All The Names - Jose Saramago

that's sacred, Mr. Clerk, at least so they say, But in the name of decency, you should have a minimum of
respect for the person who died, people come here to remember their relatives and friends, to meditate or
pray, to place flowers or to weep before a beloved name, and now it seems, because of one mischievous
shepherd, the person lying there has another name entirely, these venerable mortal remains don't belong to
the person they were thought to belong to, that way, you make death a farce, Personally, I don't believe one
can show greater respect than to weep for a stranger, But death, What, Death should be respected, And
what in your opinion does respecting death involve, Not profaning it for a start, Death itself cannot be
profaned, You know very well that it's the dead I'm talking about, not death itself, And can you see the
slightest sign of profanation here, Swapping the names around is hardly a minor profanation, Well, I can
understand a clerk in the Central Registry having ideas like that about names. The shepherd stopped, made
a sign to the dog to go and fetch a sheep that had wandered off, then went on, I haven't yet told you the
reason why I began changing the numbers on the graves, I doubt it's of any interest to me, I'm sure it will
be, Go on then, If, as I believe, it's true that people who commit suicide do so because they don't want to
be found, these people here, thanks to what you called a mischievous shepherd, are now free forever from
importunate visitors, in truth, not even I, even if I wanted to, would be able to remember where the
numbers should be, all I know is what I think when I pass by these marble stones complete with the
person's name and the correct dates of birth and death, What do you think, That it's possible not to see a
lie even when it's right in front of us. The mist had vanished a long time ago, you could now see how large
the flock of sheep was. The shepherd made a movement above his head with the crook, it was an order for
the dog to gather the sheep together. The shepherd said, It's time for me to take the sheep away, the guides
might find me here, I can already see the lights of two cars, but they're not coming this way, I'm going to
stay for a while longer, said Senhor José, Are you really going to report me, asked the shepherd, I'm a
man of my word, what is sworn is sworn, They'd probably tell you to keep your mouth shut anyway, Why,
Imagine the work involved in disinterring all these people and identifying them, many of them are nothing
more than dust now anyway. The sheep were all gathered together, apart from the occasional straggler
which came leaping nimbly over the graves to escape the dog and join its sisters. The shepherd asked,
Were you a friend or a relative of the person you came to visit, I didn't even know her, And despite that
you came looking for her, It was precisely because I didn't know her that I came looking for her, You see I
was right when I said that one can show no greater respect than to weep for a stranger, Goodbye, We
might see each other again sometime, I doubt it, You never know, Who are you, I'm the shepherd of these
sheep, And that's all, That's all. A light flickered in the distance, That one's coming over here, said Senhor
José, It looks like it, said the shepherd. With the dog at their head, the flock began to move towards the
bridge. Before disappearing behind the trees on the other side, the shepherd turned around and waved.
Senhor José waved back. He could see the intermittent light on the guides' car more clearly now. It
disappeared occasionally into a hollow or was momentarily concealed from view by one of the motley
structures in the cemetery, the towers, the obelisks, the pyramids, then it reappeared, brighter, nearer, and
it was coming fast, a clear sign that there were not many people accompanying it. When he had said to the
shepherd, I'm going to stay for a while longer, Senhor José's intention had been merely to remain alone for
a few minutes before setting off again. He just wanted to ponder his own feelings a little, to judge the real
depths of his disappointment, to accept it, to put his spirit to rest, to say once more, It's over, but now he
had another idea. He went across to one of the graves and adopted the pose of someone meditating deeply
on the irremediable precariousness of existence, on the vacuity of all dreams and all hopes, on the
absolute fragility of worldly and divine glories. He was so deep in thought that he didn't even appear to
notice the arrival of the guides and the half dozen or so people, slightly more, accompanying the coffin.
He did not move during the whole time that it took to open the grave, lower the coffin, fill in the hole,
make the usual mound with the surplus earth. He did not move when one of the guides placed at the head
of the mound the black metal tag marked in white with the number of the grave. He did not move when the