The Calcutta Chromosome

He was hopping on his toes now, his face flushed with pleasure and excitement.

'Oh, madame,' he said to Sonali, 'we see your films at least twice every year at the Bansdroni Film Society. At my insistence, if I may say so – I am treasurer, co-founder and member-secretary. You can ask anyone in Bansdroni and they'll tell you: Bolai-da won't let a year go by without showing each of Sonali Das's films at least twice. Once there was even an impeachment motion on this score, but…'

He paused, at a loss for words, his eyes filling with tears. 'Oh Madame Sonali,' he said, 'for me you are greater than Anna Magnani in Open City, greater than Garbo in Camille, greater even than… '

He swallowed as though gathering his courage. 'Yes/ he said, with an air of recklessness. 'I will say it, why not? Greater even than the incomparable Madhabi in Charulata.'

Sonali gave him an embarrassed smile.

Murugan could contain his impatience no longer. 'Can we leave this fan-club stuff till later?' he exploded, shaking a fist.

The man flinched, and knocked his knuckles on his skull, as though to awaken himself from a dream. 'I am sorry,' he said. 'I should not permit myself to become so excited.' Urmila patted him gently on the shoulder.

'It doesn't matter,' she said. 'You are quite right about Sonali-di. But at the moment we have something else on our minds. We came here to see Mrs Aratounian. Can you tell us where she is?'

'Mrs Aratounian?' the bespectacled man said dreamily, 'his eyes drifting back to Sonali. 'She has gone.'

'Gone where?' said Murugan.

'Just gone.' The man shrugged, losing interest in the conversation. Suddenly a thought struck him and he turned to Sonali, his face brightening. 'Perhaps you will consent to make an appearance at our Society?' he said. 'Is it possible, madame?'

Sonali answered with a practised gesture that indicated neither confirmation nor disavowal.

Murugan took hold of the man's arm and shook it, hard. 'Later!' he shouted. 'You can talk about that later. First tell us, where's Mrs Aratounian? And where's her stuff – her furniture, and plants and everything? And my stuff – my suitcase, laptop and all the rest?'

The man flicked Murugan's fingers off his arm with a fastidious sniff. 'By the way,' he said. 'There is no need to raise your voice.'

'Sorry,' said Murugan. 'I just wanted to get a grip on your attention before it escaped again. As I was saying: where is everything – my things, her things?'

The man gave him a look of puzzled enquiry, spectacles glinting. 'Don't you know?' he said. 'She sold everything. To the New Russell Exchange. That is why I am here: I am the head clerk in charge of collections and evaluations.'

'But it was all here this morning,' Murugan cried breathlessly. 'I mean, I stayed here last night. Everything was here when I went out this morning. She couldn't have sold it all today.'

The clerk gave him a pitying smile. 'Of course not,' he said. 'Such a sale cannot be arranged in a day' The legal formalities alone… there is the registration of sale to consider and the affidavits and the stamp duty.'

He thrust his clipboard in Murugan's direction. 'Here, look,' he said, pointing with his pencil. 'This is the contract.'

Peering over his shoulder, Murugan and Urmila found themselves looking at a carbon copy of a long typewritten document. The letterhead said New Russell Exchange, Auctioneers and Valuers. The margin of each page was covered with a patchwork of legal stamps, initials and signatures.

The clerk hummed as he flipped through the document. He stopped at the end, with a triumphant cry. 'Here,' he said. 'Do you see? The contract was signed and sealed exactly a year ago, to the day. Mrs Aratounian sold everything on these premises on an as-is-where-is basis, subject to the stipulation that collection would occur exactly a year later.'

He flipped the pages back and tapped on the document with the rubberized butt of his pencil.

'Everything is accounted for in this list,' he said. 'Mrs Aratounian personally showed me the location of every item on that list, this morning. Everything in this flat was entered here at the time of evaluation, just before the flat was sold.'

Urmila gave a disbelieving cry: 'The flat was sold!'

'Yes,' said the clerk. 'The new owners will be taking possession today.'

Murugan stared at him, flabbergasted. 'But,' he began, 'but my things can't be on that list: I wasn't even here.'

The clerk directed a glance of enquiry at Murugan. 'Are you attempting to establish a claim to certain articles?' he said. 'I should inform you that according to this contract we have an absolute legal right to remove everything on these premises.'

'I'm not attempting to claim anything,' said Murugan. 'I just want to know what happened to my things.'

'What were they?' said the clerk. 'Can you describe them?'

Murugan nodded: 'A suitcase, a laptop – that kind of stuff.'

The clerk ran his pencil through the list, humming to himself. 'Here!' he said, pointing to a line. 'Suitcase, leather, plus miscellaneous travel articles and imported electronic equipment.'

Murugan fell silent, staring at the clipboard, shaking his head in incomprehension. 'But this is insane,' he said. 'I mean – being here today wasn't even a glimmer in my eye a year ago.'

The clerk handed Murugan the clipboard and wandered off in Sonali's direction. He produced a piece of paper from his trouser pocket and handed it to her. 'Please, madame,' he said, 'if you could just give me your autograph… just to show the society… '

Sonali took the paper and the proffered pencil. She scribbled her name and handed the paper back. He received it with both hands, cupping it reverently between his palms. 'You do not know what this means to me,' he breathed, 'two famous people in one day – it is more than I could ever have imagined.'

Murugan reappeared, thrusting himself between them. 'I have another question for you,' he said. 'Did Mrs Aratounian leave any papers behind? Any Xeroxes, old newspaper cuttings, anything?'

The clerk cocked his head, regarding Murugan with a puzzled frown. 'It is interesting that you ask,' he said. 'Usually when we clear out a flat there's a lot of waste paper lying around. But here there was nothing. No newspapers, old books, nothing. I looked because I wanted to put these in some paper.' Unfurling his fist he showed them his last remaining peanuts. 'But I couldn't find a single bit of paper in the whole house. That is why for Madame's autograph once again I had to use the paper that Mrs Aratounian gave me just before she left.'

'What paper?' said Murugan.

The clerk parted his hands slowly to reveal the slip of paper that Sonali had just autographed.

'When did Mrs Aratounian give you that?' Murugan demanded. 'And why?'

'She said if anyone came here to tell them… '

'Tell them what?'

The clerk squinted at the little slip. 'That she was going to catch a train at eight thirty,' he said. 'To Renupur, from Sealdah.'

'What!' cried Murugan. 'Quick: what time is it now?' Grabbing the clerk's wrist, Urmila looked at his watch. 'Seven forty-five,' she said. 'We might just get there in time, if we find a taxi right away.'

She dropped the clerk's hand and said: 'Why didn't you tell us this before?'

'I didn't know,' he replied, sheepishly. 'I thought she meant someone else.'

'Who?' said Murugan.

'Phulboni,' said the clerk.

'Phulboni!' Sonali cried.

'Yes,' said the clerk. 'Phulboni himself. The great writer; he was here just a short while ago. He said that someone had gone to his house very late last night and left a note telling him to come here. Look…' He flipped the paper over and pointed to another scrawled autograph.

Murugan started for the door. 'Come on,' he said to Urmila. 'Let's move it.'

Urmila and Sonali followed him at a run, leaving the clerk momentarily stunned. They were halfway down when he shouted after them, hanging over the stairwelclass="underline" 'Madame… my invitation…' There was no answer.