The Collected Novels Of Jose Saramago Part 21

Marta got up to clear away the plates and serve the soup, which it was the custom in their family to eat after the main course. Her father watched her and thought, I'm just complicating matters with this conversation, I'd better tell her now. He didn't, his daughter was suddenly eight years old, and he was saying to her, Look, it's just like when your mother kneads the bread. He rolled the block of clay backwards and forwards, pressing it and stretching it out with the heels of his hands, then he slapped it down hard on the table, squashing and squeezing, then started all over, repeating the whole operation, again and again and again, Why do you do that, his daughter asked him, So that there aren't any lumps or air bubbles left inside, that would be bad for the work, Is it the same with bread too, With bread you just have to get rid of the lumps, the air bubbles don't matter. He put to one side the compact cylinder into which the clay had been transformed and began kneading another lump, It's high time you learned, he said, but immediately regretted his words, Don't be ridiculous, she's only eight, and so he said instead, Go outside and play, go on, it's cold in here, but his daughter said that she wanted to stay, she was trying to make a doll out of a sc.r.a.p of clay that kept sticking to her fingers because it was too soft, That clay's no good, try this piece, that way you'll be able to make something, said her father. Marta was looking at him anxiously, it wasn't like him to sit with his head bent over his plate to eat, as if, by hiding his face, he was also trying to hide his worries, perhaps it was the conversation he'd had with Marcal, but we talked about that and he didn't look like he does now, or perhaps he's ill, he seems worn out, drained, that day my mother said to me, Be careful, don't push yourself too hard, and I said, The only strength you need is in your arms, the technique's all in your shoulders, the rest of your body doesn't have to do anything, Oh, don't give me that, even the hairs on my head start to ache after an hour of kneading, That's just because you've been feeling a bit tired lately, Or perhaps it's because I'm getting old, Don't say things like that, Mama, you're not old, who would have thought it, though, only two weeks after that conversation, she was dead and buried, such are the surprises that death springs on life, What are you thinking about, Pa. Cipriano Algor wiped his mouth with his napkin, picked up his gla.s.s as if he were about to drink, only to set it down again without raising it to his lips. Tell me, go on, said his daughter, and in order to make it easier for him to get things off his chest, she asked, Are you still worried about Marcal or is something else bothering you. Cipriano Algor picked up his gla.s.s, drank down the rest of the wine in one gulp and replied quickly, as if the words were burning his tongue, They only took half of the shipment today, they say that fewer people are buying earthenware crockery, that some new imitation plastic stuff has come onto the market and that the customers prefer it, Well, that's hardly unexpected, it was bound to happen sooner or later, earthenware cracks and chips, it breaks easily, whereas plastic is more resistant, more resilient, The difference is that earthenware is like people, it needs to be well treated, So does plastic, but you're right, not nearly as much, And the worst thing is that they've told me not to deliver any more crockery until they ask for it, So we'll have to stop work, No, we can't stop, because when the order comes, we'll have to have the plates ready to deliver that same day, we can't just fire the kiln up after we get the order, And what do we do meanwhile, We'll have to wait, be patient, but I'll go for a drive around tomorrow and see if I can sell anything, Don't forget you did that only two months ago, so you won't find many buyers, You're not trying to discourage me, are you, No, I'm just trying to see things as they are, you yourself just said that three generations of potters in a family is quite enough, You won't make a fourth generation anyway because you're going to live at the Center with your husband, Yes, I should go, but you must come with me, Look, I've already told you that I'll never go and live at the Center, Up until now, it's been the Center that has fed us by buying the fruits of our labor, and it will go on feeding us when we live there and have nothing more to sell, Thanks to marcal's salary, There's nothing wrong with a son-in-law supporting his father-in-law, It depends on the father-in-law, Oh, Pa, there's no point being proud at a time like this, It's not pride, What is it then, Something I can't explain, it's more complicated than mere pride, it's something else, a kind of shame, but I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said what I did, It's just that I don't want to see you go without, What if I started selling to shops in the city, it's just a matter of get ting authorization from the Center, after all, if they're buying less from me, they can't really stop me selling to someone else, You know as well as I do that the shops in the city are having a real struggle just to keep their heads above water, everyone does their shopping at the Center, more and more people want to live at the Center, Well, I don't, What are you going to do if the Center stops buying our crockery altogether and the people around here start using plastic utensils, Let's hope I die before that happens, What, like Mama, She died at the potter's wheel, working, if only I was lucky enough to do the same, Don't talk about dying, Pa, The only time we can talk about death is while we're alive, not afterward. Cipriano Algor poured himself a little more wine, got up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as if the rules governing good table manners no longer applied once you had left the table, and said, I've got to go and break up some clay, we're running out. He was just about to leave when his daughter called to him, Pa, I've just had an idea, An idea, Yes, I'll phone marcal and ask him to talk to the head of the buying department and try to find out what the Center's plans are, whether the reduction in demand is just a temporary thing or if it's here to stay, you know how well his bosses think of marcal, So he says, If he says so, it's because they do, retorted Marta impatiently, adding, But if you don't want me to, I won't phone, No, go on, phone him, it's a good idea, besides, it's the only one we've got at the moment, although I doubt that a head of department at the Center will be prepared, just like that, to discuss his plans with a second-rank security guard, I know them better than he does, you don't have to work there to know what kind of stuff these people are made of, they're so full of themselves, besides, a department head is just another minion carrying out orders from above, he might even try to fool us with explanations that aren't true, just to make out how important he is. Marta listened to this whole long tirade, but did not respond. If, as seemed obvious, her father was intent on having the last word, she wasn't going to rob him of that pleasure. When he went out, she thought only, I must try to be more understanding, I must put myself in his place and imagine what it must be like suddenly to have no work, and to have to leave his home, his pottery, his kiln, his life. She repeated the last words out loud, His life, and her eyes immediately filled with tears, she had put herself in her father's place and was suffering what he was suffering. She glanced around her and noticed for the first time how everything looked as if it were covered in clay, not with clay dust, but with the color of clay, with all the many colors of the clay dug from the clay pit, a color left behind by three generations who, every day, had stained their hands with the dust and water of the clay, and she glanced outside too, at the bright ash gray of the kiln, the last, fading warmth that lingered from when they had last