afternoon, sir. The potter had his hand on the door handle, he was about to leave, but the head of the buying department had not yet finished, Sort out a plan of withdrawal for the crockery with the assistant head of department, the one who showed you in, and remember, you have only two weeks in which to remove everything, down to the last plate, Yes, sir. That expression, plan of withdrawal, does not sit well in the mouth of a civilian, it sounds more like a military operation than a routine return of goods, and if applied to the letter and to the relative positions of the Center and the pottery, either it could result in a providential tactical retreat in order to reunite scattered forces and then, at the propitious moment, that is, when approval for the dolls is given, to launch a renewed attack, or, on the contrary, it could result in the end of everything, outright defeat, a rout, a case of every man for himself. Cipriano Algor was listening to the assistant head of department telling him, without even pausing for breath or looking at him, Every day at four o'clock, and you'll have to do the work yourself or else bring help, the staff here can't be excused not even if you pay them extra, and he wondered if it was worth having to endure this humiliation, being treated like a fool, like a nobody, and having to accept that they are absolutely right, that for the Center a few rough, glazed earthenware plates or some ridiculous dolls pretending to be nurses, Eskimos, and bearded Assyrians have no importance whatsoever, none, zero, That is what we are for them, zero. He sat down at last in the van and looked at his watch, he would still have to wait nearly an hour before picking up his son-in-law, it occurred to him to go into the Center, it's been ages since he went in through the doors intended for the general public, either to look or buy, marcal always buys anything they need because of the discounts he gets as an employee, and going into the Center just to look around is not, if you'll forgive the apparent tautology, viewed with friendly eyes, anyone caught wandering around inside empty-handed will soon become the object of special attention from the security guards, the comical situation might even arise of his own son-in-law approaching him and saying, Pa, what are you doing here if you've no intention of buying anything, and he would reply, I'm just going to the pottery section to see if they've still got anything from the Algor Pottery on display, to find out how much they charge for that jug inlaid with little bits of marble, to say Goodness, that's a lovely jug, there aren't many craftsmen nowadays who can do really well-finished work like that, the man in charge of the section, impressed by the views of such a knowledgeable expert, might recommend the urgent purchase of another hundred such jugs, the ones inlaid with bits of marble, and then we wouldn't have to take unnecessary risks with clowns, jesters, and mandarins, when we have no idea how they'll be received. Cipriano Algor did not need to say to himself, No, I won't go, for weeks now he has been saying this to his daughter and to his son-in-law, once should be enough. He was absorbed in these pointless cogitations, his head resting on the steering wheel, when the guard who kept watch on the exit came over and said, If you've done what you came to do, please leave, this isn't a garage, you know. The potter said, I know, started the engine and left without another word. The guard noted down the number of the van on a piece of paper, he didn't need to, he's seen the van often enough since he first became a guard in the basement, but the reason he made a point of writing the number down was because he did not like that curt I know, especially when addressed to a guard, guards should be treated with respect and consideration, you don't just say I know, the old man should have said Of course, sir, nice, obedient words, suitable for all occasions, but the guard is, in fact, more disconcerted than annoyed, which is why he thought that perhaps he should not have said This isn't a garage, you know, especially not in that scornful tone, as if he were the king of the world, when he wasn't even the king of the grubby basement where he spends his days. He crossed out the number and returned to his post.
