The History of the Siege of Lisbon

Dr Maria Sara rose from her chair and cordially came to greet him, How are you, Senhor Raimundo Silva, Sorry I'm late, in this rain the taxi took some time, It doesn't matter, make yourself comfortable. The proof-reader sat down, but made to get up again as Dr Maria Sara returned to her desk, Please, don't get up, and when she came back she was carrying a book which she placed on the low table, between the two sofas upholstered in soft black leather. Then she sat down, crossed her legs, she was wearing a skirt in a heavy material, pulled in at the waist, and she lit a cigarette. The proof-reader's eyes accompanied the movement which animated her upper regions, he recognised the face, the hair hanging loosely at shoulder-length, and was shocked to discover white hairs gleaming under the ceiling lamp, She doesn't dye them, he thought to himself, anxious to get out of the place as soon as possible. Dr Maria Sara had asked him if he wished to smoke, but he only heard her when she repeated the question, No thanks, I don't smoke, he replied, lowering his eyes and carrying away the image of a blouse with a plunging neckline, in a colour he was too perturbed to identify. Now he could not take his eyes from the table, he was fascinated, there lay The History of the Siege of Lisbon,

turned towards him, no doubt deliberately, clearly showing the author's name, the title in bold lettering, an illustration in the centre of the cover with medieval knights with the emblem of the crusaders and on the ramparts of the fortification, disproportionately large drawings of Moors, it was difficult to tell at this distance if it was a reproduction from some old manuscript or a modern design in medieval style, therefore, pseudo-naïf. He had no desire to go on looking at that provocative cover, yet he was so reluctant to confront Dr Maria Sara who at this moment must be staring relentlessly at him, like a cobra about to lunge and inflict one last fatal bite. But all she said, in a natural voice, with no particular intonation, deliberately neutral, as straightforward as the four words she uttered, This book belongs to you, she took a long pause and added, this time putting greater emphasis on certain syllables, Let me rephrase that, This is your book. Confused, Raimundo Silva raised his head, Mine, he asked, Yes, it's the only remaining copy of

The History of the Siege of Lisbon

that does not carry an erratum, the only copy which still claims that the crusaders refused to help the Portuguese, I don't understand, Don't you mean you're stalling until you decide how you should speak to me, Forgive me, that was not my intention, No need to justify yourself, you can't spend your entire life offering excuses, I was only hoping that you might ask me why I'm giving you this copy without any erratum, a book which preserves the deception, that makes no attempt to remove this error or falsehood, the choice of word is up to you, Then tell me, why are you giving me this book, Too late, I no longer feel like telling you, but she was smiling as she spoke, notwithstanding a certain tension in the way she moved her lips, I beseech you, he insisted, returning her smile, and he was surprised to find himself smiling in such a situation. To be smiling at a woman about whom I know almost nothing and who is almost certainly amusing herself at my expense. Looking somewhat nervous, Dr Maria Sara put out her cigarette and lit another, Raimundo Silva observed her closely, the scales were beginning to tip in his favour, but he could not understand why, much less the meaning of all this, he had not, after all, been summoned to discuss or simply receive instructions about new procedures for proof-readers, what was happening here made it obvious that the matter of the Siege had not been finally settled at that black hour on the thirteenth day when he had come here to be sentenced, But don't imagine you're going to subject me to any more vexation, he thought to himself, unwilling to recognise that he was misrepresenting the facts, the truth being that he had been spared the vexation of being dismissed under a cloud, and he certainly did not expect to be given a medal for good conduct or be promoted to head proof-reader, a rank that previously did not exist but had now apparently been created.