emptied it, like a house abandoned by its owners, but which waits patiently, and tomorrow, if all this is not over with once and for all, there will again be the first flame from the wood, the first hot breath of air that encircles the dry clay like a caress, and then, very gradually, the slight tremor in the air, the rapidly increasing glow, the dawning splendor, the dazzling irruption into flames. I will never see that again when we leave here, said Marta, and her heart contracted as if she were saying good-bye to the person she loved most in the world, although at that moment she could not have said which of them she meant, whether her dead mother, her suffering father, or even her husband, yes, it must be her husband, that would be logical, since she is his wife. Then she heard the dull thud of the mallet breaking up the clay, as if the sound were rising up from beneath the floor, but those blows sounded different today, perhaps because they were driven not by the simple need to work, but by impotent rage at losing that work. I'm going to phone marcal, muttered Marta to herself, if I carry on thinking like this, I'll end up as sad as Pa. She left the kitchen and went into her father's bedroom. There, on top of the small table on which Cipriano Algor kept an account of income and expenses, was an antiquated-looking telephone. She dialed one of the numbers for the switchboard and asked to be put through to se curity. Almost at the same moment, a man's voice said abruptly, Security, the speed with which he had answered did not surprise her, everyone knows that in matters of security even the most insignificant of seconds counts, May I speak to security guard marcal Gacho, Marta said, Who's speaking, It's his wife, I'm calling from home, Security guard marcal Gacho is on duty at the moment, he can't come to the phone, In that case, could you give him a message, You're his wife, Yes, my name's Marta Algor Gacho, you can check in your records, Then you should know that we don't take messages, we merely make a note of who called, Could you just tell him to phone home as soon as possible, Is it urgent, asked the voice. Marta thought for a moment, was it urgent, no, it wasn't, it certainly wasn't a matter of life and death, there were no serious problems with the kiln, still less a premature birth, but in the end she said, Yes, it is rather urgent, I'll make a note, said the man, and hung up. With a sigh of weary resignation, Marta replaced the phone on the rest, there was nothing more to be done, it was out of their hands, security could not survive without thrusting their authority in other people's faces, even in a trivial case like this, so ba.n.a.l, so mundane, a wife phoning the Center because she needs to talk to her husband, she wasn't the first and she certainly wouldn't be the last. When Marta went out into the yard, the thud of the mallet no longer sounded as if it were coming from under the ground, it came from where it came, from the dark corner in the pottery where they kept the clay extracted from the clay pit. She went over to the door, but did not go in, I phoned, she said, they'll pa.s.s the message on, Let's see if they do, replied her father, and without another word, he began laying into the largest block of clay in front of him with the mallet. Marta withdrew because she knew that she should not go into a place deliberately chosen by her father in order to be alone, but also because she too had work to do, a few dozen jugs, large and small, waiting to have handles attached to them. She entered by the side door.

Marcal Gacho phoned back later that afternoon, after finishing his shift. He replied to his wife's comments with a few disconnected phrases, with no show of sadness, concern, or anger at the commercial lack of courtesy of which his father-in-law had been the victim. He spoke in an absent voice, a voice that seemed to be thinking about something else, he said, Yes, hm, yes, I understand, maybe, I suppose that's to be expected, I'll go as soon as I can, not always, absolutely, yes, I understand, no need to repeat it, and he finished the conversation with his only complete sentence, which bore no relation to what they had been talking about, Don't worry, I won't forget the shopping. Marta realized that her husband must have been speaking in front of witnesses, work colleagues, possibly a superior come to inspect the dormitory, which was why he had to put on an act, in order to avoid arousing any awkward or even dangerous curiosity. The organization of the Center had been conceived and set up according to a model of strict compartmentalization of its various activities and functions, which, although they were not and could not be entirely separate, were only able to communicate with each other via particular channels that were often hard to disentangle and identify. Obviously a mere second-rank security guard, both by virtue of the specific nature of his job as well as by virtue of his infinitesimal importance in the ranks of minor personnel, one being an unavoidable consequence of the other, is not, generally speaking, equipped with the necessary discernment and perspicacity to notice such subtleties and nuances, which are, in deed, almost volatile in their nature, but marcal Gacho, despite not being among the most astute of his colleagues, has in his favor a certain ferment of ambition, with, as its known goal, promotion to resident guard and, eventually, of course, to first-rank security guard, and we do not know where that ambition might lead him in the near future, still less, in the distant future, if he has one. By keeping his eyes and ears open since the day he began working at the Center he soon learned when and how it was best to speak, or not speak, or simply to dissemble. After two years of marriage, Marta thought she had a pretty thorough knowledge of the husband she had ended up with in the game of give and take which is what married life almost always comes down to, she bestows all her wifely affection on him, and were it in the interests of the story to delve more deeply into their private life, she would be quite prepared to declare vehemently that she loves him, but she is not given to selfdeception, and, were we to insist, it is even likely that she would ultimately admit that he sometimes seemed to her too prudent, not to say calculating, always a.s.suming that we wanted to take our investigations into such negative areas of the personality. She was sure that her husband would have been annoyed by their conversation, that he would already have started worrying about the prospect of meeting the head of the buying department, and not out of an inferior's timidity or modesty, the fact is that marcal Gacho has always prided himself on his declared dislike of drawing attention to himself except in the line of duty, especially, as someone who thinks he knows him well might add, when such attention will not be to his advantage. In the end, Marta's good idea had only seemed good because, at that particular moment, as her father had said, it was the only idea available. Cipriano Algor was in the kitchen, he could not possibly have heard the isolated, disconnected fragments of conversation spoken by his son-in-law, but it was as if he had read them all, and filled in the gaps, in his daughter's weary face, when one long minute later, she emerged from the bedroom. And since it wasn't worth putting his tongue to work over such a small matter, he did not waste any time and asked simply, So, and she was the one who was forced to state the obvious, He'll talk to the head of department, although Marta needn't have bothered to say that either, a shared glance would have been enough. Life is like that, full of words that are not worth saying or that were worth saying once but not any more, each word that we utter will take up the s.p.a.ce of another more deserving word, not deserving in its own right, but because of the possible consequences of saying it. Supper pa.s.sed in silence, as did the two hours spent in front of the indifferent television, and at some point, as has often