“The sultan did not really want Shahrazad to tell him stories; he was no doubt the one telling stories to her,” Borges once told Bioy. Something similar happens to me now that I have become a regular at the Archive. I talk about that to B+ at all times—at dinner, while walking, or while staring at cracks in the plaster on the ceiling of my room. I tell her what I have seen there, what I have read—records and more records, identifying traits in a long series of obscure lives. That is to say, I bore her.

Power, as Borges says, always acts according to its own logic. The only possible criticism of this power is perhaps History. But since History is written from the present, and thus encompasses it, it is not probable that an impartial critique can be made.

I commit to reading, or at least thumbing through, Guatemalan “period” authors: for example, the “Generation of 1920,” to which Asturias belonged.

February 5, 2007.

Cloudy day. I’m alone on the second floor of the Archive, alone with Sandra Gil and the policewoman watching over us. Radio music: “Lying Eyes.” Sandra gives me a 1961 document that I did not ask for. She says that it may interest me: “Branch Inspector’s Record Book.” I take a quick look at it—nothing noteworthy.

Suddenly, I wonder what kind of Minotaur can hide in a labyrinth like this one. It may be a hereditary trait to believe that every labyrinth has its Minotaur. If this one did not have its own, I might be tempted to invent one.

I continue to browse Yearly Reports. Clerk Tun was in charge of the 1939 edition. In addition to the police reports from various departments, the series for that year includes “A Pro-Police Apologia” by Gregorio Marañón and a text titled “In Praise of Fouché” (anonymous, but I sense penned by Tun himself ).

Afternoon.

In the volumes for the years 1937, 1939, 1940, 1941, and 1943, I discover that the pages for the reports from the Bureau have been ripped out. I alert Sandra Gil about this, as well as the archivist on duty who delivered the mutilated volumes to me.

Tuesday.

In the Yearly Report from 1944 (published in January 1945, during the Revolutionary Government), I read the following in Chapter XXVIII, corresponding to the Identification Bureau: “This Bureau was, as in previous years, led by clerk Tun, who collaborated with tireless dedication and efficiency on the investigation of various criminal acts.”

And further down, this letter from clerk Tun:

Guatemala, January 22, 1945

Mr. Director General of the Civil Guard, Delivered by Hand. Before providing specifics, which detail and demonstrate the efforts of the Identification Bureau under my leadership this past year of 1944, I deem it appropriate to expose, more justifiably than ever now that a new era is opening up for our country and we move toward the implantation of democratic norms, what the Identification Bureau’s work is within the organizational structure of the police.