All The Names - Jose Saramago

of which the deputy's key was merely an austere, inferior copy, was in the possession of the Registrar,
though he apparently never used it, either because of the weight and complexity of the design, which made
it awkward to carry around, or because, according to some unwritten hierarchical protocol, in effect since
the remotest of times, he always had to be the last to enter the building. One of the many mysteries of life
in the Central Registry, which really would be worth investigating if the matter of Senhor José and the
unknown woman had not absorbed aU our attention, was how the staff, despite the traffic jams afflicting
the city, always managed to arrive at work in the same order, first the clerks, regardless of length of
service, then the deputy who opened the door, then the senior clerks, in order of precedence, then the
oldest deputy and, finally, the Registrar, who arrives when he has to arrive and does not have to answer to
anyone. Anyway, the fact stands recorded.
The feeling of scornful commiseration which, as we have said, greeted Senhor José's return to work,
lasted until the arrival of the Registrar, half an hour after the office had opened, and was instantly
replaced by a feeling of envy, understandable in the circumstances, but, fortunately, not manifested in
words or deeds. What else could one expect, the human soul being what we know it to be, though we
cannot claim to know everything. A rumour had been going around the Central Registry, slipping in
through the back door, so to speak, and whispered in corners, that the Registrar had been unusually
concerned about Senhor José's bout of flu, even going so far as to have the nurse bring him food, as well
as visiting him in his house at least once, and during office hours too, in front of everyone, who knows, he
may well have visited him again. It is easy, therefore, to imagine the suppressed outrage, in every rank,
when the Registrar, even before going to his own desk, stopped beside Senhor José and asked him if he
was now completely recovered from his illness. The outrage was all the greater because this was the
second time it had happened, they could all remember that other occasion, not so long ago, when the boss
had asked Senhor José if his insomnia had improved, as if Senhor José's insomnia was, as far as the
normal running of the Central Registry was concerned, a matter of life or death. Hardly able to credit
what they were hearing, the staff witnessed a conversation between equals, utterly absurd however you
looked at it, with Senhor José thanking the Registrar for his kindness, even referring openly to the food,
which, in the strict atmosphere of the Central Registry, had. all the force of a profanity an obscenity and
the Registrar explaining that he couldn't possibly have abandoned him to the wretched fate of those who
live alone without having anyone to give him a bowl of soup and smooth his sheets. Loneliness, Senhor
José, declared the Registrar solemnly never made for good company all the great sadnesses, great
temptations and great mistakes are almost always the result of being alone in life without a prudent friend
to advise us when we are troubled by something more serious than our normal everyday problems, Well I
don't know that I would say I was actually sad, sir, replied Senhor José, perhaps I am rather melancholy
by nature, but that's hardly a defect, and as for temptations, well, I have to say that I am little inclined to
them either by my age or my circumstances, I mean, I don't seek them out and they don't seek me, And what
about mistakes, Are you referring to mistakes at work, sir, No, I'm referring to mistakes in general,
mistakes at work are departmental mistakes which the department ultimately resolves, All I can say is that
I've never harmed anyone, at least not knowingly, And what about mistakes committed against yourself, I
must have made many of those, perhaps that's why I'm alone, In order to make more mistakes, Only those
born of loneliness, sir. Senhor José, who, as was his duty, had got to his feet as the Registrar approached,
suddenly felt his legs buckle and a wave of sweat sweep over his body. He went pale, his hands anxiously
sought the support of his desk, but that support was not enough, Senhor José had to sit down on his chair,
murmuring, Excuse me, sir, excuse me. The Registrar regarded him for some seconds with an
impenetrable look on his face and went to his desk. He called over the deputy responsible for Senhor
José's section and gave him a muttered order, adding, more audibly, There's no need to go through the
official channels, which meant that the instructions the deputy had just received, intended for a clerk,
should, against all the rules, customs and traditions, be carried out by himself. The hierarchical chain had