The Mystery of Munroe Island

by Satyajit Ray

  I saw Crole’s jaw fell in shock. Not being able to contain himself any more he loudly blurted out in German: ‘My foot had slipped. To save me both Herman and Karl lost their lives!’

  When I translated this in Bengali to Nakur Babu, he said in Bengali: ‘The scenario emerged right before my eyes. I didn’t want to talk about it. What a tragic incident of his life.’ Needless to add, I didn’t have to say anything to Crole after this. I know Saunders has reservations about the phenomenon of supernatural powers. Initially he didn’t comment on this. On our way from the airport he sat next to me in the car and asked, ‘Did you know of this incident of Crole’s in his youth?’

  I shook my head to say, ‘No.’

  During dinner today, I met Prof. Rodrigues’s secretary, Mr Lobo. Most people here have a wheatish complexion and their hair and pupils are black in colour. Mr Lobo too was no exception to this. He was a very sprightly man. He was more or less adept in English and within hours we were getting along very well. I told him that after the conference is over we’d like to venture into the forest of Brazil. ‘Of course, of course!’ said Mr Lobo, though his tone suggested a slight hesitation. They probably want to show us only modern Brazil. In today’s seminar I lectured in English. My secretary has taken down the entire address in shorthand. I know in today’s day and age it is much safer and easier to record a lecture on a tape recorder, but as Nakur Babu has taken the effort to learn Pitman’s shorthand I thought it best to put that to use.

  The exhibition of my inventions along with the necessary documents was also inaugurated today. The items which had hitherto been kept inside my cupboard in Giridih away from the public gaze were suddenly on display in another hemisphere of the world—in the city of Brazil in a public domain. It made me feel strange. To be very frank, it’s not that I wasn’t afraid, though the Brazil government has arranged for very good security. Armed police were put on duty in front of the exhibition as well as at the main entrance of Butantan Institute. So there was no need to fear.

  12 October, 6.30 a.m.

  A chain of events took place yesterday.

  After lunch, I went out with my foreign friends and my secretary to explore the city. After a bit of shopping we returned to our hotel and Nakur Babu soon retreated to his room. I’ve noticed that he stays with us only when absolutely necessary. He doesn’t linger a minute beyond this. Crole and Saunders, after having coffee with me in my room, also eventually retired. We decided we would meet in the lobby after an hour and proceed together to attend a local music concert.

  Brazil’s coffee is superb. So I poured another cup for myself but just then the phone rang. After saying ‘Hello’, a rough voice from the other side asked:

  ‘Is that Professor Shonku?’

  I acknowledged my identity.

  ‘This is Solomon Blumegarten.’

  I remembered the name. It was the same man who had written to me in Giridih and proposed to buy the patents of three of my inventions.

  ‘Do you recognize me?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’

  ‘May I come up to meet you once? I’m calling from the lobby of the hotel.’

  The problem with me is that under such circumstances I can never say ‘no’, though I know talking to him will be of no use. So I decided to ask him to come up.

  Wiithin a few minutes he arrived. I don’t think I’ve ever met a man like him. Thank goodness there was no third person present in this room. If there was, he would have burst into laughter seeing this humongous man next to the miniscule me.

  It was impossible to talk to him while standing and looking up at him. After the customary handshake I said, ‘Please sit down, Mr Blumegarten,’

  ‘Call me Sol.’

  A mountain moved away from my sight. He took his seat.

  ‘Call me Sol,’ he repeated. ‘And I’ll call you Shank, if you don’t mind.’

  Sol and Shank. Solomon and Shonku. Was there really any need to get so familiar? Yet I also know that in such a situation I’d no choice but to say ‘yes’. I said, ‘Tell me, Sol, what I can do for you?’

  ‘I’ve already told you in my letter. I’ve come to offer the same proposal to you. Today I went to see your exhibition. If you don’t mind—by concealing these amazing inventions from the entire world—you’re being extremely selfish.’

  I said, ‘Are you that intented in human welfare? I strongly feel you’re looking more at the business prospect of these inventions, isn’t it?’

  Solomon Blumegarten knitted his bushy eyebrows till they almost covered his eyes before returning to normal position.

