Ondzej Nef
	THE MURMUR OF VERNAL RAIN
	The secretary bowed and spoke:
	"Your highness, the apparatus is ready."
	"Fine." Answered General Fillips Juan Maria Tibisco y Gomez,
titled in the official press as the Friend. Unofficial sources,
spread by word of mouth, in whispers, called him the Genteel
Wisdom, the Guardian of the weak, the Might of our brawn, and the
Breath of the people, but most often and most simply he was known
as the Father of the Nation.
	"The music may play!"
	The secretary went away quickly, and the General paused
until the first sounds drifted into his office. He made certain
that not a speck marred his snow-white uniform and then moved
towards the big hall.
	The whole nation was gathered there in order to witness his
latest triumph today. He would crown his endless row of successes
which had pulled him out of the stinking bays with the ugly name
Pig's anus, where he had made a living as a mollusc hunter, and
carried him up to the heights of the Presidential palace. Here
his generals and admirals were gathered, embellished with the
gold medals Blood and Fire. Masters of the word and of the
palette were also present there to eulogize his Majesty. Scholars
appeared as well, their bald crowns shining in the glow of the
enormous crystal chandeliers. They were all escorted by wives,
daughters, mistresses and girlfriends, who realized how highly
the Friend esteemed female beauty. He believed that women love
only one man with real adoration - himself. When the Friend
entered the hall, the music subsided, but as he waved with his
hand, dressed in a white glove, the musicians started playing
again. The dancers resumed their rapture after the momentary
slowdown, during which they offered their smiles at the feet of
the Father of the Nation and their eyes followed him as he went
towards the dais, escorted by those closest and most devoted to
him.
	The orchestra finished the piece and the conductor turned to
the Friend with an inquisitive glance. Then the Friend raised his
hands and turned towards the assembly.
	"I am happy to see you all, joyous and vivacious precisely
at this place and time, and I will use this opportunity to arouse
you to even more heartfelt joy. I want to introduce to you
professor Osweg, up to now unknown beyond the walls of the
Academy. Soon he will present me with the most magnificent fruit
of human creativity."
	The devoted ones stepped aside and a little man with the
glaring smile of a death mask wriggled his way up front. He
didn't know what to do with his hands and he shifted his weight
from foot to foot. Occasionally he delicately touched his palms
with the tips of his fingers to check if they were sweating, as
indeed they were.
	"Right here, on the dais, you can see his invention. This
apparatus is connected to all the citizens of our beloved country
and it reads instantly the most hidden intents of the lama
shepherd as well as of the captain of the ship sailing far in the
boundless sea! It reads the thoughts and evaluates them and
nothing can get past it - no insincerity, treason, or even the
slightest doubt in the righteousness of the road I've been
leading you on for so long and so triumphantly, as a true and
only Friend. Now, I shall give my orders and professor Osweg will
pull the lever. In the next few moments our field shall be purged
of the last of the weeds, as the poets say, and all enemies who
have up to how escaped the weapons of our admirals and generals
will die."
	His voice wavered from the joyous excitement and trailed
off.
	He gave the sign for applause, but this time it seemed to
him that the ovations were somewhat reluctant and he thought;
Osweg's apparatus will have a lot to do in this hall.
	A hand was raised and a young man, renowned for his oracular
gifts, asked whether the palace was also in the scope of the
apparatus.
	"But of course!" The Friend smiled. "Might it be that you
are afraid?"
	His teeth gleamed and the assembly understood him correctly
and laughed, commenting loudly that the Guardian today is in an
exceptionally good mood, and that his witticisms are
irresistible.
	A petite woman on the dais was also laughing and the Friend
remembered that she was Osweg's wife. She was looking at the
Professor with admiration and the Friend felt a fit of violent
jealousy. He scowled, and thus put an end to the laughter and
conversation.
	"Please, Professor. Let us commence."
	The scholar bowed and for a second fumbled on his way
through the forest of lords, who stepped back from him, and so
augmented his panic, but he managed to find the assistant on
time, who pushed towards him a mobile table on which a small
black box with a scarlet lever on top of it stood. All the
embarrassment evaporated from the Professor, he suddenly became
self-confident and it dawned on the Friend that in certain
circumstances this little man might be dangerous.
	He caught the lever and pushed it down. The assembly waited,
though no one knew exactly what for. They glanced around
furtively. In a while, they heard a strange sound as of vernal
rain murmuring outside. A young officer looked out of the window
and yelled:
	"People are falling to the ground!"
	Within the hall, someone screamed and the previously calm
sea of noble heads rippled. The Friend was startled by a very fat
dignitary, who collapsed right next to him.
	Treason has infiltrated even here, he thought, and remarked
with genuine pleasure that the petite woman, Osweg's wife, had
also swayed and disappeared beneath the dais. The professor
groaned and death suddenly knocked him to his knees. In his agony
he embraced the legs of the table and passed away in this
position.
	The Friend couldn't resist himself and thundered:
	"Swinish pack of cowards and traitors!"
	People didn't fall to the ground singly, or at once - they
fell in waves such as the wind makes bending the ears of a
boundless wheat field. This resembled a dance, in whose flowing
movements the Friend discovered real beauty. Gold medals and
diamond earrings, iron crosses and pearl necklaces tinkled on the
parquet mosaic made up of mahogany, sandalwood, ebony, and
tamarind. The pianist struck the piano keyboard for the last time
with his forehead, after which it uttered no more sound.
	Already a deathly silence reigned. The screams subsided,
because the throats emitting them were paralyzed either by death
or by horror. Amid the piles of helpless bodies, a girl was
trying to perform a clumsy curtsy, in order to express her
loyalty, but she was overtaken by death a moment later. Osweg's
apparatus had discerned doubt in her heart.
	The Friend was left alone.
	He recalled the first battles, when he, an unknown
lieutenant heading a gang of starved vagrants, had stormed the
capital. He had often walked then amid heaps of dead enemies.
Today, he thought, for the first time after a battle I perceive
no smell of blood, dust, and excrement, only the fragrance of
Channel No. 5.
	The murmur of vernal rain beyond the windows had also
subsided.
	The Friend stepped over the collapsed dignitaries, pushed
aside the corpse of the inventor and bent over the apparatus to
read on the digital display the number of registered cases.
	"Eighty seven million, six hundred and fifty three thousand,
eight hundred and twenty-three..." He whispered in awe. "That is
the total number of inhabitants in my land!"
	"But wait... that's not at all what I had in mind!"
	He suddenly felt an icy touch in his heart. Darkness fell
over his eyes.
	The display showed the number 87, 653, 824.
	