So how come Robert and I are so relaxed? We’re supposed to lose sleep over these plans and the role one of us may end up playing. Well, not anymore actually. That ’s right —we ’re not even worrying about this stuff. We don ’t care, at least not in the way everyone else here does. Ever since yesterday, ever since that long chat we had while walking down a gravel road in the woods until we hitched a ride, ever since that point , we’re just not worried . Instead, we have certain plans of our own.
Some things are more important than climbing onto a pedestal. So please, keep going. Keep spinning your wheels, keep delivering your inspirational speeches. As for us, we ’re going to wait. A two-day wait is not such a big deal, especially when you have something worthy to look forward to. We ’ll have our moment, don ’t you worry about that.
Here comes Kevin. Look at this composure! While at his seat, he was doing a so-so job at hiding his true state of mind, but now . . . now he ’s definitely come back to his senses. Good for you, Kevin. Good for you. Just look at him—his face is all dignity and integrity. Either a British lord or a famous scientist. No one would believe the kind of stuff you were spitting out yesterday. No one would believe that yesterday on that infamous balcony by the library window you were smearing tears and snot across your face and whimpering like a child.
At first, he had made a very unimpressive attempt at sticking to his story. He ’d produced some new details, reiterated a couple of statements, came up with a few juicy quotes. If two ago days Michael had been a horrible person, now he had turned into a genuine monster. And of course, there was a great deal of insulted righteousness. How dare you question my honesty? How dare you to question my integrity? These are the values I live by! Shame on you for even thinking about it ! But . . . a single step towards the door with a promise to be back shortly with Robert led to a curious reaction. Mr. Integrity slopped, went limp, flattened out like an empty balloon and the only thing he was able to produce this time was a unintelligible mumbled request to understand and forgive.
Funny, I thought back then, it’s none of my business to forgive you. Rather, it’s Michael ’s, but that would be between you and him. And understanding . . . what ’s there to understand? Yet it was quite entertaining to hear a new version of what had happened.
As it turned out—unsurprisingly, of course —nothing had happened at all. It ’s been nothing but a pack of lies. And yes, yes, he ’s guilty —guilty big time. Oh, if only he could take back these horrible words he said on Tuesday! But what ’s done is done and he ’s the only one to blame (as if people were lining up to share the blame with him). But please, please try to understand . . . The situation at work had been unbearable . . . All these politics, all the backstabbing, all the . . . ah, you don ’t want to know (he was damn right about that!). And this workshop is his last, really the last chance. He wasn ’t supposed to go here —someone else was about to —but then the guy got seriously sick over the weekend and they called him up on Sunday, and so he ’s here . But things are so shaky back there . . . But had he known the truth about the workshop on Tuesday he would never have done it . He would never even have thought of it ! It was such a wrong thing to do and he is so deeply sorry now. He ’s been thinking about it and wanted to come out clean, but it was so hard and so now he ’s actually glad that it worked out that way . . . And he ’s ready for anything—for a public confession, for public repentance. He ’s even ready to face Michael and ask him, beg him for forgiveness.
What a joke. What a pathetic slug.
No, he didn’t touch that indicator. Poisoning the well, spreading rumors, playing people against each other—that ’s his territory. But doing harm with his own hands—that ’s beyond what he ’s capable of. Gutless .
And now—just look at the guy. He’s speaking, he ’s presenting, he ’s unfolding pictures of the bright future. And throughout his entire speech, he looks extremely trustworthy and leader-like. It ’s amazing how little you can trust words and looks. In fact, you can ’t trust them at all, not a single tiny bit. Looks are nothing but blind luck ; words are nothing but an art. Robert was right when he said yesterday: “I trust only actions. And only the consistent ones.”
It was good that there had been that evening in the woods , after all . It was just one evening and yet it made so many things clearer. Clearer or, in some cases, completely different. Perhaps that ’s why yesterday Kevin ended up walking away carrying no obligation to repent. Who cares about this now . . .
This is the fifth speech, isn’t it? Who did we have so far? Brandon, Paul, myself, Kevin . . . So, it ’s only been four. Nevertheless, we ’re getting very close to the lunch break —so , Mr. Integrity, it ’s about time for you to wrap it up. Go, go, go . . . Another round gesture, a couple of smooth catch phrases . . . A buzzword . . . A solemn expression skillfully showcased as the curtain falls . . . Good boy! You get my vote. Well, sort of . . .
