“No. Sure. Let ’s walk. I ’m all up for an evening walk. Really. Oh, listen, there ’s something I ’ve got to tell you.”
“Hold that thought. You ’ll tell me in a minute.”
The edge of the gloomily quiet forest closed in slowly. The trunks of the trees darkened like silent sentinels. Ross shivered in the chilling air. It ’s good that Alex is nearby, at least it is—A short powerful blow knocked him down to the ground. Something unbearably heavy fell on him. And the familiar whisper appeared from nowhere and started eating into his shrieking mind . That whisper.
“So, you have a big mouth, huh . . .”
And pain. Tearing apart, bone—piercing pain. Just like back in that room—but much stronger. Everything now is just like back in that room. Including the iron palm tightly sealing the hysterical mouth. And through pain, through the measured cold whisper, words are coming in. Words already heard somewhere, pronounced by someone, pronounced a thousand years ago : “You think that as long as you obey his orders, he won ’t touch you? Think again. He ’ll touch you and it won ’t be a gentle touch . . .”
“So you like talking to your friends . . .”
And over, and over, and over again—pain. The whole world around you is filled with pain. There ’s nothing but pain. Nothing is left but pain. Gone are the earth, the skies, the air, even you are gone—only pain is left. No, not only pain. There ’s also the whisper. The whisper and fear. Fear of the endless indefinite pain. Why is he not letting me even scream? Why is he—And then suddenly the pain was gone. There was the memory of it left, hiding in every cell of the exhausted drained body. There was fear. But the pain was gone. Replacing it appeared two rigid palms. One on the back of the head. The other under the chin.
“Now listen, ” the whisper said indifferently, emerging from the pulsating red darkness. “I just need to move my hands—and you ’re history. Like this . . .”
The palms moved and pain cautiously sneaked into the neck. A different kind of pain. Unlike the first one that had been ripping the flesh fiercely with insatiable greed, the new one was calm and indifferent. And much more dangerous.
“I can do it right this moment. There ’re thirteen suspects here, plus nameless bums roaming in the forest. Cops could spend five years digging the case, and still won ’t find a thing. I ’ll be clean. As for you . . .” the palms increased the pressure, “you ’ll be dead. So this is where we stand, my friend . . . Why did you spill your guts to Michael? Didn ’t I tell you to keep quiet? I even asked nicely.”
And then, despite all the pain and fear, came bewilderment.
“I— I didn’t tell him anything.”
“I’m sure you didn ’t, ” the whisper agreed softly. And the dangerous, mortal palms pressed a bit harder.
“I didn’t tell him!”
“Shut up.”
The palms pressed even stronger. The pain was not contained to the neck anymore—it crawled through the spine, drifted up and down simultaneously in gliding snakelike movements.
“I didn’t tell him anythi-i-i-i-ing!”
“Shut your fucking mouth!” the whisper demanded.
But Ross didn’t care anymore. He had gone beyond the limit. A muddy stream of sputtering words was pouring out of him.
“I didn’t tell him anything! Nothing, nothing— You do all you want to me, but I told him nothing! You want to kill me, fine, but I didn ’t— you get it? I didn ’t tell him a thing! He kept asking and asking . . . he even threatened me— and he told me all these things, but I still kept quiet— I told him he was nuts, and I told him to get lost— And all that stuff he told me, I said, you ’re full of it, leave me alone, you’re nuts . That ’s what I said to his face— You do all you want, go on and kill me, go and bury me— But I didn ’t tell him! I didn ’t! I didn ’t!”
He was muttering, dripping a medley of words and saliva, sobbing and gulping convulsively, mortally afraid to skip something, to omit that right word, the right fact that would make Alex change his mind . A nd it wasn ’t until some moment s had passed that he realized that the horrible palms were gone, and with them the deadly pain in his spine and the heavy weight on his back. It was all g one.
Instead, feet emerged right before his eyes in the tall wet grass.
