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 stairwell: 'Madame… my invitation…' There was no answer.

At the bottom of the stairs, Urmila stopped for a moment, to regain her breath. 'Sonali-di,' she said, panting. 'Why are you coming with us? You don't have to come.' Sonali burst into laughter. 'Of course I'm coming with you,' she said.

'But why?' said Urmila. 'You don't know anything about this business.'

'There's something you don't know either,' Sonali said. 'What?'

'That Phulboni is my father,' said Sonali. 'With Phulboni and Romen gone, what will I stay for?'

A startled cry came floating down the stairwell. 'Oh my God!' the clerk's voice breathed. 'Phulboni is your father, madame? Oh my God' What will they say at the Film Society?'

They heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs and went running out to the street.

Murugan had already stopped a taxi. 'Quick,' he said to the driver. 'Sealdah – jaldi, as quick as you can.'

Chapter 44

AS THE TAXI lurched around a corner, on to Park Street, Murugan reached for Urmila's hand and sandwiched it between his.

'I want you to promise me something Calcutta,' he said.

'What?' said Urmila. 'What are you talking about?'

Murugan tugged urgently at her hand. 'Promise me, Calcutta,' he said. 'Promise me that you'll take me across if I don't make it on my own.'

Urmila's eyes widened. 'Make it where?' she said.

'Wherever. '

She laughed out loud, throwing back her head: 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'But promise anyway,' Murugan insisted. 'Promise you'll take me, even if they want you to leave me behind?'

'Why would anyone want to leave you behind?' said Urmila. 'You're the only one who knows what's happened, what's happening. You said yourself that someone had gone to a lot of trouble to help you make connections.'

'That's just the problem,' said Murugan. 'My part in this was to tie some threads together so that they could hand the whole package over in a neat little bundle some time in the future, to whoever it is they're waiting for.'

'And how do you know it's not you they've been waiting for?'

'It can't be me,' said Murugan flatly. 'You see, for them the only way to escape the tyranny of knowledge is to turn it on itself. But for that to work they have to create a single perfect moment of discovery when the person who discovers is also that which is discovered. The problem with me is that I know too much and too little.'

'But who is it, then?' said Urmila.

'I wish I could tell you,' said Murugan. 'But I can't. In fact, I should be asking you that question.'

'What do you mean?' said Urmila.

'You still don't get it?' Murugan asked her, with a rueful half-smile.

'No,' said Urmila. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

Murugan looked her in the eyes. 'Don't you see?' he said. 'You're the one she's chosen.' Urmila gasped. 'For what?'

'For herself.'

Suddenly, taking Urmila by surprise, Murugan fell to his knees, squeezing himself into the narrow leg space of the back seat. Bending low he touched his forehead to her feet. 'Don't forget me,' he begged her. 'If you have it in your power to change the script, write me in. Don't leave me behind. Please.'

Urmila laughed. She put a hand on his head and an arm around Sonali's shoulders. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'I'll take you both with me, wherever I go.'

Then she caught a glimpse of the taxi driver, craning his neck over the back of the seat, grinning salaciously.

'And you keep your eyes on the road,' she snapped. 'This has nothing to do with you.'

Chapter 45

'GUESS YOU DON'T remember me, huh?' the Head said to Antar. 'Your old pal from the Thai restaurant?'

'Murugan!' Antar cried.

'You said it,' said Murugan. 'It's me.'

'Is that really you?' said Antar.

'Sure is,' said Murugan. 'I've waited a long time to get in touch with you. I figured nothing would be quite as quick as that ID card.'

'But people have been looking for you for years,' said Antar. 'Where have you been?'

'I've asked you this before,' said Murugan. 'And I'll ask again. Are you sure you want to know?'

'Yes,' said Antar.

'OK, Ant,' Murugan said with a laugh. 'It's your funeral. All you've got to do to find out is pick up that gadget over there.'

The disembodied chin wagged in the direction of Antar' s Simultaneous Visualization headgear.

'You mean it's in there?' Antar gasped. 'But it can't be: nobody has access… '

'Guess we got in while the going was good,' said Murugan. 'Anyway it's all in there, waiting for you to hit the button.'

Slowly and deliberately, Antar reached for the headgear, slipped it on and clicked the visor into place, in front of his eyes. He tapped a key and suddenly a man appeared, walking down a wide road, beside a grey cathedral. He was wearing khaki trousers and a green baseball cap. It was Murugan. He stopped to look over his shoulder: dark threatening clouds were approaching across a wide green expanse. A minibus shot by, sending a plume of water shooting up from a puddle. Murugan began to run.