Miss Rodriguez

     The office is a routine. I presume that this has been said and written by numerous bureaulogists, but I could neither say by whom nor by how many; but as there is still a possibility that it remains an unpublished sentence I’ll say and write it here to remove any lingering doubt. It is a routine, of course, but it has its ups and its downs. In our office we knew each other so well that there was nothing new to learn.  We knew by heart all the vicissitudes of each other’s daily life, each other’s family relations, furniture, favourite foods, problems with each other’s parents or children, shirt sizes, favourite writers… well, we knew everything. This familiarity gave the office a fraternal atmosphere (even though we sometimes fought like real brothers), but after a while it became something tedious. When we asked anything, we already knew what the answer would be. There were no surprises, shocks or misunderstandings between us. It was what may be called “a collective unity”, and although we would refer to ourselves in the plural, we were aware that we thought and acted as one. As far as I can recall, there was only one occasion where our unanimous lethargy was violently disrupted.

     There were seven of us in the office, as well as the boss, who had his own, to which we had unrestricted access. We were a family, plain and simple. Asunción looked after the files; Remigio was the human calculator (back in those days there was still no technology); Marcelo was our inter-department liaison officer; Antonio was in charge of animations and projections; María Eugenia (whom everyone called Miss Rodriguez), was in charge of reports; and I was the personal secretary.

     We were all a little bland, not terribly talkative, and we would spend our spare time solving crosswords (Marcelo was the expert in this department, because he could do them in French), that we learnt to hide prudently between the pages of one file or other. I must confess that this withdrawn and timid attitude changed notably upon the arrival of Miss Rodriguez, since María Eugenia was happy, chatty, witty, entertaining, and also (actually rather significantly) very pretty.

     Apart from the boss’s office and the large space where our seven tables were aligned, there was another small room that had a sink with running water. In there we had a heater, a cafetiere, a thermos and a few bowls. The best part of every work day was our coffee break. However, since we could not leave the office entirely empty, we would go to the room in groups of two or three. Normally, I went with Remigio and Asunción; Marcelo with Antonia and Esmeralda and the boss (perks of the job) would go with Miss Rodriguez.

     We were all more or less normal (or common, why not? There’s nothing wrong with being common); all, with one exception: Remigio, who was a bit peculiar. Sometimes he would sit there staring at the calculator, as if he wanted to extract some confession from it. Everyone else’s stories and anecdotes were all very similar, almost stupidly similar. On the other hand, Remigio would tell certain events as if they were true, impressive without exception, but that then would later emerge as false. He was a fantasist, not exactly delirious, just a liar basically. He was also stubborn, and he would get angry and throw a tantrum, when someone showed him that one of his stories that he had told as true was actually totally false.  After that he wouldn’t talk to us for four or five days. But none of us resented him for it; we actually enjoyed it.

     The event that (unfortunately) broke the routine took place during a calm, normal afternoon in August. I was in the boss’s office working on a few late matters that he wanted to clear up before the end of the month. Suddenly the door opened (we always knocked before we coming in but this time the rule was not adhered to) and Remigio appeared, shaking, dishevelled and looking like a different person.

     “I want to talk to you,” he said to the boss. “And it’s urgent.” I made to leave to give them some time alone but Remigio firmly said to me, “You stay here. I want you to be a witness.”

     The boss, somewhat disconcerted, only managed to stand. “What’s the matter with you? Why have you got that crazy look in your eye?”

     “What’s the matter with me? You, of all people, can’t you imagine what the matter is with me?”

     “Calm down, man.”

     “I will not calm down. Not at all. Today you went to the small room today to have a coffee with miss Rodriguez, am I right?”
     “Just as we do every afternoon.”
     “But today you forgot to lock the door and I came in without knocking. I didn’t know the two of you were in there, but I went in. Neither you nor her saw me, you were too busy, but I did see the two of you and you were kissing. On the lips. It’s disgusting.”
     “What the hell are you talking about?”
     “The two of you shacking up, you foul people.”
     “I will not let you speak to me like this. Come on and behave with a little respect, you’re being crazy.”
     “Did you show any respect when you were necking her?”
     Remigio made a swift movement and pulled out a gun from his trouser pocket. I jumped up trying to stop the madness but once again he shouted at me, “Don’t you move! I want you to be a witness!” With a dirty hanker-chief he wiped the sweat from his brow. “Do you want to know something? I’ve already killed Miss Rodriguez. She’s out there dead, in the small room, the pig. Go and kiss her now, boss, since you like so much. Go and find the body, it’s still warm.”
     “Don’t lie!” I shouted. The truth is that I had no idea what to do.
     “I’m not lying. She’s quite dead. And now,” pointing the gun at the boss, “I’m going to kill you, degenerate. So you can be mourned together, like Romeo and Juliet.
     The boss’s movement was surprising and sudden, like that of a guy who was used to these sort of situations. It was clear that, while the other was talking, he had opened the right-hand drawer and soon enough he too had a gun.
     That moment was decisive. The two pulled the trigger simultaneously, but the boss was quicker and, more importantly, more accurate. Remigio collapsed, I had the impression that he was died. And he had. Remigio’s shot had not hit his target, but it had broken the glass of a window.
     With the gun still in his hand, the boss breathed heavily and then sat down. He was pale. He looked ten years older.
     The shots had been heard throughout the whole building. The door opened abruptly and this time ten or twelve faces appeared, whose eyes were wide and whose lips were trembling. And there was the most unexpected thing; behind everyone in the door the face of Miss Rodriguez also appeared, asking between sobs, “What happened? Tell me what happened! Please! Tell me what happened!”
     It took us around six years to get back into our routine. But we managed to. There were few changes but they were important ones. The small coffee room was closed off and Miss Rodriguez asked to be transferred to the National General Archive and her request was granted.
     Recently, such absences have not been filled, so now in the office there are only five of us, and the boss, who, of course,  still has his office, to which we have unrestricted access.  The truth is that we are a family, plain and simple.