“This time I ’m going to let it pass, ” said a quiet voice that took the whisper ’s place. “But from now on you ’d better think twice before you open your mouth. Better still , don ’t talk unless it ’s absolutely necessary. Anything suspicious, any questions, any hints, any suggestions—I expect you to let me know immediately.”
“I was going to tell you, ” sobbed Ross.
“Immediately , ” the voice repeated authoritatively. “Not six hours later. Now get yourself cleaned up and wait here. Give it at least fifteen minutes before coming back. Do your best to make sure nobody sees you like that. If you run into anyone, tell them you fell outside while taking a walk. As soon as you ’re back in your room go to bed. Don ’t even think about leaving the room tonight. Tomorrow I need you fresh. And until this thing is over , you’d better not leave my sight unless I tell you to.”
The voice broke off. Then it went away, taking with it , mercifully , pain and heaviness. But it left fear in its wake .
Leaning on the railings, Robert was watching, with a certain degree of amusement , the movements of the plump figure moving downstairs across the lobby. The figure was busy performing mysterious maneuvers. First, a balding head emerged around the door and disappeared momentarily, apparently at the sight of Michael sitting by the fireplace. Next, Michael stood up and left, and a few minutes later , the same head emerged again. This time the surveillance results were satisfactory, and a body appeared , just as timid and watchful as the head. The figure darted swiftly across the hall and , with unexpected briskness , bolted up the stairs. Upon arrival on the second floor , it allowed itself to relax and slowed down to a jogging pace. It was obvious that it didn ’t notice Robert, standing at the opposite site of the balustrade. Another few second s passed before the wandering eyes of the figure stumbled upon Robert.
“Are you all right, Ross?” Robert asked.
“Definitely!” Ross replied cheerfully with a hardly noticeable shudder. “I ’m fine.”
His entire appearance, however , begged to differ. Dark wet spots crawled from his knees up to his waist. His shirt looked just as bad, and on top of that was tucked sloppily into his khakis—a disturbing departure from Ross ’s usual neat appearance. A pinkish spot was present on his left cheek by the chin. His hair was full of dirt and decorated by several blades of dry grass. All of that , however , could ’ve still coexisted with the upbeat , “I ’m fine ” statement —had it not been for Ross ’s eyes.
His eyes had not a trace of cheerfulness or exuberance . Fear lived there. Fear and a silent plea. But a plea for what? That wasn ’t clear.
“What happened?” Robert tried to make it sound as compassionate as possible.
Ross brightened up even further.
“I just fell over . Imagine that! I got so tired of sitting inside all day long, so I figured I ’d go for a walk, get some fresh air. Splendid idea, but I didn ’t make it far, you know. It ’s so wet out there. I slipped like a toddler and—whoa!—went face down. Good thing I managed to fall on my hands, at least partially.”
He demonstrated for some reason his right elbow.
“And it feels so stupid, you know. But at least I ’ve got another pair of pants. Can you imagine me giving a speech tomorrow in this?”
He pointed down to his wet and dirty khakis.
“It would be such a nice statement of leadership, don ’t you think? I care so much about you that I don ’t care anymore about my outfit . . .”
He kept smiling and gesticulating and seemed really cheered up by the unexpected encounter, but his eyes kept glowing with festering fear. These were the eyes of a dog, of an old , homeless dog that has only two wish es : that no one will kick it—a nd that some kin
d soul will toss it something to eat.
“ . . .and the funny thing is, when I was leaving, I had this thought, man it ’s too late and dark, are you sure? And sure I said to myself, come on, it ’s not that bad out there, what harm can a short walk do you? Get some fresh air, I told myself. Well, come to think of it, I did get some air, no question about that . . .”
Robert suddenly wanted him to stop. This happy, hasty story was too much at odds with the silent anguish in Ross ’s eyes.
“I’m sorry to hear that, ” he said, interrupting the endless flow of words. “I ’d better let you go. You need to change into something dry.”
And at that moment the face before his eyes suddenly reflected everything that up until that point had been living only in the eyes.
“You . . . you ’re not going to tell anybody, right?” the voice that had transformed together with the face, asked quietly. “Can you do that for me?”
