The Collected Novels of José Saramago (273 page)

On Saturday, wearing his best suit, with his shirt washed and ironed, his tie almost matching and more or less correct, the envelope bearing the official seal and containing the letter of authority safe in his inside jacket pocket, Senhor José took a taxi to the door of the house, not in order to gain time, the day was his, but because it looked like rain, and he didn’t want to appear before the lady in the ground-floor apartment with rain dripping from his ears, and with the bottoms of his trousers all spattered with mud, running the risk that she would slam the door in his face before he even had a chance to explain why he was there. It filled him with excitement to imagine how the old lady would receive him, what the effect would be on the old girl, the pejorative term sprang unbidden to his mind, of reading a stern, solemn document like that, some people don’t react at all as you would expect, he just hoped she wouldn’t be one of them. Perhaps the expressions he had used were too hard and despotic, although verisimilitude demanded that it should be true to both the character and the calligraphy of the Registrar, besides, everyone knows that while it is true that you catch no flies with vinegar, it is no less true that some you can’t even catch with honey. We’ll see, he sighed. The first thing he saw shortly afterwards, having replied to the insistent questions from within, Who is it, What do you want, Who sent you, What’s that got to do with me, was that the lady in the ground-floor apartment was not, after all, as ancient as he had imagined, those bright eyes, that straight nose, those firm, thin lips with no downward curve at the corners, did not belong to an old lady, her great age was noticeable only in the loose skin on her throat, he probably fixed on that because he had already started to notice in himself that unmistakable sign of physical decline, and he was only fifty The woman would not open the door
completely, she said repeatedly that she was not interested in the affairs of her neighbours, a perfectly reasonable response given that Senhor José, taking a wrong tack, had begun by saying that he was looking for someone on the second floor. The confusion seemed to end when he finally mentioned the name of the unknown woman, then the door opened a little more, only to return to its former position, Do you know the lady, asked Senhor José, Yes, I did, said the woman, I’d like to ask you a few questions about her, But who are you, As I already told you, I’m an authorised official from the Central Registry, And how am I supposed to know if that’s true or not, I have a signed letter of authority from the Registrar, Look, I’m in my own home and I don’t want to be disturbed, I’m afraid you have to cooperate with the Central Registry in cases such as this, What cases, The resolution of certain outstanding matters at the Central Registry, Why don’t you go and ask her, We don’t have her present address, if you know it, perhaps you could tell me, and I won’t need to trouble you any further, It must be about thirty years since I heard from her, She must have been a child then, Yes. With that one word, the woman appeared to consider the conversation at an end, but Senhor José did not give up, he might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. He drew the envelope from his pocket, opened it and, with a slowness that must have seemed threatening, removed the letter, Read it, he ordered. The woman shook her head, No, I won’t read it, it’s nothing to do with me, If you don’t read it, I will return accompanied by the police, and it will be all the worse for you. The woman resigned herself to taking the document he held out to her, she turned on the light in the corridor, put on the glasses she wore hanging round her neck and read it. Then she gave it back to him and standing to one side said You’d better come in they’ll probably be listening to us from behind the door over there. Given the implicit alliance that the personal pronoun “us” seemed to represent, Senhor José realised that he had won that round. In a certain indefinable way, this was the first objective victory of his whole life, true it was an extremely fraudulent one, but there are so many people out there preaching that the ends justify the means, who was he to argue. He entered humbly, like a victor whose generosity prevents him from giving in to the easy temptation of humiliating the vanquished, but who would, nevertheless, appreciate his greatness being noticed.

