Did you send your letter to… what’s his name, in France?
My letter?… You mean to Malraux. Yes, yes, I sent it.
With whom?
Directly, to an address in Paris.
Registered?
No, Mother.
The mail works very poorly these days…. Did you keep a copy?
(Mother goes within for 25 minutes)
Do you have a question?
You know, I think I’ve seen Malraux’s inner being.
Really!
Yes, just the day before I received his card, at night I saw a being dressed in golden clothes, all golden, and he was even wearing a golden turban. And he came to me and offered me something on a tray…. But the clothes were very important! And he was quite handsome…. With a turban!1
(Mother laughs much)
And he was quite handsome…. With a turban!
He intends to come to India.
Perhaps he had an Indian life?
(Mother goes back within)
It was very striking: the clothes were supremely important. Literary clothing, probably. ↩
***
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