All The Names - Jose Saramago

firm steps approached the bed, then stopped, He's probably looking at me now, Senhor José didn't know
what to do, he could pretend he'd gone to sleep, that he had fallen gradually asleep the way a weary
patient does, but his twitching eyelids betrayed him, he could also, for better or worse, give a pathetic
moan, of the kind that pierces the heart, but that was a bit over the top for a mere bout of flu, only a fool
would be deceived, certainly not this Registrar, who knows all there is to know about the kingdoms of the
visible and the invisible. He opened his eyes and the Registrar was there, a few steps away from the bed,
his face expressionless, simply looking at him. Then Senhor José came up with an idea that he thought
might save him, he would thank the Central Registry for all their care he would thank them eloquently
effusively, perhaps that way he would avoid the questions, but just as he was about to open his mouth to
utter the familiar phrase, I don't know how to thank you his boss turned, his back at the same time saving
four words Take care of yourself that was what he said in a tone that was at once deferential and
imperative, only the best bosses can combine contrary feelings in such a harmonious way, which is why
their subordinates venerate them. Senhor José tried, at least, to say Thank you, sir, but the Registrar had
already left, delicately closing the door behind him, as one should when leaving an invalid's room. Senhor
José has a headache, but the headache is almost nothing compared to the tumult going on inside him.
Senhor José finds himself in such a state of confusion that his first action, when the Registrar has left, is to
slip his hand under the mattress to make sure the record cards are still there. His second action offended
even more against common sense, for he got out of bed and went and turned the key in the communicating
door twice, like someone desperately barring the door after his house has been burgled. Lying down again
was only the fourth action, the third had been when he turned back, thinking, What if the Registrar returns,
in that case, it would be more prudent, in order to avoid arousing suspicion, to leave the door on the latch.
Senhor José is caught between several devils and the deep blue sea.
It was already dark when the nurse arrived. In fulfilment of the orders he had received from the
Registrar, he brought with him the pills and phials that the doctor had prescribed, but, to Senhor José's
surprise, he also brought a package which he placed gingerly down on the table and said, I hope it's still
hot, I hope I haven't spilled anything, which meant that there was food inside, as the Mowing words
confirmed, Eat it while it's hot, but first, I'll give you that injection. Now, Senhor José did not like
injections, especially ones into the veins in the arm, when he always had to look away, which was why he
was so pleased when the nurse told him that the jab would be in his posterior, he was very polite, this
nurse, from another age, he had got used to using the term "posterior" instead of bottom so as not to shock
the sensibilities of lady patients, and had almost ended up forgetting the usual term, he used "posterior"
even when he was dealing with patients for whom "bottom" was merely a ridiculous euphemism and who
preferred the vulgar variant "bum." The unexpected appearance of food and the relief he felt at not being
injected in the arm broke down Senhor José's defences, or perhaps he simply forgot, or more simply still,
perhaps he hadn't noticed until then that his pyjama trousers were stained with blood at the knees, a
consequence of his nocturnal adventures as a climber of school roofs. The nurse, holding the syringe
prepared and ready, instead of saying Turn over, asked, What's that, and Senhor José, converted by this
lesson from life to the definitive kindness of injections in the arm, replied instinctively, I fell down, You
don't have much luck do you, first you fall down, then you get the flu, it's just as well you've got a kind
boss, now turn over, then I'll take a look at those knees. Debilitated in body, soul and will, his nerves
shattered, Senhor José almost burst into tears like a child when he felt the needle go in and the slow,
painful entry of the liquid into the muscle, I'm a wreck, he thought, and it was true, a poor feverish human
animal, lying on a poor bed in a poor house, with the dirty clothes worn to carry out the crime hidden
away, and a damp stain on the floor that seemed never to dry. Turn over onto your back again, and let's
have a look at those knees, said the nurse, and sighing, coughing, Senhor José obeyed, heaving himself
around again, and now, bending forwards, he can see the nurse rolling up his pyjama legs above the knee,
he can see him removing the dirty plasters, dabbing peroxide on them and very carefully and slowly