happened in the last few months, Cipriano Algor fell asleep. He was frowning angrily, as if he were admonishing himself even as he drifted off for having given in so easily to sleep, when, in all fairness and justice, his feelings of annoyance and upset should have kept him awake day and night, the former so that he could absorb the full impact of the offense, the latter so as to make his suffering bearable. Exposed like that, disarmed, his head lolling back, his mouth half open, lost to himself, he presented a poignant image of hopeless abandon, like a bag that has broken and spilled its contents all over the road. Marta was staring fervently at her father, with pa.s.sionate intensity, and she was thinking, This is my old father, the forgivable overstatement of someone still in the early dawn of adulthood, one should not refer to a man of sixty-four, albeit rather low in spirits like the man in question, as old, that might have been the custom in the days when teeth began to fall out at thirty and the first wrinkles to appear at twenty-five, but nowadays, it is only from eighty years onward that old age, authentic and unambiguous and from which there can be no return, nor even any pretense at a return, begins, de facto and unapologetically, to deserve the name by which we designate our last days. What will become of us if the Center stops buying our products, who will we make crockery for if it is the Center's tastes that determine everyone else's tastes, Marta was wondering, it wasn't the de partment head who decided to buy only half our goods, the order came down to him from above, from his superiors, from someone who cares not a jot if there is one potter more or less in the world, what happened might well be just the first step, the second step will be to stop buying altogether, we'll have to be prepared for that disaster, yes, prepared, although I'd like to know quite how one prepares oneself to be hit over the head with a hammer, and when marcal gets promoted to resident guard, what will I do with my father, I can't possibly leave him here all alone in this house with no work to do, I just couldn't do that, cruel child, the neighbors would say, or worse, I would say the same myself, things would be different if Mama was still alive, because contrary to what people say, two weaknesses don't make for a still greater weakness, but for renewed strength, well, that's probably not true and never has been, but there are occasions when it would be nice if it was, no, Pa, no, Cipriano Algor, when I leave here, you will come with me, even if I have to use force, I don't doubt that a man can live perfectly well on his own, but I'm convinced that he begins to die as soon as he closes the door of his house behind him. As if someone had shaken him brusquely by the arm, or as if he sensed he was being talked about, Cipriano Algor suddenly opened his eyes and sat up properly in his chair. He rubbed his face with his hands and, with the slightly confused look of a child caught in flagrante, he muttered, I must have dropped off. Whenever he woke up from one of his brief naps in front of the television, he always said the same thing, I must have dropped off. But tonight is not like every other night, which is why he added in a murmur, It would have been far better if I hadn't woken up at all, at least while I was asleep, I was a potter with work to do, With one major difference, that any work you do while you're dreaming doesn't produce any real results, said Marta, So it's exactly the same as when you're awake, then, you work and work and work, and one day, you emerge from that dream or that nightmare only to be told that what you did was worthless, But it wasn't worthless, Pa, It feels as if it was, Today was a bad day, tomorrow we'll be able to think more calmly, and we'll see if we can find a way out of this problem they've created for us, Yes, we'll see, and yes, we'll think about it. Marta went over to her father and kissed him fondly, Go to bed, go on, and sleep well and rest that head of yours. At the door of his room, Cipriano Algor stopped and turned around, he seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, as if trying to convince himself, Perhaps marcal will phone tomorrow, perhaps he'll have some good news for us, Who knows, Pa, who knows, said Marta, he certainly seemed very keen to help.

marcal did not phone the next day. That day, which was Wednesday, pa.s.sed, Thursday and Friday pa.s.sed, Sat.u.r.day and Sunday pa.s.sed, and only on Monday, almost a week after the incident with the shipment of crockery, did the phone ring again in Cipriano Algor's house. Despite what he had said, the potter had not gone out and about looking for buyers. He occupied the slow hours with small tasks, some of them unnecessary, like meticulously inspecting and cleaning the kiln, from top to bottom, inside and out, joint by joint, tile by tile, as if he were preparing it for the biggest firing in its history. He kneaded a lump of clay for his daughter, but he did not give the task the scrupulous attention he had lavished on the kiln, in fact, he made such a botched job of it that Marta, behind his back, had to knead it again to get rid of the lumps. He chopped firewood, swept the courtyard, and on one afternoon, during a three-hour interlude of fine, monotonous rain of the sort people used to call mizzle, he spent the whole time sitting on a log in the woodshed, sometimes staring straight ahead with the fixity of a blind man who knows that even if he turns his head in the other direction he will still not see anything, at other times studying his open palms, as if looking for a route in those lines and crossroads, either the shortest or the longest, generally speaking, choosing one or the other depends on how much or how little of a rush you are in, not forgetting, of course, those cases when someone or something is pushing you from behind, and you don't know why or where they are pushing you. On that afternoon, when the rain stopped, Cipriano Algor walked down the street to the main road, unaware that his daughter was watching him from the door of the pottery, but he did not need to say where he was going, nor did she need to ask. Stubborn creature, Marta thought, he should have gone in the van, it could start raining again at any moment. Marta's concern was only natural, it was what one would expect from a daughter, because the truth is that, no matter how often people in the past may have made statements to the contrary, the heavens never were to be trusted. This time, though, even if the drizzle does slither down again from the uniform grayness covering and encircling the earth, it won't be one of those drenching rains, the village cemetery is very close, just at the end of one of those streets leading off the main road, and Cipriano Algor, despite being of a certain age, still has the long, rapid stride that younger people use when they're in a hurry. But be they old or young, let no one ask him to hurry today Nor would it have been wise of Marta to suggest that he take the van, because we should always visit cemeteries, especially bucolic, rural, village cemeteries on foot, not in accordance with any categorical imperative or with some ruling from above, but out of respect for mere human decency, after all, so many people have gone on walking pilgrimages to worship the shinbone of some saint that it would be inexplicable if we were to choose any other mode of transport to go to a place where we know beforehand that what awaits us is our own memory and perhaps a tear. Cipriano Algor will spend a few minutes beside his wife's grave, not in order to pray prayers he long ago forgot, nor to ask her to intercede for him up there in the empyrean, always a.s.suming that her virtues carried her to such high places, with the one who some say can do anything, he will merely protest that what they did to me is simply unjust, Justa, they mocked my work and the work of our daughter, they say there's no interest any more in earthenware crockery, that no one wants it, and therefore we too are no longer needed, we are a