The man replaced the cap on his pen with a loud click and then cleared away the pages he had been working on to make space on the desk, where he then rested his folded hands. Finally, he looked up at me with a blank expression on his face.
“Actually, I’d like to see him in person, if that’s possible.” Since I was getting barely any response at all, I decided to throw caution to the wind and add this request.
“And whom would you like to visit?” he said, his words quite polite but his tone so flat that it was difficult to read. I said the old man’s name and then repeated it a second time.
“I’m afraid he’s not here,” he said.
“But how can you be sure if you haven’t even checked?” I answered.
“There’s no need to check. I know the names of everyone who is being held here.”
“But they bring in new people every day. Do you mean to say you memorize the names of every one of them?”
“That’s right. That’s my job, you see.”
“My friend was just brought in yesterday. I’d be very grateful if you could check to see whether he’s here. He must be listed somewhere.”
“I’m afraid that would be useless.”
“Then where is he?”
“This is our headquarters, but we have branch offices in many other places. The only thing I can tell you is that the person you are looking for is not here.”
“So he’s being held in one of your other offices. Could you tell me which one?”
“Our work is divided up into a number of divisions, and the structure is complex. It’s not as simple as you might imagine.”
“I never said it was simple. I just want to get this package to my friend.”
The man’s brow knit with frustration. The brightly polished desk lamp illuminated his folded hands, highlighting the bulging veins. His papers were thickly covered with numbers and letters in a script I did not understand. The rest of the tools of his trade were close at hand—files and cards, a bottle of correction fluid, a letter opener, a stapler.
“You don’t seem to understand how it works,” he murmured, glancing at someone or something behind me. It was the subtlest of gestures, but in an instant two officers appeared and stood on either side of me. These men wore fewer badges on their chests, so I assumed they must be of lower rank than the officer at the desk.
After that, things moved along in silence. Orders were unnecessary, since the procedure had apparently been decided in advance. I was hurried into the elevator, an officer on either side, and then guided through a maze of corridors and into a room at the heart of the building.
As I looked about me, I was puzzled by the unexpected luxury of the furnishings: elegant leather couches, Gobelins tapestries on the walls, a crystal chandelier, and heavy curtains on the windows. There was even a maid who brought in tea. I wondered what they had in store for me. But when I recalled the fancy limousine that had come to take away my mother, I knew I had to be on my guard. I sat down on the couch and set my bag on my lap.
“I’m sorry you’ve gone to the trouble of coming all this way through the snow, but both visits and packages are forbidden.”
The man who had come to sit across from me was short and slender, but the elaborate insignias and medals on his chest seemed to indicate he was quite important. His large eyes made it easier to read his expression. The guards who had brought me to the room stood at the door.
“But why is that?” I said, though I was conscious that I had done nothing but ask questions since I’d arrived at the headquarters.
“Because those are the rules,” the man replied, his eyebrows raised.
“There’s nothing dangerous here, you can see for yourself,” I said, turning over my bag and emptying the contents onto the table between us. The candy tin and the hand warmer rattled noisily as they tumbled out.
“You have no need to worry. Your friend has plenty to eat and a warm room to sleep in,” the man said, ignoring my offerings.
“He’s an old man whose memories disappear right on schedule. He spends his days doing almost nothing at all. Surely you can’t have any reason to keep him here.”
“That’s for us to determine.”
“Then can you tell me what you’ve decided?”
“You have a talent for asking the impossible, young lady.” The man pressed his fingers against his temples. “Most of what we do here must be kept secret. That’s the nature of our work,” he added.
“Then can you at least tell me whether he’s being kept safe somewhere?”
“I can assure you he’s perfectly safe. And haven’t you just told me there’s no need to interrogate him? Or is there something that causes you to worry that he might come to harm?”
I told him no, that there was nothing, and reminded myself that I mustn’t get drawn into this sort of exchange.
“Then you have nothing to worry about. We are asking only for his cooperation. He’s being served three meals a day, as much as he can eat, and the chefs who work for us come from first-class restaurants. Even if we were to send him that,” he said, casting a disdainful glance at the objects on the table, “I suspect he wouldn’t want to eat any of it.”
“I suppose your rules also prevent you from telling me when he’ll be able to go home?”
“Indeed they do,” the man said, smiling and recrossing his legs. “You catch on quickly.” The tassel from one of the medals on his chest shook. “Our primary function here is to assure that there are no delays in the process and that useless memories disappear quickly and easily. I’m sure you’d agree that there’s no point in holding on to them. If your big toe becomes infected with gangrene, you cut it off as soon as you can. If you do nothing, you end up losing the whole leg. The principle is the same. The only difference is that you can’t touch or see memories, or get inside the hearts they’re kept in. Each one of us hides them away in secret. So, since our adversary is invisible, we are forced to use our intuition. It is extremely delicate work. In order to unmask these invisible secrets, to analyze and sort and dispose of them, we must work in secret, to protect ourselves. I think you can understand.” He stopped his monologue here and began tapping the table with his fingers.
I could see the streetcar running outside the window. As it turned the corner, a layer of snow slid from the roof. However weakly, the sun was shining for the first time in many days, and the glare from the snow was blinding. Outside the entrance to the bank across the way, people were lined up to withdraw money. As they waited, they rubbed their hands together and hunched their shoulders against the cold.
Inside, the temperature was comfortable. It was silent, except for the tapping of the man’s fingers. The guards continued to stand quietly by the door. I looked down at my muddy shoes, realizing that my stockings had dried at some point.
I came to the conclusion that it would be useless to inquire further about the old man. Thinking back over everything that had been said since I’d entered the building, I realized I had no idea what had become of him. I gathered the items on the table and returned them to my bag. The rolls, which had been warm when I’d left home, were completely cold.
“Now then,” said the man, taking a sheet of paper from a drawer in the table, “it’s my turn to ask you some questions.” The paper, gray and shiny, contained boxes with endless categories: name, address, and occupation, of course, but also academic history, medical history, religious affiliation, employment experience, height, weight, shoe size, hair color, blood type, and on and on. “Please fill this out,” he said, taking a pen from his pocket and setting it in front of me.
That was the moment I began to regret having come. The more information I provided, the closer they would be to R. I should have realized that beforehand. Still, it was even more dangerous to hesitate. Given their history with my mother, it was more than likely they already knew all the information they were asking me to write down. They weren’t interested in my name and address; they were testing me. So the important thing was to remain calm, to act naturally.