gardener was amazed. “Isn’t it beauti-
ful?”
“No, it is not. You didn’t seem to put your heart into it. Good-
bye!”
With this, the beautiful maiden disappeared. The Magic
Gardener didn’t have time even to say a word. His golden apple-
tree was gone, too.
88
The young magician stayed there till the very sunrise, waiting
for the graceful maiden and the Bliss Bird to return. But neither
of them did.
When the day broke, the Magic Gardener saw that the maiden
had left her wreath on the grass. He took it up and put it inside
his shirt. Then he came back to where his brothers had been
waiting for him and told them about his failure.
When the third night came, it was the Magic Cook’s turn.
He went to the strawberry glade and knelt down behind the
bramble bush.
At midnight he heard a flapping sound. A moment later, the
strawberry field was bathed in soft, flame-coloured light.
Then the bushes rustled and a beautiful girl stepped into the
pool of soft light. Her hazel eyes were sparkling and her cheeks
were shining and rosy. She sat on the grass and began to weave
a wreath of mallow flowers, smiling softly to herself.
The Magic Cook froze to the spot, stunned by the girl’s dazzl-
ing beauty. At last, he managed to whisper:
“Don’t be afraid of me, fair maiden! Let me catch the Bliss
Bird. I need her badly!...”
The girl turned around and asked:
“Who are you? Tell me who you are and what you can do.”
The Magic Cook duly rose to his feet and told the girl who he
was and what his trouble was.
“Well, show me your skills then.”
The Magic Cook promptly unrolled his wonderful tablecloth
and pronounced:
“Everything tasty, everything nice,
Let it appear on this table tonight.
Ho tages-potages,
Served in the cottages.
Let all now appear
On a table
Right here!”
89
In a jiffy the tablecloth was heavily laiden with all sorts of
food — boiled and stewed, roasted and fried, grilled and broiled,
baked and dried.
But the girl only took one little bite and made a face. Then she
shook her head and said:
“No, I don’t like it at all!”
“But why?” The Magic Cook was utterly amazed. “Isn’t it
delicious!”
“No, it isn’t. You didn’t seem to put your heart into your
work,” said the girl. “Good-bye!”
With this, she disappeared.
When the day broke, the Magic Cook saw that she left her
mallow wreath on the grass. He picked it up and put it inside
his shirt. Then he returned to where his brothers had been wait-
ing for him and told them about his failure.
When the fourth night came, the Magic Craftsman took his
turn. When he reached the mysterious strawberry glade, he sat
under the bramble bush and waited.
At midnight he heard the sound of flapping wings. The next
moment the strawberry glade was bathed in soft flame-coloured
light. Then, a graceful girl stepped into the pool of light. She
was a striking beauty with velvety eyes like violets...
The maiden sat on the grass and began to make a wreath of
violets, smiling softly to herself.
Enchanted by her breathless beauty, the Magic Craftsman
barely managed to whisper:
“Don’t f-fear, f-fair maiden! I’ve come to catch the Bliss Bird.
Let me do that, will you!”
The girl turned her head and asked:
“Who are you? Tell me about yourself and what you can do.”
The Magic Craftsman obediently rose to his feet and explain-
ed who he was and what his trouble was.
90
“Well, show me your skills then.”
The Magic Craftsman stepped forward and pronounced:
“Tangent-sinus	Cyber-scriber
Kerosinus,	Energetic,
Minus	Scriber-cyber
Cosine plus Benzinus. Automatic!”
In a flash, the glade swarmed with most fantastic robots,
beeping and booming, droning and buzzing, their lights flashing
on and off. These automatic servants could do any kind of work.
The maiden only glanced at those wonders of technology and
shrugging her shoulders said:
“No, I don’t like your machines. I’m sorry.”
“But why?” asked the Magic Craftsman, astonished. “My
machines are clever, they can do wonders!”
“Yes, but you didn’t seem to put your heart into them. Good-
bye!”
With this, the beautiful maiden vanished, as if she had never
been there.
When the day broke, the Magic Craftsman saw that she left
her wreath of violets on the grass. He picked it up and hid it
inside his shirt. Then he returned to where his brothers had
been waiting for him and told them everything.
And the fifth night came. This time it was the Magic Beauti-
fier who volunteered. He was very sure of himself!
“I’ll catch the Bliss Bird, no problem,” he kept saying to him-
self as he made his way to the strawberry glade. “I’m not like my
brothers. I won’t be taken in by good looks. I can create a beauty
myself!”
Soon the Magic Beautifier reached the glade and hid behind
the bramble bush. At midnight he heard wings flapping and the
next moment the strawberry glade was bathed in soft flame-
91
coloured light. The bushes rustled and a girl stepped into the
pool of light. It was as if the sun itself appeared on the glade!
Her golden hair was shining in the rosy light like pale-yellow
dandelions.
The girl sat on the grass and beganxto make a wreath from
dandelions, smiling softly to herself. The Magic Beautifier
couldn’t take his eyes off her, stunned by her splendour and
grace. When he came to his senses, he stammered:
“F-fair m-maiden!... D-don’t f-fear... I need... B-bliss
B-bird...”
The girl turned her head and asked:
“Who are you and what you can do.”
The Magic Beautifier rose and stammering explained, who
he was and what his trouble was.
“Well, show me your skills then.”
The Magic Beautifier looked around and spotted a large toad
with bulging eyes, sitting in the grass. He pointed his finger at it
and pronounced:
"Quickly change your ugly features
And become a princess, creature!”
In an instant, the ugly toad became a lovely princess.
But the fair maiden only looked at her and turned away, shak-
ing her head dejectedly:
“No, I don’t like her at all!”
The Magic Beautifier saw himself that his creation was no
match for the fair maiden.
“Good-bye!” said the maiden and was gone.
As the sun rose, the Magic Beautifier saw that she had left
her wreath on the grass. He picked it up and placed it carefully
inside his shirt. Then he returned to where his brothers had
been waiting for him and told them about his failure.
“What sort of magicians are you?” the Magic Tailor laughed
92
derisively. “You useless lot. Now it’s my turn! Have you ever
seen a girl who didn’t care about a fancy dress?”
The Magic Tailor went to the strawberry glade and hid behind
the bramble bush. At midnight he heard wings flapping and saw
that the strawberry glade was bathed in soft, flame-coloured
light. A moment later a charming girl came into his view. Her
eyes were as blue as cornflowers. She sat down on the grass and
began to weave a cornflower wreath, smiling softly to herself.
The Magic Tailor gaped at her, craning his neck. He was
so impressed by the girl’s beauty he couldn’t move. At last he
pulled himself together and addressed the girl, his voice heavy
with emotion:
“Oh fair maiden! Don’t be afraid of me. Please let me catch
the Bliss Bird... I need her badly!”
The girl turned her head and asked:
“Who are you? Tell me who are you and what you can do.”
The Magic Tailor rose readily to his feet and explained who
he was and what his trouble was.
“Well, show me your skills then.”
The Magic Tailor pronounced solemnly:
“You must know
How to sew.
Mini or maxi,
It must be classy.
Fasten deftly piece to piece —
Here is your masterpiece.”
A second later, the Magic Tailor was holding two gowns in
his hands, an evening gown and a summer dress. The girl only
glanced at them and turned away.
“I don’t like them,” she sighed.
“Why?!” the Magic Tailor couldn’t believe his ears. “Have
a better look, they’re extremely fashionable!”
93
“Yes, but you didn’t seem to put your heart into it,” the girl
replied. “Good-bye!”
With this she vanished from sight.
When the day broke, the Magic Tailor saw that the fair maid-
en had left a cornflower wreath on the grass. He picked it up
and hid it inside his shirt. Then he returned to where his brothers
had been waiting for him and told them frankly about his pa-
thetic failure.
When he finished, the brothers turned to the Magic Traveler.
“Look, brother, you’re our last hope,” they said. “If you fail
too, it’ll be the end of us!”
So, the Magic Traveler went to the strawberry glade. As he
made his way through the woods, he came across a dark figure
wrapped up in a cloak.
“Hey, wait a minute,” the stranger called out. “Who are you
and where are you going?”
“I happen to be a magician,” the Magic Traveler boasted.
“I’m on business here. And who are you?”
“I happen to be a magician, too,” the stranger answered cold-
ly. “You may call me the Wandering Magician. I travel a good
deal myself. The world’s in such a mess, I try to be useful to
people and help them whenever I can. If you need my help, just
say so.”
“Oh,” thought the Magic Traveler, delighted. “Fate must
have sent him to me. I should make the most of this chance.”
And he told his new companion about his brothers and their
misfortune, their search for the Bliss Bird and the hopes the
brothers had laid upon him, the Magic Traveler.
“Why, aren’t you the lucky one!” the cloaked figure remarked
when the Magic Traveler finished. “I’ll help you and your poor
brothers to catch the Bliss Bird. I have a catching sack! Soon
you’ll be able to do whatever you want with the bird. You’d
94
better lead the way to the glade and I’ll follow. Hurry, let’s get
a move on, brother!”
Soon the Magic Traveler lead his new friend, the Wandering
Magician, to the strawberry glade and they hid behind the
bramble bush.
At midnight, they heard the sound of flapping wings and the
next moment the glade was bathed in soft, flame-coloured light.
Then a girl stepped into the pool of light. She was beautiful to
behold, as fine and delicate as a lily. She sat on the grass and
began to weave a wreath of lilies, smiling softly to herself.
The Magic Traveler stared at the beautiful girl, unable to
check his emotions. At last, he whispered:
“Fear me not, fair maiden! I’m after the Bliss Bird. I need her
badly. Let me catch her!”
The girl turned around and asked:
“Tell me who you are and what you can do.”
The Magic Traveler stepped forward and explained who he
was and what his trouble was.
“Well, show me your skills then.”
The Magic Traveler pronounced:
“Clapping first my hands with force
1 shall .call a hump back-horse.
Then a flying carpet lands
When again I clap my hands.
Next you’ll see the magic boots
Which can cover any routes.
And to learn what clapping’s worth
You may circle our earth
In an instant with delight.
Here’s a ship. It’s feather-light.
If I clap my hands: One! Two!
A spade pops up in front of you!
So now I shall begin to call:
One, two, three, four, fivel That’s all!'
95
The Magic Traveler clapped his hands and a pair of swift
humpback-horses appeared right in front of him. One of them
was gray, the other was black. The horses neighed and beat
the ground with their hooves.
Then the Magic Traveler clapped his hands the second time
and a fluffy flying carpet with a rich ornament and long tassels
was spread at his feet.
As the Magic Traveler clapped his hands the third time, a pair
of magic boots with thick rubber soles appeared from nowhere.
When he clapped his hands the fourth time, an elegant flying
ship with blue sails landed on the strawberry glade.
And when the Magic Traveler clapped his hands the fifth time,
the earth quivered under his feet and a magic spade that could
cut a tunnel through a big mountain in no time, appeared.
The Magic Traveler looked at all these objects and rubbed
his hands in satisfaction. Then he looked at the girl proudly.
But she only shrugged and shook her head:
“No, these things don’t impress me!”
“But why?” the Magic Traveler asked, flubbergasted.
“Because you didn’t seem to put your heart in it,” the girl
explained. “It’s too easy for you, your work doesn’t need any
love or dedication, effort or skill. It doesn’t move me at all.”
She had hardly finished speaking when the Wandering Ma-
gician leapt out of the shadows. He flung his catch sack open
and threw the Bliss Bird and the maiden into it as quick as a
flash! Instantly, the other six maidens appeared and tried to
rescue their sister, but the vicious stranger caught hold of them
and hurled them into his sack — one by one. Then he jumped
into the flying ship and zoomed into the air. Seconds later all
the other devices vanished without a trace.
The Magic Traveler stood rooted to the spot. Everything had
happened so quickly that he hadn’t had time to lift a finger!
96

Looking about, he saw the lily wreath the fair maiden had
lost in the struggle. The young magician stooped and picked it
up. He hid it inside his shirt and ran away.
He raced to where his brothers were waiting and without
stopping to catch his breath he blurted out his story, but he spoke
so fast and in such a confused way, that the brothers couldn’t
understand a thing. Finally, the Magic Traveler calmed down
and told them what had happened back in the woods. All the
brothers were enraged by the story. They decided to find that
Wandering Magician, or whoever the rogue was, and punish
him! But where had he gone? The brothers knew they had no
chance of finding him without special help, so they decided to
see old Merrythought again.
The old soothsayer heard them out and sighed ruefully:
“That’s too bad. The Bliss Bird and her maiden guards are
in trouble indeed. I know that rogue. He only posed as the Wan-
dering Magician. In fact, his name is Barrak the Brute and he’s
spent years tracking down the Bliss Bird... You shouldn’t have
shown him the way to the strawberry glade, of course. But it’s
too late to talk about that now.”
“I didn’t know! I thought he was a good old man! What are
we going to do?” the Magic Traveler cried out desperately.
“I think you must rescue the Bliss Bird and the poor sisters
yourselves, boys. That’s all I can say!” the old soothsayer said.
“Whatever you tell us!” exclaimed the Magic Traveler. “We’ll
go anywhere you tell us, even to the end of the world! Wait a
minute, I’ll make the flying carpet and...”
“No more miracle making for you, dear boy,” Merrythought
said, in a low voice. “Your magic power has gone. Barrak the
Brute took it away from you along with the flying ship.”
“Did he?... What shall we do then?” the Magic Traveler im-
plored, embarrassed.
98
“You’ll have to use your legs, I’m afraid.”
“But where to? Which way shall we go?”
“I’ll give you my flashlight. Here. It’ll show you the way. It’ll
flash when you are on the right track. So be on your way now.
Good luck!”
The seven brothers bade farewell to Merrythought, bowing
low to express their gratitude and set off.
...They walked in silence. Each of the brothers had his hand
pressed against his shirtfront where the floral wreath had been
placed. In their mind’s eye they could see fair maidens in front
of them. The young men’s hearts were bleeding for the maidens’
poor lot. The brothers wanted to find Barrak the Brute and to
set the Bliss Bird and the seven sisters free as soon as possible.
Now and then the brothers looked impatiently at the beam of
the flashlight and quickened their pace. They completely forgot
about food or rest, treking across fields and forests, climbing
mountains and crossing rivers...
At last, the brothers saw a formidable fortress looming ahead
of them. They approached it and stopped in front of the massive
iron gate; and at this moment their torch flashed one more time
and then went out.
They looked up and saw a sign above the gate reading:
BRUTELAND
LAUGHING PROHIBITED
There were two wry-mouthed dwarfs standing on guard at the
sides of the iron gate. There was also a bulky, grim-looking
watchman with a drooping nose and bristly moustache. He
stared sternly at the brothers from his sentry box painted with
black and white stripes.
Presently, the watchman signalled the lads to come near with
his crooked finger without as much as a word. As the lads drew
99
near, he silently produced a large test tube labelled Laughter
Test and made them sniff into it, one by one. The brothers’
noses itched but none of them even smiled. They were in no mood
to ask what he was doing, let alone to laugh.
“Let’em in!” the grim-visaged watchman growled to the wry-
mouthed dwarfs and the latter slowly, with visible effort,
opened the screeching gate.
Only then did the brothers realize that they had been admitted
into Bruteland because they couldn’t laugh or smile. Barrak the
Brute was waging a war against happiness and joy. That’s why
he had been out to catch the Bliss Bird, the symbol of happiness!
The young men entered the gate and found themselves in an
abandoned, dreary town. They slowly moved along the empty
streets past rows of shuttered windows.
Soon they reached the square and immediately saw a gloomy
castle with cannon muzzles sticking from the walls. Obviously,
it was the residence of Barrak the Brute.
The brothers came up to the castle and pounded on the front
gate. After several minutes, the gate opened slightly and they
saw Barrak the Brute himself poking his head out to see who was
making the noise. Oh, what a frightful creature he was! He had
bulging eyes, hooked nose and there was a crooked tooth sticking
out of his mouth. He was ugly as sin!
“Who are you! What do you want!” Barrak the Brute shouted.
“Have you come to fight me or to make peace with me?”
The brothers looked at each other, touched their wreaths in
the shirtfronts and said firmly:
“We have come to fight you, ugly spirit, and to set your
prisoners free!”
“Indeed? That’s interesting. Come on in!”
The brothers walked in and found themselves in a spacious
hall with walls covered with weapons of every shape and size.
100
Sitting on a sofa were two women. The older one was fat and
jgly with one bump on her nose, the younger one was still fatter
and uglier with two bumps on her nose.
"Meet my wife, Lady Brute,” Barrak the Brute said politely.
And this is my daughter, Miss Brute... Deary, these young
gentlemen have come to fight me and set my captives free, they
>ay.”
“Really? How — nice of them!” said Lady Brute scratching
the bump on her nose.
“Will you kindly begin then!” exclaimed Miss Brute.
The brothers looked at each other wondering what was going
on. Before any one of them had moved his finger, Barrak the
Brute blew the air through his hooked nose — whe-e-e-ezzz!
Knocked down by the blast, the lads rolled across the floor
and crashed against the opposite wall — s-s-smack!
“You asked for it, fellows,” Barrak the Brute said, getting
quite excited. “I’ll make you criples, you miserable weaklings!
Barging in on to fight me! What impudence!”
“Wait, Dad!” his daughter chimed in. “Don’t make them crip-
ples. Better give them to me to play with. I’m so bored!”
“As you wish, deary. I’ll deal with them later then.”
Miss Brute sprang to her feet, ran to the overpowered
brothers and squatted beside them:
“Now tell me who you are. If you can please and amuse me,
then, who knows, maybe I shall try to help you,” she said.
The brothers exchanged glances. Things began to look a little
brighter for them.
“We happen to be magic makers,” they said, clinging to the
hope that they might somehow deceive Miss Brute. They told
her in detail what they could do.
“How interesting!” exclaimed Miss Brute, clapping her hands
in excitement. “Wonderful, just wonderful!” Then she went on
101
in a business-like manner: “Now look, all of you. I want the
Magic Beautifier to turn me into a beauty. I want the Magic
Tailor to make me the best dress in the whole world. I want the
Magic Cook to make me ten hundred sorts of the sweetest ice-
cream. I want the Magic Gardener to grow me a rose bush with
a thousand roses on it, all different. I want the Magic Crafts-
man to entertain me with all the mechanical wonders there are
in the world.
“I want the Magic Traveler to make me shoes that will help
me to dance a waltz, or a tango, or .a step dance, and to jump
over the trees and houses while dancing. I want the Magic Build-
er to build me a palace that’ll reach up to the sky with musi-
cians playing merry tunes all day long. Now, set down to work,
everybody! Quick! I can’t wait! You’ll begin, Magic Beautifier.
Make me a beautiful princess!”
The Magic Beautifier slowly climbed to his feet, rubbing his
body and groaning. He waved his hand hesitatingly and pro-
nounced:
“Quickly change your ugly features
And become a princess, creature!”
Minute after minute passed, but nothing happened. The Mag-
ic Beautifier grew pale as he saw that Miss- Brute remained as
ugly as she’d been. He shrugged and repeated his incantation.
The result was the same. The Magic Beautifier went through
the procedure for the third time... Nothing changed.
Miss Brute went red with anger.
“What do you think you are doing!” she shouted at the em-
barrassed lad. “Waving your hands in front of my face and
calling me names. What sort of wizard are you?”
“Sorry, young lady,” the Magic Beautifier sighed. “Can’t
understand what’s wrong. I feel — weak all over... By the way,
it was your dad who stole...er... I mean took away my powers.”
102
“And what about you?” Miss Brute shouted at the Magic
Cook.
The lad struggled to his feet groaning. He waved his weak
hand and pronounced:
“Po tages- ho tages,
Dumplings with cottage cheese.
Ho tages-po tages,
Served in the cottages.
Let all on the table
Appear
If it’s able.”
But nothing happened. No dumplings, no ice-cream.
The Magic Cook braced himself and tried again. The result
was the same.
He waved his hand for the third time and once more pronounc-
ed the magic words. Nothing! The Magic Cook stopped short,
bewildered.
Seeing this, Miss Brute went wild with rage. Even the bumps
on her nose went blue with fury.
“You blithering idiots! Are you trying to make a fool of me?!”
“But Miss Brute,” the brothers protested, “you saw how that
brute... we mean your father, sent us crashing into the wall!
We can hardly breathe now, let alone perform miracles!”
“What rubbish!” roared Barrak the Brute. “Don’t waste your
time on these weaklings, my dear, a sneeze is enough to make
them disappear!”
“Daddy, don’t!” begged Miss Brute. “You’ve already spoiled
everything. I could’ve been beautiful and rich if it weren’t for
you!”
“Right!” Lady Brute broke in. “Leave thbm alone! I want
them to regain their powers and use their art for me. I want to be
beautiful, too!”
103
“Now listen, you boys,” Miss Brute said, “I’ll give you one last
chance. You can have one night’s rest, but if you don’t turn me
into a beauty tomorrow morning, that’ll be the end of you.”
Just as she finished speaking, the floor under the brothers’
feet split open and they plunged headlong into a damp dark
cellar.
...Their landing was safe, though, due to the heaps of wet
straw scattered on the cellar floor. Very soon they were numb
with cold. The poor lads huddled together to warm up.
The Magic Builder tried to turn their dark hole into more or
less comfortable room, but failed. Then the Magic Tailor tried
to make some warm clothes, but nothing came out of it. The rest
failed as well. They didn’t have one single bit of magic power
between them.
The brothers looked at each other hopelessly.
“This is the end of us,” they sighed and lay down on the wet
straw shivering even more violently from cold.
Then suddenly hopelessness changed to desperation when they
realized that, apart from not being able to save themselves,
they wouldn’t be able to rescue the seven sisters and the Bliss
Bird either! The lads silently touched the wreaths, hidden under
their shirts, and their hearts overflowed with sorrow...
“Oh!” the Magic Builder muttered, crestfallen. “I wouldn’t
mind giving my-life away to have a look at you, my fair
maiden...”
Suddenly they heard a ringing voice:
“Really, you don’t need to die to see me! I’m here.”
As soon as these words were said, the flashlight the lads had
completely forgotten about in the mess, came to life and lit up
the dark cellar. In its dim light, the brothers made out Belle
Beautia and her six sisters sitting close to one another in the
farthest corner.
104
The brothers leapt to their
feet.
“You... here...” they ex-
claimed and broke off, brimm-
ing with emotions. Each of
them felt a lump in his throat.
The lads just stood before the
fair maidens, staring at them
with burning eyes.
The Magic Builder was the
first to remember where they
were.
“Now I’m not afraid to
die,” he said.
Belle Beautia smiled.
“No, it’s life, and not death,
that we should think about.
We must get free from Barrak
the Brute and rescue our Bliss
Bird!”
“But how are we going to
do that?” the brothers sighed.
“We’ve lost all our magic po-
wers... We are helpless.”
The dark-haired girl smiled
again, and her smile seemed
to light up the whole cellar.
“Come now,” she went on,
“keep calm. With Barrak the
Brute around, no other magic
works. It is his own brutal
force that remains while your
105
abilities wane. No wonder you couldn’t do a thing in his pres-
ence. But neither he, nor his wife or daughter understand that
it is the human endeavour, and not the magic power, that will
do away with them. Intellect and industriousness, courage and
friendship are our weapons. United, we shall beat Barrak the
Brute and his henchmen!”
“We’re ready!” the brothers exclaimed. “Tell us what to do.”
“First, we must get out of here. Then, we must find our way
to the cellar where Barrak the Brute keeps his sackcloth from
which he makes catch sacks. If we get hold of those sacks, we’ll
deal with the Brute family, the watchman and the dwarfs.”
“Do you know how to get out of here, Belle Beautia?” the
brothers asked.
“Which of you is clever enough to match our Slick Smartia?”
And Belle Beautia pointed at one of her sisters who had eyes
like a pair of violets. She was the maiden the Magic Craftsman
had seen on the strawberry glade and it was her wreath he had
later hid under his shirt.
The brothers looked at the Magic Craftsman.
“He is the cleverest of us!” they said in chorus.
The Magic Craftsman blushed and lowered his eyes. The only
thing he remembered was his usual, “Tangent... sinus...”
“I can’t... I don’t know...” he confessed in whisper.
“Don’t be so hesitant,” Slick Smartia said with a smile.
“There’s nothing to stop you learning.“
She led the Magic Craftsman aside and whispered something
into his ear. The lad listened and nodded in agreement.
Presently, Slick Smartia announced:
“We’ve devised a digging device to cut through the walls.
You, sisters, give us your combs and you, boys, give us your
shoes. We shall use the combs to dig the earth and the shoes to
throw it away.”
106
The fair maidens gave Slick Smartia their combs while the
brothers gave the Magic Craftsman their shoes. The two put
their heads together and began to make their digging device.
The Magic Craftsman agreed to all the ideas Slick Smartia
suggested and soon they were so absorbed in their work they
saw and heard nothing but each other.
Suddenly, the brothers saw that a slight smile was starting to
appear on the Magic Craftsman’s face. It was the,first smile since
he had become a magic maker.
Soon, Slick Smartia and the Magic Craftsman had made
their digging device, and they set about digging the under-
ground passage. They thrust through the wall with the combs
and threw the earth away with the shoes. The lads and the
maidens worked in turns, one pair after the other.
They worked hard for a long time. At last, the underground
passage was ready. Wasting no time, the runaways crawled
through the passage and found themselves in the ajacent cellar.
They looked around and saw rolls of the sackcloth Belle Beautia
had mentioned. She checked one of the rolls and exclaimed:
“This is it! Now we must make sacks out of this stuff if we
want to catch the wicked brute. The sacks should be cut out and
sewn in a special way, of course. This job calls for expert
hands. Which one of you, lads, can work as well with his hands
as our Pearly Perfectia?”
And Belle Beautia pointed at one of her sisters who had the
cornflower blue eyes. She was the maiden the Magic Tailor had
met on the strawberry glade and it was her wreath he had later
hid inside his shirt.
The brothers looked at the Magic Tailor.
“He can do it best of all!” they said in chorus.
The Magic Tailor blushed and lowered his eyes.
“I can’t... I don’t know...” he confessed.
107
“Don’t be so hesitant,” Pearly Perfectia said with a smile.
“There’s nothing to stop you learning.”
She pulled out tailor’s scissors and began to cut out the fabric.
The Magic Tailor helped her as best he could, following the
girl’s instructions.
When the cutting out was done, they began to sew. The Mag-
ic Tailor had never sewn before in his life and he put in a great
deal of effort. He pricked his finger with a needle but that didn’t
stop him. Sweat stood out on the lad’s forehead.
Suddenly, the brothers saw that a faint smile was trying to
appear on their brother’s face. It was the first smile since he
had become a magic maker. It took Pearly Perfectia and the
Magic Tailor a long time to make four large-size catch sacks.
The rest of the runaways helped them, one pair after another.
“Well, now we must get to the surface somehow,” Belle
Beautia said. “Usually, Barrak the Brute uses his elevator over
there. But we don’t know how it works, it’s rather tricky. Which
one of you, lads, is as good at engineering as our Slim'Speedia?”
And Belle Beautia pointed at another of her sisters who was
as beautiful as a lily. She was the maiden the Magic Traveler had
met on the strawberry glade and it was her wreath he had later
hid inside his shirt.
The brothers looked at the Magic Traveler.
“He is an expert engineer!” they said in chorus.
The Magic Traveler blushed and lowered his eyes.
“You see I... don’t know this machine,” he confessed.
“Don’t be hesitant,” Slim Speedia said with a smile. “There’s
nothing to stop you learning.”
She came up to the elevator and began to examine it tho-
roughly. The Magic Traveler joined her and soon they were very
busy exchanging'remarks and trying various parts of the intri-
cate machine. They had never seen such mechanisms before; yet
108

