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his fingers on the steering wheel in time to a wordless song, that common sense got into the car. Good afternoon, it said, Who invited you, was the driver's response, Frankly, I can't remember a single occasion when you've invited me anywhere, Well, I might if I didn't know beforehand what you would say, Like today, Yes, you're going to tell me to think carefully, not to get involved, that it's imprudent in the extreme, that there's no guarantee the devil isn't lurking behind the door, the usual spiel, Well, this time you're wrong, what you're about to do isn't just imprudent, it's stupid, Stupid, Yes, sir, stupid, utterly stupid, Well, I don't see why, Of course you don't, one of the secondary forms of mental blindness is stupidity, Explain yourself, Well, I don't need you to tell me that you're driving to the street where your Daniel Santa-Clara lives, it's odd, the cat's tail was dangling out of the bag and you didn't even notice, What cat, what tail, stop talking in riddles and get to the point, It's very simple, out of his surname Claro he created the pseudonym Santa-Clara, It's not a pseudonym, it's his stage name, Oh, yes, there was that other fellow who disliked the plebeian vulgarity of pseudonyms so much that he called them heteronyms, And what use would it have been if I had spotted the cat's tail, Not much I agree, you would still have had to find him, but by looking under the name of Claro in the telephone directory, you would have found him in the end, Look, I've got what I need, And now you're going to the street where he lives, you're going to see the building, to gaze up at the apartment where he lives, at the windows, to see what the neighbors are like, what the atmosphere is like, what clothes people wear, how they behave, those, if I'm not mistaken, were your words, They were, Just imagine if, while you're gazing up at the windows, the actor's old lady, or, to put it more respectfully, Antonio Claro's wife, appears at one of them and asks why you don't come up, or, worse still, asks you to go to the pharmacy to buy some aspirin or some cough syrup, Nonsense, If you think that's nonsense, imagine someone walking past and greeting you, not as the Tertuliano Maximo Afonso that you are, but as the Antonio Claro you will never be, More nonsense, All right, if that hypothesis is nonsense, imagine that when you're strolling around, gazing up at the windows or studying the way the locals dress, Daniel Santa-Clara appears before you in the flesh, and the two of you stand there staring at each other just like two china dogs, each one a reflection of the other, except that this reflection, unlike the one in the mirror, will show the left side where the left side is and the right side where the right is, how would you react if that happened. Tertuliano Maximo Afonso did not respond at once, he remained silent for two or three minutes, then he said, The solution would be to stay in the car, Oh, I wouldn't be so sure even then, objected common sense, you might have to stop at a red light, there might be a traffic jam, a truck unloading, an ambulance loading up, and there you would be, on show, like a fish in an aquarium, at the mercy of the inquisitive, adoles cent movie buff who lives on the first floor of your building and asks you what your next film will be, So what should I do, That I don't know, that's not part of my job, the role of common sense in the history of your species has never gone beyond advising caution and chicken soup, especially in those cases where stupidity has already taken the floor and looks set to take the reins too, Then I'll just have to disguise myself, As what, Well, I don't know, I'll have to think, It seems to me that, being who you are, your only option is to look like someone else, Yes, I really need to have a think, About time too, And I suppose I might as well go home, If it isn't too much bother, could you just drop me at the door, then I can make my own way after that, Don't you want to come up, You've never asked me up before, Well, I'm asking you now, Thank you, but I shouldn't really accept, Why not, Because it's not healthy for the mind to live cheek by jowl with common sense, eating at the same table, sleeping in the same bed, taking it along to work, and asking its approval or permission before making a move, you've got to take a few risks of your own, Who do you mean, All of you, the human race, But I took a risk getting this letter, and, at the time, you told me off, The way you got that letter is certainly nothing to be proud of, using another person's honesty the way you did is a form of blackmail at its most repellent, Are you referring to Maria da Paz, Yes, I'm referring to Maria da Paz, in her place, I would have opened the letter, read it, and then rubbed it in your face until you begged forgiveness on your knees, That's how common sense behaves, is it, That's how it should behave, Right, then, see you again sometime, I have to consider my disguise now, The more you disguise yourself, the more you'll look like you. Tertuliano Maximo Afonso found a parking space almost immediately outside the door of the building where he lived, he parked the car, picked up the street map, and got out. On the pavement on the other side of the street, a man was standing, face lifted, gazing at the upper stories of the building opposite. The man did not resemble him facially or physically, his presence there was pure coincidence, but Tertuliano Maximo Afonso felt a shiver run down his spine as the thought went through his mind, he couldn't help it, his unhealthy imagination was stronger than