All The Names - Jose Saramago

already ripe for distraction. Or, rather, you can intervene, but only to give it a gentle shove from behind,
especially if it's a troubling thought, as if we were saying, Go on, off you go, you're fine. This was what
Senhor José did when that mad, providential fantasy of the photographic wave and the scanner wave came
to him, he at once abandoned himself to his imagination, let it show him those invasive waves scouring
the whole room in search of those records, which he had not, in fact, left on the table, perplexed and
ashamed because they could not carry out the orders they had received, Remember, either you find those
records, read them and photograph them, or we go back to the old-style espionage. Senhor José still
thought about the Registrar, but it was a purely residual thought, one that helped him find an acceptable
explanation for his return to the Central Registry outside of normal hours, He must have forgotten
something he needed, what other reason could there be. Without realising, he repeated out loud the final
part of the phrase, What other reason could there be, again provoking the distrust of the passenger
travelling next to him, whose thoughts immediately became clear and explicit when he changed his seat,
The guy is mad, we're sure that he used these or similar words to think it. Senhor José did not notice the
withdrawal of the man next to him on the seat, he moved seamlessly on to thoughts of the lady in the
ground-floor apartment, she was there before him at the door, Do you remember me, I'm from the Central
Registry, Of course I do, I've come here about that matter we discussed the other day, You've found my
goddaughter, No, I haven't, or rather, yes, that is, I mean, I'd like to have a little chat with you, if you
wouldn't mind, if you've got a moment, Come in, I've got something to tell you too. That, more or less, was
what Senhor José and the lady in the ground-floor apartment said when she opened the door and saw him
there, Ah, its you, she exclaimed, so he had no need to ask, Do you remember me, I'm Senhor José from
the Central Registry, but despite this, he couldn't resist asking the question, so constant, so imperious, so
demanding it would seem is our need to go about the world declaring who we are, even when we've just
heard someone else say, Ah, it's you, as if just because they've recognised us, they know us and need to
know nothing more about us, or as if the little that remained unknown wasn't worth the effort of
formulating another question.
Nothing had changed in the small living room, the chair where Senhor José had sat the first time was
in the same place, at the same distance from the table, the curtains hung as they had before, in the same
folds, the woman made the same gesture when she folded her hands in her lap, right over left, only the
light from the ceiling seemed slightly paler, as if the bulb were burning out. Senhor José asked, How have
you been since my last visit, and then he reproached himself for his lack of sensitivity, worse still, for the
utter crassness he was revealing, he should know that you don't always have to Mow the rules of
elementary politeness to the letter, you must take into account the circumstances, you have to weigh each
case, let's imagine that the woman responds now with a broad smile, I'm very well, thank you, my health
is excellent, I'm in good spirits, I haven't felt this fit for ages, and then he blurts out, Well, I'm sorry to tell
you this, but your goddaughter has died, what do you make of that. But the woman didn't reply to his
question, she merely shrugged indifferently, then she said, Do you know, for some days I've been thinking
of phoning you at the Central Registry, then I decided not to, I thought that sooner or later you would come
and visit me, It's just as well you didn't phone, the Registrar doesn't like us getting phone calls, he says it
gets in the way of work, Of course, but that needn't have been a problem, I just had to give him the
information I had, he wouldn't have had to call you over. Beads of sweat broke out on Senhor José's
forehead. He had just discovered that, for weeks, ignorant of the danger, unconscious of the threat hanging
over him, he had been living on the brink of absolute disaster, the public exposure of irregularities in his
professional conduct, the continual and wilful affront he was in the process of committing against the
venerable deontological laws of the Central Registry, whose chapters, articles, paragraphs and clauses,
however complex, due to the extreme archaism of the language, had finally been reduced down by the
experience of two centuries to nine practical words, Don't stick your nose in where it isn't wanted. For a
moment, Senhor José hated and detested the woman before him, he insulted her mentally, he called her a