both of them turned out to be smart enough to figure it out.
Slim Speedia pressed a button and — swish-h-h! the doors of the
elevator creeked open.
Suddenly, the brothers saw that a faint smile was trying to
appear on their brother’s face, the first one since he had become
a magic maker.
“Get in and let’s go,” said Slim Speedia and the Magic
Traveler.
The maidens and the lads filed inside. The doors purred shut
and the elevator went up.
When the runaways reached the ground floor of their enemy’s
castle, they found themselves in the vast hall they had been in
that evening, with weapons all around the walls.
It was early morning. The first sun rays poured in through the
windows. The Brute family were fast asleep on their four-poster-
beds and snoring so loudly the weapons on display clanked and
jungled with the vibrations.
The brothers unrolled their catch sacks and opened them.
Hop!
Hop! Hop!
Barrak the Brute, Lady Brute and Miss Brute didn’t even
have time to wake up and see what was going on.
And in the fourth catch sack went the wry-mouthed dwarfs
and the stupid watchman.
Then the lads quickly fastened the sacks, dumped them into
the elevator and sent it down — whoosh! The elevator descend-
ed to the deepest cellar. That was the end of the wicked wizard
and his family. They were going to remain in the dark depths for
ever. The Bruteland was no more!
Meanwhile, the victorious youngsters ran outside.
“Now we must free our Bliss Bird,” Belle Beautia reminded
them. “See that steep mountain over there? It’s so high its top
110
is above the clouds. The Bliss Bird is there, on the top. Barrak
the Brute had her bricked up in a gloomy cave so that she would
never again see daylight and bring happiness to people.”
“How are we going to climb it?” the brothers cried out as they
looked at the grey, steep slopes of the mountain.
“The only way to climb that mountain is to build steps,”
Belle Beautia said. “I think we can pull down this gloomy castle
and use stone for the steps. It is a hard work, so we’ll need all our
strength. But we are all exhausted and hungry. We’ve had
nothing to eat for a long, long time.
“There is a garden with strange-looking plants nearby. Which
one of you, boys, can tell the good fruit and vegetables from the
bad ones as well as our Prune Floria? And, which one of you can
cook as well as our Nice Nectaria?”
With this, Belle Beautia pointed at the maiden whose lips
were fresh and red as poppies, and then at the maiden with hazel
eyes and rosy cheeks. These were the girls the Magic Gardener
and, later, the Magic Cook had met in the strawberry glade.
Now they blushed and lowered their eyes, ashamed. But Prune
Floria and Nice Nectaria had soon shared all their knowledge of
gardening and cooking with them and soon the young magicians
were smiling and working confidently.
The Magic Gardener helped Prune Floria to gather fruit and
vegetables, then the Magic Cook helped Nice Nectaria to pre-
pare the long-awaited lunch. The maidens and the lads were
so hungry and the meals looked so appetizing that everyone
rushed to the table. But Belle Beautia stopped them:
“Wait a minute,” she said in an authoritative voice. “Just
look at yourselves! Maybe you don’t mind eating in the company
of dirty creatures, but I do.”
The lads and the maidens looked at each other and laughed.
What a mess they were! So shabby and dirty!
111
“Which one of you, lads, can make people look as neat and
attractive as our Sweet Charmia?” Belle Beautia asked.
And she pointed at the maiden with the golden hair. She was
the one the Magic Beautifier had met on the strawberry glade
and it was her wreath he had picked up there. But now he
blushed and lowered his eyes, ashamed. Sweet Charmia was a
good teacher, though, and the Magic Beautifier proved to be a
quick learner. Before long, the lad and the maidens, spick and
span, sat down to their wonderful meal.
After they had finished, Belle Beautia said cheerfully:
“Now let’s get down to work, we haven’t got any time to lose.
Which one of you, lads, is good at building?”
Now it was the time for the Magic Builder to blush. He looked
down to hide the shame in his eyes. He was challenged by Belle
Beautia herself!
But the Magic Builder hated to tell the truth, he muttered:
“I can’t... I don’t know how...”
The answer came at once:
“Don’t be so hesitant. There is nothing to stop you learning.”
Of course it was true! You’re not much good to anyone if
you can’t do anything with your hands...
The company eagerly got down to work. They pulled down the
gloomy castle stone by stone and began to build their long stair-
way... It was an exhausting job. The stones were so heavy and
the mountain was so high and steep! But, as they soon noticed,
the higher they climbed, the happier they felt. Both the maidens
and the lads were so happy they forgot how tired they were.
They even struck up a song on the way:
“It’s very warm,
We’re no longer sad.
He who works
Is always glad!
Flowers bloom,
We sing a song.
He who works
Is always strong!
112

This merry tune helped our heroes to finish their backbreaking
work. As they reached the top of the mountain, they entered
the dark cave and set free the Bliss Bird, the symbol of joy and
happiness. She soared into the sky and trilled her heavenly song.
When they heard it, they felt a wave of joy wash over them.
They looked around and saw from the mountain top that the
world was beautiful indeed! It was sunlit and joyful, ringing
with the singing of birds and covered with flowers of all imagi-
nable colours. The lads shuddered as they remembered their
dark and damp dungeon and how they had been preparing to
die there.
Casting dismal thoughts away, the Magic Builder grinned
broadly and exclaimed:
“What if we build a city down there, at the foot of the moun-
tain, and name it, say, Joy City?”
“Exactly!” Belle Beautia said.
“Absolutely!” said the rest of the company, enthusiastically.
They ran down the mountain and happily got down to work.
Soon, their city was ready. They made it a most beautiful
place. Just when the seven brothers and the seven maidens were
settling down in Joy City, the Imagaphone rang. The brothers
took up the receiver and heard distant voices calling:
“Hallo, dear boys! How are you? We know what you have
been through, we have watched you on our Imagavision, keeping
our fingers crossed. We are so glad for you! Now you know
what’s what and what really matters in this life. We are very
relieved. Good-bye and take care!”
“Hold on!” the brothers cried into the mouthpiece. “We’d
like to visit you. We’ll take you to Joy City to live withus.”
The brothers took a jet and flew to Serene Mountain, in high
spirits. They hugged and kissed Grandpa Wisehead and Grand-
ma Concordia and immediately returned with them to Joy City.
114
There they had a celebration to remember! It was a welcome
home, housewarming and wedding party all rolled into one.
Seven pairs of brides and grooms came to the Palace of Hap-
piness.
The Magic Builder married Belle Beautia.
The Magic Gardener married Prune Floria.
The Magic Cook married Nice Nectaria.
The Magic Beautifier married Sweet Charmia.
The Magic Tailor married Pearly Perfectia.
The Magic Craftsman married Slick Smartia.
And, the Magic Traveler married Slim Speedia.
The brothers continued to call each other by these names out
of habit. But as a matter of fact, they were no longer magicians.
Now they were skilled craftsmen, each one a master of his trade.
Their wedding party over, the seven brothers worked hard
for all people. They built houses and lay out gardens, prepared
tasty meals and made machines which could do the hardest
work. They dressed people in fine clothes and helped them to
be fit and neat, and they also made it possible for the people to
travel fast and safe anywhere, anytime.
The seven brothers were really happy to work this way. They
always heard the Bliss Bird trill her merry tune for them.
And I hope, my dear young readers, you won’t forget that
The Bliss Bird is laughing, her laughter is ringing,
For all who are working the Bliss Bird is singing!
The key to joy is surely endeavour
Try to remember this motto forever.

(Seven Selected Stories
by Yuri Yarmish
Merrymind and Wickedwink
Once upon a time there was a glorious city. The people there
were simple, kind-hearted and hospitable.
They were protected by Merrymind, a famous magician. But
don’t get the wrong idea. He didn’t stand by the main gates every
day warding off aliens and other unwanted visitors. No. Mer-
rymind never stood by the gates. In fact there were no gates
and no walls around the city. Anyone could freely enter the
city and enjoy the sincere hospitality of its residents.
In fact, Merrymind’s protected the citizens from jealousy and
meanness simply by means of merry laughter. This was his most
powerful weapon.
That’s how it was...
The residents of the city were all avid readers and each day
they bought themselves piles of books to read. They particularly
liked fairy tales, songbooks and adventure stories. There was
one famous occasion when a middle-aged man with a thick mo-
ustache stopped reading books and started buying himself new
shoes instead. “Now, no one has more shoes than I do!” he boasted.
The moustached man had already bought twelve pairs of shoes
and was buying the thirteenth pair when Merrymind happened
to pass by. He understood what was going on immediately and
117
decided it was high time he used his powers. The moment the
man laced up his new shoes and took a step he — leapt into the
air. He seemed to have no control over his legs at all.
The poor fellow waited a bit unable to understand what was
going on. Then he went out into the street believing the trouble
was over. But no! He leapt up again, he simply couldn’t walk
without leaping every few steps.
Merrymind and the people who watched this shoe-happy
jumper laughed and laughed till they nearly split their sides.
The moustached man had no alternative but to take all his extra
shoes back to the store; but as soon as he had, he found he could
walk normally again.
On another occasion, a young fisherman started to envy one
of the older fishermen because he always caught a lot of fish.
When darkness fell, he stole all the fish from the old man’s keep-
net. In the morning, people could see the cheeky devil walking
back from the river along the widest street and bragging:
“Hey, good people, see how lucky I am! Nice catch, isn’t it?
So far our famous fisherman has caught nothing!”
Merrymind took one look at the young braggart and his catch
and roared with laughter. The people around also laughed at
the chap:
“You must have been to the bog instead of the river, you
wretch. Look, your sack is full of toads!”
That’s the way Merrymind kept everyone on the straight and
narrow.
Meanwhile, evil came to the city with the appearance of
Wickedwink, a lean, tall and surly man who used to advertise
himself saying:
“Ugh! I am an angry man! And I’m clever with it.”
...The spring had just set in. Eager to do away with the winter
as quickly as possible, Merry mind broke off the last icicle that
hung down from the eave of his house and swallowed it. That
same day he went down with a sore throat. Merrymind wasn’t
able to smile, let alone laugh. A doctor, who had come to exam-
ine him, ordered the magician to stay in bed.
It was time for the city dwellers to celebrate the return of the
birds from the warm countries. Each year, they gave their wood-
en bird houses a fresh coat of paint in a different colour and
perched them on trees. This spring, the people decided to paint
the bird houses brilliant green and sky blue.
So they did and the newly-painted bird houses looked very
nice, indeed. But when the people woke up next morning, they
were shocked with what they saw! Some evil man had done
something really nasty while all the good people were sleeping,
for every bird house was now smeared with dabs of grey! They
would never have guessed that Wickedwink had done this just to
satisfy his evil instincts.
The citizens repainted all the bird houses bright green and
blue because they couldn’t bear anything grey or dull. That
was the first smileless day in the history of their city.
The next day an even worser thing happened. When members
of the City Council gathered in the City Hall they found out
that .their chairman was missing. He didn’t turn up for a very
long time. And when he did arrive he said he had slept till noon
and in his dreams he had seen the rest of the City Council having
120

incredible adventures. Again, no one knew it was Wickedwink
who had cast a spell on the chairman’s wristwatch making its
hands move ever so slowly!
The third day was no brighter. This time a poor young chim-
ney sweep, who had never been seen with a miserable expression
on his face, almost cried when Wickedwink put a handful of
salt into his soup...
The whole city was thrown into a fit of depression. People
didn’t read fairy tales or adventure stories any more. Even the
sun hid behind grey clouds...
Meanwhile, Merrymind recovered. The doctor had given him
some lemons brought as a present by an Oriental merchant, and
the very next day Merrymind was quite himself again. He went
into the street and the first person he met was Wickedwink.
“Hey, where has your magic power gone, man?” the wicked
wizard asked spitefully. “At last I’ve got the better of you!”
“Have you?” Merrymind replied calmly. “I’m afraid you’re
wrong there. You don’t know me yet.”
With that, Merrymind turned and walked away. When he
reached the city square he found all the city dwellers gathered
together. They were standing in a circle and singing a heart-
rending song about misfortunes that never come singly... Tears
rolled down their cheeks and dropped on to the ground so that
soon there were veritable streams of human tears winding their
way over the cobblestones.
Merrymind listened to their sad singing for some time, then he
said:
“Can’t you sing something joyful! Look around, the spring
has Come!”
“Maybe we can...” answered one of the crowd with a deep
sigh.
“And maybe we can’t...” said another and also heaved a sigh. •
/22
Then Merrymind began singing a merry spring song. But the
crowd remained silent...
Suddenly, the young chimney sweep, black with soot, joined
in timidly. Then a boy who had been well known for his constant
laughter, started to sing as well.
Then someone in the crowd smiled. And his smile encouraged
his neighbour to smile too and they both joined in the singing.
And then the rest... Soon everyone in the square was carried
away with Merrymind’s tune, stamping their feet, clapping their
hands and harmonizing with pipes...
Even the sun peered out from behind the clouds, surprised
that the people who had so recently been so gloomy and dis-
tressed were suddenly so joyful.
Merrymind left the people in the square and went to see Wick-
edwink. He stopped in front of his house and raised his voice:
“Hey, you, you wicked old man! Don’t you know that where
there is a song there is joy? Come out and see for yourself!”
But there was no response; and that wasn’t very surprising,
because Wickedwink had already fled the city of the merry
people...
Two Rivals
Once there was a town that had no name. And those who want-
ed to send letters there just wrote on the envelope, “TO THE
NAMELESS TOWN.”
Craftsmen who lived in this nameless town were known in
kingdoms near and far for their skills. People flocked there
from all over the world to see and admire the things those crafts-
men made. Really, each one was a master of his trade!
/23
The only sad thing about them was that each craftsman
worked by himself. Only two of them were friends, though even
they worked in separate workshops. Their names were Larr and
Kross. Larr was a cheerful man. The mechanisms he invented
were most intricate. And only Kross, himself a famous master,
could bring his friend Larr’s ideas to life.
Every autumn, a traditional fair was held for the townfolks
to show their works. They brought to the fair a lot of interesting
things: clocks of all shapes and sizes, secret locks, musical in-
struments, you name it. At the end of the fair the Town Council-
lors decided which was the best exhibit.
Once in early summer, the Town Herald climbed the plat-
form and addressed the citizens, his loud voice reaching every-
one’s ears:
“The Glorious Town Councillors announce that it is high
time we gave a name to our town! It will be named after the
craftsman who can make a clock-work doll that can talk. This
autumn, all our masters will show their works in this square!”
Larr and Kross were among those who listened to the herald.
Larr’s mind immediately went into action, pondering his fu-
ture mechanical wonder, he didn’t notice the gleeful expression
on the face of his friend Kross. “At last, my time has come!”
Kross muttered under his breath.
He had been jealous of Larr for a long time. He was tired of
sharing his popularity with Larr and wanted to be the sole win-
ner. Now Kross had a good chance of becoming famous all by
himself!
Kross was sure he would win the contest, and then his name,
the name of the creator of a talking doll, would live through the
ages in the name of their town!
On the following day, Kross sent his apprentice to tell Mr Larr
that from now on Mr Kross would work alone. Stunned by the
/24

