The Collected Novels of José Saramago (403 page)

Unexpectedly, and revealing a deplorably poor sense of timing, the republicans decided to choose this delicate occasion to make their voices heard. There were not many of them, they did not even have any representation in parliament, despite forming a political party and regularly standing for election. Nevertheless, they bragged about having a certain amount of social influence, especially in artistic and literary circles, whence came occasional manifestos which while, on the whole, well-written, were invariably bland and anodyne. They had shown no sign of life since the disappearance of death, not even, as one might expect from a supposedly radical opposition, in order to demand an explanation for the maphia’s rumored participation in the ignoble traffic in the terminally dying. Now, taking advantage of the anxiety sweeping the country, torn as it was between the vanity of knowing itself to be unique on the whole planet and a feeling of deep disquiet because it was not like anywhere else, there they were bringing into question neither more nor less than the matter of the regime. Being, by definition, opponents of the monarchy and enemies of the throne, they thought they had discovered a new argument in favor of the necessary and urgent establishment of the republic. They said that it went against common logic for a country to have a king who would never die and who, even if he were to decide to abdicate tomorrow for reasons of age or declining mental health, would continue to be king, the first in an endless succession of enthronements and abdications, an endless sequence of kings lying in their beds awaiting a death that would never arrive, a stream of half-alive, half-dead kings who, unless they were kept in the corridors of the palace, would end up filling and finally overflowing the pantheon where their mortal ancestors had been received and who would now be nothing but bones detached from their hinges or musty, mummified remains. How much more logical it would be to have a president of the republic with a fixed term of office, a single mandate, at most two, and then he could go his own sweet way, live his own life, give lectures, write books, take part in congresses, colloquia and symposia, argue his point at roundtables, go around the world in eighty receptions, opine upon the length of skirts when they come back into fashion and on the reduction of ozone in the atmosphere if there is an atmosphere, he could, in short, do as he pleased. Better that than having to read every day in the newspapers and hear on television and radio the unalterable medical bulletin, still no change, about the patients in the royal infirmaries, which, it should be noted, having already been extended twice, would be about to be extended again. The plural of infirmaries is there to indicate that, as always happens with hospitals and the like, the men were kept separate from the women, that is, kings and princes on one side, queens and princesses on the other. The republicans were now challenging the people to assume their rightful responsibilities, to take destiny in their hands in order to inaugurate a new life and forge a new, flower-strewn path toward future dawns. This time their manifesto touched not only artists and writers, other social strata proved equally receptive to the happy image of the flower-strewn path and to those invocations of future dawns, and the result was an absolutely extraordinary flood of support from new militants ready to set off on a crusade which, just as a fish is a fish before and after it has been fished, had passed into history even before anyone knew it would turn out to be an historic event. Unfortunately, in the days that followed, the verbal manifestations of civic enthusiasm from the new supporters of this forward-looking, prophetic republicanism were not always as respectful as good manners and healthy democratic coexistence demand. Some even crossed the line of the most offensive vulgarity, saying, for example, when speaking of their royal highnesses, that they were not prepared to keep donkeys or dumb beasts with rings through their noses supplied with sponge cake. All people of good taste agreed that such words were not just inadmissible, they were unforgivable. It would have sufficed to say that the state coffers would be unable to continue to support the continual increase in expenditure of the royal household and its adjuncts, and everyone would have understood. It was true, but it did not offend.

It was this violent attack by the republicans, but, more important, the article’s worrying prediction that, very soon, the aforementioned state coffers would be unable, with no end in sight, to continue paying old age and disability pensions, that prompted the king to let the prime minister know that they needed to have a frank conversation, alone, without tape recorders or witnesses of any kind. The prime minister duly arrived, inquired after the royal health, in particular after that of the queen mother, who, at new year, had been on the point of dying, but who nonetheless, like so very many others, still continued to breathe thirteen times a minute, even though her prostrate body beneath the canopy covering her bed showed few other signs of life. His majesty thanked him and said that the queen mother was bearing her sufferings with the dignity proper to the blood that still ran in her veins, and then turned to the matters on the agenda, the first of which was the republicans’ declaration of war. I just don’t understand what these people can be thinking of, he said, here’s the country plunged in the worst crisis of its entire history, and there they are talking about regime change, Oh, I wouldn’t worry, sir, all they’re doing is taking advantage of the situation to spread what they call their plans for government, deep down, they’re nothing but poor anglers fishing in some very murky waters, And, let it be said, showing a lamentable lack of patriotism. Indeed, sir, the republicans have ideas about the nation that only they can understand, if, that is, they do understand them, Their ideas don’t interest me in the least, what I want to hear from you is