“‘Something real had happened,’” she said, repeating John’s words. ‘Do you feel life doesn’t usually feel real?’
‘That’s right,’ John said as he thought about his long, lonely days in his house, his boring days at the office designing uninteresting buildings, and his strange, detached days long ago when his wife and daughter lived with him. ‘Life usually seems drab. Don’t you feel that? Don’t other people feel that?’
Before she could have time to answer, he continued speaking: ‘I’m sure you don’t – not with your job, your family if you have one, and the news that happens day after day in society. But that’s not what I mean. Don’t you feel it’s all somehow pointless? Meaningless?’
She stared at him a moment and raised her eyebrows: ‘And you felt life had meaning when Blanworth was attacked?’
‘Yes! As I said, something real had happened. The obliteration, the commotion, the—’
‘Death?’
‘The freedom,’ John said, remembering the day when he walked up to the site for the first time to view the damage. ‘The freedom from the so-called freedom we’re supposed to be living.’
‘But what about those people who died?’ she said, ignoring his last sentence. ‘Did you not feel for them and their loved ones in the aftermath of the explosion – whilst you were feeling “free”?’
He shook his head, not wanting to be drawn into the idea of death being a part of the reason he had felt free. Otherwise, nobody would sympathise with what he was trying to say. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I felt sorry for those people and their families. Of course I didn’t want anybody to die, but I didn’t know any of them individually, so I wasn’t personally affected.’
There was a brief moment of silence around the table, and John felt he had said something wrong – something strange – and he imagined the same kind of silence from many of the people listening to him in their homes.
‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘people kept saying that we needed to defend our freedom in the aftermath of the explosion, but what freedom were they talking about? The life we usually lead! Do you really think my building was designed to celebrate that?’
He smirked, unable to suppress his sombre amusement.
Rachael looked at John thoughtfully: ‘But perhaps, when people say “freedom”, they mean the right to live the way they want to live – as long as it doesn’t harm others – in a democratic and prosperous society.’
‘But the freedom everybody is talking about runs insidiously deeper than that, Rachael,’ John said, speaking from the depths of his being. ‘We believe we are free and that, with this freedom, there is nothing more to life – nothing more to aspire to. We open ourselves up to a void that is prey to capitalism – competition and pointless success.’
‘So you have political reasons for why you felt good from attack?’
‘No, I don’t! I’m not saying I’m for or against capitalism. What I’m saying is, freedom has become the new religion. With freedom in society as our only guiding light, we take it to mean freedom within our lives, too. And with that, we’re denying ourselves the deeper aspects of what it means to be human.’
John paused, remembering what Janice had said of him during the amnesiac period – of him appearing free and unaffected by anything in life. And he remembered the moments before he crashed his car – the intense fast road and the dark countryside that engulfed it. This was the time he was becoming free. But, three and a half years later, he had lost it:
‘On the night before construction began at the building site, I read a newspaper article entitled “The Freedom Building”. The article praised the design of the building: a design that it said reflected the “freedom of society”. The design of the building, however, had been inspired by the attack on society – when its “freedom” had been briefly obliterated. I realised how the irony of the article represented the truth of society, and I saw what the building would become. As a result, I fainted and hit my head.’
‘You said you tripped at the time.’
‘Yes, but now I conclude that I must have fainted, considering the way I was feeling at the time.’
Of course, John could not remember anything from that night, but fainting was the best rational explanation. The darkness had capitalised on his vulnerability created by his realisation and stolen his true self.
‘When I woke up, I no longer felt I had the creativity, the drive, the ambition to continue the project of the building, which was why I let my business partner, Pete, commence duties at the site. My building is a hypocrisy, a symbol of our freedom in society, and it will continue to be a hypocrisy until we understand its design was inspired by an attack on the so-called freedom of this society. That is what I’m trying to explain here today.’
Wilkinson lowered his faint eyebrows slightly, showing his dislike for John’s words but, so far, the things John had said had been sanctioned earlier by Stacey, the PR woman. Rachael stared at him a moment, calculating how to respond: ‘But what of others who say its appearance is representative of a free society in the sense that it is complicated in its make-up, perhaps as in the diversity of peoples and in the complications of finance and capitalism, but its overall appearance is simple, allowing for the existence of this complicated make-up which is free?’
John had heard this description of the building before: a description which didn’t literally betray the appearance of the building. Therefore, it was one that he could hear: ‘I don’t doubt that when people see my building they see freedom. They call it “the freedom of this society”, but that cannot be attributed to my building, because the freedom I experienced – that which inspired me to produce such a design – was instigated by an attack on the freedom of this society!’
‘So you were lying, at the beginning of the television interview, when you said that the freedoms we enjoy in this society were the inspiration behind the building?’
‘I knew how many people I would offend if I were to tell the truth, including the families and friends of those who died. But, later in the interview, I couldn’t hold back the truth any longer, aided by the fact I was nervous and speaking without a controlled mind.’