news, Larr at once rushed to Kross to ask him to explain his
strange behaviour. But Kross wouldn’t as much as let Larr in.
The former friends, now rivals, got down to work, each one on
his own. Kross shut himself in his shop so that no one could see
what he was doing. He racked his brains for one day, two, three,
five, ten, thirty days, and then three times thirty... However,
no bright ideas came to him.
Finally, Kross and his apprentices did manage to make a me-
chanical doll that could open her eyes and produce a high-
pitched squeak, “Mummy!” But that was all she could say.
Larr found himself in difficulties, too. He had grown accustom-
ed to working with Kross. But now... It had never taken long
to think of some new and marvellous design, but he needed Kross
to bring his idea to life. He just couldn’t manage on his own!
Larr spent all his time turning and shaping various details
which he then tried to put together but with no success.
The time for the exhibition of the dolls was drawing near...
One day Larr was sitting at a table in his shop, utterly depress-
ed. Suddenly, he heard young ringing voices outside. The door
was pushed open and in came two strong lads. Larr looked up
in surprise at the unexpected visitors who stood framed in the
entrance. The next moment he rushed towards them with out-
stretched arms and a happy cry of welcome. They were his sons
whom he had sent off to study in another city three years ago.
When Larr had shown his sons what he had done, the oldest
son said:
“We can help you, Father! We have learned a good deal.
Now we know a thing or two. Don’t worry, we’re ready to do
what we can.”
So work was started anew. Larr could see that his sons hadn’t
wasted time away from home. They did everything he wanted
and they did it quickly and expertly.
126
At last, the Wonder Doll was ready!
Larr and his sons were very tired. They needed a good rest.
So, they locked the door and went to see a show staged by some
wandering acrobats. When they came back late into the night,
they discovered that something was missing... Their mechanical
wonder was gone!
The sons searched the room and the attic while Larr himself
examined the windows as he thought a thief might have pene-
trated into his house through a window. But they found no
trace of a thief.
Larr and his sons were in despair. They had spent the whole
summer making their doll. To make a new one overnight was
out of the question.
Next morning, they dragged themselves, heavy hearted,
along to the square. People had been pouring into the city centre
in hundreds since dawn. The crowd was impatiently waiting for
the contest to begin.
The Town Councillors were provided with the detailed de-
scriptions of various dolls that craftsmen had sent them long be-
fore. Presently, the contestants were called out one by one onto
the platform. They mounted the platform and demonstrated
their creations before the public which had gathered in the
city square.
All the dolls looked very nice in their bright dresses, colour-
ful shoes and stockings. Only they couldn’t really talk. Some of
the dolls could say “Mamma,” others could also say “Daddy.”
One doll managed to say “Milk.” But none of them could speak!
All these clock-work beauties actually did was parrot-like repe-
at of a couple of words their creators had fed into them, just
like parrots.
At last, the Town Herald stepped out and announced in his
booming voice:
127
“Attention, respected citizens! Now comes Master Larr with
his doll!”
His words were met with stormy applause, shouts and whis-
tles. The people jostled to get closer to the platform. Master
Larr and his works were very popular, indeed.
Larr climbed onto the platform surprisingly slowly, his head
hung low. His hands were empty... Larr said sadly:
“My dear friends, I... I made a rather unusual doll, true. But
I can’t show it to you because...”
His voice trailed off. Silently, Larr descended the platform
and the surprised crowd parted to let him through.
“Attention, good people!” the Town Herald called out again.
“Now Master Kross is going to Show us his doll!”
Kross jumped easily onto the platform, holding a strikingly
beautiful doll in his hand. The doll opened her eyes and said:
“Hello everybody! At last I can tell you how I was born.”
The crowd responded to her words with great excitement. People
tossed up their hats and shouted:
“Hail the great Master Kross and his wonderful Doll!”
“Let’s name our town after him!”
“Krosstown! Krosstown!”
But the doll wanted to say something more. She seemed an-
noyed, but she waited for the commotion to subside and when
the crowd finally grew quiet she repeated:
“At last I can tell you how I was born!”
The doll paused and, raising her voice to a high-pitched tone,
pronounced:
“I was invented by Master Larr and made by his sons!”
Dead silence fell all over the place. People gazed at the doll
with open-mouthed wonder. Kross, the impostor, tried to run
from the platform but was caught and brought back.
Meanwhile, the doll went on:
128
“Last night Master Larr and his sons went to see the wander-
ing acrobats. I was left on his working desk... Suddenly, I
heard a cracking sound. One of the boards of the floor went up
and — I saw a shaggy head sticking out. It was Mr Kross! He
grabbed me and carried me away through an underground pas-
sage. He took me to his place and threatened to break me into
pieces if I didn’t keep my mouth shut. Mr Kross told me he had
been digging the underground passage for the past six months,
after he had realized he would never be able to make a doll of
his own...”
The doll broke off.
Then the people demanded that Kross should leave their town
for good.
When Kross had gone, all those present in the square con-
gratulated Larr on his great creation.
“You’re the best of craftsmen!” the people shouted. “You’re
Number One! Let us name our town after Master Larr!”
“Hush, hush,” others said. “Master Larr wants to say some-
thing.”
And again Larr stepped onto the platform.
“I’m very pleased to hear all your kind words,” he said. “Still,
I must admit that I wouldn’t have been able to make my doll if
I had worked alone. My sons helped me a lot. What I mean to
say, good people, is that united we stand, divided we fall! And
I don’t want our town to bear my name!...”
...As the day came to an end, the town’s people had a celebra-
tion the likes of which they had never had before. The night sky
was aglow now with the bonfires and fire works. The people danc-
ed and really enjoyed themselves. Everybody praised Master
Larr, his sons and their beautiful speaking doll, and the new
name they had found for their town. Yes, their town did receive
a name!
It was carved in bold letters right above the main gate in the
town wall:
THE TOWN OF FRIENDLY CRAFTSMEN
130
To Igor Motiashov
There was a certain village in a valley where lived Merry-
mage, the local magician. He was very kind-hearted and good-
humoured, always cheerful and bright. Merrymage was also well
known for his hobby. He grew trees. But these weren’t just or-
dinary trees. Instead of fruit, they produced all sorts of miracu-
lous things.
Miles and miles away, high up in the mountains in a large cave
there lived a Dragon. He was a malicious, repulsive and cunning
creature and he never harmed fools or simpletons, instead he
treated them very well. “How clever this Dragon is!” the fools
usually said after they escaped the deadly encounter unscathed.
“And how beautiful, too. He takes good care of his teeth and
claws and always keeps them sharp. And doesn’t he smile nicely
when he crawls out for a stroll! He shook hands with us all. Im-
agine that! He’s more like a peaceful sparrow than a dangerous
monster.”
No one knew, or even guessed, that the Dragon went mad with
jealousy whenever he heard about Merrymage and his powers.
He finally decided to outdo Merrymage by inventing something
completely new and amazing...
One day Merrymage planted a tree that soon produced a
wealth of tasty things. There were fatbacks, sausages, smoked
fish, bread and buns, pastries, pies with all kinds of fillings,
fresh bottled milk, butter and farm cheese, you name it the tree
grew it! Forks, spoons, dishes and plates of every shape dangled
from the tree in clusters. There were even brightly painted toy
cups for children!
131
The Dragon turned green with envy when he heard about that
wonderful tree. He didn’t waste time being polite to the fools
anymore. Instead, he crawled into his dark cave and stayed
there, sprawled out, for many many days. Finally, the Dragon
decided what he should do to get the better of Merrymage. He
grew himself another head with huge jaws to match his first one.
“Ha-ha-ha!” the Dragon guffawed. “Come on, Merrymage,
make yourself more sausages and fatbacks. I’ll be out and
through with all your goodies before you can say knife!”’
In the meantime, Merrymage was hard at work as usual. He
layed out a grove of trees that sprinkled water. The water was
cool on hot days and warm when the weather was nasty. Chil-
dren enjoyed playing in the water-grove so much that they were
reluctant to go back home in the evening.
Seeing this, the Dragon grew himself yet another head which
threw flames at anything that got in his way. “Now then,” the
Dragon roared, “if I hear anybody praising Merrymage’s tricks,
fool or no fool, I shall burn him or her to ashes!”
Merrymage didn’t know what deadly encounters the Dragon
had in store for him. He continued to use his power to make
people happy. Now he grew a tall tree with long branches. Soon
the tree was in full bud and it had very strange folliage. In fact,
its leaves were like ears which could hear news from all over the
world and the tree shared the news with the local people. Little
by little, the villagers developed the habit of coming to this tree
to learn about life in far-off lands, the wars and peace agree-
ments, or the weather forecast.
That was too much for the Dragon! Beside himself with rage
and envy, he grew himself a fourth head, now with a poisonous
tongue.
The heads liked to argue with one another about which was
the most spiteful and nasty.
132
“I am s-s-spiteful!” hissed the first Dragon’s head.
“But I am very s-s-s-spiteful!” snapped back the second.
“No, I am the most s-s-s-spiteful!” argued the third head.
As his heads kept arguing, the Dragon used his fourth one to
laugh at Merry mage:
“Ha-ha-ha! Work with your wonders, fellow, make more trees
and all that stuff! I shall come and take it all anyway! You may
be twice as good and merry, still you’ve got only one head! Once
I’ve helped you to lose it, you won’t get another!... See how
many heads I have! And I can grow still more! Ha-ha-ha!”
One day the Dragon crawled out of his dark cave. He hol-
lowed his front paws roundhis eyes to make his sight sharper and
saw the time had come to relieve his rival Merrymage of his
magic wealth.
“Enough of this!” bellowed the Dragon. “This fellar’s head is
going to roll! It’s about time I got all his r-riches!”
That’s how the Dragon was roaring. His smile which had tricked
so many fools, was gone now. Instead, there was an expression
of cruelty and greediness on all the beast’s faces.
“I should get going!” the Dragon said to himself. “A good
walk before lunch makes for a good appetite!” With this he
started downhill for the valley. But the villagers spotted the
advancing Dragon and knew at once why he had left his cave
and who he was after.
“We shall defend our Merrymage,” they decided. “He has
worked so hard for us, growing his magic plants. The Dragon is
just a jealous beast! We must stop him! We must save Merry-
mage and his trees.”
Meanwhile, the Dragon crawled closer and closer until he
reached the water-grove, the first obstacle in his way. The fact
was, the Dragon couldn’t stand water and only pretended he
liked being clean when he licked his paws. The water-sprinkling
trees were of no use to him and the beast tried to burn them
down. Only he didn’t know there was a dam around the grove
that the villagers had built to help them water their fields. The
moment the Dragon blew out a huge tongue of blue flame the
people broke their dike open and the water flooded out. Within
seconds the wicked creature was wet from head to tail, his flames
extinguished.
The Dragon’s eyes blazed with fury...
“Just you wait!” growled the beast, snorting. “I’ll poison
all of you! I shall poison your food, and make you regret the
134

day you were born! You will remember me, you wil-1-1!” And
with these words the Dragon plunged into the new attack, his
poisonous tongue lashing out and sending drips of venom
around.
But the smart villagers didn’t lose courage. Wasting no time,
they managed to catch the Dragon’s tongue and they pinned it
to the ground with large wooden forks. Then they collected a
bucketful of his venom! Later, they brought it to the local chemist
making him wild with joy. For him, it was a godsend because
he could use the venom to cure rheumatism, bursitis and other
diseases, including bad temper.
It was terrible humiliation! The Dragon became so angered he
struck his tail against the ground with such force that the earth
shook. He opened his jaws wide and rushed at the magic tree
with fatbacks, sausages, pancakes and other tasty things dangl-
ing from its branches. Blinded with fury, the Dragon rolled
into briars that the villagers had planted around the magic tree
and gobbled them down in no time. Only, he failed to notice the
thorns on these shrubs... It was his stomach that told him what
he had eaten.
“Oh the pain! Oh my poor belly!” wailed the beast, writhing
in agony. “These awful thorns... Only my granny’s dropsy cure
will help me... Oh my, I left it in the cave... It’s miles away!”
That’s how the Dragon wailed as he dragged himself back to
the distant mountains.
Later, the Dragon realized that it was not going to be so easy
to defeat Merrymage as long as the villagers supported him. So
the Dragon bottled up his rage. He got rid of the extra heads
leaving himself the most cunning one. He decorated his cave
with precious stones"which he had unearthed in the mountains.
Once a grim hiding place, the Dragon’s cave soon became a
private museum!
136
The cunning creature went as far as placing his extra heads
amidst his most attractive exhibits. Again he started receiving
guests, as was his old tradition, and not all of those coming
to see the Dragon’s Display were necessarily fools or madmen.
The host was out for sympathy, eagerly shaking hands with the
visitors and bawling out:
“Come to see the Dragon’s Display! Meet the Amiable Dragon
in person! Have a look at all these heads I used to have. Pretty,
aren’t they? You can touch them, you can buy them as souvenirs.
Don’t worry, my heads will do you no harm. There, look at my
tail. Give it a good twist, I don’t mind in the least! I’m very
soft at heart!”
The Dragon bent over backwards to worm his way into the
people’s affection. He was waiting until he would be able to
catch them unawares and to destroy the wondrous trees Merry-
mage had raised. Meanwhile, the treacherous Dragon was going
to grow himself more heads with venomous tongues, cutting
jaws and singeing flames for his evil purposes...
The Pure Heart
Once in a certain kingdom there lived a princess. As a child
she was extremely beautiful. The years flew by and the princess
turned into a most charming maiden. Then the king ordered his
courtiers to announce all over the kingdom that the time had
come for his daughter to marry.
Merchants, knights, magicians flocked to the magnificent
royal palace from all parts of the land. Amidst them was a young
poet.
He was a perfectly ordinary young man, not particularly
handsome, or particularly plain, not very tall, but not very
short. Neither strong nor weak. In short, there was nothing
special about him except that he talked and dressed very simply
compared to all the other. His manners were somewhat differ-
ent, though, from those of the richly-dressed men who gathered
in the palace’s grand hall, each one eager to become the prin-
cess’ bridegroom. The princess noticed the young poet. Perhaps
it was his modesty that drew the princess attention. Or, maybe
it was because she saw at once that he was in love with her.
138
“Who are you?” asked the princess.
“I am a poet,” the young man said timidly. He stepped for-
ward, his heart pounding, and began to recite an ode he had
written especially for her. For he felt it was the right moment to
do it...
But the princess interrupted him. She had heard so many
poems composed in her honour by the best poets of the country
that she had grown used to it. She smiled one of her charming
smiles and said:
“Can you present me a crown with diamonds?”
Her request stunned the poet. His words of love froze on his
lips.
“I am a poor man, Your Highness,” the poet said at last. “My
poems are my only wealth. But people say that some of them
are worth more than diamonds...”
Perhaps the young man should not have said that to a princess.
At once, a son of a merchant known to be the richest in the
country, chimed in:
“Oh, Your Highness, give me some time and I swear I shall
decorate your lovely head with a crown adorned with the best
diamonds there are in the world!”
“There is another thing missing,” the princess went on to say,
“a kingdom. Which of you is ready to win one for me? Which
of you wants to become powerful and grand?”
The merchant’s son stepped back, embarrassed.
“But the power of poetry is stronger than that of a king,”
objected the poet. “A king rules by force often against the will
of the people while a poet uses his talent to free people’s spirit!”
But the princess only laughed sweetly at the poet’s words.
Another contestant stepped forward from the crowd. He
was a powerful duke, dressed from head to foot in shining
armor.
139
“I shall conquer a kingdom for you, Your Highness!” he said
in a harsh voice. “Just give me a year.”
“And finally,” concluded the beautiful nxaiden, “I shall only
marry a man with extraordinary powers. Which of you can turn
my pussy cat into a lion?”
“Show me the most savage man and I shall turn him into
the kindest one,” said the young poet.
But the princess shook her head doubtfully.
Then a budding magician stepped forward and declared:
“In a year, this pussy cat will be a lion! You will see how my
artistry works!”
Discouraged by the princess’ demands, the rest of the con-
testants went away.
The young merchant rushed off to pile up his diamonds; the
duke shut his visor and went to fight for a kingdom; the young
magician went to perfect his tricks; and the young poet went
to write his poems.
...The months slipped by and soon a year had passed. The
young poet wrote a perfect serenade and dedicated it to the
beautiful princess, of course. This serenade won the hearts of
all the young lovers in no time and became their favourite love
song.
When the princess heard it, she was moved by the passionate
lyrics. No one had ever expressed his feelings to her in such a sin-
cere and tender way...
In a year, the merchant, the duke and the magician came back
to appear before the princess again, each of them having fulfill-
ed his promise. But the fair maiden decided to marry the duke
who laid at her feet the kingdom he had conquered. Soon after
their royal wedding, the old king passed away leaving the young
princess, now queen, in full charge of the country. The blossom-
ing beauty of the young queen was compared with a magnifi-
cent rose, beautiful and out of reach of ordinary people.
But the country’s wise men said that their queen’s beauty
and her grand ways and expensive tastes were costing her people
too much. The poor became still poorer. More and more money
was spent on the queen’s new dresses, on court-balls, on the
never-ending wars the duke waged against neighbouring king-
doms while the royal henchmen kept an iron grip on the common
people making them work day and night...
But what about the young poet? He was becoming increas-
ingly popular. Through his songs he won the hearts of the en-
tire nation, something his old-time rivals, the merchant, the
duke or the magician, never achieved. When the poet raised his
voice against injustice, his poems thundered like a thousand
brass-bands and his sarcasm and bitter irony cut as deep as sharp
swords...
In the meantime, the queen grew more and more annoyed
with her husband. All brawn and no brain, the duke was terribly
/42

