‘Let me try to see it your way, Father. This evil man wants to get at you, for some reason that relates to the distant past. He can’t find you, because you’re out here. So he finds the Bengali and taunts him into doing the finding for him. The Bengali comes out here, because apparently he can find you without undue difficulty, and lo and behold, you’ve both played straight into the hands of this man. Surely the wise thing to do would be to send the Bengali away empty-handed, and thus bring the man’s scheme to naught.’

‘Hmm. He would not be dissuaded so easily as that.’

‘How marvellous to have your very own nemesis.’

He extended his hand. It wavered in the air for a moment, then found mine and held it tight. ‘Him that lures me, me that lures him. Ambush for an ambush. I will go, without question. Srinivas has given me the chance to correct something I should have put right many years ago.’

‘Good lord! You cannot see—’

‘It is immaterial. Immaterial. Just as he could slaughter a garrison, so he can be undone by a blind man: that is the nature of the thing. You cannot stop me, and you know it. Let this matter proceed. Perhaps it will result in some peace for all of us.’

It would be futile to assure him I suffered no lack of peace, and would quite welcome a breach of it; the argument continued for an hour or more. My reasoning, his stubborn insistence. How can you argue rationally with someone who refuses to admit the obvious? And what was his peace for all of us? I look back now and I wonder.

As the sun climbed into the middle of the day, he grew restless and I knew what would come next. With practised sweeps of his arms he explored the table, then the floor around him, feeling for bottles. His face darkened as realisation dawned. He stood, edged towards the wall, searching for the crates.

He faced me and the dead eyes managed to glare. ‘The rum. What have you done with it?’

I held my breath.

‘Where is the rum?’

‘I took it away.’

‘Where?’

‘Gone, Father. I am trying to help you.’