The Double by José Saramago
Sometimes coincidences take years to arrive and, at others, come running along in Indian file, one after the other. Tertuliano Maximo Afonso went to the bathroom to complete his disguise, what with all the putting on and taking off, and being passed from one face to another, the beard no longer sticks very well, it threatens to arouse the suspicions of the first lynx-eyed glance from some agent of authority or the systematic distrust of some fearful citizen. It finally stuck more or less to his skin, now it just has to last until Tertuliano Maximo Afonso finds a rubbish bin in some reasonably deserted place. There the false beard will end its brief but agitated history, and there in the darkness, among the fetid remains, the videos will find their rest. Tertuliano Maximo Afonso walked back into the living room, looked around to see if he had forgotten anything he might need, then went into the bedroom, on the bedside table is the book about ancient Mesopotamian civilizations, there is no reason why he should keep it with him, but, nevertheless, he picks it up, why should Tertuliano Maximo Afonso feel the need for the company of the Amorites and the Assyrians if in less than twenty-four hours he will be home again, Alea jacta est, he murmured to himself, there is nothing more to discuss, what will be will be, there's no escape.