morose and boring. So, the queen impatiently waited for the
poet’s new songs to come. But for some unknown reason, he no
longer praised her heavenly beauty in his poems. Instead, all his
new songs and ballads were dedicated to the poor people and
their problems.
The queen didn’t know what to think and decided to visit
the poet. One evening, she disguised herself as a servant girl and
went to the poet pretending that she was looking for a job.
The poet recognized the queen immediately but he didn’t
let on. “Glad to see you, young lady,” he said amiably. “I must
admit I am very busy writing poems and I do need someone to
help me about the house. What can you do?”
The queen wanted to say, “Order people about!” But that
would have meant giving herself away. So with a confused
smile, she stammered:
“I — d-don’t know...”
The poet looked at her gravely:
“Then permit me to ask you if you have a good heart?”
“But of course!...” smiled the queen.
“What would you like to have for the state emblem, an ear of
wheat or a sword?”
“A sword, of course.”
“Why a sword?” the poet asked in surprise.
“With an ear of wheat you’ll have only wheat, but with a
sword you’ll have the world.”
The poet looked closely at the queen and said:
“You don’t seem to think before you speak. Still, let me ask
you one more question: Which would you like best, a grain of
sand that turns into a pearl later to be set into a wicked king’s
crown, or a grain of sand that gets into the same king’s eye as
he watches an innocent man tortured?”
“Why, the one that turned into a pearl, of course!”
/44
The poet went on, his brows knit together:
“And the last question: What can the sun’s beauty be com-
pared with?”
“With that of the queen!”
“Sorry, young lady,” said the poet, looking sternly at the
disguised queen, “but I think it’s the beauty of youth!”
The queen lowered her eyes and sighed:
“It’s true, I am not as young as I was!”
The poet looked straight into her eyes:
“You still don’t understand me... It’s not that I don’t see the
charming beauty of a lady who wants to become my housemaid.
It’s just that I don’t like the queen... She lets her lackeys oppress
the poor... I’m in no hurry to praise the queen. I’ll praise her only
when she makes life easier for her people!”
The queen said nothing in response. She just turned her back
to the poet and left... And that very night the armed quards
broke into the poet’s house and arrested him and took to the
royal palace. There the poet saw the queen who sat on her throne
wearing gold and diamonds. When their eyes met, the queen said
in a strict voice:
“From now on I want you to forget your dirty beggars. You
must praise my own beauty instead!”
The poet held up his head and smiled:
“No, Your Majesty. I could no more do that than live and
die at the same time!”
Angry with his words, the queen had the poet chained up
and put into the dungeon. But his songs became even more
popular.
Finally, the poor took up arms. They stormed the dungeon and
set all the prisoners free. Then they found the poet and said to
him:
“Join us, for we shall now storm the queen’s palace!”
145
The rebels pressed on, brandishing their sharp swords. It was
their decisive battle with the queen’s guards, with grief and mis-
ery. The poet found himself in the front rows of the attackers
who chanted his most defiant songs.
The insurgents forced their way into the royal palace...
What happened next is yet another story.
The Bright Dawn
and the Dreary Darkness
Once the Dreary Darkness became so annoyed with the Radi-
ant Sun, her eternal rival, that she decided to black her out
altogether. The Radiant Sun had sent its beams into virtually
every corner of the earth while the Dreary Darkness had to
make do with the few obscure recesses left. But even here the
shadows were very thin and they did not protect her from the
light. There, in her holes, the Dreary Darkness stored up her
plans for revenge. Finally, an idea took shape...
First, the Dreary Darkness set about weaving heaps of black
magic yarn which she would need for her wicked deed. The very
minute the Radiant Sun went to rest, the Dreary Darkness popped
up and nimbly covered the world with a huge black cover. That
was the first time that night fell upon the earth...
But the Dreary Darkness soon faded away as the Radiant Sun
rose back up into the sky. That was the beginning of a contin-
uous struggle between them. Each time the Radiant Sun went
to sleep, the Dreary Darkness spread her black cover over the
146
world. With the Radiant Sun wide awake, she had to hide in her
deep holes.
Presently, the Radiant Sun asked the Silvery Moon, her young-
er brother to save the frightened people from the pitch-dark-
ness by giving some light at night. This was the last straw for
the Dreary Darkness. Blazing with fury, she tore at the Silvery
Moon, beating her fists against him. With each strike she
knocked off a piece of the moon’s shining surface. There spar-
kling fragments swooped down onto the black cover and stuck
to it.
The people watched the Silvery Moon get smaller and smaller
until only a crescent shape remained. Meanwhile, the dark cover
became studded with the twinkling moon particles which the
people called “The Stars...” Fortunately, the Silvery Moon
had magic powers and he could restore his former shape no
matter what Dreary Darkness did. So, more and more stars
appeared and flickered in the nocturnal sky as if lost in reve-
rie...
Each morning the Bright Dawn came. She was a Radiant
Sun’s daughter. She appeared on top of a high mountain to comb
her golden hair. Her smile meant the start of a new day. In the
evening, she turned up again to comfort the people as the dark
night crept up...
The Dreary Darkness didn’t like this arrangement one bit.
Eventually, she brought her son, the Bitter Frost to help. One
day, when the Radiant Sun was shining high up in the sky, the
nasty sorceress sent her rogues to the Solar Realm. There they
kidnapped the Bright Dawn and the Dreary Darkness had
her confined to a tall glacial tower in the Land of the Bitter
Frost.
Icebergs and snow mountains blocked the way to this land.
The glacial tower was on island in the middle of the Icebound
147
River. Even the Radiant Sun was helpless there. Her beams
grew cool as they reached these parts, weakened by the very
long journey. And they gave only a little light and no warmth
at all.
None of the living creatures could get across the Icebound
River. Any fish that happened to find his way there was sure to
freeze to death. Those who set foot on the only available ice-
clogged bridge became gelid and turned into dumb statues, cold
as marble.
The Bitter Frost never took his eyes off the glacial tower
where the Bright Dawn was held captive...
Many years later a boy was born into a family of a glass-
cutter. He was so cheerful that his father called him the Sunny
Boy.
The Sunny Boy helped his father to cut glass for new win-
dows and, as he did so, he sang merry little song. Small wonder,
everything looked so bright and lovely through the windows
they made!
Even the poorest people grew cheerful when the Sunny Boy
came to put windows in for them.
The Sunny Boy also liked to listen to the fairy tales. One day
he heard the story of the two eternal rivals, the Radiant Sun and
the Dreary Darkness. Horrified by the misfortunes that had
befallen the Bright Dawn, the brave lad set off to rescue her.
Months later, the Sunny Boy entered the land of the Bitter Frost
and got as far as the Icebound River. There, on the bridge, he
was stopped by the deathly touch of the cold and, feeling his toes
and fingers turning to ice, he turned back.
...Once more at home, the Sunny Boy found a witchwoman
and begged her for help:
“Please, lady, tell me what should I do to rescue our Bright
Dawn?”
The witchwoman took her time, leafing through the dog-
eared magic books. At last, she looked up and said:
“The secret is in your hands! You must get yourself a piece
of glass that will make the radiant sun beams as hot as fire.
But it is up to you how you do it...”
The Sunny Boy tried hundreds of compositions and designs.
He created many new kinds of glass and mirrors. But none of
these glasses were good enough to fight the Bitter Frost. But
the Sunny Boy wouldn’t give up. He spent all his time in
his workshop experimenting with the flame-red glowing
glass...
Meanwhile, the golden-haired Bright Dawn was still held
captive in her freezing confinement. The Dreary Darkness
vied with the Radiant Sun and spread her black cover over
the sky each night. But, not content with this evil deed,
she wanted to give the Radiant Sun and her daughter still more
pain.
The Dreary Darkness stayed with her son the Bitter Frost
150
for days watching the Bright Dawn tormented by the cold.
She found this spectacle helpful for contriving new tricks
against the Radiant Sun. She borrowed a book of wicked witch-
craft from some relative who lived on a distant planet. The book
described all possible ways of pestering people. The Dreary
Darkness liked the book so much she read it from morning till
night.
One day, she was so engrossed in her reading she failed to
notice a lanky young man who approached the bridge spanning
the Icebound River. It was, of course, the Sunny Boy. In front
of him he was rolling a magnificent convex lens.
Disturbed by the noise, the Bitter Frost darted out of his to-
wer to freeze the stranger to death. That very moment the Sun-
ny Boy trained his lens on his enemy. The lens took in the sun-
beams, refracted them and emitted a pencil of light so hot it
melted away everything in its way. The Bitter Frost very nearly
met his end, but he just had time to hide behind the thick
walls of his glacial tower. In a frenzy, he and his wicked mother
tried to use their black sorcery against the hot rays, but nothing
worked.
Inch by inch and foot by foot, their hideous stronghold was
melting away!
The moment the Bitter Frost breathed his last and was gone
without a trace, the evil spell was broken. Ice statues became
brave knights again.
They greeted the Bright Dawn joyously. Then all of them
praised the Sunny Boy. His valour and cleverness had saved
them from terrible unhappiness.
From that day to this the Bright Dawn combs her golden hair
welcoming the Radiant Sun in the morning and saying good-bye
in the evening. Her smile is daily watched and admired by people
throughout the world.
151

But the Dreary Darkness has never made up with the,Radiant
Sun. As always, she spreads her magic cover over the sky and
tears the glimmering particles off the Silvery Moon. And when
the particles stick to her cover she removes them and angrily
flings them down.
When people chance to see this, they say, “Look, a shooting
star!”
But the Silvery Moon is a heavenly body, he makes himself
round again...

The Tale of Love
Once upon a time, there lived a forester who had a daughter
called Marichka. The girl grew up in the woods and she knew
all its inhabitants very well. Marichka was fond of her forest
friends and hated to part with them even for a day.
The Playful Squirrel used to give Marichka tasty nuts. The
Wild Bees brought her honey. And there were also birds... Ma-
richka could listen to their warbling songs for hours on end.
The birds felt really sorry for those who had never left their
forest and didn’t realize how large and exciting the world
was.
“Just imagine what we’ve seen!” the Young Blackbird would
often say after his return from his first journey across the
sea.
“The trees and flowers are so unusual there! And the people are
most unusual, too.”
“What’s so unusual about them?” Marichka would ask.
“Well, some are as black as my feathers, and some are as yel-
low as my beak.”
“Now don’t listen to that chatter-box, Marichka,” the Old
Blackbird usually butted in. “He’s talking a lot of rubbish.
People living in the far-off lands are just like you, only their
skin is either black as midnight, or yellow as a maple leaf in
autumn. They speak strange languages and their clothes are
sometimes quite extraordinary.”
“Oh Marichka,” the Nightingale would sing in the dusk, “do
you know what is the best thing in the whole world?”
“Flowers!” was Marichka’s prompt reply.
“You are wrong, you poor thing,” the Nightingale would"
154
go on trilling, his voice tender and compassionate. “You know
nothing about love. There is nothing better than love!”
“No one will care for me when I grow up,” Marichka would
say with a sigh. “I’m so — ugly! No one will as much as look
at me!”
And she would run off and find a little pond to use as a mirror;
and bitter tears would roll down her cheeks. There was no doubt
poor Marichka was far from beautiful.
The forester and his wife never spoke to Marichka about her
looks. They only sighed as they saw their daughter walk with
her face covered by her scarf.
Summer came and went, then another. Fruit was ripening
in the orchards and Marichka was turning into a young lady.
Soon she had become a slender maiden. Her mother got very
worried. She knew that soon love would enter her daughter’s
heart.
One day, the old forester took Marichka to the town to watch
an archery contest. Many skilled bowmen flocked there from
all over the country to display their marksmanship. But none of
them could shoot better than the son of a certain hunter. The
young man was the only one who managed to hit all the targets.
Finally, he sent his arrow whistling through twenty copper
rings and bring down three eagles as they were soaring high up
in the sky.
Marichka couldn’t take her eyes off the young archer, but she
didn’t understand why. She didn’t know that she was full of ten-
der feelings which heralded the coming love...
After that day she would spend long autumn nights dream-
ing about the young man who had won the contest. But she was
sure that they would only ever meet each other in her dreams.
Only the forest beasts, birds and trees were allowed to see the
shy girl’s plain face.
155
One day Marichka was walking through the woods, lost in sad
thoughts. Suddenly, she heard someone groan faintly. She
quickly covered her face up to the eyes with her head scarf,
and hurried towards the sound. A minute later, she saw the
hero of her dreams lying under a birch-tree and by his side was
the dead body of a wild boar...
Without hesitation Marichka wound some cloth round the
young man’s wounds to stop the bleeding and then ran off to
call her parents. Soon the three of them had carried the poor
fellow to their house. He had lost a lot of blood and couldn’t
speak, but after a couple of days he asked in a weak voice, “Who
are you?...”
“I’m Marichka. My father is
a forester,” the girl explained.
“Oh, and I’m Ivanko, a hunter.”
Each morning, Marichka got up
at dawn to gather special herbs
which she knew would help Ivan-
ko get well. She prepared potions
to strengthen her beloved and
dressed his wounds so carefully he
didn’t feel any pain at all. Marich-
ka prepared meals for Ivanko
and fed him with a spoon. Every
day as the sun went down and the
woods grew quiet, Marichka
would sing her favourite songs for
Ivanko and now and then he
would join her in the singing...
Ivanko soon felt he cared for Ma-
richka. But he was pained by the
fact that he could see only her
eyes!
This was exactly what Marich-
ka’s mother had been so worried
about. Her father was also on ten-
terhooks. Their fears had come
true! The young hunter had fallen
in love with their daughter... But
he had not seen her face yet!
At last, the day came when
Ivanko felt he was his own self
again. His wounds had healed up
and he could walk without help.
/57
“Г11 be running and jumping in a day or two... You’ve been so
kind to me, Marichka, dear...” he said.
The young man blushed and looked away. Then he asked
softly:
“Why do you hide your face? I can see only your eyes, and
they are so beautiful...”
“All right,” said Marichka, “you’ll see my face. Just wait a
bit...”
And she ran off into the woods.
Marichka headed for the gloomy thickets where lived three
brothers who were wonderful wizards. In the evening she
found herself in front of the youngest brother’s hut. Marichka
knocked at the door. “Come in, Marichka!” said a voice from
inside.
The girl stepped in and saw an old man sitting on a bench. He
had a long grey beard that reached his knees.
“What’s your trouble, my dear?” asked the old man.
“Oh, I was born with my trouble,” replied the girl sadly and
removed her veil.
“That I can see,” the Youngest Wizard agreed, pitingly.
“Make me pretty, for mercy’s sake!” pleaded Marichka.
“Ivanko, the hunter, loves me but I can’t let him see my
face...”
“I cannot help you, my child,” sighed the Youngest Wizard.
“This is beyond my power. Still, I can make eternal night
over your land so that nobody will see your face. Will that
do?”
“Oh no, good man! Please, don’t!” exclaimed Marichka,
frightened by the idea. “I don’t want my trouble to become a
disaster for everybody.”
Marichka stayed the night with the Youngest Wizard. As the
new day broke, she went to see his elder brother. Daylight was
158

already beginning to fade when Marichka found his hut. She
knocked at the door and a voice said, “Come in, Marichka!”
The girl stepped in and saw a very old man sitting on
a bench. He had a very long silver-grey beard that reached the
floor.
“What pains you, my dear?” asked the Wizard.
“The trouble I was born with,” said Marichka and removed
her veil.
“Oh, I see,” the Elder Wizard agreed, taking pity on the poor
girl.
“I wonder if you could make me a little easier to look at...,”
implored Marichka. “Ivanko, the hunter, loves me but I can’t let
him see my face...”
“That I cannot do, my dear child,” the Elder Wizard replied
sadly. “It’s beyond my power. But I can make all the people in
your country blind so that nobody will see you...”
“Oh no, good man! Please don’t!” cried out Marichka, terri-
fied by the idea. She stayed the night with the Elder Wizard
and in the morning went to see the eldest of the wonderful bro-
thers.
In the evening she reached his hut and knocked at the door.
“Come in, Marichka!” a voice answered.
The girl stepped in and saw a very very old man sitting on a
bench. He had a very very grey-white beard that reached the
doorstep.
“What trouble has brought you here, my dear?”
“It’s the plight I was born with,” said Marichka and she re-
moved her veil.
“I see,” the Eldest Wizard said, feeling for the poor girl.
“Make me just a bit attractive, I beg of you!” pleaded Mari-
chka. “Ivanko, the hunter, loves me but I can’t let him see my
face!”
160
“Well, I can do that for you, my child,” the Eldest Wizard
agreed. “You will be pretty as a picture, endowed with the
beauty of the most charming girl there is in the country. Only,
your sorry plight will befall her instead.”
“No, good man, I don’t want anyone else to suffer as I have!”
And with these words Marichka left the Eldest Wizard. “Ah,
well. Even the old magicians cannot help me,” she thought. “It’s
fate and I can’t escape it. I’ll let Ivanko see my face and that’ll
be enough for him. The sooner, the better...” Marichka tore off
the kerchief and cast it aside into the bushes. “Come on, take a
look at this face,” she called out bitterly.
Marichka walked for one day, then another. When the third
day was coming to an end, Marichka reached her family’s house.
The first person she saw was Ivanko, he was sitting outside the
house. The girl stopped in her tracks. She suddenly felt weak:
Ivanko might look up and see her face any minute now.
That very moment Ivanko sprang to his feet and rushed to-
wards the girl, beaming with joy. “He must be making fun of
me,” Marichka thought. She blushed, turned around and ran
away.
The young hunter stopped in embarrassment. He didn’t know
what to make of Marichka’s reaction. Was it because she didn’t
love him?...
Marichka ran deep into the woods where she was sure she
wouldn’t meet anyone...
Suddenly, she heard the Nightingale calling her:
“Wait, Marichka, wait!” The bird descended onto the girl’s
shoulder and said, “Don’t run away, Ivanko loves you! His love
has turned you into a beauty.”
161
Not long ago there lived two friends. They were both called
Ivan. The friends daydreamed of doing something daring, of per-
forming some heroic deed, so that people would honour and
respect them.
So, they split up and each made plans.
The first Ivan thought and thought, but in the end he felt
he’d had enough of thinking. “It’s high time for me to show my
courage,” he said.
So he climbed a high mountain, found a massive stone at the
top and used it as a seat. And there he sat visible from all direc-
tions waiting to be noticed and called upon to do a heroic deed.
In the meantime, his friend had packed up and set out on a
journey across the world. As he headed for the distant horizon,
the first Ivan caught sight of him from his high mountain and
shouted:
“Hey, friend, what are you up to?”
“I’m going to plant an orchard and grow delicious apples
there! I’m sure people will enjoy them!” the other Ivan called
back.
“Phoo! Big deal! That’s an easy thing to do! Your apples won’t
make people happy, anyway, and they won’t make you a hero
either!”
And the first Ivan resumed his stone seat, grinning in scorn. It
is really difficult to say how much time had passed before he
called to his friend again:
“Hey, Ivan! How about your apples?”
Ivan didn’t reply. Instead the people shouted up towards
the top of the mountain: “We have plenty of apples now. They’re
162

all ripe and sweet. You can come down and have some. They’re
very good for you, you know.”
“No, thanks, I’ve got no time to waste,” the first Ivan said
with an important air. “Better tell me, when are you going to
invite me to do a heroic deed for you.”
“You’ll have to wait for a long time,” the people mocked
him. “Now look at your friend and what he is doing!”
The first Ivan grew excited.
“Hey, Ivan!” he called his friend from his mountain. “Where
are you? What are you doing?”
“Mining out coal!” came the reply. “To bring people light and
heat! Come down and join our team! We always need help.”
“I’d rather not,” retorted the first Ivan, smiling slyly. “It’s not
hard work I’m after. I’m interested in facing danger! Sooner or
later, you will call me your hero!...”
Time was moving on. A year had passed, then another... As the
third year was nearing its end, the first Ivan began to feel terri-
bly uncomfortable on top of his mountain. He could see he had
been clean forgotten by the rest of the people and no one was
going to ask him to do anything heroic...
He did not even know what his friend was doing or where he
had gone.
“Hey, friend!” the first Ivan shouted from the mountain at the
top of his voice. “Where are you? What are you doing there?
Hiding?”
“I’m not hiding at all, friend. I’m just above you and your
mountain!” came the answer.
The first Ivan looked up and saw a spaceship high up in the
sky piloted by his friend. Then he looked down and saw all the
people celebrating and shouting excitedly:
“Bravo, Ivan!”
“Here comes our Space Hero!”
164
The first Ivan fretted and fumed on top of his high mountain.
“Why didn’t you take me along? We could have done some-
thing brave together. Call yourself a friend!”
And he received a quick reply from the real hero in the orbit:
“I worked for my people while you waited for a chance to
become a hero. Do you know,” continued the second Ivan, “deep
inside your mountain are natural riches in great abundance.
Think how you can claim them for the people’s benefit. And
remember, where there’s a will, there’s a way!”

