CHAPTER 13
Now would have been a good time to summon up some anger, Franz thought, to order the man out of his private office then give Alison grief as well for having sent him up here without checking. But, depressed by the bad news about the ceiling, as well as assailed by this unaccountable heaviness, he couldn’t feel anything more than a helpless resignation.
Leroy was smiling. He was a tall, slim, striking-looking man with a loose-limbed, easy posture that proclaimed self-confidence. He welcomed Franz into Franz’s office with a wide smile and offered a warm handshake. His approach and manner, even his appearance and his build, closely resembled Franz’s own, only differing in colour of hair and skin.
Franz’s first thought was, Why did I ever resent Phil? The vicar who had also reminded him of himself, with the easy arm round the shoulders and friendly manner, reminded him now of a Franz he would far rather be than the soul-brother of this man.
Phil’s pleasant exterior concealed nothing more than a pleasant character, Franz felt, however misguided he might consider the man’s beliefs and lifestyle. Leroy’s pleasant exterior covered something quite different. He emanated a kind of force-field that was uncomfortable to enter, an energy or electricity that pulsed with restlessness. Franz recalled a question he often asked when interviewing new guides: 'What is your energy source?' What was Leroy’s? Rage? Not quite, Franz thought.
He was finding it hard to think clearly. Hate, perhaps? Nearer. He would hit on the word in a minute, if his mind would only clear. He would recognize what motivated this man, because he would recognize its existence in himself. And he wouldn’t like what he recognized.
‘Leroy Watson,’ the man introduced himself, unnecessarily. ‘And you are ….?’
A superfluous question, Franz would have thought, since the man had entered the office with Franz’s name on the door and was openly looking through mail addressed to him.
‘Franz Kane. I wasn’t expecting you.’
Leroy held up his hands in mock supplication. ‘I’m not visiting. I’m just dropping in the gear you asked for.’
‘Gear?’
‘The information about our organization. I don’t trust snail mail and it didn’t seem appropriate to send it over the Net,’ said Leroy, ‘so I brought it in person. But I won’t keep you. Oh – and to offer you an invitation.’
His eyes were very dark, Franz thought – not dark in colour but in depth. Leroy was fixing him with a gaze as intense as Franz had ever met – as intense as his own, he realized. It was the look of still focus that Franz used to assure a person that he or she had his total attention. It usually had the effect of persuading them to relax their guard and trust him. He had never been on the receiving end before. He didn’t like the experience.
‘An invitation?’ Franz repeated stupidly.
‘I’d like to offer you the hospitality of my home. I don’t live far. My family and I would like to welcome you this evening for a simple meal with us. Your girlfriend as well – Ella, isn’t it?’
Franz felt a stab of irrational fear. This man had really been doing his homework on him, not just on The Healing Place’s code of practice. Was he out to corner him? You’re being paranoid, he told himself, and one of the positive affirmations he had been taught and made his own floated into his mind to counteract the negative thought: 'I greet the world as a friend and the world responds in friendship to me.' Or not.
He needed to sit down. His legs felt weak suddenly.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said stiffly. ‘That’s not possible.’
‘That’s disappointing,’ said Leroy. ‘I thought it might be helpful if you would meet me in my home setting – have an opportunity to check me out. Relax. No strings attached.’
His eyes were pools of softness, the depths of their expression hidden. Like a dark lake with something lurking beneath the surface, thought Franz, and once again dismissed his negative intuition. Maybe this man had been right, on the phone, and he did have some unsuspected remnants of cultural prejudice. But it was not Leroy’s ethnicity that bothered him; it was …. what was it? Why couldn’t he think?
He forced himself to be rational. ‘I don’t mix home with business; it’s a principle.’ He thought of Sharma, sitting at Franz’s kitchen table while Ella cooked him – what? Her special rice with chickpeas, possibly. He wished he were with them.
‘A good principle, man!’ Leroy affirmed. ‘But I’m not business – yet. So I thought, how about we just get to know one another? That way, there’s no pressure on you to decide anything. But I might be useful to this Healing Place. You never know, someone might go sick, have to miss taking some classes. You call me; I can step in at short notice if you want.’
What was it that Sharma had said? 'You have to make decisions, in your own name, or someone coming behind you will make them for you – and they will be wrong.'
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said,’ Franz said abruptly. ‘About doing away with moral absolutes. No right or wrong.’
Leroy raised his eyebrows and smiled enquiringly, but his eyes were suddenly hard. Watchful.
Not rage. Not hatred. What was the word Franz was searching for – the driving force of this man?
‘Are you saying,’ Franz persevered, ‘that all actions are equally valid, then? All decisions are equal?’