cracked bowl which there is no point in clamping together, you had better luck while you were alive. There are small puddles along the narrow gravel cemetery paths, the gra.s.s grows everywhere, and in less than a hundred years' time, it will be impossible to know who was buried beneath these mounds of mud, and even if people do still know, it's unlikely it will be of any real interest to them, the dead, as someone has already said, are like broken plates on which it is no longer worth placing one of those equally outmoded iron clamps that were used to hold together what had become broken or separated, or, as in the case in question, and using different words to explain the simile, the iron clamps of memory and regret. Cipriano Algor approached his wife's grave, she has been under there for three years now, three years during which she has appeared nowhere, not in the house, not in the pottery, not in bed, not beneath the shade of the mulberry tree, nor at the clay pit beneath the scorching sun, she has not sat down again at the table or at the potter's wheel, nor has she cleared out the ashes fallen from the grate, nor seen the earthenware pots and plates set out to dry, she does not peel the potatoes, knead the clay, or say, That's the way things are, Cipriano, life only gives you two days, and given the number of people who only get to live for a day and a half, and others even less, we can't really complain. Cipriano Algor stayed no longer than three minutes, he was intelligent enough to know that the important thing was not to stand there, with prayers or without, looking at the grave, the important thing was to have come, the important thing is the road you walked, the journey you made, if you are aware of prolonging your contemplation of the grave it is because you are watching yourself or, worse still, it is because you hope others are watching you. Compared with the instantaneous speed of thought, which heads off in a straight line even when it seems to us to have lost its way, because what we fail to realize is that, as it races off in one direction, it is in fact advancing in all directions at once, anyway, as we were saying, compared with that, the poor word is constantly having to ask permission from one foot to lift the other foot, and even then it is always stumbling, hesitating and dithering over an adjective or a verb that turns up unannounced by its subject, and that must be why Cipriano did not have time to tell his wife everything that was on his mind, apart from that business about it being unjust, Justa, but it may well be that the murmurings we can hear coming from him now, as he walks toward the gate leading out of the cemetery, are precisely what he had meant to say. He had stopped muttering to himself by the time he pa.s.sed a woman dressed all in black who was coming in through the gate, that's how it has always been, some arrive and others leave, she said, Good afternoon, Senhor Cipriano, the respectful form of address is justified both by the age difference and because that is the custom in the country, and he replies, Good afternoon, the only reason he does not say her name is not because he does not know it, but because he thinks that this woman, dressed in heavy mourning for her husband, will play no part in the somber future events about to unfold nor in any account of them, although she, for her part, intends going to the pottery tomorrow to buy a water jug, as she is telling him now, I'll be around tomorrow to buy a water jug, I just hope it's better than the last one, the handle came off when I picked it up, it smashed to smithereens and the water went all over my kitchen floor, you can imagine the mess, although, truth be told, the poor thing was getting on a bit, and Cipriano Algor replied, There's no need to come to the pottery, I'll bring you a new jug to replace the one that broke, absolutely free, as a present from the manufacturers, Are you just saying that because I'm a widow, asked the woman, No, certainly not, just think of it as a gift, we've got a number of water jugs in stock which we might never sell, Well, in that case, Senhor Cipriano, I gratefully accept, Don't mention it, Getting a new water jug for free is quite something, Yes, but that's all it is, something, Right, then, I'll expect you tomorrow, and thank you again, See you tomorrow. Now, given that thought, as explained above, was now running simultaneously in all directions and given that feeling was keeping pace with thought, it should come as no surprise to us that the widow's pleasure at receiving a new water jug without having to pay for it should, from one moment to the next, have eased the un-happiness that had forced her out of the house on such a grim afternoon in order to visit her husband's final resting place. Of course, despite the fact that we can see her still standing at the entrance to the cemetery, doubtless rejoicing in her housewife's heart at that unexpected gift, she will still go where grief and duty called her, but once there, she will not perhaps weep as much as she thought she would. The afternoon is slowly growing dark, dim lights are beginning to come on in the houses next to the cemetery, but twilight will nevertheless last long enough for the woman, without fear of will-o'-the-wisps or of ghosts, to be able to say her Our Father and her Hail Mary, may peace be with him, may he rest in peace.

When Cipriano Algor had left the last building in the village behind him and looked toward the pottery, he saw the outside light come on, an ancient lantern in a metal case hanging above the house door, and although not a night pa.s.sed without its being lit, this time he felt his heart lift and his spirits soften, as if the house were saying to him, I'm waiting for you. Barely palpable, pushed hither and thither at the whim of the invisible waves that drive the air, a few tiny drops of rain touched his face, it will not be long before the mill of the clouds begins sieving out its watery flour again, with all this rain I don't know when the pots will dry. Whether under the influence of that twilight calm or of his brief evocative visit to the cemetery, or even, which would be an appropriate reward for his generosity, because he told the woman in black that he would give her a new water jug, Cipriano Algor is not, at that moment, thinking about the disappointment of not getting something or about fears of losing something. At such a time, when you are walking over the damp ground and the outermost skin of the sky is so close to your head, no one could possibly say anything as absurd as Go back home with half your shipment unsold or Your daughter will one day leave you all alone. The potter reached the top of the road and took a deep breath. Silhouetted against the dull curtain of gray clouds, the black mulberry tree looks as black as its name suggests. The light from the lantern does not reach its crown, it does not even touch its lowest branches, only a very feeble light carpets the ground as far as the tree's thick trunk. The old kennel is there, it has been empty for years now, ever since its last inhabitant died in Justa's arms and she said to her husband, I never want another animal in my house. Something glitters in the dark entrance to the kennel, only to vanish at once. To find out what it was, Cipriano Algor crouched down to peer inside, having first walked up and down in front of it. The darkness inside is total. He realized then that his body was blocking the light from the lantern and so he moved slightly to one side. There were two glittering objects, two eyes, a dog, Or a genet, but it's more likely to be a dog, thought the potter, and he's probably right, there is no credible record of wolves in this area, and the eyes of cats, whether domestic or wild, as everyone knows, are just that, cats' eyes, or, at worst, one might think they were those of a small tiger, but an adult tiger would never fit inside a kennel that size. Cipriano did not mention cats or tigers when he went into the house, nor did he say a word about his visit to the cemetery, and, as for the jug