The Hying Friends
and the Dream Snatcher
By Anatoly Kostetsky
1
Do you know what you should do when the rest of your family
is asleep? Stay awake, that’s what I say. Mum was sleeping,
her warm and soft palm pressed against her cheek. She was prob-
ably dreaming about her childhood, feeling again the blades of
May grass tickling her bare feet. Dad was sleeping, too. He
smilled in his dreams, probably remembering his past life, too.
Even Cornelius, a reddish-brown devil of a cat, the terror
of our lane, was dozing in the corner by the radiator. The radia-
tor was cold, since it was May and the central heating had been
turned off weeks ago, but Cornelius still like to cuddle up to it
and purr softly.
I was lying in my bed covered by a light fluffy blanket and
thinking how cosy I was. But a minute later, I sat up and jumped
out of bed. I didn’t get dressed because it took away the fun. You
really don’t need to have your shirt and pants on to fly in the
dead of night, do you?
I went up to the,window and opened it. I stood motionless for
some time, looking at the bird-cherry bathed in moonlight. The
bird-cherry grew right in front of my window and waves of its
sweet scent wafted to me. I took a deep breath, hopped onto the
windowsill and then I leapt off it into the garden.
167
I got showered with dew shaken from the bird-cherry as I land-
ed. The wet grass soaked my feet, too, but I didn’t mind at all.
That was exactly what I needed!...
I shut my eyes and whispered:
“Like the softest breeze in, May
I am flying far away.
I can even touch a star
Tonight nothing is too far!”
When I had whispered these magic words for the third time,
a shadow of a cat brushed past me, barely touching my calves,
and disappeared into the bird-cherry shrubs with a faint
miaow... It was my cat Cornelius.
The next moment I felt surprisingly light, almost weightless.
The earth swayed under my feet and suddenly sailed away.
I was up in the air and flying!
First I took my time circling over my house before I began to
climb. I was hovering above the lime-tree at the farthest end of
our Vine Lane when I saw someone steer from the ajacent
backyard.
Why, it was Igor!
“Hey there! Yoohoo!” I shouted.
“Hallo there!” Igor yelled back.
He climbed, made an abrupt turn and then dashed towards me.
We flew on side by side, laughing merrily. A soft May wind,
full of the orchards’ fragrance, blew in our faces and sent chills
down our spines; yet we weren’t cold, not at all. We felt prickles
like you do when your leg has got the cramps and you try to
walk. It was great! It’s impossible to feel cold when you’re flying
high in the dark May sky in the company of your friend.
We chose our direction at random. We wanted to fly just for
the sheer fun of it. It was our first flight since winter. As you
know, it’s quite impossible to fly in winter. Neither can you do
168
it in early spring. But this night was something special, warm
and tender... Small wonder we felt an urge to fly a bit, Igor
and I.
The dark star-studded sky welcomed us and the cool prickly
stars seemed to tickle us as we flew along. They twinkled so
brightly as if calling to us, “Come closer, boys, don’t be shy!...”
We were climbing higher and higher and we were alone in the
sky... This was hardly surprising since you’re unlikely to come
across a bird at such an hour of the night. All of the birds had
long been asleep in their nests dreaming about their young
which would soon burst out of their shells and be born into the
world.
Yes, the stars were our sole company at the moment. Set in the
most intricate pattern, they lured us urging us to fly on and on.
And so we did!
“This is great!” Igor whispered.
“Great,” I agreed and we flew even faster.
As we were at the end of our lane, we saw some dark figure
approaching us. “It must be Natalka,” I thought. We shot to-
wards her, racing against one another. Natalka was the third
member of our company and obviously she had also decided to
do some flying that night.
“Congratulations on your first flight!” I said.
“Isn’t it a wonderful night,” Igor added.
“Well, I never! It’s you, boys!” Natalka exclaimed cheerfully.
“You’re up and flying too!”
“Why shouldn’t we?” Igor grinned. “Come on, join us. We’ll
go straight to our lime-tree!”
Natalka gladly accepted the invitation and the three of us
flew along the lane to where our lime-tree stood. The tree was
tall and as old as time.	к
“Are we going to land here?” Natalka asked.
169
“Not tonight,” Igor waved the idea aside. “We’ll head for the
Dnieper instead.”
“To the Dnieper! To the Dnieper!” Natalka and I yelled back.
We made another couple of circles over our tree, waving our
hands in salute, then turned round and rushed across the dark
sky, towards the red belfry lights of the Kiev Cave Monastery
over the Dnieper River.
It’s a breath-taking experience to fly over a city at night.
A vast display of flickering illuminations was spread out be-
low... The city squares, veritable lakes of light, stitched togeth-
er by the lamplight rivers of the streets and avenues... Late-
night cars scudding here and there like boats sailing up and
down rivers...
We passed red lights beaming on top of high buildings, then
the city TV tower, then the Moskva Hotel... At last we reached
the black glistening band of the Dnieper River. Its dark surface
was cut into uneven parts by cracks emitting an enigmatic
bluish light. The picture looked rather odd but we realized it
was our imagination playing tricks with us. Those cracks were,
in fact, lit up bridges which here and there stretch across the
wide river...
“I say, boys, let’s go back,” Natalka called out somewhat sud-
denly.
True, it was late. What if our parents woke up and found us
missing!
The return flight was speedy and short. Back in our lane^ we
exchanged farewells and split up.
I flew into my room through the open window, full speed, and
landed right on my bed. That wasn’t bad at all especially after
a long winter break,-1 thought proudly. I stretched out mightily
and pulled the blanket over my head. In a moment I was asleep...
170
2
Deep in sleep, I felt someone pulling at my blanket. But I had
no intention of waking up. To begin with, I hadn’t had enough
sleep because of my flying outing. Second, I was just in the
middle of a colourful dream. Why should I get up at all? I
clutched at the blanket without opening my eyes and tried to
pull it back only to have it jerked away again.
“Get up, you sleepyhead! You’ll be late for school!” It was
a very familiar voice. I opened my eyes and blinked because
morning light filled the room. Or was I dazzled by the smile
of my mother who stood by my bed with my blanket in her
hands?
Yawning widely, I stretched and in a moment was on my feet.
“Morning, Mum!”
The mother laughed.
“Morning, you say? Why, it’s a quarter past eight already!”
“What?” I exclaimed. “My, I am going to be late!” With these
words I rushed down the stairs to wash.
My room was on the first floor which in our house was also the
last one. The thing is, our family lived in a tiny old house with
two bedrooms on the first floor and a kitchen on the ground floor.
I occupied the smaller bedroom with a slanting ceiling which
was, perhaps, why I called it “my attic.” It was good to have a
room to myself. True, it meant I had to tidy it up myself, but I
didn’t mind.
So, I ran down the stairs, washed quickly, had some milk and
biscuits and was about to shoot off to school when Mum came
down.
“What were you doing last night, Tolik?” she asked. “You left
such a mess on your bed as if you’d been dancing on it all night
long. I wonder if you’ll ever learn to sleep quietly...”
171
“Yes, I wonder if I ever will, Mummy,” I replied in the same
tone. Then kissing her on the cheek, I grabbed my schoolbag and
ran into the street.
If only Mum knew what I’d really been doing that night! Let
alone some other nights, of course. She would forbid it and bolt
the window, that’s for sure. After all, she was even against my
climbing the lime-tree. “Never do it again, it’s too dangerous,”
she said. And I’m certain it’s far more dangerous to fly about the
country at night. Mind you Mother’s words hadn’t made any
difference, I still climb the lime-tree because it’s our meeting
place, after all, only now I try to do it more discreetly. I would
hate making Mum worry but I never promised her I would keep
off the tree. I just said nothing.
I ran up to my friend’s house and shouted:
“Hey, Igor!”
“Coming!” came the instant reply and in a moment Igor ap-
peared on the porch. And the two of us raced along Vine Lane.
It was so easy and pleasant to run together! Our legs must
have had some in-built springs for they carried us along and
threw us up into the air all on their own, it seemed!
“Shall we call for Boris?” I asked Igor.
“Of course! And don’t forget Natalka!” he replied.
So we did. The four of us arrived at school together. The
Quartet, that’s how we were called by our classmates. We get on
very well together, Igor, Natalka, Boris and I. We even live in
the same street. And, what was more important, we were in the
same class and our desks were next to one another’s.
The Quartet was a friendly name for us, of course. But there
was a chap in our class, Volodka by name, who used to try to
tease Igor because he shared a desk with Natalka but no one
supported him. We had to explain to Volodka what’s what like
real men should, you know what I mean. So, that did the trick
/72
and Volodka stopped putting on airs, but it was obvious that
he bore a grudge against the four of us. Well, let him, unless he
starts teasing again.
Today all five lessons passed surprisingly quickly for us. Was
it because we had had such a fantastic time the night before?
We talked about it during each break, enjoying the memories
very much. Only Boris was silent most of the time since he hadn’t
been with us on our night flight. Now Boris could blame no one
but himself for this. He said himself that he had wanted to get up
and join us, but he had felt so sleepy his “forty winks” had lasted
till morning!
When it came to sleeping or eating, our friend Boris had no
rivals. But we didn’t scold him for this because we liked him. He
was an agreeable and funny-looking chap. Boris was fat and
clumsy, freckled and snub-nosed. True, he never had any money
but we forgave him even that. He lived alone with his mother
and was usually hard-up. Sometimes he even couldn’t buy him-
self a ticket to a movie. Boris couldn’t afford it, but our quartet
could! We would pool our money and buy Boris a ticket and an
ice-cream.
When classes were over, we rushed to our HQ, the code name
we used for the lime-tree growing at the end of our Vine Lane.
This tree was like just another home for us, I would say. And it
was thanks to this tree that we learned to fly. How could it
happen you ask? Well, I shall tell you how.
...One fine evening we gathered under the lime-tree as usual.
We sat on its branches and talked as was our habit. And it was
Natalka who suddenly said, “Wish I could fly...” We fancied
how wonderful it could be to soar, like a bird, and float on the
silky evening air. We spent half an hour, I guess, sitting on the
lime-tree and talking about it. Slowly, the dusk turned into
darkness and we returned home.
173
I remember that evening very well. An hour later I decided to
get back to the tree — alone. The grass was covered with the
evening dew but I didn’t mind. On the contrary. I even took
off my shoes and walked barefoot.
I came up to our lime-tree and sat underneath it, leaning
against its rough trunk. Then my cat Cornelius appeared as if
from nowhere, and I was no longer alone. The pet drew nbar and
brushed himself against my bare feet. Then Cornelius sat on the
dewy grass beside me.
It was May and the night was warm; and we sat there under
the tree and watched shooting stars coming down one by one.
The stars seemed to be warm, too. A quiet happiness welled up in
my heart... I felt so good! The next moment I realized I was
humming some soft tune. I must have made it up right there
and then because I’d never heard it before.
I stood up and began to sing, my voice ringing with emotion:
“Like the softest breeze in May
I am flying far away.
I can even touch a star
Tonight nothing is too far!’’
Suddenly, after I had sung this little tune three times, I felt
the ground swimming under my feet. Some magic power lifted
me off the ground, still warm after the day’s heat. I was flying!
I was scared out of my wits, of course, but then I came to my
senses and saw there was no harm in it whatsoever. It was
something wonderful! I couldn’t wait to share my discovery with
my friends, so I dashed to them.
Soon the three of us — Boris was missing since he had gone to
visit with his granny who lived a long way across the city —
stood barefoot under the lime-tree and sang my song. We sang in
hushed voices lest we scared my cat Cornelius away. The pet
174
still sat on the grass watching us intently with his cunning
eyes...
Believe it or not, we did soar up into the air, all the three of
us! Natalka was the first to take off, then Igor, and then me.
The next morning we met Boris at school and immediately told
him about our adventure. He turned green with envy but we pro-
mised to teach him to fly too. We were quite happy to do this;
after all Boris was our dear friend. We told him he would have to
wait till darkness. At midnight sharp we would be waiting for
him in his backyard...
3
In the far corner of Boris’s backyard there was a summer house
separated from the house by thick fragrant bushes of lilac and
bird-cherry. Apple- and cherry-trees spread their branches over
its roof while the latticed walls were totally obscured from view
by creeping vine and ivy. The summer house was a rather shaky
construction that we had built the previous year. Boris’s mother
had given us the planks from a recently pulled down shack. Igor
brought the necessary tools and I brought the nails. We wanted
our summer house to give us the privacy we needed so, after
some rather heated debates, we built it at the most secluded end
of the backyard.
We weren’t going to use our summer house for anything bad,
of course. We just wanted to have a place where we could gather
in the rain — you wouldn’t go climbing trees if it was raining,
would you? — to discuss our important plans. In such cases I’ve
found it is better to keep away from adults.
As we had agreed, at midnight sharp we slipped out of our
homes one by one and came to the summer house. Even Boris
came on time which was most unusual for him. In most cases he
/75
was hopelessly late, but now he was obviously eager to learn to
fly!
Once inside, Boris said impatiently:
“Well, guys, show me how you do it!”
“You see, Boris, it’s simple enough,” Igor said. “All you have
to do is to take your shoes off and stand on the wet grass and
say this for three times:
“Like the softest breeze in May
I am flying far away.
I can even touch a star
Tonight nothing is too far!’’
“You mean that’s all?” Boris asked, incredulous.
“That’s all,” Igor repeated and smiled. “Come on, have a go!”
Boris flung off his tennis shoes and ran outside. He stopped
abruptly in front of the summer house and shut his eyes. We
saw his lips move as he pronounced the magic words. We watch-
ed Boris with bated breath, waiting for him to take off... A mi-
nute passed, then another, but our friend remained glued to the
spot, his eyes still closed.
Finally, Natalka put an end to Boris’s efforts.
“Something must be wrong!” she said. “Let’s see where he
made a mistake.”
We told Boris to repeat the words for we knew only too well
how he hated to learn things by heart. But this time Boris sur-
prised us again. He repeated the song, word for word, with no
mistakes.
Igor lowered his eyes. Suddenly, while looking at Boris’s feet
he gave a little cry.
“The socks!” he exclaimed. We stared at him in blank surprise.
“The socks,” Igor repeated and pointed at Boris.
Now we saw that Boris had taken off his shoes but had forgot-
ten about the socks, though we had told him to stand on the grass
176
barefoot. Seeing his mistake, Boris hastily pulled off his socks
and whispered the magic song one more time, his eyes shut.
All of a sudden, he shot up into the air. He had no time to brake
and bumped against a thick branch of the apple-tree right
above our summer house. Seconds later, Boris crashlanded on
his back with a loud “Ouch!” Our extended hands softened the
impact, but not entirely, because he was very heavy...
“Drat it!” Boris said emphatically, shaking off the dirt. “I’ve
had enough of flying! I’ll, end up with a broken leg or some-
thing...”
“Te hee...” suddenly came a strange husky voice.
Boris gave me a hurt glance.
“Oh cut it out! Stop giggling!” he demanded in an offended
tone.
“What are you talking about, I’m not giggling,” I said, sur-
prised.
“Then who’s giggling?” Boris raised his voice, looking suspi-
ciously at each of us in turn.
“It’s me!” the same strange husky voice came again.
We peered around for some time before we realized that it
was... my cat Cornelius! We couldn’t believe our eyes or ears:
a — cat? speaking like a human?!
At last I managed to mumble:
“Good grief, Cornelius, is that — you speaking?”
“It’s me!” the cat repeated and smiled cunningly. “What’s
so unusual about it?”
Then Boris came back to his senses.
“What do you mean? Cats are not supposed to speak!” he
shouted.
“It depends on how you look at it,” Cornelius said with an im-
portant air. “Any cat can learn to speak if circumstances call
for it.”
/77
“Now, Cornelius, how did you learn to speak?” I asked.
“Learn to speak!” the cat repeated mockingly. “Where
there’s a will, there’s a way! I haven’t asked you how
you learned to fly, have I? Because I think it is none of my busi-
ness. So stop pestering me with your silly questions...”
My cat stopped talking abruptly and crawled under the bench,
making angry noises.
“We are sorry, dear Cornelius,” Natalka said, bending over
the bench. “We didn’t mean any harm. You see, we were taken
aback when you, er-r, talked to us. Being a cat and all that.
But now we see there is really nothing wrong with it, is there,
boys?”
And Natalka gave us a meaningful look.
“No,” we said in chorus hesitatingly.
“Can you hear us, Cornelius?” Natalka asked, bending
again. “Please understand. We aren’t going to offend you any-
more.”
Natalka’s entreaties worked. Satisfied with the effect he
had made, the haughty Cornelius strutted from under the
bench.
“Listen, kids,” he said gruffly, “I’ve got no time for all this
tittle-tattle. I’m far too busy. But I want to tell you just one
thing: Beware of the Dream Snatcher! Keep on flying to please
yourselves but — beware of the Dream Snatcher!”
“The Dream Snatcher? Who’s that?” Natalka asked, sur-
prised.
But the cat didn’t answer. He leaped onto the bench and flew
over the latticed partition. Then, as if remembering something
important, Cornelius glanced back from a tree branch and
said:
“You’ll have a new neighbour soon. So watch your step with
him!”
178
With these words the cat darted off to attend to his own
business.
“My, what a night,” Boris sighed. “The children who can fly
are addressed by the cat that can speak! And not merely ad-
dressed but — told off!”
“Maybe, we were dreaming?” I suggested uncertainly.
“Dreaming, my foot!” Igor exploded. “When I saw Cornelius
I pinched myself so hard I can still feel it!”
“Listen, boys,” Natalka chimed in. “What if Cornelius meant
it? Though I don’t see much sense in what he said. Is there some-
one going to move into our lane?”
“Not that I know of,” Igor said. He always knew what was
going on in our neighbourhood. “All right. Let’s get back to our
beds before the sun rises!”
4
The events I’m talking about happened last May. Our summer
holidays had just begun.
We didn’t do much flying in summer because some of us went
to a Young Pioneers’ camp and others visited with their relatives
in the countryside. And there isn’t much fun in flying without
your friends, is there?
The long-awaited summer had come and gone. Soon the holi-
days were over and school started again.
We were together again but we still didn’t have much time for
flying. Besides, the September nights were rather cold and
rainy. To our relief, Boris had got the knack of steering himself
in the air. What he still couldn’t do was to fly into the top of our
lime-tree and land on a branch. Boris did try it once but hurt
himself badly and walked around for a week or so bruised all
over.
/79
But such injuries were insignificant compared to the pleasure
we got from our “night trips,” as Igor put it. Sometimes we made
it to the forest leaving our city behind. We never dared to land
there because it was too dark and, besides, Natalka refused to do
it point-blank. We also used to glide over the city exploring
new residential areas. Once, Natalka suggested that we should
fly around the houses where our school teachers lived and throw
flowers into their windows. Just imagine, she went on, they
would get up in the morning and discover our bouquets on their
pillows! They would rack their brains trying to understand
where those flowers had come from!
We liked Natalka’s idea at once and decided to do it the
very next night. If only we had known what that would
lead to...
...Olena Anatolivna was the first on our list. She taught Rus-
sian Language and Literature. Olena Anatolivna was our fa-
180
vourite. It was always so interesting to listen to her that we
even felt disappointed when the lesson was over. She almost
never gave us bad marks, unlike our Maths teacher...
In a nutshell, we soared up and soon hovered in front of Olena
Anatolivna’s house. We knew that she lived on the sixth floor
but we didn’t know where her windows were. We just guessed
they might look onto the backyard. So, we drew level with the
windows we thought were Olena Anatolivna’s and found one
of them half-open. Wasting no time, Igor threw a big bunch of
the dew-sprinkled asters into the window.
A moment later the air was split'by a roar. It belonged to a
man! The room was instantly lit up and we saw we’d made a
serious mistake! Instead of Olena Anatolivna, some burly char-
acter showed himself. He had probably been sleeping near the
window when the damp and cold flowers smacked right onto
his bald head!
181
We were so embarrassed we didn’t have time to escape before
the man jerked the window open. His eyes popped out of his
head when he saw us hovering in mid-air. Then we got a grip on
ourselves and tore off. I wouldn’t have thought a jet could have
caught up with us. But the man’s shouts caught up with us!
“I’ll get you, you rascals! I’ll show you! Come back here!” he
yelled insanely, his phrases heavily laden with the words I
wouldn’t dare to repeat.
What did the foul-mouthed man think about us flying outside
his window in the dead of night? It’s really impossible to ima-
gine: Maybe he thought he was dreaming. But how he was going
to explain the flowers?
We were so shaken by his angry reaction that we didn’t make
any other rounds that night. We returned to our summer house
to relax for a while. We agreed to put our flower mission off
till we knew exactly where our teachers lived.
...Soon the winter set in, and flying was out of the question
for us. It was too cold and you can’t fly with your coats on, can
you? And it’s not so pleasant to walk barefoot in the snow. But
when the winter was drawing to its close, we began to talk
about our night trips more and more often, waiting for the
spring to come with increasing impatience.
Then April came in at last. It was still too cold and we spent
our free time riding the city tram. Every other day, we didn’t
come back home after classes but wandered to the tram stop
near our Vine Lane. There we waited for the tram to arrive,
took our favourite seats near the windows and off we went. Our
tram nipped swiftly about the streets and for us it was a real
voyage across our big city. We listened to the rapping and clank-
ing of the wheels and fancied ourselves in a bullet traintravelling
to far-off lands... We would get off at any stop we fancied and
then walk home through the labyrinth of the streets.
182
Sometimes we went as far as the outer limits of the city, where
Boris’s granny lived. Her house stood right on the edge of a fo-
rest. Each summer, she gathered bucketfuls of berries and made
so much jam she would have spent the rest of her life finishing
it if left by herself. That’s why we went to see her now and then
to “help the old lady,” as she put it. And we did help her! All of
the jam Boris’s granny had stored up disappeared during the
winter months; and by early May only empty jars remained on
the shelves waiting for a new crop of berries.
Naturally, we felt so heavy on our way back from the old lady
that we simply couldn’t walk. We would climb onto a tram and
slump into our window seats with great relief, contented as
ever. For the next two or three days we didn’t even want to
look at sweets and that would alarm our parents greatly. They
would feel our foreheads and thrust thermometers under our
armpits...
After our city explorations we became convinced that our
Vine Lane was the best place to live. This name belonged to a
tiny patch of land on which stood as many as five little houses.
Our Vine Lane was surrounded by the recently built towering
blocks of flats and in summer it offered a striking green contrast
to the still barren grounds of the modern housing estates.
To match the number of the houses, there were five little
orchards, each one with a few apple- or pear-trees and lilac
and bird-cherry, bushes. These orchards were used as backyards
by the local residents. There were plenty of flowers and they
could be seen everywhere blossoming from early spring till late
autumn. As for the vine, it simply ran riot in every backyard.
I guess, that’s why our place was called Vine Lane.
...It happened one warm Saturday evening in early May. Our
doorbell rang. It was our neighbours from the last house in the
row which also happened to be the smallest. They came to tell
183
my parents that they were moving to a new, better flat the very
next day and that their little house was to go to an old retired
gentleman who was their country cousin or something.
I listened to them talking and couldn’t understand what they
were so happy about. I would never have left our Vine Lane
even for the sake of the most fantastic flat. Never in my life!
Still, I congratulated them like a polite boy should, and joined my
parents in inviting our neighbours to come and see us one day.
They moved out the next morning. Hours later, we saw a lorry
turn into our lane and we guessed that it was the old pensioner
arriving. Meeting a new resident was not an event to be missed,
so I ran to call my friends together to watch and, maybe, to
help.
The lorry stopped. The driver got out of the cabin followed by
a haggard old man. The latter saw us watching him and, quite
unexpectedly, yelled:
“What are you doing here, little horrors! Scram! Get lost!”
He even waved his hand wildly as if chasing away some nasty
chickens.
We were dumbfounded and hurt at the same time. What an
ugly old man, I thought, watching him from afar. His bony
frame reminded me of an old poker. His heavy hooked nose was
too large for his face, it seemed; the nose drooped down, nearly
touching his chin with a short wisp of red hair for a beard. When
the old man spoke, his nose moved with every word he uttered,
it was as if he was speaking with his nose. On either side
of his “beak,” a small piercing eye was set deep in its socket un-
der a bushy red brow. These eyes were like a pair of angry-
looking bodyguards while the nose was their master.
“That’s a nice neighbour for you!” Igor said. “Areal monster!”^
We squatted behind the fence in Boris’s orchard and peeped
through the gaps in the fence. The driver was helping the old
184
man to carry his pieces of
ancient furniture: an iron bed,
a pair of shaky chairs, and
a massive old armchair which
looked as if it had been uphol-
stered with a mammoth’s skin.
“Look, boys!” Igor cried
out. “What’s that they’re
pushing?”
I strained my eyes to see,
and could just make out some-
thing that looked exactly like
a medicine cupboard, Yes, it
was indeed a medicine cup-
board you can find in any
hospital. They keep drugs and
surgical instruments there.
Then the old man carried into
the house a couple of test
tube racks and some flasks
and jars the likes of which I
had seen in the school che-
mistry lab.
“He must be a doctor,” Na-
talka said.
“Or an amateur chemist, or
something,” Igor guessed.
At this moment I remem-
bered something important
and ekclaimed:
“I say, guys, where are we
going to play now?”
185
The snag was, we liked to play cops and robbers once or twice
a month. Then we would use all five backyards in the Vine Lane
as our private territory. Sometimes we invited Volodka to play
with us. He was the best robber as none of us could whistle or
scream as shrilly as he could. We would run like mad from one
backyard to the other; and we had the hottest clashes in the
yard that now belonged to that weird old stranger. Would he
permit us to play under his window or would he chase us away?
Besides, our lime-tree stood at the end of the lane, near his win-
dow. Would the old man tolerate us gathering there?
“That’s a serious problem!” Igor agreed.
“We must go to the old man and ask his permission to play
in his yard,” Natalka suggested.
“How shall we approach him?” I asked her. “Didn’t you see
how mad he was with us?”
“Never mind that,” Boris broke in. “He’s just an ordinary old
man, a bit too nervous, perhaps. The place is new to him, so he
grew excited, that’s all. I think we must go and see him right
away. I shall do all the talking!”
We readily agreed to this since we knew Boris had a good
technique as far as adults were concerned. Boris always came to
the rescue of those who didn’t know how to answer the teachers’
questions. He would raise his hand and ask a teacher an endless
chain of tricky questions so sincerely that the latter would duly
take the bait. The teachers got so carried away that they usually
stopped talking only when the bell rang.
So we ran out of the backyard and made to the old man’s.
5
We came up to the front door and rang the bell. There was no
answer. We saw that one of the windows was open but the heavy
grey curtains were drawn. The old man must be in.
186
“Jeepers! Why these curtains?” Natalka asked, bewildered.
“They don’t let any air in!”
“Ring again, Tolik!” Igor ordered and I pushed the button one
more time.
Suddenly, a voice came from the open window:
“Who the blazes is it? Can’t you wait a minute?”
The voice was so shrill and angry it scared the sparrows away
from the cherry-trees and knocked down cherry blossoms.
We froze to the spot.
“Maybe we’d better scarper, boys...” Boris whispered, cau-
tiosly.
But that moment the curtains were pushed apart and we saw
the old man’s face disfigured with rage. Seeing us, he promptly
forced a smile, making it as wide as he could.
“Ah, it’s you, my dear neighbours!” the old man wheezed.
“Wait a second, please.”
The old man disappeared. We heard some tinkling and clink-
ing sounds behind the curtained window and then he stepped out
on the porch.
“Please, come in, my dear young friends! Meet a lonely old
man!” he exclaimed, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture.
I didn’t like this sudden fit of hospitality. There was some-
thing fishy in it all. He was probably just pretending to be glad
to see us. I couldn’t forget how harshly he had met us earlier
that day.
Meanwhile, we found ourselves in the hallway and it was too
late to withdraw. The pensioner ushered us in:
“This way, my dear guests. This is my kitchen. Make your-
selves comfortable while I make you a nice cup of tea...”
He rushed to the gas cooker but Boris stopped him:
“We are sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s something we
would like to ask you about.”
187
“You aren’t disturbing me in the least!” the old man squeaked.
“I have nothing important to do now as I am a retired man. But
you... Oh, with you it’s different! You don’t have a moment to
spare, I’m sure of it. Come on, my young friends, tell Kapiton
Porfirovitch what your problem is. The good old man will help
you...”
So, his name was Kapiton Porfirovitch! Well, it was a good
thing he introduced himself, because it would have been rather
rude of us to ask him about it.
“Still, we hate to trouble you,” Boris went on. “You must
be doing some chemical experiments... We saw your test tubes
being carried in.”
Kapiton Porfirovitch shot a hostile glance at Boris but the
next moment he was all smiles again:
“Right you are, my clever boy! I indulge my fancy for chem-
istry in my own small way, so to speak. I mean I do it when I
have time...”
“How — interesting!” Natalka exclaimed. “And what do you
do, Kapiton Porfirovitch?”
The old man made an evasive gesture, saying, “No need to
talk about it now. You’ll see it yourself — soon enough.”
With these words he smiled again, this time so menacingly
the blood froze in my veins...
Presently, Kapiton Porfirovitch sat down in his massive old
armchair and peered at us.
“Now to what do I owe this pleasure? I am all ears, my
beautiful children!”
The way he said “my beautiful children,” and “my dear young
friends!” annoyed me immensely. But we had no choice, but to
put up with this “old gentleman’s strange ways.” Perhaps that’s
the way he usually speaks to children, I thought to myself.
Boris took a deep breath and rattled off our request. When he
188
had finished, the old geezer bared his teeth in what he obviously
thought was a pleasant grin.
“No problem at all, my brilliant young friends! You can play
for as long as you want wherever you want...”
And again his eyes glistened in a not very kind way.
“Thank you, sir,” Boris said gravely and stood up. “It’s awfully
kind of you to give us permission, sir. I think we’d better be
going now.”
Kapiton Porfirovitch sprang to his feet, too, and began to
bustle about the kitchen. Then he shook hands with each of us
which surprised us greatly.
“Call again, my dears! Don’t forget about your old neighbour,
hem-hem!... Play in my yard whenever you like. In return, you
will do me a little favour, hem-hem!...”
The old man rubbed his palms greedily. We looked at each
other, wondering what he was driving at.
“Favour?” Igor repeated cautiously.
“Oh, it’s a mere trifle! Not worth mentioning it now,” the old
man kept saying. “We’ll talk about it later, my young friends.
I always enjoy exchanging favours, you know... Well, I won’t
take any more of your time. Bye-bye!”
Kapiton Porfirovitch even showed us to the wicket and waved
good-bye.
“Well, I can’t say I like Kapiton Porfirovitch,” Igor said as
we walked along the lane.
“Neither can I,” I agreed. “There is something wicked about
him. He’s a bit too courtious... And the‘little favour’ he men-
tioned... What do you think he wants from us?”
“What are you talking about?” Boris cried out. “Didn’t the
old man tell us he was fond of exchanging things? I see no harm
in it. He may ask us to do him just a small service: buy some
bread or do some weeding in his garden, that’s all!”
189
“Come off it, we could do that even without being paid,” Na-
talka retorted. “No, he didn’t mean that\ Remember how he
smiled? Ugh!” She shuddered as she spoke.
“Wait, Tolik!” Igor suddenly exclaimed and grabbed me by
the sleeve. “Remember what your cat Cornelius told us? ‘Be-
ware of the old man!’ ‘Beware of a new neighbour!’ What if he
meant Kapiton Porfirovitch?”
When Igor mentioned Cornelius I remembered the cat’s
warning, too.
“You know what? We must go and see Cornelius.”
6
At home, I found Cornelius dozing in the corner of the kitch-
en. I was itching to ask him a few questions right there and
then but I had to win him over first. I knew Mum had bought
some carp for us today, so I picked out the biggest one and
went up to the cat.
“Wake up! Cornelius! Look at what I’ve brought you!”
The cat opened one of his eyes and glanced first at me, then at
the fish I was offering. He slowly rose and stretched, arching his
back. Then the cat lasily advanced from his corner and took
the carp with his paw, pretending he was not very interested.
Cornelius somehow managed to preserve his haughty manner
even while munching his meal and purring with delight. When
he was through with the fish, he brushed his front paw over his
muzzle and withdrew into his warm corner.
It was a suitable moment to talk, I thought, and ,squatted
beside my pet.
“Cornelius, dear,” I said, “don’t go to sleep just yet. I want
to ask you something.”
190
The cat gave me a bored look out of the corner of his eye and
miaowed sleepily. He had had a good lunch and was now going
to take a nap. My plan was about to fail.
“Cornelius, dear, tell me is our new neighbour, you know the
very man, is he the one you warned us about?”
But Cornelius said nothing. He only looked at me, screwing
up his eyes.
“His name is Kapiton Porfirovitch, right?” I went on.
The cat remained silent. He closed his eyes and was about to
doze off, it seemed.
Oh, I should’ve talked to him first, I thought desperately,
before he had had eaten so much! Discouraged, I sat down to
finish my home work.
To be frank, Cornelius has never spoken with us again since
that memorable night. Sometimes I even wondered if it really
had happened or if it had been just a dream... But no, we had
definitely heard the cat speaking! And he didn’t do t again sim-
ply because he had nothing important to say. He would if there
was a need.
The next day I told my friends how I’d failed with the cat.
“Never mind!” said Igor as I finished. “Forget the cat. Can’t
we work it out for ourselves?”
We decided to meet again in the evening on our lime-tree to
talk the matter over.
As soon as it grew dark, we were all there. We climbed our
tree and started to discuss the strange old man. Suddenly, his
room was lit up and our eyes were glued involuntarily to his
window down below. Boris and I could see only the old man’s
bald head and the top of his medicine cupboard. Igor was the
closest to the window and he had full view of what was going on
in the old pensioner’s room.
Finally, Natalka broke the silence.
191
“What’s he doing?” she whispered „о Igor but the latter
abruptly turned to us and made a warning gesture. We under-
stood that he was watching something important and we held
our breath.
We had sat motionless on our “watchtower” for about an hour
when Igor finally stirred. Then — crash! the branch snapped un-
der his weight. Igor froze, clutching at the tree trunk with both
arms.
A moment later we saw Kapiton Porfirovitch spring to his
feet and rush to the window. He drew the curtains apart and
peered into the darkness. Suddenly, the still air was rent with a
deafening “Miao-o-o-ow!!!” We recognized Cornelius’ voice.
“Hey, you, red-haired ruffian!” the old geezer bawled. “Just
you wait! I’ll get you!”
And he roared with such a sinister laughter it gave us all the
creeps.
Cornelius miaowed once more, as loudly and spitefully as he
could, and broke off.
He saved us, there’s no doubt about that. He’s a good cat!
He diverted the old man’s attention so that he didn’t see us.
Only, it looked as Cornelius and Kapiton Porfirovitch had met
before... Wow, it’s all very strange!
When we had climbed down from the lime-tree and gathered
in our summer house, Natalka looked at Igor and said:
“You are trembling all over! Are you cold?”
True, Igor was shaking like a leaf.
“You would’ve been trembling, too,” he snapped back, “if you
saw what I saw in his room!...”
“What do you mean?” we exclaimed.
But Igor took his time.
“Wait a second,” he said. “Let me get my breath first... OK.
Now listen! Did all of you see that mysterious light in the old
192
gaffer’s room? So. I saw a large table in the centre of his room.
Old Kapiton was sitting in his monstrous armchair by the table.
The table was littered with test tubes, each one had a label.
A glass-flask was being heated on a spirit-lamp. And I saw
smoke of every colour swirling inside that flask! There was smoke
in the test tubes, too. All kinds of colours! Purple, blue, rosy,
violet, you name it! They were giving off the light, I think.
“All the tubes were corked up. The old geezer got up from
time to time, shuffled across the room to the cupboard and took
out more and more tubes. And I could just make out a label
inside the cupboard... Do you know what it said? ‘Children’s
Dreams,’ that’s what!”
“You sure you were not seeing things?” Natalka cried out
with fear and amazement in her voice. “That’s impossible!”
“No, I wasn’t seeing things,” Igor objected. “And it’s up to
you to judge whether it’s possible or not. Strange things do hap-
pen, right? Do children fly? No. But the four of us, we do!
Do cats speak? Again, no. But Cornelius can speak all right.
Strange things do happen, I tell you!”
“All right, Igor,” Boris interrupted him. “What else did you
see?”
“I’ll tell you everything I saw if you don’t interrupt,” Igor
snapped back. “So, the old man uncorked more of his test tubes
and sniffed at them. He drew in the smokes through his nose and
then — he became very large! Yes, he grew before my eyes, just
like a balloon!”
“Well, I never!” I exclaimed.
“Cross my heart!” Igor pounded himself on the chest. “He
swelled and swelled! After the seventh tube he was nearly as big
as his room.”
“Yes, that’s true! I saw him almost touch the ceiling with his
bald top!” Boris broke in.
193
“Then the old geezer
sneezed seven times and
became his former self,”
Igor said. “With each
sneeze he got smaller!”
“Did you read the la-
bels on the tubes?” I
asked.
“I tried to,” Igor
sighed. “But the letters
were too small.”
“I say, boys,” Natalka
intruded. “He’s extreme-
ly odd, Old Kapiton.
He’s got some mystery
up his sleeve. We’ve got
to find out what it is!”
“Sure thing,” Igor
said quickly. “We’ve ob-
viously got to find the
reason for his magic po-
wer. But how?”
“I can tell you how!”
I exclaimed.
Three pairs of eyes
were riveted on me.
“Then tell us!”
“We must lure the old
man outside somehow.
Then one of us will slip
into his room and have a
look round.”
194
“Well, that’s a jolly good idea!” Igor exclaimed. “And we
must do it in the daytime. Old Kapiton will be off his guard then...
Boris will talk with him while Tolik and I will crawl into his
room, okay?”
“Okay!” I said.
“Natalka will be in, too,” Igor went on. “She will wait some
ten minutes, then she will join Boris. He might need her help.”
“I won’t need her help,” Boris said haughtily. “It’s an easy
job for me.”
“Don’t be so confident,” Igor cut him short. “Things happen.
So, we’ll go into action tomorrow after classes!”
7
Well, what do you think of Boris’s overconfident attitude.
Of course we should have gone over the plan with him more
carefully, but we were too involved with our preparations. We
didn’t even do our home work. As a result, we came to school
absolutely unprepared the next day.
Boris tried his best to play for time, poor fellow. He kept rais-
ing his hand and asking questions and he nearly succeeded in
diverting the teachers’ attention from the rest of us. But just in
the last lesson I was called to the blackboard. I got a bad mark!
After the lesson, my friends comforted me as much as they
could. Still, it was a blow to me. Our Quartet was known for
getting only “Good” and “Excellent” marks. And now this
embarrassment! Besides, I was afraid that that bully, Volodka,
would now make a laughing stock of me and would of course re-
mind me of how I had been going to help him with his hometasks
not so long ago. But Volodka acted strangely. He never looked
our way, never came close to us. Yes, it was very strange. Once,
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and saw that he
195
seemed a bit upset and weary. When the bell rang and classes
were over, Volodka quickly packed his schoolbag and disappear-
ed without a look at us. He didn’t even call out his usual, “Adieu,
bubs!”
Yes, our chief scoffer’s behaviour was extraordinary that day.
We couldn’t see the reason for it and, frankly, weren’t going to
waste our time on a thorough analysis. We rushed off to the
Kapiton Porfirovitch’s.
When we were some hundred metres away from his house we
parted. From that moment on, each of us was carrying out his
or her own mission.
Igor and I skirted the old man’s house. Before long, we were
approaching it from the backyard. We climbed the fence and hid
in the bushes so that we could keep an eye on the front garden
as well as the back of the house.
The wicket was in full view from where we were crouching.
Now we saw Boris come up to the wicket, with a resolute expres-
sion on his face. He’s probably got some explanation for his
visit, I thought. And it had better be a jolly good reason, other-
wise the old geezer simply won’t let Boris in.
Boris rang the bell. Presently, Kapiton Porfirovitch came out
of the house and opened the wicket to meet our friend. They
exchanged greetings and went to the small table in the front gar-
den. The old man took the bait all right. Good old Boris was do-
ing well! We saw how Boris and the old man grinned at each
other... Soon they were engrossed in a lively discussion.
“I’m off!” Igor whispered into my ear. He crawled all the way
to the window and nimbly slipped inside.
I watched Igor’s maneuvers with my heart pounding so vio-
lently that I was really afraid the old man might hear it. I turned
my head and saw that Boris was doing his best to keep the con-
versation going. Now he waved his arms and swayed, now he
196
jumped up and paced to and fro, doing his utmost to divert the
other’s attention. But it was clear our famous chatter-box was
exhausted. He glanced wistfully oyer his shoulder now and then
for it was high time for Natalka to join in. But there was still no
sign of her.
“Where on earth has she got to?” I thought as 1 tried to find
a more comfortable position in the bushes. “If we get into trou-
ble, it’ll be all her fault!”
Then I saw that Boris, worn out, took his seat again by Kapi-
ton Porfirovitch and the latter layed his hand over Boris’s
shoulder and whispered something into his ear with a mysteri-
ous grin.
Just then Igor slipped out of the window, as noiselessly as a
shadow. “At last!” I sighed with relief. “We’ve done it!”
Igor crawled up to me, and we dashed off.
Minutes' later, we were in our summer house. Igor wanted
the rest of our company to come before he would tell his story, so
we had to wait for Boris and Natalka. A good ten minutes passed
before Natalka ran into the summer house, panting.
“Where did you get to, you idiot?” I hissed at her. “You nearly
ruined everything, do you know that?!”
“Sorry, boys,” Natalka began breathlessly. “I did want to
come and help you but I met my mother on my way to you...
She sent me to the shop... and there was a line... And after I was
through with my shopping I ran straight to the old man’s garden
and saw him and Boris chatting with each other like a pair of
friends. I thought everything was fine, my help wasn’t needed,
so I dashed here!”
“OK, OK, cool down,” Igor said. “Let’s wait till Boris
comes...”
We waited for a good half-hour but Boris didn’t appear. When
he finally came, we saw he was happy as a lark and — very
/97
pleased with himself. Under his armpit he had a parcel
wrapped in an old newspaper sheet.
Igor looked at Boris and squinted.
“What have you been playing at all this time,” he said acidly.
“And we were about to write you a letter...”
“Don’t give me that!” Boris cracked back. “I was delayed by
the dear old man.”
“Dear?” Igor shouted. “Since when was that ugly old creature
‘Dear’?”
“Stop calling him names! I tell you Kapiton Porfirovitch is
a kind old man.”
“While you were gossiping with him we put ourselves in real
danger too, in case you have forgotten!” I put in, indignant.
“First, I gossiped as you call it, with Kapiton Porfirovitch
because such was my task. Second, Kapiton Porfirovitch was so
kind, he told me everything himself!” Boris said, haughtily.
We could hardly recognize our friend. What was the matter
with him? We had never heard him speak like that. And now he
was scoffing at his best friends who had taught him to fly!
Igor rose to his feet.
“And what did he tell you?” he asked, menacingly.
“The same thing you’re going to tell us!” Boris replied without
any fear. “In his test tubes the old man keeps — children’s
dreams, so there!” Boris gave us a triumphant look. “On each
tube there is a label saying which child gave a dream to dear
Kapiton Porfirovitch and when.”
We gasped in bewilderment.
“H-how d-did you...” Igor muttered, searching for words.
“How do you know that?”
“Kapiton Porfirovitch told me that himself.”
“Blimey! He told you everything himself?” I exclaimed.
“Sure he did! And quite willingly. Or do you think I forced him
198
to?... By the way, he can buy our dreams, too, and he would
pay us a lot for them! I’ve already sold him my tonight’s dream!”
We couldn’t believe our ears. A whole minute passed before
Natalka shouted:
“What do you mean sold?”
“I — sold — him — my — tonight’s — dream,” Boris repeat-
ed pedantically. “And I’m going to sell the future ones as well,
later on. Actually I’d like to sell him all my dreams in bulk as it
were. I’d make a mint!”
“But how did you do it?” I asked.
Boris made a careless gesture.
“It was very simple,” he explained. “The old man held a tube
with some brown or black powder right before my nose. He
stared at me and suddenly I was sleepy. I yawned a couple of
times and dropped off. I dreamed for only a minute or two, pro-
bably; when I awoke I saw Kapiton Porfirovitch corking up
the tube. He said my dream was now inside it.”
“How does Old Kapiton do it, I wonder...” Igor said.
“I think it’s that black powder that does it. It absorbs dreams
like, say, salt absorbs water,” Boris suggested. “There. Have
a look at it yourself!” He produced a tube and gave it to us.
One by one, we examined the tube and the powder inside it
very carefully. The powder looked exactly like black pepper and
there wasn’t anything special about it.
“Yes, it’s the powder that does the trick, I’m sure,” finally
Igor said. “What did he give it to you for, Boris?”
“He told me to uncork the tube and place it under my pillow
when I go to bed. Then, my dream would be sucked right into
the tube while I’m having it. I have to seal the tube in the morn-
ing and return it to Kapiton Porfirovitch later in the day.”
“What’s this?” Natalka asked, pointing at the parcel Boris
still held under his arm.
199
Boris smiled happily and unwrapped the parcel. We saw an
alabaster money-box shaped as a cat with a slot for coins right
between the ears. The cat was horrid with a mean white face,
blue lips and orange eyes. A reddish-brown band tied in a large
bow under the cat’s fat chin added to its ugly look.
“What a freak!” I gasped.
“What a nerve! Call your own cat a freak!” Boris exploded
“Mine is a good one, mine is first-rate!” And he shook his money
box,his eyes half-closed in delight.
Something jingled inside the alabaster monster.
“You hear?” Boris asked proudly. “It’s three silver pieces!
Three shiny silver roubles paid just for one dream! Tomorrow
I shall take you to the movies, first thing, and buy you as many
ice-creams as you can eat!”
Boris laughed, happy that he could now afford it. He was no
longer poor. He had come into money! We felt ill at ease as we
looked at our friend. It seemed he had sold his dream to treat us!
“How did you get this thing?” Igor asked with a smile.
“Kapiton Porfirovitch gave it to me to save up for a rainy
day...”
“Well, it’s your own business, of course,” Igor said sadly.
“Now, friends, I’ll tell you what Boris doesn’t know...”
And Igor told us in great detail how he’d slipped into the old
man’s room and discovered his collection of test tubes containing
children’s dreams. He also saw that each tube was labelled and
on one of the tubes a familiar name was mentioned. The name
of — who do you think? There Igor paused and then said: our
class-mate Volodka!
The news shocked us into silence and no one spoke for several
minutes, but eventually we decided to gp to Volodka. He would
have to explain!
200
8
Volodka lived in a recently-built nine-storyed block of flats
two blocks from our Vine Lane. Soon we were ringing his door-
bell.
I can’t say Volodka was happy to see us when he opened the
door. He looked very washed out.
“What do you want?” he grumbled.
“You will know soon enough,” Igor said curtly. He pushed Vo-
lodka aside and gestured to us: “Come in, we shall talk in the
kitchen.”
We duly barged into the kitchen.
“Are your folks in?” Igor asked.
“No, they aren’t,” Volodka answered in a low voice. Sudden-
ly he shouted: “Get out of here! Don’t harass me!”
“Cut it out, buddie,” Natalka said. “We want to know what
you do with your dreams.”
Volodka shuddered. He evidently didn’t expect to hear that.
His already pale face went snow white and tears came to his
eyes.
“I don’t do anything with my dreams! Now get off my back!”
“Don’t play around with us, Volodka, we know everything!
Come clean!” Natalka went on.
“There... isn’t much to tell...” Volodka mumbled, avoiding our
eyes. “Once I met an old man and sold him one of my spring
dreams, perhaps the best I’d ever had. No harm in selling it,
I thought. I would do without it all right, I thought. It would be
even better sleeping without dreams... But it came out the other
way round. Each night it was like plunging into a pitch-dark abyss.
The dreams I had before, they were so — interesting, so vivid!
Now I don’t dream at all; and in the morning I have the feeling
I have been hit in the face...
201
“But that’s not all...The worst trouble is that I can no lon-
ger...”
Volodka’s voice trailed off. He only stared at us, his teeth
clenched, his eyes full of terror.
“What’s got into you?” Boris asked in an alarmed voice.
“Come on, Volodka, tell what can’t you do.”
“M-m-m-m,” Volodka mumbled and that was all he could
utter.
“Are you dumb or what?” Igor nudged him. “Maybe, you’re
ill? Shall I give you some water?”
Igor took an empty cup and made for the tap.
“I don’t want any water!” Volodka shrieked. “Buzz off, will
you leave me alone!”
“Look, our patient’s found his voice!” Igor laughed derisi-
vely. “And such a loud one! Carry on, then.”
“I’m not going to tell you a word more! Get out of here!”
Volodka shouted at us almost wild with rage.
“Calm down, old boy, please,” Natalka interrupted him in a
soothing voice. “Don’t get so worked up. We won’t ask you any
more questions... Enough is enough, boys! Don’t you see Volod-
ka’s upset. Stop pestering him.”
“Hey, what about me?!” Boris cried out, offended. “I may
well end like him! And I want to know what is in store for me!”
“Okay, okay, don’t shout,” Natalka said. Then she turned to
Volodka again: “So, it went the wrong way with you. Dark
abyss instead of vivid dreams. I understand. What I don’t under-
stand is why you keep on selling your dreams. Why don’t you
keep away from Old Kapiton?”
“Keep away, my foot! You don’t know what you-are saying!
I was in his hands that’s what he told me after he’d bought my
first dream. He warned me he would send horror visions to me
if I tried to cheat him. So I have to do what he says. I must take
202
my tonight’s dream to him tomorrow morning. He will enjoy it
after lunch, he said!”
With this, Volodka pulled a tube out of his pocket and looked
at it with disgust.
“Give it to me!” I said, reachingout.
But Volodka jumped back and cried, scared out of his wits:
“I can’t! I can’t! I don’t want any more...”
“Any more what?” asked Natalka, surprised by his words.
“I don’t want any more nightmares!”
“Do you mean to say the old devil can send nightmares to
people? Really, Volodka!” Igor laughed sceptically.
“Yes, he can! He told me he was the Dream Snatcher, the
King of Dreams! Once I did try to split up with him but he sent
me such a horrid dream I didn’t know if I was dead or alive that
night...”
Seeing his eyes, full of terror, his pale face and quivering lips,
none of us dared to ask for details.
“S-so, that’s what you’re su-suffering from,” I stuttered.
“Oh my...” Boris gasped as he finally realized he was in hot
water now himself. His haughtiness changed into panick. “What
am I going to do?!”
“Perhaps, it would be best to tell our parents all about it?’
Natalka said pensively.
“Not for the world!” Volodka cried in panic. “My parents
won’t help me!”
“Are you sure?”
“They wouldn’t believe a word, the old man had told me. They
would think I was ill and would give me all these pills or even
maybe injections.”
“That’s true,” I agreed. “It’s better to keep our parents out
of it. They won’t believe a thing, anyway. We’ve got to get to
the bottom of this ourselves.”
203
“Let’s meet in the summer house tonight and think it over,”
Igor said.
So we left Volodka’s apartment.
At home, I couldn’t think about anything else. Poor Volodka!
It’s bad to have nightmares,.that’s for sure, but it’s far worse to
have no dreams at all! Just fancy that! In your dreams you can
do wonders. Nothing is impossible. You conquer space, discover
new planets and stars, win over blood-thirsty pirates, swim
across vast seas, tame wild beasts, make astonishing break-
throughs in science! And how exciting it is to fly in your dreams!
Can you imagine being robbed of all that?...
I understood only too well why Volodka was really miserable,
poor thing. But wait, hadn’t I met other children who looked ut-
terly broken? Sure, I had! These children usually stood aside
from their friends playing noisy games with shouts and whistles.
They just stood, pale-faced, and looked to the ground.
Suddenly, it dawned upon me that it was the ugly old man’s
work. I had no doubt about it now. The idea struck me like
lightning. We must get rid of this cursed dream stealer to save
Volodka, Boris, and a lot of other poor souls!
I was so deep in thought, I failed to notice that it was dark
already. I looked at my alarm clock and dashed off like a shot.
I ran all the way to the summer house where my friends were
waiting for me.
“Anyone got any idea?” Igor asked.
No one answered.
“What, no ideas at all?” Igor was surprised.
Again, no one said a word.
“Actually, I can’t suggest anything myself,” Igor confessed
and heaved a sigh.
“I say, let’s do some flying tonight!” Natalka broke in. “We’ll
get some fresh air, and maybe we’ll think of something?”
204
We readily agreed with her. Until that moment we’d forgotten
about our night flights.
Why had we failed to notice it was spring and that the trees
were in full blossom?... It was the best season for flying!
9
...I took off exactly at midnight. I climbed and hovered for
some time before I saw Natalka and Igor take off from their
backyards. They did it almost simultaneously.
We came together and wheeled over Vine Lane waiting for
Boris to join us. But he was nowhere to be seen.
“He must be having his ‘forty winks’!” Igor joked. “Let’s go
and wake him!”
We went down and landed in Boris’s backyard. Scarcely had
we made a step or two when we heard someone sniffling and
sobbing loudly near us. Oh dear! It was our Boris sitting on the
windowsill crying bitterly.
We came up to him and stopped, uncertain as to what we
should do.
“What’s the matter with you, Boris?” Natalka asked. She
reached out and touched him by the shoulder.
But Boris cried still louder.
“Come on, Boris, stop wailing! Be a man!” Natalka whispered
to him. “Tell us what’s wrong and you’ll feel better.”
“I won’t... f-feel bet ter...” Boris stammered through the sobs.
“Never again...”
Igor and I stood and watched him without saying a word. We
didn’t know what to do or what to say. At last, the pauses be-
tween his sobs became more frequent and soon Boris stopped
crying completely.
205
“That’s right,” Natalka said soothingly. “Now tell us what’s
up with you...”
“There isn’t much to tell,” Boris said, making a helpless ges-
ture. “I can’t fly. I just can’t do it any more!”
“Wha-at?!” I gasped.
“I — can’t fly, that’s what! I can’t take off even for a second!”
“What about one more try?” Igor suggested hesitantly.
“No, I’ve had enough of it. It’s useless! Now I know what
Volodka was about to say. He can’t fly either! And I think
I know why! Because he has sold his dreams to that evil old devil,
the Dream Snatcher!”
We were all petrified by these words. We never expected any-
thing like this! The Dream Snatcher must be a very wicked man
indeed. What had he done to Volodka? Now we realized that
Volodka had been able to fly at nights, too. Maybe your abil-
ity to fly depends on fantastic spring dreams? Which meant
other children could fly too, and maybe even adults. Well,
it looked like that anyway. But what were we going to do
with Boris?!
It was Igor who broke the silence.
“We must do something, and do it quick,” he said firmly.
“Otherwise, this wicked criminal of a chemist will go on robbing
other boys and girls of their dreams.”
“Look, I know what we should do!” I exclaimed.
“Do you?” Boris asked with a gleam of hope in his eyes.
“Remember how this robber likes to sniff at his tubes? Now,
what happens to him right after that?”
“Why, he grows big, that’s what,” Natalka shrugged. She
didn’t see what I was driving at.
“And when he sneezes?” I went on.
“Great, Tolik!” Igor cried out as he saw what I meant. “Now
we have it!” And he slapped me on my shoulder with all his
206
might, thrilled with the idea. I reeled and nearly fell over back
wards, but I didn’t mind!
“Now I know...” Igor began to say but cut himself short as we
suddenly heard some strange jingling sound. Was it the robber
himself eavesdropping? We turned around and saw...
We had to pinch ourselves to believe what we saw, I tell you.
We saw a cat trotting across the moonlit yard to the dream
robber’s porch. What’s so unusual about that, you may ask. Well,
that was no ordinary cat, it was the spitting image of the hid-
eous alabaster cat-shaped box the Dream Snatcher had given
Boris the other day. I strained my eyes. It was a mind-boggling
scene: yes. It was Boris’s money-box running on all its four!
“Come on, boys!” Igor yelled. “We must catch it!”
We rushed after the creature, but it was a good runner. We
had hardly made a step when the cat (or the moneybox which-
ever it was!) leapt over the fence and shot through the Dream
Snatcher’s window.
“We’re done for!” Boris whispered.
“Don’t panick! Let’s have a closer look,” Igor suggested. We
moved up stealthily to the lit-up window. Igor propped me up to
peep into the room. There I saw the old gaffer who was seating
at the table and staring at the motley of tubes in front of him.
In his lap he had the alabaster cat.
“Well done, well done,” the robber kept saying as he stroked
the repulsive creature. “You’re a bright boy, you are. Now let’s
see what you’ve brought this time...”
The Dream Snatcher took his cat by its paws and began to
shake it over the table. He shook it until three silver roubles fell
one by one onto the table with a loud jingle, followed by some
oddly-looking tiny white disks.
“Fine, fine...” the old man muttered under his breath, finger-
ing the disks. “Good work... Let’s see what my young friends
201
like to talk about!” And he began to sort out the white disks into
an intricate pattern.
Suddenly, I realized what it all was about. These disks were, in
fact, fragments of our conversation! The question of how the
words turned into the disks and were stored inside the alabaster
cat didn’t worry me in the least; I’d already grown accustomed
to such wonders.
But the white disks meant that the Dream Snatcher was going
to learn about our plans, and that was a real blow! My hair
stood on end.
Meanwhile, the wicked man finished arranging the disks
on the table and began to read.
“Here we are...” he muttered, rubbing his palms, “now, what’s
this?... T know what we should do...’ Clever boy, may he go to
hell... ‘He grows big...’ Darn it, I’ve been watched! Just you
wait, little snoopers!’-’
The Dream Snatcher was now fretting and fuming. “What’s
next? ‘And when he sneezes...’ That’s all? What these little
bastards are up to? Cheeky devils! Hey, you, blasted fool!”
He was now swearing at the alabaster cat. “You should’ve used
your damned ears better!”
But his cat remained silent and still, naturally. This was ob-
viously too much for the Dream Snatcher. Letting out a string of
curses, he grabbed the dumb creature by its head and smashed
it against the wall! The alabaster cat broke into pieces, but its
ear-to-ear grin remained on its face.
“Aha, there are some more words...” the Dream Snatcher said,
as he fumbled with the alabaster fragments.
I was in a cold sweat. What if that ghastly cat had heard
something important?
“Well, well...” the horrid old man muttered, “they talked
about flying... Ah, I see! The little bleeders can fly, too! That’s
208