The woman led him to a small, neat, clean room, decorated according to the taste of a different age. She offered him a chair, sat down herself and, without giving her visitor time to ask any further questions, she said, I was her godmother. Senhor José had expected all kinds of revelations, but not that. He had gone there as a mere civil servant carrying out the orders of his superiors, and therefore without any involvement of a personal nature, at least, that was how the woman sitting opposite him should see him, but only he knew the effort it took not to break into a smile of beatific delight. From his other pocket he drew a copy of the record card, he looked at it for a long time as if memorising all the names on it, then he said, And your husband was the godfather, Yes, Can I speak to him too, I’m a widow, Ah, in that quiet exclamation there was as much genuine relief as there was feigned emotion, that was one less person with whom he would have to do battle. The woman said, We got on well, I mean, the two families, ours and theirs, we were real friends, and when the little girl was born they invited us to be her godparents, How old was the girl when they moved, She was about eight I think, You said a little while ago that it’s nearly thirty years since you heard from her, That’s right, Could you explain, Shortly after they’d moved I received a letter, Who from, From her, What did she say, Nothing much, it was the kind of letter that a child of no more than eight, with the few words she knows, would write to her godmother, Have you still got it, No, And the parents, did they never write, No, Didn’t
you find that strange, No, Why, That’s a very personal matter, not for general consumption, As far as the Central Registry is concerned there are no personal matters. The woman looked at him hard, Who are you, My letter of authority tells you who I am, It just told me your name, Senhor José, isn’t it, That’s right, Senhor José, So you can ask me all the questions you want, and I can’t ask you any, The only person who can question me is an official of the Central Registry of superior rank, You’re a happy man, then, you can keep your secrets, Happiness does not, I believe, consist merely in being able to keep your secrets, Are you happy, It doesn’t matter what I am, as I’ve already told you, only someone higher up in the hierarchy is authorised to ask me questions, Have you got any secrets, I won’t answer that, But I have to answer, It’s best if you do, What do you want me to tell you, What were these personal matters. The woman drew a hand across her forehead and slowly lowered her lined eyelids, then, without opening her eyes, she said, The girl’s mother suspected I was having an affair with her husband, And was that true, It was, it had been going on for a long time, Was that why they moved, Yes. The woman opened her eyes and asked, Do you like my secrets, They’re only of interest to me insofar as they have to do with the person I’m looking for, besides, I wasn’t authorised to find out anything else, So you don’t want to know what happened next, Not officially no, But personally perhaps, I’m not in the habit of prying into other people’s lives, said Senhor José, forgetting about the hundred and forty or so that he had in his cupboard, then he added, But probably nothing very extraordinary happened, since you’re a widow you say, You’ve got a good memory, It’s a fundamental quality for anyone working at the Central Registry, just to give you an idea, my boss, for example, knows by heart all the names that exist or ever have existed, all the names and all the surnames, What’s the point of that, The Registrar’s brain is like a duplicate of the Central Registry,
I don’t understand, Since he’s capable of making every possible combination of name and surname, my boss’s brain knows not only the names of all the people who are now alive and of all those who have died, he would also be able to tell you the names of all those who will be born from now until the end of the world, You know more than your boss, Never, beside him I’m nothing, that’s why he’s the Registrar and I’m just a clerk, You both know my name, That’s true, But that’s all he knows about me, You’re right there, the difference is that he already knew it before, whereas I only knew it after I’d been given this job to do, And in one bound you were ahead of him, here you are in my house, you can see my face, hear me say that I deceived my husband, and, in all these years, you are the only person I’ve ever told, what more proof do you need that beside you, your boss is an ignoramus, Don’t say that, it’s not right, Have you any further questions to ask me, What questions, For example, if I was happy in my marriage after what happened, It’s irrelevant to the matter in hand, Nothing is irrelevant, just as all the names are in your boss’s head, so one person’s life is everyone’s life, You’re very wise, So I should be, I’ve lived a long time, Compared with you I know nothing and I’m fifty, You’d be amazed how much you learn between fifty and seventy, Is that how old you are, A bit more actually, Were you happy after what happened, So you are interested, It’s just that I don’t know much about other people’s lives, Just like your boss, just like your Central Registry, Yes, I suppose so, Well I was forgiven if that’s what you mean Forgiven Yes it often happens forgive one another as they say The usual phrase is love one another It comes to the same thing you forgive each other because