he is going to give to the woman in black, he realizes that this is not a matter to be dealt with now, so what he said to his daughter was this, There's a dog outside, then he paused, as if expecting a response, and added, Underneath the mulberry tree, in the kennel. Marta had just had a wash, changed her clothes and sat down to rest for a moment before beginning to prepare supper, she is not, therefore, in the most receptive frame of mind to consider the places that lost or stray dogs might pa.s.s through or stop off in, You'd better just leave him, if he's the kind of animal who simply dislikes traveling at night, he'll be gone by morning, she said, Have you got something there I can give him to eat, asked her father, A few leftovers from lunch, a bit of bread, he won't need water, plenty of that fell from the sky, Fine, I'll take it out to him, If that's what you want, Pa, but you know he'll never leave our door again if you do, You're probably right, and if I was in his position, I'd do exactly the same. Marta put the leftover food on an old plate that she kept on the ledge by the fireplace and poured a bit of soup over it, Here you are, and mark my words, this is just the beginning. Cipriano Algor took the plate and was already halfway out of the kitchen when his daughter asked him, Do you remember what Mama said when Constante died, that she didn't want any more dogs in the house, Yes, I remember, but I'm sure that if she was still alive, I wouldn't be the one taking this plate of food out to that dog she didn't want, replied Cipriano Algor, and he left without hearing his daughter's murmured comment, You may be right. The rain was falling again, it was the same deceptive drizzle, the same fine dancing dust of water that masks distances, even the whitish figure of the kiln seemed ready to up and leave, and the van looked more like a phantom coach than a modern vehicle with an internal combustion engine, even though it is not, as we know, of recent make. Beneath the mulberry tree, the water was sliding off the leaves in large, infrequent drops, now one, now another, at random, as if the laws of hydraulics and of hydrodynamics, still in operation outside the precarious umbrella of the tree, did not apply there. Cipriano Algor put the plate of food down on the ground and took a few steps back, but the dog did not leave its shelter, You must be hungry, said the potter, or perhaps you're one of those dogs with too much self-respect, perhaps you don't want me to see how hungry you are. He waited another minute, then withdrew and went back into the house, but he did not completely close the door. He could not see much through the crack, but he managed to make out a black shape emerging from the kennel and going over to the plate, and he noticed too that the dog, for it was a dog and not a wolf or a cat, glanced first at the house and only then lowered its head to the food, as if it felt that it owed this degree of consideration to the person who had come out in the rain, defying the elements, to satisfy its hunger. Cipriano closed the door properly and went into the kitchen, He's eating, he said, If he was that hungry, he'll have finished by now, said Marta, smiling, Yes, you're right, her father smiled back, always a.s.suming that the dogs of today are the same as the dogs of yesteryear. Theirs was a simple supper and quickly served. When they had finished, Marta said, Another day with no news from marcal, I can't understand why he doesn't phone, just to say something, a word would do, it's not as if I was expecting a long speech, Perhaps he hasn't had time to talk to the head of the buying department, Then why doesn't he at least tell us that, You know perfectly well that things aren't easy over there, said the potter, in unexpectedly conciliatory mode. The daughter looked at him, surprised more by the tone of voice than by the meaning of the words, It's not like you to make excuses to justify marcal's actions, she said, Well, I like him, You may like him, but you don't really take him seriously, The person I can't take seriously is the security guard that the nice, friendly lad I used to know has turned into, Now he's a nice, friendly man, and working as a security guard is no less dignified or honest than working at any other equally dignified, honest job, But it isn't just any other job, What's the difference, The difference is that your marcal, as we know him today, is all security guard, he's a security guard from his head to toes, and I suspect that he's even a security guard in his heart, Pa, please, you shouldn't talk like that about your daughter's husband, You're right, forgive me, today shouldn't be a day for criticism and recrimination, Why not, Because I went to the cemetery and because I gave a water jug to a woman in the village and because we have a dog outside, all of which are events of great importance, What's all this about a water jug, The handle came off in her hand and the jug was smashed to smithereens, These things happen, nothing lasts forever, But she had the decency to admit that the jug was old, and that's why I thought I should give her a new one and pretend that the other one was flawed, well, why pretend, I'll just give it to her anyway, there's no need for explanations, Who is this woman, She's Isaura Estudiosa, the one who was widowed a few months back, She's still a young woman, Now, look, I'm not considering getting married again if that's what you're thinking, If I did think that, I wasn't aware of it, though perhaps I should have, then you wouldn't have to stay here all alone, since you refuse to come and live with us at the Center, Really, I have no intention of getting married again, still less to the first woman I meet, as for the rest, I would be grateful to you not to spoil my evening, Sorry, I didn't mean to. Marta got up, cleared away the plates and the knives and forks, folded up the tablecloth and the napkins, it would be a great mistake to a.s.sume that the craft of potter, even, as in this case, when the pottery produced is fairly crude stuff, even when carried out in a small, graceless village, as you may already have deduced this one to be, is incompatible with the delicacy and good manners that distinguish the present-day upper cla.s.ses, who have forgotten or been ignorant since birth of the brute nature of their own great-great-great-grandparents and of the b.e.s.t.i.a.l nature of their great-great-great-grandparents. These Algors are quick to learn what they are taught and are capable of putting it into practice in order to drive it home, and Marta, who belongs to the latest generation and is, therefore, more favored by developmental aids, already had the great good fortune of going to study in the city, well, those large centers of population have to have some advantages over villages. And if she ended up being a potter, it was because of her conscious and manifest vocation as a modeler, although her decision was also influenced by the fact that she had no brothers who could carry on the family tradition, not forgetting the last and most important reason, the powerful bonds of filial love that would never allow her to adopt some kind of G.o.d-will-provide-if-you're-lucky att.i.tude toward her parents in their old age. Cipriano Algor had turned on the television, only to switch it off again shortly afterward. If anyone had asked him what he had seen or heard between turning the television on and switching it off, he would not have known what to say, but he would simply have refused outright to answer if asked a different question, You seem very distracted, what are you thinking about. He would say, What do you mean, I'm not distracted, merely in order not to confess his childish concern for the dog, whether it would still be safe in the kennel or if, hunger satisfied and energies restored, it would have continued on its way, in search of better food or of a master who lived in a place less exposed to gales and fine rain. I'm going to my room, Marta said, I've been putting off doing some sewing for ages now, but I really must get it done tonight, No, I