Cipriano Algor looked for a quiet street where he could pass the time until he could go and pick up his son-in- law at the entrance to the security section. He parked the van on a corner from which, three large blocks away, he could see a sliver of one of the vast Center facades, the inhabited part as it happens. With the exception of the doors that open onto the outside, there are no other openings to be seen, just impenetrable stretches of wall and it is not the vast hoardings promising security that are to blame for shutting out the light or stealing the air from those who live inside. In complete contrast to those smooth facades, this side of the building is peppered with windows, hundreds and hundreds of windows, thousands of windows, all of them closed because of the air- conditioning inside. Normally, when we do not know the exact height of a building, but want to give an approximate idea of its size, we say that it has a certain number of stories, which might be two, or five, or fifteen, or twenty, or thirty, or whatever, either fewer or more, from one to infinity. The Center building is neither that small nor that big, it makes do with the forty-eight stories visible above street level and the ten floors concealed below. And now that Cipriano Algor is parked here, let us ponder some of the numbers that will give an idea of the size of the Center, let us say that the width of the smaller facades is about one hundred and fifty meters, and the larger ones slightly more than three hundred and fifty, not taking into account, of course, the proposed extension to which we referred in detail at the beginning of this story. Proceeding a little further with our calculations and taking the average height of each story to be three meters, including the thickness of the floor separating each one, that would make, including the ten subterranean stories, a total height of one hundred and seventy-four meters. If we multiply that number by the one hundred and fifty meters in width and the three hundred and fifty meters in length, we will get, allowing, of course, for errors, omissions and sheer confusion, a volume of nine million one hundred and thirty-five thousand cubic meters, give or take a centimeter, give or take a comma or two. The Center, and there is no one who does not, with astonishment, recognize this, is really big. And that, muttered Cipriano Algor to himself, is where my dear son-in-law wants me to live, behind one of those windows that can't be opened, they say it's so as not to upset the thermal stability of the air-conditioning, but the truth is quite different, people are free to commit suicide if they choose to, but not by hurling themselves one hundred meters down into the street, such despair would attract too much attention and awaken the morbid curiosity of passersby, who would immediately want to know why. Cipriano Algor has already said, not once but many times, that he will never agree to go and live in the Center, that he will never give up the pottery that belonged to his father and to his grandfather, and even Marta herself, his only daughter, who, poor thing, will have no choice but to accompany her husband when he is promoted to resident guard, had acknowledged two or three days ago with gratifying frankness that only her father could make the final decision, without being submitted to pressure from third parties, even if they tried to justify that pressure with claims of filial love, or out of that tearful pity which old people, even when they themselves reject it, seem to arouse in the souls of well-brought-up people. I will not go, I'd rather die than go, muttered the potter, aware, however, that these words, precisely because they seem so categorical, so final, might be pretending a conviction which, deep down, he did not feel, might be disguising an inner weakness, like an as yet invisible crack in the thinnest wall of a water jug. That mention of a water jug was clearly the best possible reason for Isaura Estudiosa to return to Cipriano Algor's thoughts, and that was indeed what happened, but the route taken by that thought, or reasoning, assuming any reasoning took place and it was not just an instantaneous flash, drove him to a rather embarrassing conclusion, formulated in a dreamy murmur, That way I wouldn't have to come and live in the Center. The look of annoyance that appeared on Cipriano Algor's face as soon as he had uttered these words will not allow us to turn our backs on the fact that, despite the evident pleasure he takes in thinking about Isaura Estudiosa, he can nevertheless do nothing to prevent that apparently contradictory shift in mood. There would be little point in wasting time explaining why he likes thinking about her, there are things in life which define themselves, a particular man, a particular woman, a particular word, a particular moment, that is all we would have to say for everyone to understand what we meant, but there are other things, and it might even be the same man and the same woman, the same word and the same moment, which, viewed from a different angle, in a different light, come to signify doubts and perplexities, troubling signs, a strange presentiment, and that is why Cipriano Algor's pleasure in thinking about Isaura Estudiosa suddenly faltered, it was those words that were to blame, That way I wouldn't have to come and live in the Center, which is the same as saying, If I married her, I would have someone to look after me, a further demonstration of something that does not require demonstration, in short, the things a man finds hardest to recognize and confess are his own weaknesses. Especially when those weaknesses appear at the wrong time, like a fruit attached only tenuously to the bough because it was born too late in the season. Cipriano Algor sighed, then looked at his watch. It was time to go and pick up his son-in-law at the door of the security services department.
...
The dog Found did not like marcal. There were so many things to tell, so much news, so many highs and lows in hopes and spirits, that during the journey from the Center to the pottery, it did not even occur to Cipriano Algor
