José Saramago - Skylight

Arms outstretched, he approached Claudinha and gripped her shoulders. Claudinha felt his lips brush her face in search of her lips. She smelled his cigar breath, felt his greedy mouth devouring hers. She didn’t have the strength to push him away. When he released her, she sat down on the armchair, exhausted. Then, without looking at him, she murmured:

“Please let me go now, Senhor Morais.”

Paulino took a deep breath, as if he could at last breathe freely, his lungs unconstricted. He said:

“I’m going to make you very happy, Claudinha!”

Then he opened his office door and summoned the office boy, telling him to fetch Claudinha’s coat. The office boy was his trusted inside man, so trusted that he did not appear to notice Maria Cláudia’s agitated state or express surprise when the boss helped her on with her coat.

And that was it. That was what Maria Cláudia did not tell her parents. Her head still throbbing, sleep continued to elude her. She lay on her back, hands behind her head, thinking. It was impossible not to understand what Paulino wanted. Impossible to close her eyes to the evidence. She was still on the slippery slope of “seeming,” but as close to “being” as one hour is to the next. She knew she had not reacted as she should have, not just during that last conversation, but since the very first day, from the moment when, left alone with Paulino in Lídia’s apartment, she had felt his insatiable eyes undressing her. She had not written that letter, but she knew nonetheless that she had been responsible for his breakup with Lídia. She knew that she had reached this point not because of what she had done, but because of what she had not done. She knew all this. The only thing she did not know was whether she wanted to take Lídia’s place, because that was what it came down to now, wanting or not wanting. If she had told her parents everything, she would not be going back to the office in the morning. But she preferred not to tell them. Why? Was it a desire to deal with things in her own way? But “her own way” had gotten her into this situation. Was it the reserved silence of someone who wants to be independent? But at what price?

A few seconds before, Maria Cláudia had heard the click-clack of high heels in the apartment below. She took no notice at first, but the sound continued and finally penetrated her thoughts. She was intrigued. Then she heard the door of the downstairs apartment opening, the key turning in the lock and, after a brief silence, someone going down the stairs. It was Lídia. Maria Cláudia glanced at the luminous face of the clock on her bedside table. A quarter to eleven. What was Lídia doing out and about at that hour? Barely had she formulated this question than she found the answer. She gave a wry smile, but realized at once how monstrous that smile was. She felt a sudden impulse to weep. She drew the bedclothes up over her head to muffle her sobs. And there, almost suffocating from the lack of air and from her tears, she determined that the next day she would tell her parents everything.

When, after much bureaucratic toing and froing and at vast expense, Emílio finally came home bearing all the documents that his wife and son needed in order to leave, Carmen almost jumped up and down with delight. The days of waiting had seemed to her like years. She had feared that some obstacle would force her to postpone the journey for longer than her impatience could bear. Now, though, there was nothing to fear. She kept leafing through her passport with childlike curiosity. She read it from cover to cover. Everything was in order, she just had to decide on a date and forewarn her parents. Had it been up to her, she would have left the very next day and sent a telegram, but there were still the suitcases to be packed. Emílio helped her, and the evenings taken up with this task were some of the happiest they had spent together as a family. Henrique, quite unwittingly, cast a pall over the general mood of contentment when he expressed his regret that his father would not be coming with them. However, once Carmen and Emílio’s combined efforts and combined goodwill had convinced him that this was a matter of no importance, he soon forgot about that minor cloud. If his parents were happy, then he should be too. If his parents did not weep as they apportioned clothes and other personal items, it would be absurd for him to cry. After just three of these evening sessions, everything was ready. The suitcases already bore the wooden labels with Carmen’s name and destination on them. Emílio bought the tickets and told his wife that they would sort out these matters on her return, for, since her parents had promised to pay for the tickets and Emílio had been obliged to borrow money in order to buy them, there would have to be a settling of accounts. Carmen assured him that she would send him the money as soon as she arrived, so that he would not get into any financial difficulties. Both husband and wife took great pains to be as considerate to each other as possible, and so Henrique had the joy of spending those last few hours with his parents reconciled and more communicative than he had ever seen them before.

Carmen learned what had happened to Dona Lídia only the day before her departure. On the pretext of wishing Carmen a safe journey, Rosália spent a large part of the morning telling her about Paulino’s justifiable anger. She explained the reasons and, entirely on her own initiative, suggested that this was not the first time Lídia had abused Senhor Morais’s good faith. She was prodigal in her praise of her daughter’s employer and the delicate, noble way in which he had dealt with the whole affair. And she was quick to mention, too, that after only one month in her new post, Claudinha had already received a wage increase.

At the time, Carmen merely expressed the natural dismay of anyone hearing such a sorry tale. She shared Rosália’s outrage, bemoaned the immoral behavior of certain women and, like her neighbor, rejoiced privately that she was not like them. When Rosália left, she realized that she was still thinking about the affair, which would be fine if she wasn’t about to leave the next day and if it didn’t distract her from other concerns. What did it matter that Dona Lídia, about whom she personally had no complaints (on the contrary, Dona Lídia had been very kind to her and always gave Henriquinho ten tostões for running errands for her), what did it matter to her that she had committed such a vile act?

The act in itself did not matter, but the consequences did. After what had happened, Paulino would never be able to return to Lídia’s apartment: it would be too shameful. And somehow or other Carmen felt that she was in the same situation as Paulino, or almost. No public scandal separated her and her husband, but they shared a whole past life, a difficult, disagreeable life, full of resentments and enmities, violent scenes and painful reconciliations. Paulino had left, doubtless for good. She was leaving too, but would be back in three months. But what if she didn’t come back? What if she stayed in her hometown with her son and her family?

When she admitted this as a possibility, when she thought that she might never come back, she felt quite dizzy. What could be simpler? She would say nothing now, but would set off with her son and, when she arrived in Spain, write a letter to her husband, telling him of her decision. And then? She would start all over again from the beginning, as if she had just been born. Portugal, Emílio and their marriage would merely be a nightmare that had dragged on for years. And perhaps later she could… although they would have to divorce, of course… yes, perhaps later… It was then that Carmen remembered that, as the law stood, she could not stay abroad without her husband’s consent. She was leaving with his authorization, and she could only stay on with his authorization.