Robert saw him as if for the first time—the trembling smile, the tilte d head, his Adam ’s apple twitching nervously. And the horrible eyes, full of pleading servility. Nothing was left there of the confident, imposing man who had spoke n with dignity just a few days before . Nothing.
You’re so screwed, Robert thought, surprised at his own indifference. Fell face -forward —is that what you want me to believe? You slipped on the grass and you fell? Sure, you slipped. At least ten times over. It ’s really slippery out there. I wonder what he ’s feeling now? It ’s strange, but I don ’t even know what people feel in a situation like this. What do you fee l when your eyes are like th at ? I just don ’t know.
I know what it means to feel good. Or bad. Or what it feels like when you ’re bored. Or when you ’re excited. I have a very good idea of what it means to be scared. It ’s when you set your foot on a stone, on such a wide, solid, reliable ledge. And the next moment the stone is gone and there ’s nothing beneath your foot that keeps scratching the rock like crazy and not finding anything. And it ’s too late to pull up. Or when you know you need to hit first —that ’s another feeling I know. When talk ing isn ’t going to help and you have no choice but to punch. Or when someone punches you . Especially when there ’re sever al of them and they come at you all at once. Not like in the movies, one at a time, forming a neatly organized line, but all at once, with sticks and heavy boots. There ’re quite a few feelings I have a decent idea about. But this . . . What does a man feel looking at someone with this silent begging expectation in his eyes? That one I just don ’t get. A look full of hate, of challenge, of doubt, of sorrow, of discern, of . . . of pretty much anything. But a look like this . . . like a cowed animal . . . this one is just beyond me.
“Sure,” he said. “I ’m not going to tell anyone.”
For some time knocking was not resulting in any response. Robert was already about to leave, when the door opened.
“Ah, Robert, ” Clark greeted warmly. “Come on in. It ’s always a pleasure.”
“It won’t take long, ” Robert said, stepping over the doorstep. “Just a few minutes of your time, then I ’ll be gone.”
“It is certainly up to you. Would you like some tea? I was getting ready to have a cup of Earl Gray with milk. Have you ever tried tea with milk? I know you ’ve tried everything, but it ’s still worth asking. No? Let me get you a cup too . . .”
“It’s nice, ” Robert observed a few minutes later. “The milk is a nice touch.”
“A friend from Britain taught me that. The English know a thing or two about tea.”
Robert nodded.
“Have you been to China? You walk into a teahouse and there they are—five thousand sorts of tea staring at you. It would take longer than a lifetime to even taste them all. So . . . What do you think of the state of our group by the end of the fourth day?”
Clark stopped sipping his tea and gave Robert a reproachful and surprised glance.
“Robert, I’m sure you know that I ’m not at liberty to answer that question. Tomorrow after five—by all means. But until then I ’m afraid I can only offer a “No comments ” answer.”
Robert didn’t argue.
“Okay. Let me ask you this way: don ’t you think things have gone a bit too far?”
“Define too far ,” asked Clark, almost cheerfully.
“Too far means that I have every reason to believe that physical force has been used.”
Clark didn’t seem surprised or even bothered by Robert ’s statement.
“And I had every reason to believe physical force would be used, as soon as I met some of the participants. In fact, prior to meeting them.”
“So you actually counted on this happening ?”
“To an extent, yes.”
“Really? Can you elaborate?”
“We anticipat ed that the participants would spare no effort to win.”
“I see,” Robert nodded. “If that ’s the case, how far do you expect things to go? I ’m sure you have some expectations about this as well, ”
Clark smiled.
“Believe it or not, this part solely depends on you. Not on you personally, but on your entire group.”
“In other words, you ’re not planning on interfering.”
“I think on the first day I ’ve outlined my role in very explicit terms. I am an observer, and all my actions are truly defined by that.”
“Right, I recall. A truly neutral observer.”
“Precisely,” Clark was certainly pleased. “An absolutely neutral observer.”
“And what if the use of physical force goes too far? So far that it actually endangers some lives?”
