Then Keval noticed a little window in the concrete wall of the Central Station about two metres from the ground. He looked around, then leapt up like a flash, caught hold of the grating, and drew his clever head up to the window. Aha, the speaker was the Burgomaster of Greater Prague, all red in the face; beside him stood G. H. Bondy, Chairman of the M.E.C., representing the contracting firm, biting his lips. The President had his hand on the lever of the machine, ready to press it down at a given signal: an instant later the festal illuminations of the whole of Prague would flare out, the bands would play, the fireworks would begin to blaze.
The Minister of Public Works was turning and twisting nervously; doubtless he was to speak when the Burgomaster had finished. A young Army officer was pulling at his tiny moustache, the Ambassadors were pretending to be giving their whole souls to the address, of which they understood not a single word, two Trade Union delegates were not moving an eyelash—in short, “the proceedings passed off without a hitch,” Mr. Keval said to himself as he jumped down again.
He then ran five times round the whole Stvanice district, came back to the Central Power Station, and again sprang up to the little window. The Burgomaster was still speaking. Straining his ears, Keval could hear “… And then came the disastrous period of the Battle of the White Mountain.” He dropped down the wall again quickly, sat down, and lit a cigar. It was already very dark. Overhead the little stars twinkled through the branches of the trees. “It’s surprising that they didn’t wait until the President pressed the lever to light up too,” Keval said to himself. Otherwise, Prague was in darkness. The black stream of the Vltava rolled on without a lamp reflected in its waters. Everything quivered with expectation of the solemn moment that was to bring the light.
When Keval had finished his cigar, he went back to the Power Station and once more hoisted himself up to the little window. The Burgomaster was still talking, and his face was now of a purple bordering on blackness. The Chief of State was standing with his hand on the lever, the personages present were talking together in low tones, only the foreign Ambassadors listened on unmoving. At the very back, the head of Mr. Cvancara could be seen nodding drowsily.
Sheer physical exhaustion brought the Burgomaster to an end, and the Minister of Public Works began speaking. He was obviously cutting his sentences down unmercifully to shorten his address. The Chief of State was now holding the lever in his left hand. Old Billington, the doyen of the Diplomatic Corps, had passed away on his feet, preserving even in death the expression of an attentive listener. Then the Minister put an end to his speech as though with an axe.
G. H. Bondy raised his head, looked about with heavy eyes, and said a few words, apparently something to the effect that the M.E.C. was handing over its work to the public for the use and benefit of our metropolis, and so concluded. The Chief of State drew himself erect and pressed the lever. Then, in an instant, the whole of Prague shone out as a vast expanse of light, the crowds cheered, the bells in all the steeples began to swing, and from the Marianske fort there sounded the first boom of the cannon.
Still hanging to his grating, Keval looked around towards the city. Flaming rockets shot up from Střelecky Island; Hradčany, Petřín, and even Letna, were aglow with garlands of electric lamps, distant bands began competing with each other, illuminated biplanes circled above Stvanice, while the immense V16 soared up from Vyšehrad all bedecked with lanterns. The crowds removed their hats, the police stood like statues, their hands raised to their helmets in salute. Two batteries boomed out from the bastions, answered by the monitors from near Karlín.
Keval again pressed his face to the bars to see the conclusion of the ceremonies over the Karburator taking place inside. The next instant he uttered a hoarse cry, rolled his eyes, and once more squeezed himself still closer to the window. Then he uttered something like “Oh, God!”, loosened his hold on the grating, and dropped heavily to the earth. Before he had actually reached the ground, someone rushing away from the place knocked into him. Keval seized him by the coat, and the man looked round. It was G. H. Bondy; he was as pale as death.
“What has happened, sir?” Keval stammered. “What are they doing in there?”
“Let go of me,” Bondy panted. “For Christ’s sake, let go. And get out of here, as quick as you can.”
“But what has happened to them in there?”
“Let me go,” shouted Bondy; and knocking Keval back with his fist, he disappeared among the trees.
Trembling all over, Keval supported himself against the trunk of a tree. From the interior of the concrete building came sounds as of savages chanting a hymn.
A few days later the Czechoslovak Press Bureau published the following obscure statement:
Contrary to the reports issued by a local publication which have obtained some currency abroad, we are able to state on the very best authority that no improper incidents of any kind took place on the occasion of the formal opening of the Karburator Central Power Station. In connection with this, the Burgomaster of Greater Prague has resigned his office and has gone into the country to recuperate. Mr. Billington, doyen of the Diplomatic Corps, is, contrary to published reports, well and active. The fact is that all present declare that nothing in their experience has ever made so powerful an impression upon them. Every citizen has the right to fall to the earth and worship God, and the performance of miracles is not