you love each other, you. love each other because you forgive each other you’re just a child you have a lot to learn So I see Are you married No You’ve never lived with a woman, No, I couldn’t really say I’ve lived with one, Just passing relationships, temporary Not even that live alone, when I feel the need, I do what everyone else does, I look for a woman and I pay, You do realise that you’re answering my questions, Yes, but I don’t mind now, perhaps that’s how you learn, by answering questions, Now I’m going to tell you something, Go on, I’ll begin by asking you if you know how many people there are in a marriage, Two, a man and a woman, No, there are three people in a marriage, there’s the woman, there’s the man, and there’s what I call the third person, the most important, the person who is composed of the man and woman together, I’ve never thought of that, For example, if one of the two commits adultery, the person who is most hurt, who receives the deepest cut, however incredible it may seem, is not the other person, but that other “other” which is the couple, not one person, but two, And can you really live with that person made up of two people, I have enough trouble living with myself, The most common thing in marriage is to see the man or the woman, or both, each in their own way, trying to destroy the third person that they form together, the one that resists, that wants to survive regardless, The arithmetic’s too complicated for me, Get married, find a woman, and then you’ll see, Oh, no, it’s too late for me, Don’t bet on it, who knows what you might find when you reach the end of your mission, or whatever you called it, The doubts I was ordered to clear up are the Central Registry’s doubts not mine, And what doubts are those, if you don’t mind my asking, It’s a confidential matter, I can’t tell you A fat lot of good your confidentiality does you, Senhor José, you’ll soon, have to leave and. you’ll do so knowing exactly what you knew when you came nothing, That’s true, and Senhor José shook his head despondently.

The woman looked at him as if she were studying him, then she asked, How long have you been involved in this investigation, Well, to be honest, I only started today, but the Registrar is going to be furious when I turn up empty-handed, he’s a very impatient person, That would be a most unfair way to treat a clerk
who, it seems, doesn’t mind working on Saturdays, Well, I had nothing else to do, it was a way of catching up on my work, You didn’t do much catching up, I’m going to have to think about it, Ask your boss’s advice, that’s why he’s a boss, You don’t know him, he doesn’t allow people to ask him questions, he just gives the orders, So, what now, Like I said, I’m going to have to think about it, Then think, You really don’t know anything, where they went to live when they left here, the letter you received must have had the sender’s address on it, it must have, Yes, but that letter doesn’t exist anymore, You didn’t answer the letter, No, Why, Given the choice between killing something and letting it die, I chose killing, in the figurative sense, of course, It seems I’ve come to a dead end, Perhaps not, What do you mean, Give me a piece of paper and something to write with. Senhor José passed her a pencil with trembling hands, You can write here, on the back of the card, it’s a copy. The woman put on her glasses and scribbled a few words, There you are, it’s not their address or anything, it’s just the name of the road where the school was that my goddaughter used to go to after they moved, perhaps you’ll find out what you need to know there, assuming the school still exists of course. Senhor José’s mind was divided between personal gratitude for the favour and official irritation because it had taken so long. He dealt with the gratitude by saying Thank you, and nothing more, and then in a moderate tone, he allowed his irritation to show, I can’t understand why you took so long to give me the address of the school, knowing that any information, however insignificant, would be of vital importance to me, Don’t exaggerate, Nevertheless, I’m very grateful to you and I say that on my own behalf and on behalf of the Central Registry which I represent, but I insist on knowing why you took so long to give me that address, It’s very simple, I don’t have anyone to talk to. Senhor José looked at the woman! she looking at him, there’s no point wasting words in explaining the expression in their eyes, all that matters is what he managed to say after a silence, Neither do I. Then the woman got up out of her chair, opened the drawer of the sideboard behind her and took out what seemed to be an album, Photographs, thought Senhor José, startled. The woman opened the album and leafed through it, in a few seconds she found what she was looking for, the photograph wasn’t stuck in, it was only held in place by four little cardboard corners, Here you are, take it, she said, it’s the only one I have of her, just don’t ask me if I’ve got any photographs of the parents, I won’t. Senhor José held out a tremulous hand and received a black-and-white photo of a girl of eight or nine, a small, thin, probably pale face, serious eyes beneath eyebrow-length bangs, a mouth trying to smile but failing, and fixed like that. Senhor José, being a sensitive soul, felt his own eyes fill with tears, No one would think you worked for the Central Registry, said the woman, Well, I do, he said, Would you like a cup of coffee, That would be very nice.