Awakening, 2nd edition (47 page)

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 kind 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.

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.

Ah . . . Screw it. It’s all wrong. What rules? These are all games. The rules stayed back there, in that former life. The life that came to its end this morning. That life is over now. And that wasn ’t even life. That was childhood. A long , incredibly protracted and naive childhood.

But new life is real. It does not have false security that is not rooted in reality . I t does not have room for that naive belief in social norms and abstract concepts like “civilized argument .” There ’s no place for games in this life. Everything is serious from now on. Here they don ’t waste time trying to convince you—here they punch you in the face and watch you spit out your convictions with blood. It is life that newspapers and TV scream about every day—life with violence, dirt and blood. With ice-cold water and the cold stone of hands, indifferently drowning a kicking and screaming human being. A life where disobedience to power is a crime that leads inevitably to a swift , grave payback. This life isn ’t new—i t has always existed. Only until today , it was somewhere far, far away—in a different country, in a different neighborhood, in a different house. It was some one else ’s life.

When it’s not about you , it ’s always far, far away. But this time it ’s about you. And so this life is the only reality.

Here, in this real life, people don’t dream about great achievements, don ’t make big ambitious plans, don ’t feel proud of their successes. They simply live here. No, not live. They exist . And they embrace their existence—and for a good reason. Back in that previous life , it was a given that nobody was going to lay a finger on you. Not anymore. If people need it, they will lay a finger. Or an entire hand . . . There are just a few important concepts in this life: pain, fear, shame . . . no, screw shame . . . obedience. And fear again . . . fear, fear, fear.