‘But, of course, Mr Gowan is not the only architect,’ Wilkinson said. ‘Pete Williams jointly designed the building, so what does he think?’
Pete opened his mouth to answer but Rachael interjected: ‘Before we get to Mr Williams, I would like to discuss the significance of Mr Gowan’s remarks for the Zenith company. Mr Wilkinson,’ she said, turning to him, ‘Zenith shares have dropped considerably since the television interview, and so it is in your financial interest to rectify the problem created by Mr Gowan on television. What exactly is the problem, do you think?’
‘Good evening. Let me first of all accept Mr Gowan’s apology publicly. I know that he didn’t mean to cause Zenith any trouble.’
‘Thank you,’ John said.
‘The problem was, simply, that Mr Gowan didn’t explain himself fully on television, because he left it too late in the show. Of course, I was surprised by what he said, because he hadn’t told me before the interview that he was going to say what he did, but he didn’t intend to attack Zenith policy at all.’
‘But what was the lack of understanding, do you think, that caused people to sell Zenith shares?’
‘Mr Gowan said what he said towards the end of a heated debate between myself and Abdul Hassim, and some people interpreted his words as siding with Abdul Hassim when, really, he did nothing of the sort. He did not side with Abdul, and he did not side with me, either.’
‘But do you acknowledge that the design of the Zenith building was not inspired by our free society but by an attack on our free society?’
‘If it was designed by a person who believes that he couldn’t have designed it without the inspiration gained from a terrorist attack, then we must take him at his word. But, of course, there was more than just one person who designed the building. Mr Williams the joint designer of the build
ing is sitting with us.’
Rachael lifted her eyebrows and looked at Pete: ‘But what role in designing the building did you have, Mr Williams, if Mr Gowan designed the building from the inspiration he received from the terrorist attack?’
Pete smiled and adjusted his glasses: ‘Well, first let me say, I actually believe in the free society in which we live. I know there are problems of course, as there are in any society, but that doesn’t mean I should feel excited by an attack that killed hundreds of innocent people. The terrorist attack, I found repulsive and disgusting.’
‘You seem quite angry at your partner’s words.’ Rachael said.
‘Well, in a way, I am. My inspiration behind the design was the need to give hope back to Blanworth. We’d suffered a terrible attack – something which nobody in Blanworth was ready for – and we all needed something to look to as a beacon of hope for mankind: something which would not only show terrorists that we’re not afraid of their actions and threats, but something which reflected the beauty of our way of life.’
‘And was this what you were thinking when you helped to design the building?’
‘You say “helped”, and it’s true John was the first to begin designing the building on his own at home – I’ve said that many times before in previous interviews – but after he showed the design to me at the office, I decided to design something completely different.’
Pete’s face, his glasses, his square jawline and his colourful tie suddenly seemed to change from an ostentatious, extravagant, ugly, but familiar appearance to something subversive, strange, inhuman and evil. John’s jaw dropped. What was Pete saying? There had been no plans in the preparations for the interview earlier to say such a thing. In fact, John had secretly hoped to demean Pete’s declared contribution to the design of the building: it would have come naturally after John explaining he had designed the building from the inspiration of the terrorist attack and then showed the plans to Pete. But, now, Pete was saying that he, Pete Williams, designed it!
Rachael’s tongue darted mischievously out of her mouth: ‘Do you mean the building being constructed now is your design?’
‘Yes,’ Pete said, ‘totally. I couldn’t possibly do anything with John’s initial design. It lacked warmth. It lacked substance. When I looked at it, I thought this is not what Blanworth needs. I don’t doubt John is telling the truth about his initial inspiration, which is probably why his design appeared ugly. To give him credit, some people may have liked it in its own strange way. But I ask you, Rachael, can you really look at the beautiful design of the building that we have today and believe that its inspiration came from the horror of the terrorist attack? Isn’t it more likely that it came from the beautiful freedoms that we all enjoy?’
Rachael smiled, clearly happy with the conflict Pete was creating with John – live on radio: ‘But why would you be saying all this now?’
John nodded with the question whilst desperately trying to think what he could say to discredit Pete.
‘Well, my intention is not to discredit John in any way,’ Pete said. ‘Let me make that point clear. Not at all. He’s a good architect. However, after listening to him speaking yesterday on television, then again here on the radio, and with so many people looking to the Zenith building as a beacon of hope, I feel I have to transcend my loyalty to the senior partner of my firm and say something. It’s my design that people see today, not his.’
‘Mr Gowan?’ Rachael said.
They all looked at John, and he desperately needed to say something to overcome his shock. Wilkinson looked at him with deeply threatening blue eyes as if daring him to object. Had Pete and Zenith hoodwinked John earlier and planned to attack him on the radio – just as John had planned to attack Pete? If so, wouldn’t Wilkinson have known that John would defend himself?
‘I have to say, Pete,’ John said, ‘you’re not speaking the truth.’
‘Oh, really?’ Pete said.