he was, that Daniel Santa- Clara might be looking for him, me looking for you, you looking for me. He shrugged off the discomfiting fantasy, I'm seeing ghosts, the guy doesn't even know I exist, yet his legs were still trembling when he went into his apartment and fell exhausted onto the sofa. For a few moments he lay plunged in a kind of torpor, absent from himself, like a marathon runner whose strength has suddenly drained away as he crossed the finishing line. Of the calm energy that had filled him as he left the garage and, afterward, when he was driving to a destination he did not, in the end, reach, all that remained was a very vague memory, like the memory of something not really experienced, or that had been experienced only by a part of him that was now absent. He got up with some difficulty, his legs felt odd, as if they belonged to someone else, and he went into the kitchen to make some coffee. He drank it in slow sips, conscious of the comforting warmth that went down his throat into his stomach, then he washed the cup and saucer and went back into the living room. All his gestures had become slow and deliberate, as if he were busy handling dangerous substances in a chemical laboratory, and yet all he had to do was open the telephone directory at C and confirm the information given in the letter. And then what will I do, he wondered, leafing through the pages until he found it. There were a lot of Claros, but only half a dozen Antonios. Here it was, at last, the thing that had cost him so much effort, so easy that anyone could have done it, a name, an address, a telephone number. He copied the details onto a piece of paper and repeated the question, Now what shall I do. In a reflex reaction, his right hand reached for the phone, he let it rest there while he read and reread what he had written down, then he withdrew his hand, got up, and paced about the apartment, arguing with himself over whether it wouldn't be more sensible to leave the next stage until after the exams were over, at least in that way he would have one less thing to worry about, unfortunately, he had told the headmaster he would write a proposal for that project on the teaching of history, and that was one obligation he couldn't get out of, Sooner or later I'll have to sit down and write a proposal that no one is going to take any notice of, it was madness to take on the project in the first place, but there was no point trying to deceive himself, pretending that he could ever accept the idea of putting off until after his schoolwork the first step on the road that will lead him to Antonio Claro, since Daniel Santa-Clara does not, strictly speaking, exist, he's a shadow, a puppet, a shifting shape that moves and talks inside a videocassette and returns to silence and immobility once the role he has been taught ends, while the other man, Antonio Claro, is real, concrete, as solid as Tertuliano Maximo Afonso, the history teacher who lives in this apartment and whose name can be found under A in the telephone book, regardless of the fact that some say Afonso isn't a surname at all but a first name. He is sitting at his desk again, he is holding the piece of paper with the notes he wrote on it, his right hand is again resting on the receiver, he looks as if he is finally about to make the phone call, but how very long this man takes to make up his mind, how vacillating, how irresolute he has turned out to be, no one would think he was the same person who only a few hours ago almost snatched the letter from Maria da Paz's hands. Then, abruptly, without thinking, as the only way of overcoming this paralyzing cowardice, he dials the number. Tertuliano Maximo Afonso listens to the phone ringing, once, twice, three times, many times, and just as he is about to hang up, thinking, half relieved, half disappointed, that no one is there, a woman, out of breath, as if she had had to run from the other end of the apartment, said simply, Hello. A sudden muscular contraction tightened Tertuliano Maximo Afonso's throat, he did not reply, giving time for the woman to say again, impatiently, Hello, who is it, at last the history teacher managed to say three words, Good afternoon, madam, but instead of responding in the reserved tone of someone addressing a stranger whose face she cannot even see, the woman said with a smile that shone through every word, If you're trying to fool me, don't bother, Excuse me, stammered Tertuliano Maximo Afonso, I just needed some information, What can a person who knows everything about the apartment he is phoning possibly need to know, All I wanted to know is whether the actor Daniel Santa-Clara lives there, My dear sir, I will be sure to tell the actor Daniel Santa-Clara, when he gets in, that Antonio Claro phoned to ask if they both lived here, Sorry, I don't understand, Tertuliano Maximo Afonso began to say, just to gain time, but the woman broke in, This isn't like you, you don't usually play tricks like this, just tell me what you want, has filming been delayed, is that it, Forgive me, madam, there's been some mistake, my name isn't Antonio Claro, You're not my husband, she asked, No, I'm just someone wanting to know if the actor Daniel Santa-Clara lives at this address, Given my answer, you now know that he does, Yes, but the way you gave the answer left me confused, puzzled, That wasn't my intention, I just thought it was my husband having a joke, You can be quite sure that I am not your husband, Well, I find that very hard to believe, That I'm not your husband, It's your voice, I mean, your voice is exactly like his, It must just be a coincidence, Coincidences like that don't happen,