It was nine o'clock when the superintendent woke up. He wasn't crying, a sign that the invaders had not used, tear-gas, he did not have handcuffs round his wrists or guns leveled at his head, how often fears come to sour our life and prove, in the end, to have no foundation, no reason to exist. He got up, shaved, washed and dressed as usual, then went out intending to go to the café where he had eaten breakfast the previous day On the way, he bought the newspapers, I thought you weren't coming today, said the man at the kiosk with all the familiarity of an old acquaintance, There's one missing, commented the superintendent, It didn't appear today, and the distributor doesn't know when it will be published again, possibly next week, apparently they've had a massive fine slapped on them, But why, Because of that article, the one they made all those photocopies of, Oh, I see, Here's your bag, there are only five papers today, so you'll have less to read. The superintendent thanked him and went in search of the café. He could no longer remember where the street was and his appetite was growing with each step he took, the thought of toast made his mouth water, we must forgive this man for what may appear, at first sight, to be deplorable gluttony, inappropriate in a man of his age and standing, but we must remember that yesterday he went to bed on an empty stomach. He finally found the street and the café, now he is sitting at the table, and while he waits, he glances through the papers, here are the headlines, in black and red, so that we can get a rough idea of their respective contents, Another Subversive Act By The Enemies Of Our Country, Who Set the Photocopiers Working, The Dangers Of Disinformation, Who Paid For Those Photocopies. The superintendent ate slowly, savoring every mouthful down to the last crumb, even the coffee tastes better than yesterday, and when he had finished his meal, his body now refreshed, his spirit which, ever since yesterday, had felt itself under an obligation to the park and the pond, to the green water and the woman with the water jar, reminded him, You so wanted to go there, but you didn't, Well, I'll go now, replied the superintendent. He paid, put all the papers back in the bag and set off. He could have caught a taxi, but he preferred to go on foot. He had nothing else to do and it was a way of passing the time. When he reached the park, he went and sat on the bench where he had talked to the doctor's wife and become properly acquainted with the dog of tears. From there he could see the pond and the woman with the water jar poised for pouring. Underneath the tree, it was still slightly cool. He drew his raincoat over his knees and, with a sigh of satisfaction, made himself comfortable. The man wearing the blue tie with white spots came up behind him and shot him in the head.
The Collected Novels of José Saramago Page 336