All The Names - Jose Saramago

to get his pyjamas dirty. There was a great damp stain left on the floor which would take several hours to
disappear completely, if someone came in before then and asked questions, he would say that he had
knocked some water over or that there had been a stain on the floor and he had tried to get rid of it. From
the moment he got up, Senhor José's stomach had been begging him for the charity of a cup of coffee with
milk, a biscuit, a slice of bread and butter, anything to pacify his suddenly awoken appetite, now that his
worries about the immediate fate of his clothes had disappeared. The bread was dry and hard, only a
scraping of butter was left, he was out of milk, all he had was some rather mediocre coffee, as we know,
a man who had never found a woman who would love him enough to agree to join him in this hovel, such
a man, apart from rare exceptions which have no place in this story, will never be more than a poor devil,
it's odd that we always say poor devil and never poor god, especially when he was unfortunate enough to
turn out as disastrously as this one, we are referring, by the way, to the man not the god. Despite the
meagre and unconsoling food, Senhor José felt well enough to have a shave, after which he judged he was
looking considerably better, so much so that he ended up saying to the mirror, My fever seems to have
subsided. This reflection led him to wonder whether it would be a good, prudent policy to turn up for
work anyway, it was only a few steps away, he would say, The work of the Central Registry comes first,
and the Registrar, bearing in mind how cold it was outside, would forgive him for not having taken the
long way around as was the rule, and might even record such clear proof of esprit de corps and
dedication to work in Senior José's file. He thought about it, but decided against it. His whole body
ached, as if someone had knocked him down, beaten him and shaken him, his muscles ached, his joints
ached, and it wasn't because of the physical effort of climbing and breaking in, anyone could see that these
aches and pains were different, This is flu, he concluded.
He had just got into bed when he heard someone knock on the door that opened into the Central
Registry, it must be some charitable colleague, taking seriously the Christian precept of visiting the sick
and the imprisoned, no, it couldn't be a colleague, it was still hours until lunchtime, and good works could
only be done out of hours, Come in, he said, it's only on the latch, the door opened and the deputy whom
he had told about his illness appeared in the doorway, The Registrar asked me to find out if you're taking
anything while you're waiting for the doctor to come, No, sir, I haven't got anything suitable in the house,
Then have these pills, Thank you very much, I'll pay you later if you don't mind, just so that I don't have to
get up, how much do I owe you, It was an order from the Registrar, you don't ask the Registrar how much
you owe him, I realise that, I'm sorry, You'd better take a pill now, and the deputy came in without waiting
for an answer, All right, thank you, that's very kind of you, Senhor José could not stop him from coming in,
he could not say Halt, you cannot come in here, sir, this is a private house, in the first place, because you
don't speak like that to a superior, in the second place, because there was no memory in the oral tradition
of the Central Registry nor any record in the written annals of a Registrar's ever having taken such an
interest in the health of a clerk to the point of sending someone to bring him some pills. The deputy
himself was perplexed with the novelty of it all, he would never have done it on his own initiative,
however, he did not allow himself to be distracted, he behaved like someone who knew perfectly well
what he was about and was familiar with every corner of the house, which is not to be wondered at,
before the town planners went to work on the neighbourhood, he too had lived in a house like this. The
first thing he noticed was the large damp stain on the floor, What's that from, a leak, he asked, Senhor José
was tempted to say yes, simply in order not to give any further explanations, but he preferred to put it
down to an accident of his own making, as he had at first thought, he didn't want the plumber coming to the
house and then writing a report to the Registrar saying that the pipes, although old, were in no way
responsible for the appearance of that damp stain on the floor. The deputy approached bearing a glass of
water and a pill, his mission as designated nurse had softened his normally authoritarian features, but that
look soon returned, accentuated by something that could be described as wounded surprise, when, as he
approached the bed, he noticed the unknown girl's school records lying on the bedside table. Senhor José