good! That’s exactly what I need. Now I’ll show them! What
will they do when all their dreams are mine, ha-ha!”
The Dream Snatcher let out such a sinister laugh that my
legs turned to jelly...
At last, he stopped laughing and slumped back. “They won’t
escape it, anyway. They just don’t know who’s after them!”
The Dream Snatcher rose and shuffled across the room. He
opened his glass clipboard and took out two test tubes. Then he
returned to his armchair, opened the tubes and drew in the
smokes through his ugly nose. He grew twice as large, but sneez-
ed twice and became his former self. Then the Dream Snatcher
lay back in his armchair, thoughtful expression on his evil face.
I hopped off Igor’s back and we all rushed to the summer
house.
Once inside, everybody looked at me:
“So what did you see, Tolik?”
I told my friends everything I had seen.
“Well!” Igor exclaimed. “It’s good he doesn’t know what we
are up to. But he knows we can fly and that’s dangerous!”
“Never mind, tomorrow we shall see what’s what,” I said.
Soon after this we left our summer house and parted. We
knew the night was going to be rather sleepless for all of us...
10
I got into bed was just about to snuggle under the blan-
ket when something heavy came down on top of me. I sat up,
ready to defend myself, but was much relieved to discover it
was my cat Cornelius.
“Push off, Cornelius, I want to sleep! Scram!” I said, pretend-
ing I was angry with the animal.
“It’s time for you to act, not sleep!” my cat suddenly said.
210
“Wow! You’re speaking again!” I cried out and made an
awkward attempt to kiss Cornelius, but he dodged.
“It’s not the time for games either!” the cat said reproachfully.
“Get dressed quickly! Your friend’s in big trouble!”
“Who? What trouble?” I demanded, hastily putting on my
shirt and pants.
“Boris!” Cornelius briefly explained. “I was in his home just a
minute ago. I saw and heard everything!”
“What on earth do you mean...”
“I mean a disaster is going to happen if we don’t prevent it.
The Dream Snatcher went to see Boris’s mother while you were
debating something in your summer house. What a racket you
were making in there!... Ugh. Anyway the old man told Boris’s
mum their granny had taken ill and that she was expecting
Boris to come and stay with her for the night. Then the old
man left. I followed him and saw him get on the tram that goes
to where the old lady lives...”
“Boris is likely to.get lured into a snare like that little Red
Riding Hood!” I exclaimed.
“Fairy tales will have to wait,” Cornelius cut me short. “We
must hurry to make sure we can rescue your friend. I know the
old man, he’s more savage than your fairy-tale wolf!”
I was already dressed. We bounced out of the window not to
disturb my parents.
“We should be there before the old crook arrives,” Corne-
lius rasped. “We’ve got no time for a tram and no money for a
taxi... Which means we’ll have to fly...”
“What? Do you mean you can fly, too?!”
“Of course!”
I realized there was no time to be shocked by this news, so
I promptly whispered the magic words and soared up. When
I opened my eyes I saw Cornelius flying to my left.
211
“Step on it!” he shouted and charged on.
It took me some time and rather an effort to catch up with
him. Now we were flying side by side.
“Неу> dear Cornelius,” I asked my cat minutes later. uhow
come you know the Dream Snatcher?”
“It’s a long story,” he said after a pause.
“Make it short then...”
Finally, Cornelius said:
“Okay, I’ll tell you. To start with, it was my greatgrandfather
and, later, my grandfather who knew the dream robber well.
There was a time when my grandfather was a little kitten and
the robber was a little boy like you. But unlike you or your
friends, he was the bitter enemy of all the cats. He always hurl-
ed stones at us, kicked us, grabbed us by the tail and dragged us
around, or else teased and tortured us in some other way. We
never knew why he did it. He made our life really miserable!”
I glanced at Cornelius and saw the hair bristle up as he re-
membered those painful events. He grew silent.
“What happened then?” I asked impatiently.
“Then the nasty boy grew older and became as bad as bad can
be,” Cornelius continued. “But for him it was only too natural
since he had always been a nasty boy, and an odd one at that.
And he just grew still nastier over the years. Eventually he
took to inventing special powders that enabled him to rob chil-
dren of their dreams.”
“But what for?” I asked in surprise.
“Well, he wanted to rob children of their visions so that he
could become their sole master, the King of Dreams! Another
reason was that he desperately wanted to feel like a child just
for a brief moment. So, he did invent the magic powder, and
from then on he became our eternal enemy. The Dream Snatcher
catches cats and cuts their hair off. That’s what he makes his
2/2
powder from. Then he turnes the poor cats into dreadful ala-
baster creatures. And what a use he has for them! They become
money-boxes which overhear people’s talks! The Dream Snatch-
er picks out some kid or other and gives him or her a money-
box as a gift, then he finds out everything about his victim.”
“But — why does he hate you, Cornelius?”
“ Because I promised my father to take revenge on the Dream
Snatcher!” Cornelius replied proudly. “Since then, 1 follow him
wherever he goes. I track him down and warn the local cats
about the danger. Have you ever heard the cats crying at night?
Don’t think we do that just for the fun of it. It’s our warning
signal. We pass it on to each other: Beware of the Dream
Snatcher, he is on the prowl!
, “That’s why he hates me so much. Given the chance, he
would’ve killed me long ago. But catching cats is getting more
and more difficult for the Dream Snatcher, and all because of
me. No cats — no powder, no powder —• no dreams. It’s simple
enough. Incidentally, the robber wouldn’t be able to do his
dirty tricks if it weren’t for some rough boys who help him and
who are going to follow his example.”
“Soon you’ll see the. end of the Dream Snatcher, I promise
you! The Vine Lane kids have declared war on him!”
“Thank you, that’s great!” Cornelius exclaimed enthusiasti-
cally. Suddenly he whispered, “Hush, hush, here we are!”
True, we were over the house where Boris’s granny lived. We
landed right in front of her porch and I knocked at the door.
The old lady opened the door and cried out in alarm:
“Why, it’s you, Tolik! Is something wrong with Boris?”
“Boris is fine,” I assured her, realizing we were too late. Ob-
viously the old devil had already lured our Boris into the woods.
“I was just passing by and thought it was a good idea to call
on you, granny. Well, I’ll be going now...”
213
The old lady sighed with relief. She fussed about her kitchen,
saying, “There is some blackberry jam left! Would you like
some before you go?”
“Some other time,” I said, and shook my head, though my
mouth watered...
I stepped outside and ran to Cornelius who was waiting for
me, perched on a fence.
“To the forest, quick!” he whispered. “They are there, I’m
sure!”
We went like the wind.
“S-s-stop!” Cornelius hissed suddenly. “I can see them! Now
listen. You grab Boris and the both of you run for your lives
while I deal with the Dream Snatcher...”
“But he will catch you!”
“Don’t worry, he won’t. And if he does... Well, there’ll be one
more alabaster cat in his collection...”
With these words Cornelius disappeared into the darkness.
I peered in front of me. I could just make out two figures.
It was Boris and the Dream Snatcher. The wicked man was
in the lead and Boris was stumbling after him, swaying like a
sleep-walker.
Suddenly, a heart-breaking “Miao-o-o-o-ow!!” rent the still
air. The Dream Snatcher leapt into the air, startled.
“It’s you again, you red devil?! Dammit! Now you won’t
escape!” he growled. Then, with sprightliness you wouldn’t
have expected from a man of his age, the Dream Snatcher swung
around on his heek and dashed in the direction of the cat’s cry.
Wasting no time, I rushed up to Boris and grabbed him by the
sleeve:
“Come on, Boris, let’s get out of here!”
But Boris only blinked as if he’d just been jerked from sleep.
“W-wait, where am I?”
214
“Shut up and run!” I shouted and we ran like the wind through
the dark forest. ’
Minutes later, we were sitting in a late-night tram breathing
heavily, our hearts pounding. I told Boris that, due to Cornelius,
he had been rescued from the old sneak just in time. Boris only
blinked his eyelids, as he listened to my story.
When we reached our Vine Lane, I warned him to stay home
till morning and not to answer the door bell or go out and we
parted.
11
On Sunday morning we were sitting on the branches of our
lime-tree, in silence. We had already discussed the awful events
of the night before and now there seemed no point in talking.
The Dream Snatcher had become really dangerous. So, we were
sitting and waiting for Volodka to come. Much depended on
how he would behave this morning.
As we sat there, we noticed that the spring had come to an
end. The earth was covered with fresh lush grass and the trees
were covered with new bright green leaves. Dandelions were
scattered in the grass like tiny fragments of the sun.
“What a beautiful morning!” Natalka said with a sigh.
“True!” Igor agreed and we were silent again.
Presently, we spotted a yellow butterfly flitting under the
tree. Then a pair of sparrows took notice of it and rushed at
what they probably thought was an easy catch. But the butter-
fly dived, as if sensing danger, sat on a yellow dandelion and
was suddenly invisible, blending in perfectly with the yellow
background! The sparrows were taken aback. They peered
around, wondering what had happened to their target and
giving each other sidelong looks of mistrust. At that moment the
butterfly took off and fluttered away from its enemies.
215
Watching this little event in nature, we nearly forgot about
our own predicament. I even burst out laughing, scaring the
sparrows away.
Then Volodka appeared. He climbed our tree and sat on a
branch close to Igor. Boy, did he look terrible! It was obvious
that he hadn’t had a wink of sleep the night before. I guessed
Boris had also been too shaken to sleep. Both of them were
pallid, with dark rings under their eyes.
Now Igor pulled out the tube he had prepared beforehand
and turned to Volodka.
“Here, take this,” Igor said. “Now you go to the dream rob-
ber and sell him this tube. You’ll tell him it’s your latest dream.”
Volodka opened his mouth, but Igor waved his hand:
“We can talk later. Get going! We shall follow you.”
We jumped off the tree and hurried to the old man’s house,
with Volodka some thirty metres ahead of us.
The Dream Snatcher was obviously expecting Volodka, he
stepped out onto the porch the moment the boy knocked at the
gate. If we hadn’t known what a wicked wizard the old man
was, we would certainly have felt pity for him. He looked very
miserable indeed. His face was scratched and swollen, his hook-
ed nose was twisted, and he had a black eye. The old devil had
to use his hand to open it even for a second.
It was my cat’s work of course. Perhaps, he had spent all
night luring him into the deep thickets to trip over stumps and
roots, to force his way through bramble bushes, or to bump his
head against trees... Anyway that fact that he’d suffered a great
deal was written all over the Dream Snatcher’s face and if it had
been any other man we would have commiserated with him.
But not with this cruel monster!
“Why, it’s you, my dear boy!” the Dream Snatcher grinned
broadly when he saw Volodka. “Do come in, my precious young
216

