weeks. And it’s a difficult business, almost impossible in fact. A similar journey was attempted recently by Baron von Liebnitz, but his automobile wasn’t hardy enough for the Russian roads, and it fell apart. My “Flying Carpet” will survive them, though, because the three-wheel design is better suited to bad roads than a four-wheeler, and I shall prove it. And then, there’s this, look.’
Senka had never seen Erast Petrovich looking so lively. His eyes were usually cool and calm, but now they were sparkling, and his cheeks were flushed. Mr Nameless was quite unrecognisable.
‘Instead of the new-fangled pneumatic tyres, which are perfectly convenient for an asphalt street, but entirely inappropriate for our appalling roads, I have designed single-piece solid rubber tyres with steel wire.’
Senka prodded a black tyre. The pimpled, springy surface felt pleasant to the touch.
The design is based on the “Patent-Motorwagen” from the Benz factory, but the “Flying Carpet” is far more advanced! On his new “Velo” Herr Benz has only a three-horse-power motor and the gearwheel drive is attached to the rear axle, while I have moved it to the frame – look! – and I have a motor of almost one thousand cubic centimetres! That makes it possible to reach a speed of thirty versts an hour. And on an asphalt surface up to thirty-five! Perhaps even forty! Just imagine!’
Senka was infected by the engineer’s excitement. He sniffed at the seat, and it smelled of leather and kerosene. Very tasty!
‘And how do you ride on this carpet?’
‘Sit here. That’s it,’ said Erast Petrovich, delighted to explain, and Senka started swaying blissfully on the springy seat. ‘You’ll start moving in just a moment. It’s quite delightful, there’s nothing to compare it with. Only be careful, don’t rush. Put your right foot on the clutch pedal. Press it as far as it will go. Good. This is the ignition switch. Turn it. Do you hear that? The spark has ignited the fuel liquid. You open the valves with these levers. Well done. Now pull on the handbrake, to free the wheels. Engage the transmission –that’s this lever. Now slowly lift your foot off the clutch and at the same time pull the choke, which ...’
Senka took hold of the little metal stick that had the strange name ‘choke’ and pulled it towards himself. The self-propelled carriage suddenly darted forward.
‘A-a-agh!’ Senka yelled in terror and delight.
He got a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, as if he was racing down an icy slide in a sleigh. The three-wheeler went shooting out through the gates of the shed, the wall of the house came towards it at high speed, and the next moment Senka’s chest crashed into the steering wheel. There was a loud clang and a jangle of broken glass, and the flight came to an end.
There were red bricks right in front of Senka’s face, with a green caterpillar crawling across them. His ears were ringing and his chest hurt, but no bones seemed to be broken.
Senka heard leisurely footsteps approaching from behind. He saw that the glass was broken on one dial and it had completely come away from another, and he pulled his head down into his chest: Beat me, Erast Petrovich, beat me within an inch of my life – even that’s too good for a bonehead like me.
‘. . . which regulates the flow of fuel, and so it should be pulled very gently’, said Mr Nameless, continuing with his explanation as if he had not even been interrupted. ‘You pulled it too hard, Senya.’
Senka hung his head and got out. When he saw the flattened lamp, which had been so smart and shiny only a few moments ago, he sobbed out loud. What a disaster.
‘Never mind,’ the engineer reassured him, squatting down on his haunches. ‘In automobilism breakages are an everyday event. We’ll fix everything this very moment. Be so kind, Senya, as to bring me the box of tools. Will you help me? It’s quite easy to remove a dashboard with two people. If you only knew how badly I need an assistant.’
‘What about the sensei?’ asked Senka, stopping just as he was about to dash over to the shed. ‘Doesn’t he help you?’
‘Masa is a conservative and a staunch opponent of progress,’ Erast Petrovich said with a sigh as he pulled on a pair of leather gloves.
Well, that was true enough. The engineer and Masa had been rowing over progress almost every day.
If Erast Petrovich had just read an article in