  ‘I’m a businessman, Shank, so I’ll look at the business side—what’s so surprising? But not by denying you! I’m ready to give you one hundred thousand dollars for buying the patents of those three inventions. I’m carrying my chequebook with me. If you prefer cash I’m ready to give that too—just that you might have a problem carrying so much cash.’

  I shook my head. I repeated what I’d already mentioned in my letter—that none of these inventions can be replicated with the help of a machine.

  Blumegarten looked straight at me for a while, gravely suspicious. He then roared.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Then what can be done!’

  ‘I can double my price, Shank!’

  O dear! How could I convince this man that I was perfectly happy. I need no more money. Even if I get a larger price I won’t part with my rights.

  He was about to say more when the doorbell rang.

  On opening the door I saw that it was my secretary.

  ‘Well.’ Sounding hesitant, he walked into my room.—‘Tomorrow morning’s programme—?’

  After saying these words his glance fell on Blumegarten. Nakur Babu looked embarrassed at having disturbed us. What a strange situation. Many people would feel awkward in the presence of the burly Blumegarten. But Nakur Babu doesn’t seem to have lost his bearings; on the other hand, he seemed to have gained something.

  ‘Did you want to know about tomorrow’s programme?’ I asked him just to ease the situation.

  The words that came out of Nakur Babu’s mouth were totally irrelevant in the present situation. Not removing his eyes from Blumegarten, in a near whisper, he said, ‘El Dorado.’ Then he left the room looking bemused.

  ‘Who was that man?’ Blumegarten asked the minute I closed the door.

  I said, ‘My secretary.’

  ‘Why did he mention El Dorado?’

  The puzzlement on Blumegarten’s face looked a bit unnatural to me. I answered, ‘He has read up on South America and therefore to speak of El Dorado is not surprising.’

  Who doesn’t know the legend of the gold city, El Dorado? In the sixteenth century, the army of Cortés from Spain arrived in South America, defeated the locals in battle and established Spanish rule in this area. Then the Spaniards came to know about El Dorado, the city of gold, from the local tribes and ever since it has attracted avaricious explorers like a magnet. Infatuated by the thought of El Dorado, even Walter Raleigh from England arrived there with a fleet of ships. But El Dorado has always eluded explorers. Be it Peru, Bolivia, Colombia, Brazil, Argentina—El Dorado could not be found in any of these South American countries. I noticed that Blumegarten seemed transfixed, his eyes focused on the table lamp. So I was compelled to say, ‘I need to go out in a while; in case you don’t have anything else to say then . . .’

  ‘Indians know magic,’ Blumegarten mumbled, ignoring my words.

  I smiled and said, ‘If that was the case would India suffer such poverty? Even if they know magic they surely do not know the magic to improve their own status.’

  ‘You’re one such prime example,’ said Blumegarten, jeering. ‘A person of that land who refuses to take money even after it is pushed into his hand. That country is bound to remain poor. But . . .’

  Blumegarten once more lapsed into silence, looking preoccupied. I too remained helpless; I was unable to find a way to get rid of
this man.

  ‘I’m talking of magic chiefly because,’ said Blumegarten, ‘at the very instant the thought of El Dorado crossed my mind, the name was mentioned by the gentleman. With the chief mission to look for El Dorado, 200 years ago, my forefathers, over three generations journeyed to South America from North America. In my youth I’ve been here twice. Peru, Bolivia, Guiana, Ecuador, Venezuela—no country was left unsearched. In the end, when I arrived in Brazil and was travelling through a forest I fell so ill that I was compelled to let go of my El Dorado dream and return to my country. While taking this trip to Brazil after so many years I’m constantly thinking of El Dorado and today . . .’

  I made no comment. Blumegarten got up. He said, ‘I’m staying at the Marina Hotel. If you change your mind please let me know.’

  When I told Saunders and Crole about this encounter they were both very annoyed. Saunders said, ‘You’re absurdly polite. Which is why you have to suffer the impertinence of such people. If he turns up next time, please call us and we’ll tackle the situation.’