friend! I was just beginning to wonder why you hadn’t come to
your old friend...”
“I’ve brought you my latest dream!” Volodka said.
“Good boy!” The robber’s grin became still broader. “That’s
very-very clever of you, I would say!” He rubbed his hands
greedily. “But — where is it?”
Volodka produced his tube.
“Aren’t you a wonderful boy!” the old gaffer prattled on.
“And what a terribly fine dream it must be!”
With this the robber snatched the tube and swiftly withdrew
into the house to put it into his cupboard.
Soon he reappeared on the porch, clutching money in one hand
and an empty tube in the other
“Here, take this,” he said to Volodka. “Your ice-cream mon-
ey. Or you may buy yourself a pack of cigarettes, if you want,
hem-hem!” he chortled. “And don’t forget your old friend is
always glad to see you, my dear boy!”
The Dream Snatcher suddenly changed his tone and bawled:
“Enough of this blabber! I’m busy. Go away, boy, and bring
me more dreams tomorrow!”
He thrust the tube and the money into Volodka’s hands and
pushed him to the wicket.
We were hiding close in the bushes, and we saw and heard
everything. Peeping through the opened window, we saw the
Dream Snatcher go up to the cupboard, humming a tune, and
take out the tube which contained Volodka’s dream, or so he
thought. We held our breath. The old man uncorked the tube,
shaking with impatience, then he put it to his hooked nose...
Suddenly, the Dream Snatcher started to sneeze — Atisho-o!
The air was still resounding with the echo when he sneezed the
second time, then the third, then the fourth, and so on. Ati-
sho-o-d! Atisho-o-o-o!! Atisho-o-o-o-o!!!
218
All our fears were gone. We climbed over the windowsill and
stood in the Dream Snatcher’s fusty room. He was sitting in his
ugly armchair and sneezing. With each sneeze he grew smaller
and smaller. Soon he was as small as a cat, then as small as a
mouse... At last, he was as teeny as a mosquito. We barely heard
his last “atish...” and the Dream Snatcher vanished! Forever!
We all ran up to his cupboard and began to open all the tubes
there were inside setting the stolen dreams free one by one.
“Have your dream back, Irinka!”
“Here it comes your dream, Vasil!”
“Hey, this one is mine!” Boris cried out, seeing the label with
his name on. He took the tube and laughed, “I’ll have a fantastic
dream tonight!”
So, we freed all the dreams we found in the old man’s house
and went outside, feeling very pleased with ourselves.
Now you may want to know how we got the better of the
Dream Snatcher! It was simple enough. Instead of the promised
dream, there was black pepper in the tube Volodka brought to
him. The pepper looked exactly like the magic powder the
wicked wizard used. Simple, yes?!
...We were skipping down our Vine Lane and singing a merry
song. Now there were five of us! We smiled at each other and
to the people we met on our way. We felt so happy because we
knew that the old wicked wizard was done away with for good
and that no one would rob us of our dreams any more. We also
knew that we would keep flying as long as we could, enjoy our
fantastic May dreams full of fragrance and bright colours and
that was the most important thing of all.