“Then a true leader would emerge, fully able to handle the situation.”
“That assumes he is aware of the situation. What if he isn ’t?”
“Then,” Clark said despondently, “the violence would go on until 5:00 p.m. tomorrow. But I think you ’re overlooking one important aspect. A true leader would always have a full understanding of the entire situation around him. Moreover, he would be in control of it, whether visibly or not.”
“Perhaps,” Robert agreed. “Still, what if this leader for some reason just doesn ’t know what ’s been happening? Or what if there ’s no ‘true leader, ’ as you like to call him. You ’re going to let people suffer? Even if you ’re fully aware of violence taking place in this very lodge?”
“People,” Clark said , smiling blandly, “could ’ve left as soon as they heard the task. I made it very clear that there were no rules and that everyone had signed the waiver. Nevertheless, these people decided to stay and learn what a true power struggle is. And in this kind of struggle , someone always suffers. So everything you ’re referring to is a part of the learning process.”
Robert stood up.
“Of course. Thank you for the tea. I find it interesting that you didn ’t even try to find out whom I was talking about.”
“Would you tell me, had I asked?”
Robert didn’t answer.
“So why should I bother with the question? Had you wanted to share the names you would ’ve started with them. But you kept it as generic as possible. Besides, it wasn ’t hard to guess upfront back on Monday. I ’ve been in this business for a while, you know.”
And then I nodded to him . . . I looked back at him and nodded. Quietly and obediently. I nodded . . .
Alan lifted his head from the cradle formed by his palms. Massaged his eyelids. Opened his eyes and, with an unseeing gaze, looked around . What is this shining? Ah, just the lamp ’s reflection in the mirror. Just like that sun. Just like that hateful sun.
It was splashing in the low shallow waves, it was shining like molten gold, it was eating his eyes out with its wild violent glitter, and it forever burned a cavity in his chest. It wasn ’t so long ago—just a few days , actually—that inside that chest lived hopes, and dreams, and thirst for success, and pride, and happiness . . . it was such a crowded place. Not anymore. It ’s an outer -space cold vacuum inside there.
&nb
sp; What could you dream about, what could you wish for after that ? After you yelled, spitting out icy water: “For you! For you-u-u!” After you agreed to anything, anything ! And as if that wasn ’t enough , there is tomorrow, when the obedient fingers will scrawl on a scrap of paper: “Alex .” Back on that boat a lot was spat out with the icy water : d reams, hopes and basic self-respect . . .
Although you could also say, what ’s the big deal? Nothing could ’ve been done back there. Nothing. What could you do to this pile of muscles with the eyes of a viper, as you flounder ed helplessly in the water? There was not a single soul around, and the hands were empty, and facing you was a simple, a very simple choice: obey or die.
And the choice you made was right. It was right! He would ’ve gone for it! Yes, he would. He would ’ve killed. It ’s been pondered over already a hundred, two hundred times, played back in the struggling memory, analyzed and over-analyzed. And the conclusion remained the same : he would ’ve done it. And if so, what ’s the use for heroism? What ’s the use for any freaking heroism and bravery and all that stuff? These are all lies —lies and brainwash ing .
Okay, so you gave in. So you screamed that you were going to vote for him tomorrow. So what? These are just words. Hollow sounds. And —guess what —you ’re going to live . To live is always better than not. It is a very a simple philosophy. Humiliation is something that exists only in your mind. Just like principles. No principle is worth dying for. And so all you need to do is to go on and pretend this never happen ed .
As for the vile feeling, no biggie—get used to it. First you get used it, then you forget about it. Worst case, you come up with another rule. That ’d be number thirty-seven. That number, where did I hear it? Something from history . . . Anyway, it ’s a decent number. There ’s nothing wrong with it and it ’s in no way worse than thirty-six. It ’s going to be the Rule of a Clear Conscience: Never be ashamed of anything you ’ve done in a life-threatening situation. No. There ’s a better way to say it: Don ’t be ashamed of anything you ’ve done to survive. There you go. The Rule of Survival.
Awakening, 2nd edition Page 34