The letter had contained that same word, challenge. But the word left Pranab Ghosh’s mouth with such a sharp edge to it that Harbart felt a stab at his breast.

“Actually, I don’t write much. Don’t even know where your office is. So I thought, what’ll I do by going there anyway? Besides, what crime have I committed that I have to go at all? Not been well, either. Had dengue. Just sitting up.”

“That’s all very well. But what you just said, that you’ve committed no crime—that’s an outright lie. You have committed a terrible crime. And you are still committing it.”

“What I’ve committed, if I really have committed, why don’t you tell me what it is? Wait, wait—let me open the window. It’s too hot in here.”

“No crime? Cheating, spouting nonsense, and milking people for money—how can you say you’ve committed no crime?”

“Who did I cheat? Let the bastard come and say, put a hand to his heart and say, I’ve cheated him!”

Harbart had gotten angry and begun to shout. One of the boys said, his voice calm and cold, “Here, here—don’t raise your voice. Don’t use slang.” Then he turned to the camera-clicking girl and said, “See, as soon as you expose them, they begin to scream and shout. They think that all this melodrama will help them get away with it.”

“But he seems to be a dud,” replied the girl. “Although, Mickey, his profile’s a lot like Monty Clift’s, no?”

The girl called Mickey burst into peals of laughter.

“Oh, he’s a sweet, cute, small-time crook.”

Even Pranab Ghosh was laughing now. “Exactly!”

Harbart got angrier. “Don’t think your English talking scares me! Fucking English!”

Now it was Pranab Ghosh’s turn to raise his voice. “Shall I give you proof? Of your cheating?”

“Give—if you have the guts to give, give me proof.”

“A foreign woman called Tina paid you a visit—yes?”

Beautiful young Belgian actress Tina. So beautiful. Blue eyes. Trills of laughter. Only, when she spoke of her mother, those eyes brimmed over with tears, her laughter lay down in sorrow—how Harbart’s heart had ached for her.

“Yes. A doctor came with her—I forget his name.”

“What you told Tina—I have the cassette. Want to hear it?”

Harbart was at a loss to understand any of this. What was happening? And why was it happening?

From the recorder, Pranab Ghosh takes out the cassette and puts in another. Presses Play and Fast Forward together, so there emerges a strange set of squeaks and shrieks. He quickly presses Stop, then Play again. Tina’s laughter. Harbart’s voice: “Very good. Very good.” The doctor’s laughter. Sounds from the street. Stop. Fast Forward. The cassette rolls on. Stop. Play. Harbart hears his own voice: “Yes, such are these inexplicable arrangements. But her mother is well, I see. On the fifth plane, where the moderately virtuous dwell. O Doctor, tell her, tell her not to be sad at all. After all, how many succeed in climbing to that fifth floor? Most manage at most to scramble to the first or second only. But her mother’s run really far, I tell you, Doctor. One more floor and such eternal joy—just one more floor and she’ll be free!”