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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.
    ‘I am looking for someone,’ I said. ‘His name is Xavier Janata Pinto, he’s been missing almost a year. The last I heard of him he was in Bombay, but I have good reason to
believe that he may have been in contact with the Theosophical Society, and that is what brings me here.’
    ‘Would it be indiscreet to ask you what reasons you have for believing this?’ my host asked.
    A waiter came in with a tray and we served ourselves sparingly: I out of politeness, he no doubt out of habit.
    ‘I’d like to know if he was a member of the Theosophical Society,’ I said.
    My host looked at me hard. ‘He was not,’ he stated softly.
    ‘But he was corresponding with you,’ I said.
    ‘He may have been,’ he said, ‘but in that case it would be a private correspondence and confidential.’
    We began to eat vegetable rissoles with some totally tasteless rice. The waiter stood to one side, the tray in his hands. At a nod from my host he quietly disappeared.
    ‘We do have files, but they are reserved for our members. However, these files do not include private correspondence,’ he explained.
    I nodded in silence, because I realised that he was manipulating the conversation as he chose and it was no good going on with requests that were too direct and explicit.
    ‘Are you familiar with India?’ he asked a moment later.
    ‘No,’ I answered, ‘this is the first time I’ve been here. I still haven’t really taken in where I am.’
    ‘I wasn’t referring so much to the geography,’ he explained. ‘I meant the culture. What books have you read?’
    ‘Very few,’ I answered. ‘At the moment I’m reading one called
A Travel Survival Kit.
It’s turning out to be quite useful.’
    ‘Very amusing,’ he said icily. ‘And nothing else?’
    ‘Well,’ I said, ‘a few things, but I don’t remember them very well. I must confess to having come unprepared. The only thing I remember fairly well is a book by Schlegel,
but not the famous one, his brother I think; it was called:
On the Language and Wisdom of the Indians
.’
    He thought a moment and said: ‘It must be an old book.’
    ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘published in 1808.’
    ‘The Germans were very much attracted by our culture. They have often formulated interesting opinions about India, don’t you think?’
    ‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘I’m not in