won't be staying up much longer either, said her father, I feel worn out, even though I haven't done a thing, You did, you kneaded some clay and you serviced the kiln, You know perfectly well that that piece of clay will have to be kneaded again and that the kiln hardly needed a stonemason to work on it, still less a wet nurse to take care of it, The days are all the same, it's the hours that are different, when a day comes to an end it always does so with its twenty-four hours all present and correct, even when those hours contained nothing, but that's not the case with either your days or your hours, Ah, Marta, philosopher of time, said her father and kissed her on the head. His daughter returned the kiss and said, smiling, Don't forget to go and see how your dog is, For the moment, he's just a dog who happened to turn up here and who decided that the kennel would provide a good shelter from the rain, he might be ill or injured, he might perhaps have a collar with the phone number of the person we should call, he might belong to someone in the village, they probably beat him and he ran away, and if that's the case, he won't still be here tomorrow morning, you know what dogs are like, their master is still their master even when he punishes them, so don't go calling him my dog just yet, I haven't even seen him, I don't even know if I like him, Ah, but you know that you want to like him, and that's a start, So now you're a philosopher of feelings too, are you, said her father, a.s.suming you do keep the dog, what will you call him, asked Marta, It's too early to think about that, If he's still here tomorrow, that name should be the first word he hears from your mouth, Well, I won't call him Constante, that was the name of a dog who won't be coming back to his mistress and who wouldn't find her if he did, so perhaps it would be appropriate to call this one Lost, There's another even more appropriate name, What's that, Found, That's no name for a dog, Neither is Lost, Yes, you're right, he was lost and now he is found, that's what we'll call him then, See you in the morning, Pa, sleep well, Yes, see you in the morning, and don't sit up too late sewing, you'll strain your eyes. When his daughter had gone to bed, Cipriano Algor opened the door into the yard and looked over at the mulberry tree. A steady drizzle was still falling and there was no sign of life inside the kennel. I wonder if he's in there, thought the potter. He provided himself with a false excuse not to go and look, That's all I need, getting soaked to the skin for the sake of a stray dog, once was enough. He went to his room and lay down, read for half an hour, and then fell asleep. In the middle of the night, he woke up and turned on the light, the clock on his bedside table said half past four. He got out of bed, picked up the flashlight he kept in a drawer and opened the window. It had stopped raining, he could see stars in the dark sky. Cipriano Algor switched on the flashlight and pointed the beam at the kennel. The light was not strong enough to be able to see inside, but Cipriano Algor did not need to, two glittering lights would do, two eyes, and there they were.

Ever since they sent him back with half the load of crockery, which, it should be said, has not yet been unloaded from the van, Cipriano Algor has, from one moment to the next, ceased to deserve his reputation, gained over a lifetime of much work and few holidays, as an early-rising worker. Now he gets up when the sun has already risen, he washes and shaves more slowly than is strictly necessary for an already closely shaven face and for a body accustomed to cleanliness, he has a light breakfast but takes his time over it, and finally, with no visible lifting of the low spirits with which he got out of bed, he goes to work. Today, however, having spent what remained of the night dreaming about a tiger that came and ate from his hand, he threw off his blankets as soon as the sun had begun to paint the sky with light. He did not open the window, merely opened the shutter door just a crack to see what the weather was like, at least that is what he thought, or what he wanted to think that he thought, but the fact is that he was not in the habit of doing so, for this man has lived long enough to know that the weather is always there, sunny, as today promises to be, or rainy, as it was yesterday, indeed, when we open the window and raise our nose to the air above, it is merely to find out if the weather is doing what we want it to do. To cut a long story short, when he peered outside, what Cipriano Algor wanted to know was if the dog was still there waiting for them to give him another name or if, tired of waiting fruitlessly, it had gone off in search of a more diligent master. All that could be seen of the dog was a pair of floppy ears and a snout resting on its crossed front paws, but there was no reason to suspect that the rest of its body was not inside the kennel. He's black, said Cipriano Algor. When he had taken the dog the food last night, it had seemed to him that the dog was indeed that color, or, as someone will doubtless remark, that absence of color, but it had been dark, and if in the dark even white cats are gray, the same, in even darker circ.u.mstances, could be said of a dog seen for the first time beneath a mulberry tree when a fine, nocturnal drizzle was dissolving the line separating beings from things, making those beings more like the things which, sooner or later, they will all become. The dog is not really black, although his snout and ears almost are, the rest of his body is a more general gray, with an admixture of other tones from dark to solid black. Given that the potter is sixty-four years old with all the usual visual problems that age brings with it, and that he stopped wearing gla.s.ses because of the heat of the kiln, one cannot really blame him for saying, He's black, since the first time he saw the dog was at night and in the rain, and, now, distance makes the early-morning light seem misty. When Cipriano Algor finally goes over to the dog, he will see that he will never again be able to say, He's black, but that he would be guilty of grave misrepresentation were he to say, He's gray, especially when he discovers that the dog has a thin white blaze, like a delicate cravat, that goes from his chest to his belly. Marta's voice rings out from the other side of the door, Pa, wake up, the dog's waiting for you. I am awake, I'm just coming, replied Cipriano Algor, immediately regretting those last few words, it was puerile, almost ridiculous, for a man his age to get as excited as a child who has been brought a long-dreamed-of present, when we all know that, on the contrary, in places like this, the more useful a dog is, the more it is valued, an unnecessary virtue in toys, and as far as dreams and their fulfillment are concerned, a dog could not possibly satisfy someone who, that same night, had dreamed of a tiger. Despite this self-administered dressing-down, Cipriano Algor did not take excessive care this morning when getting washed and dressed, he merely pulled on his clothes and left the bedroom. Marta asked him, Shall I make him something to eat, No, afterward, food would only distract him at the moment, Go on, then, off you go and tame your wild beast, He's not a wild beast, poor thing, I've been watching him from the window, Yes, I had a look at him too, What do you think, Well, I don't think he belongs to anyone around here, Some dogs never leave their backyards, they live and die there, apart from those cases where they're taken out into the country to be hanged from the branch of a tree or finished off with a bullet in the head, That's hardly the kind of thing I want to start the day with, thank you, No, you're right, it isn't, so let's start the day in a less human but more compa.s.sionate way, said Cipriano Algor, going out into the yard. His daughter did not follow him, she stood in the doorway, watching, It's his party, she thought. The potter took a few steps and, then, in a clear, firm voice, although not too loud, he