  The next event took place at midnight. When I checked the clock later I realized it was 2.15 a.m. I got up to the sound of the doorbell. In this foreign land who could come to see me at this unearthly hour?

  On opening the door I saw the esteemed Mr Nakur Biswas standing there. His face was pale and he looked alarmed.

  ‘Please pardon me, Tilu Babu, but I couldn’t help coming.’

  I didn’t like the look on his face. So I said, ‘Do please sit down and then we’ll talk.’

  After sitting on the sofa he said, ‘It has been copied.’

  Copied? What had been copied? At the dead of night what was he talking about?

  ‘I don’t know the name of the apparatus,’ Nakur Babu said. ‘But I saw it clearly before my eyes. A box-like object with a light inside it and a glass case on top. A sheet was inserted inside it, and after a knob was turned a copy of that original sheet came out.’

  I realized he was talking about a Xerox machine.

  ‘What paper was copied?’ I asked.

  Nakur Babu was breathing heavily. A panic-stricken look appeared on his face.

  ‘What was printed?’ I once more inquired.

  Nakur Babu now looked up. He looked frightened.

  ‘All the formulae of your inventions,’ Nakur Babu said in a near whisper, eyes wide open.

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘You’ve come to tell me so at this time of the night? How can the formulae come out of the exhibition room? They are—’

  ‘Doesn’t cash get stolen from banks? Don’t documents get stolen?’ Nakur Babu said in a tone of rebuff. ‘And this is an in-house person. Why should the security stop such a person?’

  ‘An insider?’

  ‘An in-house person, Tilu Babu. Mr Lobo.’

  I felt Nakur Babu was speaking utter rubbish. I inquired, ‘Did you see this in your dream?’

  ‘It’s no dream!’ Nakur Babu said, raising his voice considerably. ‘I saw everything vividly about ten minutes ago. Mr Lobo entered with a torch in his hand—using the key he himself opened the exhibition room. The guard was standing still. Lobo went straight towards a particular table—where your papers are kept below a glass case. Opening the top he took out two notebooks. He then went out of the other door, proceeded towards a corridor, climbed up the stairs and entered an office on the first floor. That’s where the machine is kept. What’s the name of this machine, Tilu Babu?’

  ‘Xerox,’ I answered, trying to keep my voice under control. I could not really explain it but I had begun to believe Nakur Babu. But Mr Lobo?

  ‘I’m deeply sorry for disturbing your sleep, Tilu Babu,’ he said again in his typical hesitant voice, ‘but I couldn’t help sharing this news with you. But as I’m present here I’ll try my best to see that no harm comes to you. It’s such a help if you get to know well in advance what is about to happen. Having arrived at such a new place I was unable to gather my wits. With the result I couldn’t come to know of Lobo’s action—I could only figure out that you’ll face a problem in São Paulo.’

  Nakur Babu once again apologized before leaving and I too went back to bed, laden with worries.

  Even if I don’t possess supernatural powers like Nakur Babu, I can jolly well follow that it’s not possible for someone like Lobo to do such a thing of his own free will. There’s someone behind him. A wealthy man.

  I can think of only one person.

  Solomon Blumegarten.

  12 October, 11.45 p.m.

  Today the Butantan Institute conferred a doctorate degree on me. An engrossing programme, followed by moving speeches by four different scientists across the world, including Prof. Rodrigues, finally wound up with my own vote of thanks. In all, I was very pleased with myself. During today’s dinner, thanks to my two friends as well as at Prof. Rodrigues’s request, I took a sip of champagne for the first time in my life. This too was an event indeed.

  Yesterday, my mind had turned bitter after what I heard from Nakur Babu about Mr Lobo. But today his warm behaviour makes me wonder if Nakur Babu has made a mistake this time. I peeped into the exhibition room to see if all my papers were still intact.

  By the time I returned to my hotel it was 11 p.m. But the moment I entered the hotel a scene took me by surprise.

  The hotel lobby is well-furnished with many sofas. On one such sofa I saw my secretary, Mr Nakur Babu, sitting with the pot-bellied Solomon Blumegarten on one side and an unknown foreigner on the other side.

  The second our eyes met, Nakur Babu got up to greet me with a beaming smile.

