Free The Lives of Things by José Saramago Page A

tick-tock could be clearly heard, although somewhat muffled, but the hands were not moving. He realised he was going to be very late in arriving. He hated being late. The public would not suffer, since the colleague from whom he was taking over was not allowed to leave the office until he arrived. Before pushing open the door, he took another look at his watch: the same as before. On hearing him come in, his colleague got to his feet, said a few words to the people waiting on the other side of the counter window, then closed it. That was the rule. Civil servants took over from each other without delay but the counter window always had to be closed.
    —You’re late.
    —I’m afraid so. Sorry.
    —It’s a quarter past the hour. I ought to report you.
    —Of course. My watch stopped. That’s why I’m late. But, strangely enough, it’s still going.
    —It’s still going?
    —Don’t you believe me? Take a look.
    They both looked at the watch.
    —That’s very odd.
    —Look at the hands. They’re not moving. But you can hear the tick-tock.
    —Yes, so you can. I’ll say nothing about your lateness this time, considering, but I think you should tell the supervisor what is happening to your watch.
    —I suppose so.
    —There have been lots of curious things happening in recent weeks.
    —The Government is on its guard and is almost certain to take measures.
    Someone knocked on the shiny plate glass of the window. The two civil servants signed the time-sheet.
    —Be careful with the main door, warned the one who was starting the shift.
    —Did you get a nasty bump? Then you’re the third person today.
    —And did you hear about the settee having a fever?
    —Everybody knows.
    —Isn’t it strange?
    —It is, although it’s not uncommon. See you on Monday.
    —Have a nice weekend.
    He opened the window. There were three people waiting. He apologised, as the rule book instructed, and took from the first man – tall, smartly dressed and middle-aged – an identity card. He slotted it into the machine, checked the luminous symbols which came up on the screen before returning the card:
    —Now then. What can I do for you? Please be brief. These, too, were the phrases stipulated by the rule book. The man replied without a moment’s hesitation:
    —I’ll be brief. I want a piano.
    —We don’t get many requests for pianos nowadays. Tell me. Do you really need one?
    —Are they so difficult to obtain?
    —The raw materials are scarce. When do you need it?
    —Within fifteen days.
    —You might as well ask for the moon. A piano requires raw materials of the highest quality, and they’re in short supply, if that makes my meaning any clearer.
    —This piano is for a birthday present. Do you understand?
    —Perfectly. But you should have placed your order sooner.
    —It wasn’t possible. Let me remind you, I’m registered in one of the highest categories.
    As he spoke these words, the client opened his right hand with the palm turned upwards to display a green C tattooed on the palm. The civil servant looked at the letter, then at the luminous symbols on the screen and nodded his head in affirmation:
    —I’ve taken special note. You’ll have your piano within fifteen days.
    —Many thanks. Do you want me to pay in full or will a deposit be enough?
    —A deposit is fine.
    The man took a wallet from his pocket and put the required amount of money on the counter. The notes were rectangular and made of fine, soft paper in one colour but in different shades, just as the tiny emblematic portraits which determined their value were also different. The civil servant counted them. As he gathered them together and was about to put them away into the safe, one of the notes suddenly curled up and wrapped itself tightly round one finger. The client said:
    —The same thing happened to me today. The Mint ought to be more careful when printing notes.
    —Have you lodged a formal complaint?
    —Naturally, I considered it my duty.
    —Very