Heart in Flames
by Anatoly Dimarov
This is a story of a tribe of fairy dwarfs. They were very small
wooden creatures who lived in the densest parts of the deep
forest, where few people ever went. The wooden dwarfs lived
for a very long time, but they never knew what to do with them-
selves since, being wooden, they needed neither food nor drink,
let alone clothing. They were hardy little creatures. They did
not suffer even from the bitter frosts.
The dwarfs spent their days climbing trees and bustling about
aimlessly. They never gave much thought to what they were
doing. The dwarfs didn’t have hearts, so they could neither love,
nor hate, and they knew nothing about joy or anger, sorrow or
sympathy. Whenever a dwarf was careless enough to fall off a
high tree and break his back, his fellow dwarfs would gather
around immediately and their little wooden heads with pointed
noses would jerk up and down excitedly as they chatted in their
rattling, wooden voices. Their curiosity satisfied, they would
dart off leaving their poor brother to rot where he had fallen.
The dwarfs also used to throw sharp, pointed fir cones at
forest beasts. They did this just for the fun of it. Small wonder,
the animals didn’t like them. They were the same with the birds;
the dwarfs plundered their nests and dropped their eggs, just to
see how they would crack when they hit the ground. That is
221
why the forest’s inhabitants kepi well clear of the thickets where
the dwarfs lived. Only a frightened hare, running for his life
from a wolf or a fox, might accidentally enter the dwarfs’ ter-
ritory; then, as soon as he realized where he was he would turn
round and hop away as fast as he could.
So it was no wonder that one day the wooden dwarfs were
greatly amazed to see a little girl wander into their part of the
forest. The dwarfs heard the girl calling out to somebody and
when they peeped out of the bushes they saw her sit down beside
a fir-tree and burst into tears.
The wooden dwarfs drew nearer, hiding behind the tree-
trunks. They gaped at the crying girl in blank surprise.
“What’s that?” exclaimed one of them bewildered by the tears
rolling down the girl’s cheeks.
“It must be rain,” another suggested.
Then, a dwarf named Browny, who was famous for his curiosi-
ty and courage, decided it was time for a closer look.
“What’s that you’re doing, little girl?” Browny asked, step-
ping forward. He reached out and let some tears drop onto his
spindly hand.
The girl was very surprised (she was a modern girl and she
knew for certain that fairies didn’t exist), and she must have
been a bit scared to discover a wooden dwarf by her ankle, but
she pulled herself together and explained politely, “I’m crying.”
“And what is crying?” the brave dwarf went on, because he
had never seen someone cry.
“It’s shedding tears to show how unhappy you are.”
“Now, what is — t-terars?”
Instead of replying, the little girl sobbed and pointed at the
drops of water in Browny’s cupped hand.
“But why are you unhappy?” Browny demanded because, as
I said, he was a very nosey dwarf.
222
“Because... I’ve lost my way and... I don’t... know how to get
out of here...”
“You want to get out of here?” the dwarf exclaimed, incredu-
lously. “But where do you want to go? Is there anything else
in the world apart from this forest?”
“Of course, there is! There are steppes and mountains, seas
and oceans, towns and villages...”
These words made Browny tingle with excitement. To make
up for his lack of brains, Browny had developed a keen instinct
for a good adventure and now his interest was greatly aroused.
So he said:
“I want to see your world! Will you help me, little girl?”
“Sure I will,” replied the girl. “If you show me the way out of
this horrible forest.”
Browny didn’t look back at his fellow dwarfs who were still
watching him and the girl, their heads poking out from behind
the tree-trunks. “Let’s go,” said Browny and he went skipping
and hopping in front of the girl on his spinderly legs.
They spent many hours treking across the forest. They forced
their way through thorny bushes, crossed deep ravines with icy
water murmuring far below. They skirted round the giant
trees... The forest seemed to be endless.
Finally, the girl could walk no further.
“Don’t go so fast, Browny,” she groaned and sanked to the
ground. “Let’s have a rest. My heart is aching.”
“Heart! What is heart?” Browny asked at once, hopping up
and down in front of the girl. Since he was made of wood, he
didn’t have a heart or lungs or muscles and he had never felt
tired in his life.
“Well...” the girl said pensively, “the heart is something no
human can do without.”
“Then show me your heart!”
223
“I can’t do that. It’s inside me.”
Browny thought for a moment, or rather made a pause, be-
cause he was hardly able to think. Then he asked:
“Is it difficult to get a heart?”
“You can’t get a heart. You are born with one.”
“But I want to have a heart too!”
The girl was going to reply, “What nonsense you are talking!”
but she decided against it, because the dwarf was helping her
to get out of the forest and it would have been a rude answer.
“Oh please. Give me your heart!” insisted Browny.
“I can’t give you my heart, Browny, because without it I shall
die,” the girl said firmly. “But look, there is a doctor in our
town who collects dead people’s hearts. He revives these hearts
and keeps them alive for a long time. We can go to that doctor,
if you-want, and ask him to give you a heart. He won’t refuse,
he’s a kind man.”
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed the dwarf, greatly cheered up
by the idea. He hopped up and down impatiently. “Let’s go
there right away! I want to have a heart just like you.”
Again they walked and walked until they reached the edge of
the forest. And from there they could see a town in the distance.
The little girl put the dwarf into her basket, so that no one
would trample on him and set off to find the famous doctor.
I must say here that this doctor is an actual person, but I don’t
want to give his name and address because, if I did, thousands
of people would rush to him to have their hearts exchanged.
They would be endlessly pestering the doctor, wasting his time
and robbing him of any chance to get on with his scientific work.
Neither will I tell you the number of the bus the girl took, nor
where she got off, nor how she found the doctor’s laboratory.
Instead, I’m going to tell you how the doctor met our heroes
and what he said when Browny told him what they had come for.
224
“So, you want to have heart. Mm... What kind of heart would
you like to have?”
“A human heart, of course,” replied the dwarf in his feeble
voice, gazing around him in wonder. They were in the doctor’s
enormous laboratory. There were glass shelves running along
the glossy white walls and the floor was covered with tiles.
“Well, there are many kinds of human hearts, all different,”
said the doctor sternly. Then, seeing how genuinely amazed
Browny was, he smiled a soft, kind smile and said, “All right,
I’ll show you what I have and you can pick one out for yourself.”
Browny jumped at the invitation. He tottered after the doctor
along the rows of glass shelves, each crammed with jars of every
shape and size. The larger ones were filled with some clear liquid
in which human hearts were floating. The hearts were alive and
throbbing.
“This heart once belonged to a very bad man,” the doctor
explained, pointing at one of the jars. “See, it’s yellow and all
wrinkled up!”
“I don’t want that one, it’s ugly!” the dwarf replied.
The doctor grinned approvingly. “Now look at this one, shiny
as a glass ball,” he went on. “See how well it’s preserved. This
heart has worked for decades, but it still isn’t worn out, because
its former owner didn’t use it. He never cared about anyone or
anything.”
Browny was in two minds; the shiny heart seemed very
attractive, but he wanted to see the other ones as well. So they
moved on.
“Look at this one, it belonged to a gangster...”
“Why is it so black?”
“It’s smeared with all the crimes its owner committed...”
“And whose heart is this?”
Unlike the rest, the heart Browny was pointing to wasn’t
225
floating, but lay at the bottom of its jar. It was a strange-look-
ing heart: dirty, grey and heavy as if carved out of a rock.
“This heart belonged to a man who cared only for himself
and he didn’t value other people at all,” the doctor explained.
The dwarf didn’t understand much of these words. Still, he
wasn’t going to ask for this heart, it looked so repulsive!
Hour after hour the doctor displayed the hearts, one by one.
But Browny couldn’t make up hiis mind. Finally, the doctor
reached up to the top shelf and produced one more jar. He placed
it carefully on the white marble table and said:
“This heart once belonged to a very kind man. You can see
how large and bright it is!”
“What are those red needles sticking into it for?” asked Brow-
ny, puzzled.
“Those aren’t needles, my friend, they are nerves. They make
the heart very sensitive and easily hurt. Whoever has this heart
isn’t going to have a free and easy life. His sensitive heart will
make him respond anxiously to human suffering and misfortune.
Whenever he meets a stranger who is upset, his heart will imme-
diately feel hurt, and he will only feel better when he has
brought some comfort to the stranger. Now, see for yourself...”
Suddenly, the doctor banged on the edge of the table with his
open palm and grimaced with pain. As he did so, the heart
throbbed so violently it nearly jumped out of the jar.
“I’ll take this one!” the dwarf said, his eyes glued to the jar.
“All right, I shall implant it into you myself,” the doctor
agreed. “Only, think twice before you take it. With this heart,
you won’t have a moment’s rest.”
But Browny stubbornly repeated, “I want this one!”
So the doctor split open his wooden chest and fixed the human
heart deep inside. And that was that.
...When Browny came back to his tribe, he felt quite different
and altogether very strange. His native forest, once gloomy and
hostile, was now bright and friendly. Browny was thrilled by
every living creature he saw, from the tiniest bug to the largest
wild animal. His short-lived curiosity had turned into constant
concern and sympathy.
When he happened to see one of his fellow dwarfs teasing a
beetle, he would put a stop to it immediately, saying:
“Leave it alone! See, it’s hurrying home to feed its babies?”
Or, should Browny happen to come across a wounded bird sur-
rounded by a crowd of gaping dwarfs, he would call out:
227
“Don’t touch it! You’re hurting it! Can’t you have some sym-
pathy for the poor little bird?”
“What do you mean, sympathy?” asked the dwarfs in sur-
prise, their hollow heads knocking against each other.
How was he going to explain that? They had no hearts, they
could feel nothing at all. They wouldn’t understand!
The eldest wooden dwarf had met humans more often than the
others and he had some idea of what was meant by “sympathy.”
He said in an authoritative voice, “You can’t feel sorrow for
everybody. You can’t share everybody’s troubles, or you won’t
live very long!”
Everyone readily agreed with the old dwarf, because he was
the eldest of them all and his beard was the longest. Browny was
the only one who disagreed, but he kept silent. After all, how
were these heartless fellows ever going to understand? He felt
he would have to spend the rest of his life all by himself as he
was the only dwarf who could feel pity for a creature in trouble.
And indeed he would have gone on living like this if it weren’t
for another strange event...
It happened in winter. The trees were stiff with frost and
covered with snow. A little boy was sitting under a mighty
oak-tree. He was motionless. Like that girl before, he had lost
his way, and was so exhausted that he couldn’t open his eyes.
As was their habit, the wooden dwarfs gathered around the
almost frozen boy and asked each other, “What’s the matter
with him?” For them, it was just a bit of fun...
“He’s freezing,” the eldest dwarf with the longest beard said
boastfully, and he looked around, waiting for the others to com-
pliment him on his wisdom. “I’ve seen humans freezing to death
before. We won’t have to wait long before this boy is dead.”
Before the boastful dwarf had finished speaking, Browny
rushed to the poor boy. A wave of pity and compassion was
228

welling up in his heart and he felt as if he was being pierced
with thousands of needles... Browny took hold of the freezing
boy’s sleeve and pulled at it with all his might, trying to rouse
the boy from his deadly slumber.
“Get up, boy! Get up, for mercy’s sake!”
But the boy seemed oblivious to everything, only his eyelashes
quivered and his hand, limp and cold as marble, drooped down
into the snow.
Browny looked about helplessly, but all he saw was the ice-
cold sun looming above the snow-covered forest, and his indif-
ferent fellow dwarfs gaping at him in silence. Browny grew
desperate. “He’ll die in a minute,” he thought, overwhelmed7
with pity. Then, all of a sudden, his heart burst into flames!
His little wooden body collapsed into the snow sending red
and orange flames into the air around him.
Browny, that merciful wooden dwarf, was burning himself
to save the boy from freezing to death. When the boy grew warm
enough, he climbed slowly to his feet and trudged away. He
never realized who or what had saved him.
Meanwhile, the dwarfs gathered around their charred brother
whom they had known as Browny. A handful of glowing em-
bers and a singed wooden head with sorrowful eyes was all
that remained of him. The dwarfs pointed and chattered in
their cold, wooden voices, “Why are your eyes so sad?”
“Because I pity you,” the dying dwarf replied in a whisper.
“But you will never understand that...”
Литературно-художественное издание
ГОРЯЧЕЕ СЕРДЦЕ
Сказки украинских писателей
Перевод с украинского
КОВАЛЕНКО О. НИБАРЫШЕВА В. А.
Художник ЗАСТАНЧЕНКО А. М.
Киев, издательство
художественной литературы «Днипро»
На английском языке
Редактор В. С. Ружицький
Художшй редактор С. П. Савицъкий
Техтчний редактор Н. К. Достатка
Коректор А. К. Вшярсъка
ИБ № 4788
Здано до складання 14.12.89.
ГКдписано до друку 03.10.90.
Формат 70x84'/i6- llanip офсетний № 1.
Гарнитура кудр. енцикл. Друк офсетний.
Умовн. друк. арк. 15,805. Умовн. фарбов^дб. 65,128.
Обл.-вид. арк. 12,911. Тираж 18 000 пр.
Зам. 0-132 Щна 1 крб.
Видавництво
художньо! лп-ератури «Дншро».
252601, Кшв—МСП,
вул. Володимирська, 42.
3 Д1апозитив1в тексту
Головного шдприемства республшанського
виробничого об’еднання «ПолДрафкнига»
на Ки1вськ1й книжковш фабриц!
«Жовтень»
252053, Ки'1в,
вул. Артема, 25.
Ukrainian children’s tales
in English translation with
many colourful illustrations
are regularly brought out
by Dnipro Publishers:
ECHO OF THE GREEN
MOUNTAINS.
Ukrainian Folk Tales
THE WITCH-PRINCESS
Ukrainian Folk Tale
THE MAGIC WAND.
Fairy Tales
by Yuri Yarmish
THE ADVENTURES
OF A SHEPHERD.
Ukrainian Folk Tale
WELCOME DANGER!
A Comic Book Loosely
Based on Ukrainian Folk Talk
HOW IVAN WENT
TO SEE THE SUN.
Ukrainian Folk Tales
THE WIND HORSE’S
MASTER.
Ukrainian Folk Tale
THE GOLDEN TOWER.
Ukrainian Folk Tales
and Legends

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