‘Listen,’ I said, ‘India is mysterious by definition, but puzzles are not my forte. Spare me any pointless effort.’
She looked at me with a show of surprise. ‘It’s simply that I left some things that belong to me in the room,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ve come to get them.’
‘I thought you’d be back,’ I said, ‘but frankly I didn’t expect you so soon, or rather, so late.’
The woman watched me with increasing amazement. ‘What do you mean?’ she muttered.
‘That you are a thief,’ I said.
The woman looked toward the window and took the silk scarf from her shoulders. She was beautiful, I thought, unless perhaps it was the light filtered through the lampshade that gave her face a distant, aristocratic look. She wasn’t so young any more yet her body was very graceful.
‘You are very categoric,’ she said. She passed a hand across her face, as if wanting to brush away her tiredness, or a thought. Her shoulders trembled in a brief shiver. ‘What does it mean, to steal?’ she asked.
The silence fell between us and I caught the exasperating sound of the dripping tap. ‘I called before dinner,’ I said, ‘and they assured me they’d fix it right away. It’s a noise I can’t stand; I’m afraid it won’t help me to get to sleep.’
She smiled. She was leaning on the rattan chest of drawers, an arm hanging down her side as though she were very tired. ‘I think you’ll have to get used to it,’ she said. ‘I was here a week and I asked them to fix it dozens of times, then I gave up.’ She paused a moment. ‘Are you French?’
‘No,’ I answered.
She looked at me with a defeated air. ‘I came in a taxi from Madurai,’ she said. ‘I’ve been travelling all day.’ She wiped her forehead with her silk scarf as if it were a handkerchief. For a moment her face took on what looked like a desperate expression. ‘India is horrible,’ she said, ‘and the roads are hell.’
‘Madurai is a very long way,’ I came back. ‘Why Madurai?’
‘I was going to Trivandrum, then from there I would have gone to Colombo.’
‘But Madras has a flight to Colombo too,’ I objected.
‘I didn’t want to take that one,’ she said. ‘I had my reasons. It won’t be difficult for you to work them out.’ She made a tired gesture. ‘Anyhow, I’ll have missed it by now.’
She gave me a questioning look and I said: ‘It’s all there where you left it in the bottom drawer on the right.’
The writing table was behind her; it was made of bamboo with brass corners and had a large mirror above in which I could see the reflection of her naked shoulders. She opened the drawer and took the bundles of documents held together by an elastic band.
‘It’s too stupid,’ she said. ‘One does something like this and then forgets everything in a drawer. I kept it in the hotel safe for a week and then I left it here while I was packing.’
She looked at me as if waiting for me to agree.
‘Yes, it is pretty stupid,’ I said. ‘The transfer of all that money was an operation of high-class fraud, and then you go and make such a dumb mistake.’
‘Perhaps I was too nervous,’ she said.
‘Or too busy getting revenge,’ I added. ‘Your letter was remarkable, a ferocious vendetta, and he can’t do anything about it, if you make it in time. It’s just a question of time.’
Her eyes flickered, looking at me in the mirror. Then she turned suddenly, quivering, her neck tense. ‘You read my letter as well!’ she exclaimed with contempt.
‘I even copied part of it out,’ I said.
She looked at me with amazement, or with fear perhaps. ‘Copied it,’ she muttered. ‘Why?’
‘Only the last part,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it. And anyway, I don’t even know who it was to. All I understood was that he’s a man who must have made you suffer a great deal.’
‘He was too rich,’ she said. ‘He thought he could buy everything, people included.’ Then she made a nervous gesture, indicating herself, and I understood.
‘Listen, I think I see more or less how it was. You didn’t exist for years, you were always just an empty name, until one day you decided to give a reality to the name. And that reality is you. But I know only the name you signed with; it’s a very common name and I have no desire to know anything else.’
‘Right,’ she said, ‘the world is full of Margarets.’
She moved away from the writing table and went to sit on the stool by the dressing table. She put her elbows on her knees and her face in her hands. She sat a long time like that, without saying anything, hiding her face.
‘What do you plan to do?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘I’m very frightened. I must get to that bank in Colombo tomorrow, otherwise all that money’s going to go down the drain.’
‘Listen a moment,’ I said, ‘it’s late. You can’t go to Trivandrum now, and anyway you wouldn’t get there in time for the plane tomorrow. Tomorrow morning there’s a plane for Colombo from here; you’re lucky because if you turn up early you’ll get a seat, and according to the register you’ve already left the hotel.’
She looked at me as if she didn’t understand. She looked at me a long time, intensely, weighing me up.
‘As far as I’m concerned you really have gone,’ I added, ‘and there are two comfortable beds in this room.’
She seemed to relax. She crossed her legs and sketched a smile. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I feel sympathetic toward people on the run. And then, I stole something from you too.’
‘I left my case at reception,’ she said.
‘Perhaps it would be wise to leave it there and pick it up tomorrow morning. I can lend you some pyjamas: we are almost the same size.’
She laughed. ‘That only leaves the problem of the tap,’ she said.
I laughed too. ‘But you’re used to it by now, I gather. The problem is all mine.’
VI
‘Le corps humain pourrait bien n’être qu’une apparence,’ he said. ‘Il cache notre réalité, il s’épaissit sur notre lumière ou sur notre ombre.’
He raised his hand and made a vague gesture. He was wearing a large white tunic and the sleeve rose and fell on his thin wrist. ‘Oh, but that isn’t theosophy. Victor Hugo, Les Travailleurs de la Mer.’ He smiled and poured me something to drink. He raised his glass full of water as if making a toast.
To what? I thought. And then I lifted my glass too and said: ‘To light and shadow.’
He smiled again. ‘Please do excuse me for this very frugal meal,’ he said, ‘but it was the only way to talk without being too hurried after your brief afternoon visit. I’m sorry that my prior engagements didn’t allow me to receive you at greater leisure.’
‘It’s a privilege,’ I said. ‘You are very kind, I would never have dared hope so much.’
‘We rarely receive outside visitors in this centre,’ he went on in his vaguely apologetic tone. ‘But from what I gather it seems that you are not simply a curious outsider.’
I realised that after my rather mysterious note, my telephone calls, the afternoon visit in which I had referred only to a ‘missing person’, I could hardly carry on in this cryptic and alarmist way. I would have to explain myself clearly, precisely. But what did I have to ask, after all? Only a remote piece of information, a hypothetical clue: a possible link to bring me closer to Xavier.