“Look at Clark, ” whispered Robert when they returned to the boardroom after a somewhat dull lunch. “Isn ’t he a little worried for an absolutely neutral observer?”
Stella shot a cautious look to her right. Indeed, a very light, yet noticeable shadow of concern was clouding Clark ’s face.
“Probably he ’s not thrilled about Chris ’s speech , ” she whispered back.
“Don’t think so. He ’s been looking like he ’s just eaten a lemon for over an hour now .”
“Really? You think he knows about the notebook ?”
“He might. There are too many little birdies flying around.”
Stella nodded and once again looked at the table by the wall. Clark was talking quietly to Ed, but his eyes were on Chris. Ed was demonstrating complete and eager understanding, and kept throwing glances at the wall clock. Something wasn ’t well on that side of the room. Anxiety of any sort had until now been reserved for anyone but these three.
She turned back to Chris.
Nice, she thought. He’s done. Soon it will be over. And here comes Joan. Sweet and all business. A stunning example of a capable female leader. Weird, but today her charm seem s to be mostly missing the target. The voters ’ minds are clearly somewhere else. She gets polite attention, but not a dime more. Why does this look so familiar? I wonder . . . Done.
Ross. Another professional delivery, which could’ve been more effective had it not been for sloppier -than -usual posture and that odd expression hiding in Ross ’s eyes. At times it seems that he mostly cares about securing Alex ’s vote. Not that he looks at him more often than at others, but when he does , his gaze becomes different. More intent, more . . . begging? What ’s there to beg for? Anyway, another dull and excruciatingly long twenty-minute period is finally over.
Chris, ever the facilitator, stands up and announces a ten-minute break. Two days ago he would ’ve polled the others before making that call, but now he ’s in charge. Fully in charge of small things that don ’t matter. “Back in ten minutes!” What an executive decision . . .
The break is over and that is good, since the all the attempts at credible natural mingling have been rather unsuccessful. Too much pressure. Even for us. Robert takes the stage. Since his priorities have changed (though no one knows, of course) and since his interest in the huge stakes is now more sporting in nature, he ’s the first one to appear natural. Good.
Michael. Just as expected . . . very impressive. Especially if you consider everything he had said back at the pier. Now it ’s a full -blown speech along the same lines. He ’s not interested in running a mega super -corporation. He ’s good at leading, and people usually follow him, but at the moment he knows where his priorities are.
His wordsmithing is amazing. Everyone who’s been to the pier knows exactly what Michael is talking about. But there ’s no way to see that unless you know what we know. For Clark and his cohorts , it ’s just another innocent speech by a clueless participant.
Innocent or not, the speech is over. Michael walks back.
Alex. Proper, calm, to a
n extent passionate, believable. And huge. He ’s wearing a shirt today, which doesn ’t outline his muscles as much as the T-shirt he wore a day ago. Still, had he decided to drop the smile, he ’d be quite intimidating. Not that he would ever do that. He ’s such a nice man, this Alex. A c aring and wonderful human being. When two of his fellow workshop participants disappeared, he was the first one to sound the alarm and the major force behind all the rescue efforts. Only someone very ungrateful would not remember that. But we are grateful. We remember . . .
Robert produces a pssst sound. What’s that? Wow! Clark is openly anxious. Looking at him you ’d think he ’s about to participate in the voting too—and with no chance of winning . What ’s gotten into him? Things have never been smoother in this room. Meanwhile, Alex is done. It ’s Alan ’s turn now isn ’t it? So why is Chris getting up? Ah, of course, another break. Again, no polling, no consensus -building. The man in charge said ten minutes, so it is ten minutes. No objections. And why would anyone object? He ’s our facilitator after all.
Back to the seat. The last speech is about to start. Alan. Like most of us , the boy has changed —perhaps to an even greater degree. But whatever ’s been eating him, he ’s doing an excellent job at hiding it during the speech. The speech is all about the future —and so is he. You look at him and you think, this boy, he ’ll go far. Only these dark circles under his steel eyes seem out of place. Plus he is not as jovial, not as likable as he was just two days ago. Otherwise—He’s done already? Nice. You would never think that twenty minutes have passed. A very engaging performance. A true rarity today.
