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country? Had he embezzled funds from the county or the party?
    As Jan Svensk lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan, and the call to prayer started up its monotone litany, he came to the decision that he was going to get an answer to the Persson riddle. How could he possibly return to Sweden without it? He chuckled to himself. What a sensation it would be. Suddenly he wished he was a journalist. He could see the headline: County Commissioner, Ruled Dead, Found Alive in India.
    Of course it was one thing to decide on this investigation, but how to proceed? In a city like Bangalore it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The old proverb here took on a literal significance. It was a dizzying prospect to think of locating Persson among all these people. Granted, he stood out from the crowd, but right now he was most likely keeping as low a profile as he could muster.
    Suddenly the light went out. The only thing illuminating his room was the screen on his laptop, which reminded him of his work.
    Jan Svensk heaved himself out of bed, sat down at the computer, opened a report and gave it a once-over, adding a couple of comments, connected to the Internet, and sent it off. At that moment the power came back on.
    Thereafter he opened the bottle he had bought at the Arlanda airport, got a glass from the bathroom, poured himself a generous whisky, sat down in the only armchair, and started making his plans.

FIVE
     
     
    If there was anything that frightened him, it was the thought of having to leave Bangalore for good. Where would he go? He had spun himself a delicate net in which to rest. At the least movement the threads would tear and he would fall down into an old age of poverty, perhaps destitution, and even worse, isolation.
    Lester and his family were a thread that gave him a feeling of family life he could take part in. Sven-Arne followed Lester’s children as if they were his own flesh and blood, he took delight in their successes at school and worried about them when they were sick. They celebrated family events together. He could remember the first one, six days after Lilian’s birth. A steady stream of relatives, neighbours, and friends came by the flat, admired the newborn, and presented little gifts.
    It was a matter of some notoriety that a foreigner was taking part in the ceremony, and he thought for a while that this was the reason for his presence – that Lester in some way wanted to brag about the fact that he was close to such an exotic personage – but then he realised the invitation was well intended and that Lester genuinely appreciated his attentions for his daughter’s chatthi .
    His work at the botanical garden was the other dominant thread. At Lal Bagh, he felt useful, he carried out practical work that meant something. He had been there so long that he could point with pride to the trees he had planted. Some had had time to become tall and offered a welcome shade in summer. Others flowered beautifully. His favourite was the temple tree.
    The lessons at the school that was very close to his home was a third thread. For the past five, six years, on a volunteer basis, he had been teaching a group of children English, European history, and what one could call social studies. This took place outside of regular scheduling and had nothing to do with the children’s official educational program, but the four hours a week were always well attended. Some thirty children in their early teens followed his lectures on the breakthrough of industrialisation in Europe, of technical advances and developments in production methods, but also of terrible conditions, child labour, and the budding struggle for human rights, against drunkenness, and for freedom of religion.
    He also lectured in geography and after every lecture would congratulate himself on having imprinted the countries of Europe in the heads of his pupils. Most of them could pick out Germany, Italy, Poland, and about twenty other countries on