Our guy spoke again:

“Mr. Governor, gather your things and go. Please step down, if you would be so kind.”

Nothing happened. Then, a moment later, the governor said:

“Am I to understand that you have the authority to dismiss me?”

“We do,” someone said, with real conviction. “You’re dismissed, my friend.”

We found ourselves in the kind of long, tense parenthetical any seasoned film director would have seized upon to milk the interpretative powers of his actors for all their worth. For anyone in the governor’s role it would have been an excellent time to convey via a tic of nervous sweat, or even a pregnant glance, that trickiest of talents, his efforts to keep himself under control and process information as rapidly as the situation demanded. And the governor, I must say, rose to the challenge completely, maybe because he understood the importance of the role, dragging out the silence, as one would only expect, so that any director with a bit of experience would have been able to include inserts and underscore the mounting tension with close-ups of certain details: open jackets, rolled up sleeves, trembling hands, phony cold stares—all of this, everything, juxtaposed with our distended appearance, even though we were all on the alert against any possible attack of insufferable boredom. The rhythm typical to all important posts, that so very coveted ritual delay.

Finally, very lightly, almost imperceptibly, the governor gave a nod, and the men withdrew.

It took him little more than an hour to gather up his things, and on his way out he wondered if we might do him the courtesy of sending him anything of his we happened to come across. As he left we didn’t even bother getting up to shake his hand or congratulate him on the supremely civilized fashion with which he acquiesced to his destitution (on the part of nobody). Now we stood before an enormous window about eight feet in height, with thick curtains made of purple leather, and I don’t think any one of us had an interest in anything other than dozing off or just basking in the diffuse sunlight filtering in from the outside, where city life was carrying on as usual, as if nothing had changed; because nothing had, nothing vital.

We got ourselves comfortable and ordered some breakfast. None of us had eaten a thing all morning, apart from scalding hot coffee with a bit of foam on top, not at all worth counting. In less than half an hour, we were feasting on buttery toast and croissants and marmalade and juice and the creamiest coffees (with our choice of milk, steamed or cold) and assorted pastries and a box of cigars, which one of us had ordered with a great deal of intent.

Once we had had our breakfast and the breakfast had settled, now two or three hours since we first arrived at the statehouse, we called together all the personnel to inform them they were being relieved of their posts, or that they were being let go, I don’t remember exactly how we phrased it. The main thing is that everyone present got the gist and, to little comment and no apparent protest, they withdrew from our sight, and then they went off to collect whatever they had to collect and left. An hour later, more or less, there was no one left in the statehouse, with the exception of, like I said, the six or seven of us.

What we did next was lock up the windows and doors and the main door with a key, which somebody took care of hiding at once where no one would stumble upon it. Wait, what am I saying? We were not even ten steps away from the statehouse steps when we were approached by a man, very demure in his demeanor, and clearly quite uncertain as to the most appropriate way to address us. We had just turned onto the tree-lined boulevard out in front of the statehouse, and we had taken a seat on a couple of benches, most of us with our hands buried deep in our pockets. The man continued to stand there, staring more at the dusty ground than up at us, as though we all weren’t also dust, in the end. Did we have any idea what was going to happen to him and his family with no salary? We didn’t have too much of an idea, not that it was difficult to imagine. (Domestic violence, alcoholism, unemployment, food short on vitamins and protein, even drugs, crime, and prostitution.) Might it be possible for us to look the other way, if he and his family were to take up in a room or two in the statehouse? Possibly, but only on the condition that they were joined by other families, lots of them, as many as the space might reasonably accommodate, and no special treatment for anyone. Yes, that would be alright, but we might return at any time to check that everything was in order. Should the mood strike us, of course. The man grinned at the dust when we handed over the key, and he left in high spirits, rushing off in the direction of another one of the people we had let go or relieved of duty just a few minutes before. I think we all felt as happy as could be after our good deed, but I think we also wondered how that man could be so sure that nobody would retake the statehouse in the capacity of governor.

We stood up and stared at each other, and then some of us stared up at the sky, and we sighed with our hands in the pockets of our coats, and kicked a bit at the ground of the boulevard. Then someone started to walk in the direction of the city center, even though we were practically already in the city center. Now I remember how many of us there were. There were seven. Yes, six or seven, I’m sure of it.