  ‘I was conversing with them.’

  Blumegarten stood up.

  ‘Congratulations!’

  While greeting me, Blumegarten hurt my hand as usual with his hearty handshake but he raised his eyes and said, ‘Who have you brought here as your secretary? He is an exceptionally gifted person. Looking straight into my eyes he disclosed all details about my life!’

  While I was wondering how these two could have met, Nakur Babu himself gave away the answer.

  ‘When I went to the counter to send a postcard to my friend Jogen Bakshi’s son, Kanailal, they were standing behind me. Seeing me, Blumegarten Sahib came forward and introduced himself. He said, that having heard the name of El Dorado on my lips he was curious to find out how much I know about El Dorado. I said—I’m an illiterate man—no education—I had read about El Dorado in a Bengali book. While engrossed in the book the city wrapped in gold appeared before my eyes. But he—’

  Nakur Babu had to put a stop to his spiel. Judging by the expressions on both Crole and Saunders’s faces it’s obvious that they were also eagerly waiting to get all the details. I translated and explained to them what Nakur Babu had said so far. Then all three of us settled down on a sofa nearby and I introduced Blumegarten to my friends. The name of the other foreigner was apparently Mike Hachette. From his behaviour I could gather that he was either Blumegarten’s bodyguard or some sort of toady.

  This time Blumegarten himself said, ‘Your man Biswas is a real wizard. If I hand him over to Myron he’ll produce a goldmine out of him overnight, and your man will own a Cadillac in three months’ time!’

  When asked who this Myron was, Blumegarten raised his eyes and exclaimed, ‘Holy smoke!—haven’t heard of Myron? Myron Enterprises! There’s no other impresario bigger than him. Countless singers, dancers, magicians have all attained success due to the support of Myron Enterprises. Morever, Nakur Babu is a genuinely talented man.’

  My head was reeling. At the end of the day Nakur Babu will earn his reputation by exhibiting his supernatural powers on a stage? But that was not to be!

  ‘And he knows where El Dorado is!’

  I glanced at Nakur Babu. I wanted to probe this matter further. I said, ‘Hey Mister, have you told this sahib that you know where El Dorado is?’

  ‘I’ve told them whatever I know,’ Nakur Babu answered with folded hands looking like a convict on t
rial. ‘I’ve said that El Dorado is located in Brazil. It’s towards the northwest from where we are now. There’s a deep forest in the middle of a plateau surrounded by hills. The city is inside this forest. No one knows of this city. There’s no human presence. It’s a ruined city but when the sun shines even now the gold dazzles. There’s a golden gate; a gold pyramid; gold pillars scattered everywhere; even the doors and windows of houses are made of gold. As gold never perishes, everything is still intact. Whatever human presence was there vanished long ago. Once there was a heavy monsoon; soon after the forest was invaded by a deadly insect which led to an epidemic. Please believe me, Tilu Babu, I saw each of these images appearing before my eyes just like a movie.’

  After translating this bit to Crole and Saunders I told Blumegarten, ‘So finally you now know the whereabouts of El Dorado; now prepare yourself for an expedition there. We’re now a bit tired, thus please pardon us. Come along, Nakur Babu.’

  The grim expression that appeared on Blumegarten’s face would have invoked dread in anyone’s mind. I decided to ignore it. Nakur Babu too got up.

  The four of us settled in my room. Nakur Babu wanted to retire to his room but I said I needed to talk to him.

  After I had apologized to my friends for speaking in Bengali, I told Nakur Babu, ‘Look, Mister, I’m telling you this for your own good—the fact that you possess such uncanny power need not be disclosed to one and all. You have had only limited exposure so far. You’re not that good at judging people but I can vouch for this: in case you fall into the clutches of Blumegarten that’ll be the end of you. I’m requesting you—don’t ever do such a thing on a whim without my knowledge.’

  Nakur Babu looked thoroughly ashamed. He said, ‘Please pardon me, Tilu Babu; I’ve indeed committed a blunder. As I’ve never been abroad and being a provincial man . . . perhaps that’s how I didn’t know where to draw a line. By warning me you’ve really helped me.’