‘The initial design that I produced is basically what you see today. There’s no change. And if listeners were to think about everything I’ve already said, they would realise that I haven’t even needed you to design this building, because it was me that came up with its initial conception. Sure, you did do some dogmatic, consequential work later with internal layout and other non-aesthetic considerations, but the image of the building – the way we see it today in its design – is the way I conceived it in the beginning.’
Rachael’s tongue darted outside her mouth again: ‘Are you saying that Mr Williams shouldn’t even deserve to be known as joint architect?’
‘I haven’t liked to say it. But, yes.’
‘Then why did you name him joint architect?’
‘Because it strengthened the firm’s image and our professional relationship at the time. However, now that Pete is saying that he was the one who designed the building, I feel I have to speak the truth, because I feel strongly about the integrity of the building.’
‘There seems to be a major difference of opinion,’ Rachael said gleefully, ‘which suggests that somebody has to be lying. Do you have the designs you initially produced to see whether they are anything like the designs now?’
John guessed the originals were probably amongst the designs he couldn’t see in his house, but to try to show them in his present condition and know which ones they were, as opposed to later adjustments according to Zenith requirements, would be impossible: ‘No, only up-to-date, relevant ones.’
‘You destroyed your originals?’ Pete asked sarcastically.
John ignored his question: ‘But if you designed the building, Pete, then why haven’t you spoken out before? Why didn’t you say something when I told the world, falsely, that you jointly designed the building – or even before then?’
Pete appeared calm and frank, channelling his focus on John: ‘Well, it’s an unofficial title so there didn’t seem to be any point. I don’t think you had explicitly said you were the sole architect before that point, anyway. So I didn’t feel aggrieved. You were the senior partner of the firm, and the press naturally looked to you as the architect. Ironically, once you did acknowledge me, I did feel upset, because it was really my design, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that I probably wouldn’t even have tried to design the building without your initial enthusiasm, so I didn’t mind too much.’
John still couldn’t believe what he was hearing: how Pete was going against him in such a way. They must have planned this attack when John was away from the Zenith offices today. They would have known he would never have gone along with it, so they pretended to have another plan, just to get him into the radio station.
John turned on Wilkinson, fearless: ‘Who do you believe designed the building, Mr Wilkinson?’
Wilkinson held up his hands: ‘I couldn’t possibly comment. It has nothing to do with me.’
‘But I’m sure you must have an opinion. Didn’t you liaise with us before construction began?’
‘I and some of my employees dealt with both you and Mr Williams at that time, going over details of the building and looking later for contractors and sub-contractors. I couldn’t possibly give an opinion, though, as to who designed the building. All I know is that Pete has been working at the site as the resident architect since construction began.’
‘But surely, Mr Wilkinson, you hope listeners will believe that Pete designed the building? He’s saying that he designed it with the inspiration of our free society, which is the way you have promoted the design of the building.’
‘Frankly, I’m confused at the moment. I’m not exactly sure what’s happened in this interview. We came here so that you could both explain yourselves more fully about your shared inspiration behind the building, but now each of you is saying that you solely designed the building.’
‘But who do you believe?’ said John.
‘I told you, I have no idea. It’s an issue between you.’
John stared into his deep blue eyes.
‘
But may I ask, Mr Wilkinson,’ Rachael said, ‘was it not a strategy of yours to bring Mr Williams to this interview to say that he designed the building to counter Mr Gowan’s comments?’
‘To remind listeners that there is another architect of the Zenith building, yes. I don’t deny the fact that Mr Gowan’s comments on television temporarily harmed Zenith, so I wanted to remind the world that there is another architect and that his inspiration came, not from the terrorist attack but, from the society in which we live. Mr Gowan was aware that I wanted this to be said in a radio interview, and he agreed to it. This is why Mr Williams is here with us now. However, the argument over who solely designed the building is totally unexpected.’
Rachael’s eyes were wide open, clearly loving the drama. Now everybody in the world would be deciding whether John or Pete designed the building, and John feared that Pete was the victor, because Pete had been the first to say he was the sole architect. Those that hated Zenith, though, would side with John, but all the rest, including the politically indifferent, would side with Pete. After all, who would want to believe the harsh truth of where the inspiration for the building’s design really came from when the alternative was far more comforting? John looked at Pete who was staring down at the table, as if hurt and wounded by John’s comments.
John needed to leave. Zenith and Pete had betrayed him. Wilkinson was far too calculating a man and Pete far too socially manipulative for Pete’s claims, that he solely designed the building, not to have been planned.
‘I apologise for arguing here today,’ John said, trying to sound reasonable, ‘but I cannot sit here any longer and listen to these men or, at least, Pete Williams say I didn’t design the building.’
John feared public repercussions causing further embarrassment for Zenith and added: ‘Despite the argument with my partner just now, though, I hope I’ve come here and said what I needed to say and will not have tarnished Zenith’s reputation last night on television in any way.’
The Freedom Building Page 16