p.r.o.nounced the chosen name, Found. The dog had already looked up when he saw him, and now, hearing the name he had been waiting for, he emerged fully from the kennel, a slim young dog, neither big nor small, with a curly coat, he really was gray, gray tending to black, with that narrow white blaze, like a cravat, dividing his chest in two. Found, the potter said again, advancing a few more steps, Found, come here. The dog stayed where he was, he had his head up and was slowly wagging his tail, but he did not move. Then the potter crouched down so that his eyes were on the same level as the dog's, and this time he said in an intense, urgent tone of voice, as if giving expression to some deep personal need of his, Found. The dog took one step forward, then another, not stopping this time, until he was within reach of the arm of the person calling him. Cipriano Algor held out his right hand, almost touching the dog's nostrils, and waited. The dog sniffed a few times, then stretched out his neck so that his cold nose brushed the tips of the fingers held out to him. The potter slowly moved his hand toward the dog's nearest ear and stroked it. The dog took the final step, Found, Found, said Cipriano Algor, I don't know what your name was before, but from now on your name is Found. It was only then that he noticed that the dog had no collar and that his fur was not just gray, it was covered in mud and bits of vegetation, especially his legs and belly, a clear sign that he had taken a difficult route across fields and open countryside, rather than traveling comfortably by road. Marta had joined them, she brought a plate with a little food on it for the dog, nothing too substantial, just enough to confirm the meeting and to celebrate the baptism, You give it to him, said her father, but she said, No, you give it to him, I'll have plenty of other opportunities to feed him. Cipriano Algor put the plate down on the ground, then got up with some difficulty, Oh, my knees, what I wouldn't give to have even the knees I had last year, Does it make that much difference, asked his daughter, At this time of life even a day makes a difference, the only saving grace is that sometimes things improve. The dog Found, and now that he has a name, we really shouldn't use any other, not dog, which we slipped in just now out of force of habit, nor animal nor creature, which serve to describe anything that does not form part of the mineral and vegetable kingdoms, although now and again we might still have to resort to these variants in order to avoid boring repet.i.tion, which is the only reason why, instead of Cipriano Algor, we have sometimes written potter, or man, old man, and Marta's father. Anyway, as we were saying, the dog Found, having cleaned the food off the plate with two licks of his tongue, providing clear proof that yesterday's hunger had still not been satisfied, raised his head like someone waiting for a second helping, at least that was how Marta interpreted the gesture, which is why she said, Be patient, lunch comes later, make do with what you've got in your stomach, but it was a hasty judgment, the kind that so often emerges from the human brain, for despite his continuing hunger, which he would be the last to deny, it was not food that was preoccupying Found at that moment, what he wanted was to be given some sign as to what he should do next. He was thirsty, but he could obviously go and quench his thirst in one of the many puddles of water left around the house by the rain, yet something held him back, something which, if we were talking about human feelings, we would not hesitate to call scrupulousness or good manners. Since they had put his food on a plate rather than making him grub for it in the mud, then surely the water should be drunk from some special receptacle too. He must be thirsty, said Marta, dogs need a lot of water, There are plenty of puddles over there, said her father, he's not drinking from them because he doesn't want to, If we're going to keep him, we can't let him go drinking water from puddles as if he had neither house nor home, obligations are obligations. While Cipriano Algor occupied himself making various seminonsensical utterances, the sole aim of which was to accustom the dog to the sound of his voice, but in which deliberately, and as insistently as a refrain, the word Found was repeated several times, Marta brought a large, earthenware bowl full of clean water, which she placed beside the kennel. In defiance of all skepticism, which is more than justified after the thousands of stories one has read and heard about dogs and their exemplary lives and sundry miracles, we must, nevertheless, point out that Found again surprised his new owners by remaining exactly where he was, face to face with Cipriano Algor, apparently waiting until he had finished what he had to say Only when the potter had stopped speaking and made a gesture as if to dismiss him did the dog turn around and take a drink. I've never known a dog behave like that before, Marta remarked, The worst thing, after all this, replied her father, would be for someone around here to tell me that the dog belongs to him, Oh, I don't think that will happen, I'd guarantee that Found doesn't come from these parts, sheepdogs and watchdogs don't do what he did, After lunch, I'll go and ask around, You could deliver Isaura's water jug too, said Marta not even bothering to hide a smile, Yes, I'd already thought of that, as my grandfather always said, never put off till tomorrow what you can do today, replied Cipriano Algor, his gaze elsewhere. Found had finished drinking his water and, since neither the potter nor his daughter seemed to want to pay him any attention, he decided to lie down at the entrance of the kennel where the ground was not so wet.

After breakfast, Cipriano Algor went to choose a water jug from the store, placed it carefully in the van, among the boxes of plates, so that it wouldn't fall over, and then he got in, sat down and started the engine. Found looked up, he obviously knew that such a noise always precedes a departure, which is immediately followed by a disappearance, but previous experience must have taught him that there is a way of preventing such calamities from happening, at least sometimes. He got up on his long legs, frantically wagging his tail, as if he were wielding a whip, and, for the first time since he had come seeking asylum, Found barked. Cipriano Algor drove the van slowly toward the mulberry tree and stopped a little way from the kennel. He thought he understood what Found wanted. He opened the door on the pa.s.senger side and held it open, and before he'd had time to issue an invitation, the dog was already in. Cipriano Algor had not intended taking him along, he had simply thought he would go from house to house asking if anyone knew such and such a dog, with this color coat and this appearance, with this cravat and these moral virtues, and while he was describing these various characteristics, he would pray to all the saints in heaven and to all the devils on earth, please, by fair means or foul, to make whoever he asked say that they had never in their life owned or heard of such a dog. Having Found there in the cab with him would eliminate the monotony of describing him and save him repeating himself, he would just have to ask, Is this dog yours, or is it yours, my friend, depending on the degree of intimacy with his interlocutor, and await the response, No, or Yes, if the former, he would pa.s.s rapidly on to the next house in order not to allow time for emendation, if the latter, he would carefully observe Found's reactions, because he wasn't the kind of dog to allow himself to be taken away on false pretenses by the mendacious demands of some would-be master. Marta, who, at the sound of the engine starting up, had appeared at the door of the pottery, her hands covered in clay, wanted to know if the dog was going too. Her father said, Yes, he is, and a moment later the courtyard was as deserted and Marta as alone as if this were the first time this had happened to either of them.