The eyes narrowed, assessing him. ‘I’m saying that society – and religion, which is a means of controlling people – lays on people’s minds a load of guilt about right and wrong. Most actions, most decisions, are morally neutral. Not evil, not good, just personal choice.’
Franz had the strange feeling of being under water. His vision was blurred and his balance was precarious. He swayed, even though he could feel the solid steadiness of the chair beneath him. He wanted this man to go and could not imagine how he could bring that about. He felt powerless.
Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself: just tell him to go; that you’ve got work to get on with. But the words wouldn’t come out. They didn’t seem justified: the man was being perfectly polite.
Perhaps he should challenge him, trap him into some confrontation, then he could stand up and finish the interview.
‘So anything goes, in your book?’ Franz said. ‘Murder, arson – all morally neutral?’
Leroy laughed. The humour didn’t reach his eyes, which were cold. ‘Now you’re putting words in my mouth,’ he said. ‘I don’t go for generalizations. Every action has its own reason, which to the person doing it is perfectly reasonable. We don’t judge.’
‘Robbery with violence? Child abuse?’
He was drowning. He was losing consciousness. Franz gripped the chair to steady himself, but his hands were loose.
The phone rang. Franz watched his hand, disembodied, reach out to it in slow motion. Leroy watched him with an amused smile that Franz found offensive. He focused all his strength on his hand and managed on the second attempt to pick the phone up.
‘Hello?’ He didn’t say his name, his usual practice in answering.
‘Franz? It’s Sharma. Are you okay?’
‘What?’
‘Franz. I think you’re in danger.’
‘Me?’ He couldn’t make sense of this. Wasn’t it Sharma who was in danger? Or the boys?
‘Are you feeling heavy, sleepy?’
‘Well, yes. How did you …?’
‘It’s oppression, Franz. You’re in the presence of something harmful. Is there somebody with you?’ Sharma sounded insistent, unlike his normal understated tone.
‘Yes. Call you back later, huh?’
‘No,’ said Sharma. ‘Get away from him now – get him out of the building. I’m on the way to your home now. If you don’t get rid of him, I’ll be in your office in ten minutes and do it for you. Do you hear me?’
‘Yuh. Hear you.’
‘Franz, stand up. Now!’
How did Sharma know he was sitting? Man, these psychic guys were something else! Franz felt himself start to laugh.
Leroy Watson watched him.
Somehow, the urgency in Sharma’s voice began dispersing the clouds in Franz’s mind. Sharma, who never entered Franz’s open-door office without knocking and waiting, and who would often tiptoe away unheard if he saw Franz was with somebody, was threatening to storm his office and throw someone out? Franz put down the phone and stood up. ‘Leroy,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’
He went out of the office and down the corridor without looking round to see if the man was following him. His feet seemed to bounce as he walked, as though he were treading on shifting ground, on something unsteady. A tightrope. He felt the vibrations behind him and knew that Leroy was behind him. God help me, the thought went through Franz’s mind, and he didn’t bother to cancel it. It was no time for political correctness, or enlightenment.
He took the quickest route out of the building – through the main hall. The Pilates students, prone on the floor in their Lycra leotards, froze in mid-sweep of their legs and glared at him accusingly. Sharon stood and folded her arms in disbelief.
Half-turning to nod an apology at her, he caught Leroy’s incisive assessment of the students’ physiques then, incredibly, his swift and accurate glance upwards at the exact site of the crack in the ceiling, and heard his laughter. It was not a pleasant laugh.
Get him out of here.
‘Where are you taking me, man?’ Leroy asked, catching up with Franz.
Franz kept walking till they reached the foyer. Only when he had passed Alison’s reception desk and held the main door open did he answer him.
‘You’re going home,’ he said, loudly enough for Alison to hear, ‘and I don’t want to see you in here again without an agreed appointment.’
For a moment’s desperation, he thought Leroy wouldn’t leave. Leroy hesitated, as though selecting a reaction from a range of options.
God, get me out of this, Franz supplicated. He wasn’t sure why an outdated God-concept had suddenly come into the picture, having never intruded before, but he would analyze it later. For now, he would use whatever worked.
‘I apologize for taking up your time,’ Leroy said smoothly, extending his right hand. ‘I look forward to hearing from you when you’ve had a chance to study what we’re offering.’
In the back of his mind, Franz heard Sharma’s voice very clearly: Don’t touch him.
He drew back from the proffered hand, turned away and let the door swing shut behind him.
Alison was watching him, wide-eyed.
‘Don’t let that man in again,’ Franz told her.
‘He said you’d told him to deliver some vital information to your office. I’m sorry, Franz; I should have checked with you.’
‘You weren’t to know. But if he comes in again, you need back-up, so don’t hesitate to call for it. As from tomorrow, I’m arranging security, full-time.’
The Healing Place Page 13
