Flaw Read Online Free PDF Page A

immaculate white shirts and their black oversleeves worn shiny from use; bustling about, utterlyengrossed in their pressing paperwork; sprawling at their desks, smoking one cigarette after another, constantly reaching for the telephone. But the signplate showing the place where this establishment is supposedly located is nowhere to be seen. It is neither here nor over there; it does not appear on any of the buildings. Neither at number seven, where the notary’s private apartment is located, nor at number one, where there is a café. At number three the photographer has his studio and apartment; at number eleven is the pharmacy, where they know everyone’s aches and pains. At number nine the work-weary policeman lives on the back courtyard; while at number five the student rents a cramped little room in the attic. At number eight the washerwoman is cooped up in the basement with a washtub in which someone else’s underwear is always soaking in soapy water. At number two there is the bakery, and at number four the movie theater, though it has been closed down and the building in which it was housed is up for renovation; in the meantime, a spare set of keys is kept in neighborly fashion by the photographer at number three, in a drawer beneath a pile of unclaimed pictures. And the hotel at number ten? It’s inexpensive but quite decent, just right for middle level businesspeople. It goes without saying that if the notary’s signplate were to appear at all, any address would be good, except for numbers six and twelve, where the boys’ grammar school and the local government offices stand facing each other. Then what has happened to the plate? It seems that outof forgetfulness, or perhaps deliberately, it has not been put up at all.
    What an unpleasant surprise, what an inconvenience and cause for consternation! Of course, the lack of a sign does not necessarily mean the annihilation of the office. It is assumed to have existed since time immemorial, at the very least since when the notary married his boss’s somewhat unstable daughter, in this manner becoming a partner. His father-in-law’s funeral was magnificent, and the procession started precisely from in front of the office. It’s just that it is hard to point the place out. Without a signplate, the office still continues to exist in its discreet fashion, hovering noncommittally somewhere in space, as a putative background for the vest with the gold watch chain and the overcoat with the fur collar, which the youngest paralegal is obliged to take deferentially from his employer when he appears in the doorway. Insofar as the door was ever hung in its frame; insofar as there was even a frame. It’s impossible to keep it a secret from the men in overalls that accomplished facts almost immediately become immaterial, which in their eyes renders preparatory labors futile and encourages furtive economies. And it is only thanks to such economies that their work turns out to be so extraordinarily profitable. In their nonchalance, they had been certain ahead of time that the office would not be needed; now they find themselves in a bind. It’s too late to repair the mistake. There arises the worry that they will try instead to derail the story to cause it to bypass the officealong with its costly and toilsome interior decorations. For the most mundane reasons, this establishment will remain what it is – a hazy notion.
    But if I am the notary, this is not my concern. One way or the other I don’t like to be late, so now I have to leave home. I have good reason to hurry from the apartment building at number seven. I’m escaping tears and shouts, cold compresses, rows over the little girl’s untied shoelaces; getting as far away as possible from my wife’s despair and fury, and especially from the maid’s unspoken complaints. The enjoyment of drinking one’s morning coffee in peace and quiet has proved unattainable