Free Indian Nocturne by Antonio Tabucchi Page A

the moment had come to play my card. I drank another sip and said: ‘Mr Nightingale buys only the best, I’ve
heard, what do you think?’
    He looked at the bottle with inexpressive eyes. ‘I don’t know, sir, it depends on your tastes,’ he replied calmly.
    ‘The fact is that my tastes are very demanding too,’ I said. ‘I only buy the best.’ I paused to give more emphasis to what I was saying, and at the same time to make it
sound more confidential. I felt as though I were in a film, and I was almost enjoying the game. The sadness would come later, I knew that. ‘Very refined,’ I finally said, stressing
‘refined’, ‘and in substantial quantities, not just a drop at a time.’
    He looked at my glass again without expression and went on with the game. ‘I gather that the wine is not to your liking, sir.’
    I was sorry that he had upped the stakes. My finances were running low, but at this point it was worth getting to the bottom of the business. And then I was sure that Father Pimentel would be
able to make me a loan. So I accepted his raise and said: ‘Bring me back the list, please, I’ll see if I can choose something better.’
    He opened the list on the table and I slipped in another twenty dollars. Then I pointed to a wine at random and said: ‘Do you think Mr Nightingale would like this?’
    ‘I’m sure he would,’ he replied attentively.
    ‘I’d be interested to ask him personally,’ I said. ‘What would you advise?’
    ‘If I were in sir’s position I would look for a good hotel on the coast,’ he said.
    ‘There are a lot of hotels on the coast, it’s difficult to find just the right one.’
    ‘There are only two really good ones,’ he answered. ‘You can’t go wrong: Fort Aguada Beach and the Oberoi. They are both magnificently located with charming beaches, and
palm trees that go right down to the sea. I’m sure you will find both to your liking.’
    I got up and went to the buffet. There were a dozen trays on a spirit-warmer. I took some food at random, picking here and there. I stopped by the open window, my plate in my hand. The moon was
already nice and high and reflected in the river. Now the melancholy was setting in, as I had foreseen. I realised I wasn’t hungry. I crossed the room and went to the door. As I was going
out, the head waiter made a slight bow. ‘Could you have the wine brought up to my room,’ I said. ‘I’d prefer to drink it on the terrace.’

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    ‘Excuse the banality of the remark, but I have the impression we’ve met before,’ I said. I lifted my glass and touched it against hers on the bar. The girl
laughed and said: ‘I have the same impression myself. You look strangely like the man I shared a taxi with this morning from Panaji.’
    I laughed too. ‘Oh well, it’s no good denying it, I’m the very man.’
    ‘You know that sharing that cab was an excellent idea?’ she added with an air of practicality. ‘The guidebooks say the taxis are very cheap in India, but it’s not true,
they’d take the shirt off your back.’
    ‘Let me recommend a reliable guidebook some time,’ I said with authority. ‘Our taxi went outside the city, hence the price trebles. I had hired a car, but I had to give it up
because it was too expensive. In any case, the major advantage for me was to be able to make the trip in such pleasant company.’
    ‘Stop,’ she said, ‘don’t take advantage of the tropical night and this hotel amongst the palms. I’m susceptible to compliments and I would let myself be chatted up
without offering any resistance. It wouldn’t be fair on your part.’ She lifted her glass too and we laughed again.
    The description of magnificence given by the head waiter of the Mandovi erred only by default. The Oberoi was more than magnificent. It was a white, crescent-shaped building which exactly
followed the curve of the beach along which it was built, a bay protected by a promontory to the north and cliffs to the