The World Does Exist
Rash
Forty-one Degrees Centigrade
Morning. Through the ceiling the sky is， as usual， firm， round， red-checked. I think I should have been less surprised had I found above some extraordinary quadrangular sun， or people clad in many-colored dresses made of the skins of animals， or opaque walls of stone. Then the world， our world， does exist still？ Or is it only inertia？ Is the generator already switched out， while the armature is still roaring and revolving； two more revolutions， or three， and at the fourth it will die away？
Are you familiar with that strange state in which you wake up in the middle of the night， when you open your eyes into the darkness， and then suddenly feel you are lost in the dark； you quickly， quickly begin to feel around， seeking in the Journal of the United State； quickly， qickly—I found this：
The celebration of the Day of Unanimity， long awaited by all， took place yesterday. The same Well-Doer who so often has proved his unshakable wisdom was unanimously reelected for the forty-eighth time. The celebration was clouded by a little confusion， created by the enemies of happiness， who by their action naturally lost the right to be the bricks for the foundation of the renovated United State. It is clear to everyone that to take their votes into account would mean to consider as a part of a magnificent， heroic symphony the accidental cough of a sick person who happened to be in the concert hall."
Oh， great Sage！ Is it really， true that despite everything we are saved？ What objection， indeed， can one find to this most crystalline syllogism？ And further on a few more lines：
"Today at twelve o"clock a joint meeting of the Administrative Bureau， Medical Bureau， and Bureau of Guardians will take place. An important State decree is to be expected momentarily."
No， the Walls still stand erect. Here they are！ I can feel them. And that strange feeling of being lost somewhere， of not knowing where I am—that feeling is gone. I am no longer surprised to see the sky blue and the sun round and all the Numbers going to work as usual
I walked along the avenue with a particularly firm， resounding step. It seemed to me that everyone else walked exactly like me. But at the crossing， on turning the corner， I noticed people strangely shying away， going around the corner of a building sidewise， as if a pipe had burst in the wall， as if cold water were spurting like a fountain on the sidewalk and it was impossible to cross it.
Another five or ten steps and I， too， felt a spurt of cold water that struck me and threw me from the sidewalk； at a height of approximately two meters a quadrangular piece of paper was pasted to the wall， and on that sheet of paper， unintelligible， poisonously green letters：
MEPHI
And under the paper—an S-like curved back and wing ears shaking with anger or emotion. With fight arm lifted as high as possible， his left arm hopelessly stretched out backward like a hurt wing， he was trying to jump high enough to reach the paper and tear it off， but he was unable to do so. He was a fraction of an inch too short.
Probably every one of the passers.by had the same thought： "if I go to help him， I， only one of the many， will he not think that I am guilty of something and that I am therefore anxious to..."
