Swoboda had come to Rodriguez-O’Hearn as a virtually unknown quantity. It is true that his personal file had been sent to Rodriguez in advance, and that these dossiers were compiled in conformity with the latest administrative techniques. A form in the file had accordingly notified Mr. Rodriguez that Swoboda was punctual and in good health, that he upheld the aims of the Organization, and that his output was high. The form was composed as a questionnaire, and against each question a series of boxes invited the appropriate tick—such methods as these having been painstakingly devised in order to avoid anything resembling a personal opinion. Since, in this modern world of incomparables, a tick in anything less than the topmost box for each item would have been highly damaging to a staff member, Rodriguez-O’Hearn also learned—and expected to learn—from the file that Swoboda was of ineffable good humor, that his initiative was unremitting, his imagination inexhaustible, and his judgment invariably sound. Had the file contained a more reasonable estimate of Swoboda’s capabilities or suggested the slightest singularity, the implication would have been such that neither Rodriguez-O’Hearn nor any other Organization official would have felt justified in accepting him.

It was therefore without prompting of any kind that Rodriguez discovered Swoboda’s true nature. Rodriguez was a man of insight, and the significant outlines of Swoboda’s past gradually became as apparent to him as if he had been informed of them in detail. He valued Swoboda’s industry; he respected Swoboda’s discretion; he even came, little by little, to apprehend Swoboda’s tragedy.

And so it came about that Swoboda thrived. With all his new colleagues he worked in the utmost goodwill. There was much to do, but no injustice corresponding to the SAGG documents darkened Swoboda’s days or lengthened his nights. His tendencies, though orderly, were ingenious, and he developed an uncomplicated system of shading in the progress of DALTO operations on the graphs entrusted to his care (so many experts sent to instruct needy nations, so many grants awarded to the less technical for orientation abroad—their shadow, on Swoboda’s charts, never grew less). Together with Mervyn and Mordie he drafted letters, added up columns, and filed cards. There was nothing novel or intriguing in this, other than the sense of being appreciated. All the same, Swoboda felt his life was moving forward again and, in his modest way, he was hopeful about the future.

Toward the end of the year, when Swoboda had been some months with DALTO, the question of his promotion was once more raised in his mind. The Board was soon due to hand down its six-monthly decisions. He mentioned this to Merv and Mordie.

“You’ll be all right,” Mervyn assured him. “He likes you.”

“Who?”

“Old Rodrigo. Can’t think why, but he does.”

“What has he to do with it?”