During a drought, after having decided to write “Rain!” with a pen on top of the region that needed water the most, he was absolutely baffled to find, later, that, in fact, it had not rained in that area.
Ceaselessly pondering which of his adversaries could be thwarting his energetic actions, the Boss murmured, intrigued, to himself, “But if I wrote ‘rain’ on the map …”
2
But as we have said, even so, the Boss was always losing or damaging maps of the nation. However, he was not completely distracted; for example: he always had with him, in the pocket on his right side, intact and well protected, the program guide for the various television channels.
There was a theory behind this: “Everything that doesn’t fit inside the television,” the Boss used to say, “does not belong to the country. It’s outside our territory.”
For him, the most authentic map of the country was the television set he had at home.
This was the Boss’s personal vision.
“Why would I want a map?” he exclaimed. “What I need is to have every television channel on!”
“So,” said one of the Assistants, “if I understood correctly, the Boss will see what happens on the different channels and will then act, with energetic measures or really very energetic measures, so as to resolve problems. Is that it?”
“More or less,” answered the Boss. “It’s necessary to expound slightly further.”
There was silence in the hall. The Boss was gaining momentum.
“Expound, Boss.”
“Expound, expound.”
The Boss, in silence, concentrated, preparing himself to expound further.
3
The Boss expounded further. For this he used a particular technique, which was to repeat things.
“My concept of the border,” repeated the Boss, “is defined by the lines that delimit the television screen. Everything that appears outside the screen does not belong to our country, it is already beyond the frontier. Do you understand?”
One of the Assistants took notes, while the other stared in amazement with his mouth wide open. They occasionally changed roles.
In the meanwhile, it was as though both of them were wracked by tremors. Tremors that were not corporal but an intellectual tremor. Both of them had the feeling that they were witnessing a unique moment, a moment in which an idea shot out to the world, for the first time, with the uncontrollable force of a bomb.
“Ah, if the Boss only had a bombardier,” murmured one of the Assistants to himself. “Think of what he could do with even a single bombardier!”
After recovering his breath and allowing the Assistants time to practice their glances of uncontained admiration, the Boss said, in a decisive tone of voice, while, stretching his thumb out with the intensity of religious devotion, he pressed the switch on his screen, “This is my country.”
4
The little Assistant, a figure who, despite his name, was a muscular giant who could always be found a few meters away from the Boss, on his guard, always prepared to quickly intervene in more intense intellectual discussions — the little Assistant insisted, “It would do no harm if the Boss studied a map of the country.”
“I don’t need to know geography!” the Boss had responded on that occasion, bothered. “What I need to do is prepare speeches. The most important thing is to know how to speak about the mountains. Who needs to know where the mountains are located?”
“But it’s good to be familiar with the territory of the nation,” insisted the giant. “So that not even a single square meter escapes from your orders.”
There you had it. That final sentence had touched a chord with the Boss’s most sensitive spot.
“Go on, go on.”
“The advantage of being familiar with the country, especially its geography, is that you can thus send orders to every little corner. If you know your geography, your orders can be exhaustive, down to the last square meter. It’s almost like having a sheet of paper with a grid of squares and filling up all the spaces with your directives. Without leaving even the tiniest elevation or a miserable stream outside the benevolent reach of your political measures.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“But think, do think,” suggested the little Assistant. “Boss, do you think it’s right that some little village, hidden behind a mountain of hay, should be deprived of the privilege of receiving at least one or two political orders per day from Your Excellency?”
“You’re right,” murmured the Boss. “Give me that map.”
Opinion Polls
1
The elections were approaching and the opinion polls did not favor the Boss.
“The question is this,” said the Boss, “when an individual, even one in full command of his brain, says that he is leaning to the left and not to the right, who can say that he is not thinking precisely the opposite?”
“That’s a question one can always consider.”
“Moreover,” continued the Boss, “who is to say that when he says that he wants to go to the left he doesn’t really want to go to the right?”
“I had already thought of that,” murmured an Assistant.
“I had also thought of that,” added the other.
“We both thought at the same time,” the two agreed.
“Thus, my theory about opinion polls is, in the first place, the following, and let me explain …”
The two Assistants had already arranged their expressions in the form of an attentive ear.
The Boss continued, “It is not enough to obtain the opinion of the people. It is necessary to interpret it. Even when they only write a cross, what does that cross mean? Each personal opinion should be interpreted under a magnifying glass, by specialists.”
“Who are …?”
“Who are what I calclass="underline" Specialists in Me.”
“Therefore, specialists,” murmured the Assistant, “in the study of the human mind, human personality …?”
“Who said anything about humans?!” retorted the Boss, later emphasizing the first word. “I said, specialists in Me. In Me, get it?!”
“Ah, experts specializing in Your Excellency, in the Boss.”
“Well, there you are! Finally! And who is the best specialist in Me, I ask? Who is best qualified to interpret the subjective opinion of the highly subjective individuals of this nation? Who is the best specialist in Me?”
“Your Excellency?” hazarded the Assistants.
“Exactly. Me! Me! I am the one who will objectively interpret the subjective opinion of the people.”
“Bravo! That’s science.”
2
“Very well,” accepted the Boss, finally. “If the opinion polls want to resort to the participation of the people, so be it.”
“They are talking about random samples.”
“Random? How imprudent!”
“Random, but not that random. Despite everything, there is an order to it. With a certain number of women, men, et cetera. It’s all very scientific.”
“Let them keep the scientific element of opinion polls, I always liked science. But the units of this science should be defined by me.”
“How, Your Excellency, Boss?”
“The proposal that seems to me to be the fairest and most balanced solution of all is as follows: the opinion poll should be extended to a sample that is as large as possible: men, women, youths, senior citizens. And others as well.”