if there’s any chance they might force a change of regime, They don’t even have any representation in parliament, sir, What I’m referring to is a coup d’etat, a revolution, Absolutely not, sir, the people are solidly behind their king, and the armed forces are loyal to the legitimate government, So I can rest easy, Completely, sir. The king made a cross in his diary next to the word republicans, and said, Good, then he asked, And what’s all this about pensions not being paid, We are paying them, sir, but prospects do look pretty bleak, So I must have misread it, I thought there had been, shall we say, a suspension of payments, No, sir, but, as I say, the future is very worrying indeed, Worrying in what respect, In every respect, sir, the state could simply collapse like a house of cards, Are we the only country that finds itself in this situation, asked the king, No, sir, in the long term, the problem will affect everyone, but what counts is the difference between dying and not dying, a fundamental difference, if you’ll forgive me stating the obvious, Sorry, but I don’t quite understand, In other countries, it’s normal for people to die, but here, sir, in our country, no one dies, think only of the queen mother, it seemed certain she was dying, but, no, she’s still here, happily for us, of course, but really, I’m not exaggerating, the noose is well and truly around our necks, And yet I’ve heard rumors that some people are dying, That’s true, sir, but it’s merely a drop in the ocean, not all families can bring themselves to take that step, What step, Handing over their dying to the organization in charge of the suicides, But I don’t understand, what’s the point of them committing suicide if they can’t die, Oh, they can, sir, And how do they manage it, It’s a complicated story, sir, Well, tell it to me, we’re alone, On the other side of the frontier, sir, people are still dying, You mean that this organization takes them there, Exactly, Is it a charitable organization, It helps us a little to slow down the mounting numbers of the terminally dying, but, as I said before, it’s a drop in the ocean, And what is this organization. The prime minister took a deep breath and said, The maphia, sir, The maphia, Yes, sir, the maphia, sometimes the state has no alternative but to find someone else to do its dirty work, You’ve never said anything to me about this before, No, sir, I wanted to keep you out of a situation for which I take full responsibility, And the troops who were on the frontier, They had a job to do, What job was that, Of appearing to be an obstacle to the transportation of suicides, but not, in fact, being an obstacle at all, But I thought they were there to prevent an invasion, There never was such a danger, and, besides, we’ve made agreements with the governments of those other countries, and everything’s under control, Apart from the matter of pensions, Apart from the matter of death, sir, if we don’t start dying again, we have no future. The king made a cross beside the word pensions and said, Something needs to happen, Indeed, sir, something needs to happen.

THE ENVELOPE WAS ON THE DIRECTOR-GENERAL’S DESK WHEN
the secretary went into the office. It was violet-colored and, therefore, unusual, and the paper had been embossed to resemble the texture of linen. It looked rather antique and gave the impression that it had been used before. There was no address, neither the sender’s, which does occasionally happen, nor the addressee’s, which never happens, and it was found in an office whose locked door had just been opened, and through which no one could have entered during the night. When she turned the envelope over to see if there was anything written on the back, the secretary felt herself thinking, with a vague sense that it was absurd both to have thought or felt such a thing, that the envelope hadn’t been there when she put the key in the lock and turned it. Ridiculous, she murmured, I must simply not have noticed it here when I left yesterday. She glanced round the room to make sure everything was in order and then withdrew to her own desk. In her role as secretary, and a confidential secretary to boot, she had authorization to open that or any other envelope, especially since it bore no label indicating that it contained restricted information, nothing saying personal, private or secret, and yet she hadn’t opened it, and she couldn’t understand why. Twice she got up from her chair and opened the door of the office just a crack. The envelope was still there. I’m going crazy, she thought, it must be the color, I wish he would come now and put an end to the mystery. She was referring to her boss, the director-general of television, who was late. It was a quarter past ten when he finally arrived. Being a man of few words, he merely said good morning and went straight into his office, leaving his secretary with orders to join him in five minutes, the time he considered necessary to settle in and light his first cigarette of the day. When the secretary went into the room, the director-general had not yet taken off his coat or lit a cigarette. He was holding a sheet of paper the same color as the envelope, and his hands were shaking. He turned to the secretary as she approached the desk, but it was as if he didn’t recognize her. He held up one hand to stop her coming nearer and said in a voice that seemed to emerge from someone else’s throat, Get out this instant, close that door and don’t allow anyone, anyone, you understand, to come in, it doesn’t matter who they are. The secretary asked solicitously if anything was wrong, but he interrupted her angrily, Didn’t you hear me, he said, I told you to get out. And almost shouting, he added, Get out, now. The poor woman withdrew, with tears in her eyes, she wasn’t used to such behavior, the director has his faults, it’s true, like everyone else, but he’s generally very polite and not in the habit of treating his secretary like a doormat. It’s something to do with that letter, there’s no other explanation, she thought while she looked for a handkerchief to dry her eyes. She was quite right. If she dared go back into the office now, she would see the director-general pacing