Before going to see Isaura Estudiosa, the origin and provenance of whose surname, by the way, as with those of Gacho and Algor, remains a mystery, the potter knocked on the doors of twelve neighbors and had the satisfaction of hearing all of them give the same answer, It's not mine, No, I don't know whose it could be. A tradesman's wife took such a liking to Found that she made a generous offer to buy him, an offer immediately rejected by Cipriano Algor, and in the three houses where no one replied he could hear the violent barking of canine guards, which allowed the potter, by some tortuous reasoning, to conclude that Found could not possibly belong there, as if, according to some universal law for domestic animals, it was written that where there is one dog there cannot be another. Cipriano Algor finally stopped the van outside the house of the woman in black and knocked on the door, and when she opened it, he said good morning rather more loudly than was natural, the person to blame for this sudden vocal confusion being Marta with her preposterous idea of marrying off two old widowed people, a description deserving of the severest censure, it must be said, at least as far as Isaura Estudiosa is concerned, for she can be only forty-five at most, and if, for the sake of accuracy, one had to add a few more years, you would never think it to look at her. Oh, good morning, Senhor Cipriano, she said, I've come to keep my promise and bring you your water jug, Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have bothered, after our conversation in the cemetery yesterday, it struck me that people and things are much the same, they have a certain life span, they last for a while, then, like everything else in the world, they come to a sudden end, On the other hand, one water jug can be replaced by another water jug just by discarding the shattered remains of the old one and filling the new one with water, but that's not the case with people, it's as if with the birth of each new person, the mold they emerged from was broken, which is why everyone is different, Well, people don't emerge from molds, of course, but I think I know what you mean, That was just the potter in me talking, pay no attention, here you are, and I hope the handle of this one doesn't fall off quite so soon. The woman put out her hands to take hold of the body of the water jug, then clutched it to her and thanked him again, Thank you so much, Senhor Cipriano, and it was then that she saw the dog in the van, That dog, she said. Cipriano Algor felt a shock go through him, it had never occurred to him that Isaura Estudiosa might be the dog's owner, and yet she had said That dog as if she had recognized him, with a look of surprise on her face that could have belonged to someone who has at last found what they were looking for, you can imagine with what reluctance Cipriano Algor asked, Is he yours, hoping that she would say no, and you can imagine too his relief when he heard her answer, No, he's not mine, but I remember seeing him wandering around a couple of days ago, I even called to him, but he pretended not to hear me, he's a lovely dog, When I got home yesterday after visiting the cemetery, I found him huddled inside the kennel we've got under the mulberry tree, the one that belonged to another dog we had, Constante, anyway, it was getting dark and all I could see were these two eyes shining, He was obviously looking for the right master, Well, I don't know if I'm the right master for him, he may already have one, that's what I've been trying to find out, Where, here, asked Isaura Estudiosa, and without waiting for an answer, she went on, I wouldn't bother if I were you, that dog isn't from around here, he came from a long way away, from another place, from another world, Why do you say another world, Oh, I don't know, perhaps because he seems so different from other dogs nowadays, You've hardly seen him, What I saw was enough, in fact, if you don't want him, I'll have him, If it was any other dog, I might let you, but we've already decided to take him in, a.s.suming we don't find his owner, of course, So you really want him, We've even given him a name, What's he called, then, Found, A good name for a lost dog, That's exactly what my daughter said, Well, if you want to keep him, don't go looking for an owner, But I have a duty to return him to his owner, that's what I'd like someone to do if I lost a dog, If you do, though, you'll be going against the wishes of the dog, after all, he was obviously looking for somewhere else to live, Seen from that point of view, you might be right, but there are laws and customs to take into account, Oh, forget about laws and customs, Senhor Cipriano, just take what is already yours, Isn't that a bit selfish, Sometimes you have to be a bit selfish, Do you think so, I do, Well, I've really enjoyed talking to you, So have I, Senhor Cipriano, See you again sometime, Yes, see you again. With the jug clutched to her breast, Isaura Estudiosa watched from her door as the van turned around to retrace its route, she looked at the dog and at the man who was driving, the man waved good-bye with his left hand, the dog must have been thinking about home and about the mulberry tree that served as his sky.

Thus Cipriano Algor returned to the pottery much sooner than he had antic.i.p.ated. The advice given by Isaura Estudiosa, or Isaura, for short, had been sensible, reasonable, and absolutely appropriate to the situation, and, if it were ever applied to the general functioning of the world, there would be no difficulty whatsoever in fitting it into the plan for an order of things that would prove little less than perfect. The truly admirable thing about it, though, was the fact that she had said it all so naturally, without even thinking, just as someone wanting to say that two and two are four doesn't waste time thinking that two and one are three, and then that three and one are four, Isaura is right, the main thing is to respect the animal's wishes and the will that transformed those wishes into action. Whoever the owner is, or, prudent correction, whoever the owner was, will have no right now to turn up here and declare, That dog is mine, when all the appearances and all the evidence show that if Found had the human gift of speech, he would have only one answer to give, Well, I don't want him as my master. Meanwhile, a thousand blessings on that broken water jug, blessings on the idea of giving the woman in black a new jug, and let us add, in antic.i.p.ation of what is to come, blessings on the encounter that took place on that damp, drizzly afternoon, all dripping water, all material and spiritual discomfort, which, as we know, apart from those who have suffered a recent loss, is not the kind of weather that encourages the grief-stricken to go to a cemetery to mourn for their dead. There is no doubt about it, Found is a most favored dog, he can stay where he wants for as long as he wants. And there is another reason that only redoubles Cipriano Algor's relief and satisfaction, which is that he will not now have to knock at the door of marcal's parents, who also live in the village and with whom he is not on the best of terms, and relations would certainly not have been helped if he had pa.s.sed by their door and ignored them. Besides, he is sure that Found does not belong to them, as long as he has known them, their taste in matters canine has always inclined them to bulldogs or to some other kind of guard dog. We've had a good morning, Cipriano Algor said to the dog.

A few minutes later, they were back at the house. Once the van was parked, Found looked hard at his master, realized that, for the moment, he was relieved of his duties as navigator, and so off he went in the direction of the kennel, but with the unmistakable air of someone who has just decided that now is the moment to reconnoiter the surrounding area. Should I put him on a chain, the potter wondered anxiously, and then, when he saw what the dog was doing, sniffing around and here and there marking his territory with urine, No, I don't think I need to keep him chained up, if he had wanted to run away, he could have done so already He went into the house and heard his daughter's voice, she was talking on the phone, Hang on, hang on, Pa's just got back. Cipriano Algor took the re ceiver and immediately asked, Any news. At the other end of the line, after a moment's silence, marcal Gacho proceeded like someone who considers that this is no way to begi