All The Names - Jose Saramago

depths, the longed-for solution welled up within him, like the end of a new Ariadne's thread, On Saturday,
I'll go to the cemetery, he said out loud. The excitement made him sit up in bed, but the calm voice of good
sense stepped in with some advice, Now that you've decided what you're going to do, lie down and go to
sleep, don't be such a child, you don't really want to go there at this time of night, do you, and jump over
the cemetery wall, although that's just a manner of speaking, of course. Obediently, Senhor José slipped
down between the sheets, pulled them up to his nose and lay for a minute, his eyes open, thinking, I'm not
going to be able to get to sleep. A minute later he was sleeping.
He woke late, shortly before the Central Registry was due to open, he didn't even have time to shave,
he pulled on some clothes and left the house at a crazy gallop quite inappropriate to his age and his
condition. All the other staff, from the eight clerks to the two deputies, were sitting down, their eyes fixed
on the wall clock, waiting until the minute hand was resting exactly on the number twelve. Senhor José
addressed the senior clerk in charge of his section, to whom he was expected to offer his first excuse, and
he apologised for being late, I slept badly, he said, even though he knew, from long years of experience,
that such an explanation was pointless, Sit down, came the abrupt reply. When, immediately after that, the
minute hand slipped forward to indicate the transition from waiting time to work time, Senhor José,
tripping over his shoelaces, which he had forgotten to tie, still had not reached his desk, a fact coldly
observed by the senior clerk, who noted down this remarkable fact in the day's diary. More than an hour
passed before the Registrar arrived. He looked rather withdrawn, almost sombre, and this filled the staff
with fear, at first sight, anyone would say that he had slept badly too, but he was his usual composed self,
perfectly shaven, without a crease in his suit or a hair out of place. He paused for a moment by Senhor
José's desk and looked at him severely, though without saying a word. Embarrassed, Senhor José began a
gesture that seems instinctive in men, that of raising his hand to rub his cheek to see if his beard had
grown, but he stopped halfway, as if, by doing so, he might disguise what was obvious to everyone else,
his unforgivably scruffy appearance. Everyone thought that a reprimand would not be long in coming. The
Registrar went over to his own desk, sat down and called over the two deputies. The general feeling was
that things were looking very bad for Senhor José, if not, the boss would not have summoned both of his
immediate inferiors, he must have wanted to hear their opinion of the heavy sanction he intended to
impose, His patience has run out, the other clerks thought gleefully, for they had been scandalised by the
recent unmerited favouritism shown to Senhor José by the boss, About time too, they said to themselves
sententiously. They soon realised, however, that this was not the case. While one of the two deputies gave
orders for everyone, senior clerks and clerks, to turn and face the Registrar, the other went around the
counter and closed the entrance door, having first affixed a notice outside saying Closed temporarily for
official business. What on earths going on, wondered the staff, including the deputies, who knew as much
as the others, or perhaps slightly more, only that the Registrar had told them that he was going to speak.
The first thing he said was Sit down. The order passed from the deputies to the senior clerks, from the
senior clerks to the clerks, there was the inevitable noise produced by the scuffing of chairs, placed with
their backs to their respective desks, but all this was done quickly, in less than a minute the silence in the
Central Registry was absolute. You couldn't hear a fly, although everyone knew they were there, some
perched in safe places, others dying in the filthy spiders' webs hanging from the ceiling. The Registrar
rose slowly to his feet, equally slowly he surveyed the staff, one by one, as if he were seeing them for the
first time, or as if he were trying to recognise them after a long absence, oddly enough, his expression was
no longer sombre, or, rather, it was, but in a different sense, as if he were tormented by some moral pain.
Then he spoke, Gentlemen, in my role as head of the Central Registry, the latest in a long line of
Registrars begun when the oldest of the documents existing in our archives was first collected, in
fulfilment of the responsibilities bestowed on me and following the example of my predeces sors, I have
been scrupulous in obeying and in making others obey the written laws that regulate our work, never
forgetting, indeed, at every moment, always mindful of tradition. I am aware that times have changed, I am