furiously from one side of the room to the other, with a wild expression on his face, as if he didn’t know what to do and yet was, at the same time, all too aware that he, and only he, could do it. He looked at his watch, looked at the piece of paper, and murmured very softly, almost to himself, There’s still time, there’s still time, then he sat down and re-read the mysterious letter, meanwhile mechanically running his other hand over his head, as if to make sure it was still in its place and had not been swallowed up by the vortex of fear gripping his stomach. He stopped reading and sat staring into space, thinking, I must talk to someone, then a thought came to his aid, the idea that it might be a joke, a joke in the worst possible taste, a disgruntled viewer, of whom there are so many, and one with a very macabre imagination indeed, for as anyone high up in the world of television knows, it’s definitely no bed of roses, But people don’t usually write to me to let off steam, he thought. Needless to say, it was this idea that finally led him to phone through to his secretary and ask, Who brought this letter, I don’t know, sir, when I arrived and unlocked the door to your office, just as I always do, there it was, But that’s impossible, no one has access to this office at night, Exactly, sir, Then how do you explain it, Don’t ask me, sir, I tried to explain what had happened, but you didn’t give me a chance, Yes, I’m sorry, I was a little brusque with you, That’s all right sir, but it upset me a lot. The director-general again lost patience, If I told you what was in this letter, you’d know the real meaning of being upset. And he hung up. He looked again at his watch, then said to himself, It’s the only way out, I can see no other, there are some decisions I can’t make. He opened his address book, looked for the number he wanted and found it, Here it is, he said. His hands were still shaking so much that he found it hard to press the right buttons and even harder to control his voice when someone answered, Put me through to the prime minister’s office, will you, it’s the director-general of television. The cabinet secretary came on the line, Good morning, director-general, it’s good to hear you, how can I help, Look, I need to see the prime minister as soon as possible on a matter of extreme urgency, Can’t you tell me what it’s about so that I can forewarn the prime minister, No, I’m very sorry, but I can’t, the matter, as well as urgent, is strictly confidential, But if you could just give me an idea, Listen, I have in my possession a document which has been read only by these eyes that will one day be consumed by the earth, a document of transcendent national importance, and if that’s not enough for you to put me straight through to the prime minister wherever he may be, then I very much fear for your personal and political future, So it’s serious, All I can say is, from now on, each wasted minute is your sole responsibility, In that case, I’ll see what I can do, but the prime minister is very busy, Well, if you want to get yourself a medal, unbusy him, Right away, Fine, I’ll hang on, May I ask you another question, Oh, really, what else do you want to know, Why did you use that expression about these eyes that will one day be consumed by the earth, that’s what used to happen before, Look, I don’t know what you were before, but I know what you are now, a total idiot, now put me through to the prime minister, this instant. The director-general’s unexpectedly harsh words show to what extent his mind was disturbed. He’s in the grip of a kind of confusion, he doesn’t know himself, he can’t understand how he could possibly have insulted someone who had merely asked him a question that was perfectly reasonable, both in its terms and its intention. I’ll have to apologize, he thought remorsefully, who knows when I might need his help. The prime minister’s voice sounded impatient, What’s wrong, he asked, as far as I know I don’t normally deal with problems to do with television, it’s not my business, It’s not about television, prime minister, I’ve received a letter, Yes, they mentioned that you’d received a letter, and what do you want me to do about it, Just read it, that’s all, beyond that, to use your own words, it’s not my business, You seem upset, Yes, prime minister, I’m extremely upset, And what does this mysterious letter say, I can’t tell you over the phone, It’s a secure line, No, I still can’t tell you, one can’t be too careful, Then send it to me, No, I’ll have to deliver it myself, I don’t want to run the risk of sending a courier, Well, I can send someone from here, my cabinet secretary, for example, he’s about as close to me as anyone, Prime minister, please, I wouldn’t be bothering you if I didn’t have a very good reason, I really must see you, When, Now, But I’m busy, Prime minister, please, All right, if you insist, come and see me, and I just hope all this mystery is worth it, Thank you, I’ll be right there. The director-general put down the phone, replaced the letter in its envelope, slipped it into one of the inside pockets in his overcoat and got up. His hands had stopped shaking, but his face was dripping sweat. He wiped the sweat away with his handkerchief, then spoke to his secretary on the internal phone, told her he was going out and asked her to call the car. The fact of having passed responsibility to another person calmed him a little, in half an hour his role in the matter will be over. The secretary appeared at the door, The car’s waiting, sir, Thank you, I’m not sure how long I’ll be, I have a meeting with the prime minister, but that information is for you alone, Don’t worry, sir, I won’t tell anyone, Goodbye, Goodbye, sir, I hope everything turns out for the best, In the current state of affairs, we no longer know what’s for the best and what’s for the worst, You’re right, By the way, how’s your father, Just the same, sir, he doesn’t actually seem to be suffering, he’s simply wasting away, burning out, he’s been like that for the last two months, and given how things are going, it’s just a matter of waiting my turn to lie down in a bed next to his, Who knows, said the director-general, and left.