That’s it. The speeches are over. Clark looks as if he ’s about to do something really outrageous, like yell or pass out. His assistants share his nervousness. What ’s the matter with you guys?
The clock shows three. We’re on time. We must be real good.
“Ladies and gentlemen, ” Chris announces resonantly. “The voting of the century is about to begin. With your permission , I ’d like to remind you of the basic rules. Each of you must vote. You have to write your name, followed by the name of the person you ’re voting for. Self-voting is not allowed. Whoever receives the majority of votes automatically becomes our fully supported fearless leader. Remember, each vote is extremely important. Does everyone have paper? Does everyone have a pen or a pencil? Is everyone ready? Then let the voting begin!”
Papers begin rustling across the room. It’s time!
Stella shot her right hand up.
“Just a second please, ” she said, her voice ringing sharply .
Out of the corner of her eye, she notice s Clark ’s face. Clark smiling with relief.
“Is there a problem?” Chris asked.
“Yes,” said Stella, getting to her feet. “There ’s a problem.”
In dead silence she walked to the central table.
“And was there no better time to discuss it than right now?” Joan questioned with a dour smile. “Like after we vote? Or perhaps an hour ago?”
Stella shook her head gravely.
“Regretfully, an hour ago would not have worked. The most appropriate time for this discussion is right now.”
“Well,” said Michael, “if this is the best time, we ’re listening.”
“Thank you. This won ’t take long. You all remember, of course, yesterday morning. Thanks to that malfunctioning gas tank , you all had to spend hours searching for us instead of acquiring invaluable knowledge this workshop was supposed to give you. I want you all to know that Robert and I truly appreciate your efforts.”
“This is an odd time for thank yous, ” Chris muttered dryly.
“There’s always time for thank yous, ” Stella replied with a smile. “After all, as soon as you realized that we had gone missing , you found time for a rescue mission. We ’re truly grateful and want you all to know that. But unfortunately, we didn ’t get around to thank ing one person in particular, who certainly went an extra mile trying to help us. No offense to everyone else, but this person deserves a very special thank you.”
“Who and what are you talking about?” Paul asked with a great deal of suspicion in his voice. “How about being more specific?”
“I’m talking about the man who made it possible for Robert and I to spend a night out in the open instead of staring at these walls. He was also generous enough to think about the others , too, and so gave everyone a solid reason to go for a ride. There were only three things he had to do to make that happen. First, he had to make sure that a certain powerboat had only enough gas for a half-hour ride. Second, he had to take the walkie-talkie away from that boat. And lastly, he had no choice but to slightly damage the fuel meter on that boat. Not too much damage, just enough to make the indicator always show a full tank.”
Stella quieted, enjoying the moment of ringing silence and undivided attention. Now she really had them all.
“We assume that you ’d agree with us—it would be really rude not to thank this person publicly. After all, he sacrificed his personal time for the wellbeing of others.”
“Do— do you have any proof, ” asked Ross, his voice suddenly hoarse.
A calm response came from Alex.
“I’m sure they do, if they’re making these sorts of accusation s. Someone ’s about to find himself in a tight spot.”
“On the other hand, ” Stella pondered out loud , essentially ignoring both the question and the answer, “it is obvious that this person has deliberately chosen to stay anonymous. We don ’t know his motives for doing that, although we suspect that it has to do with his extreme modesty. This person has had so many opportunities since then to come forward, and yet . . . we all know that nothing like that has ever happened. Which leads us to believe that this person doesn ’t care for cheap popularity. And we, the humble objects of his kindness , are willing to respect his choice. There ’s only one thing we ’re not willing to see . . .”
She smiled sweetly, her eyes moving from one silent face to another. Then the smile vanished from her face.
“ . . . and that’s to see him winning, ” she finished in a strikingly cold tone.
Now a different Stella stood at the table . The Stella who three days ago was telling everyone to play fair now had eyes flashing with malice .
“And we’re not going to let him win, ” she said firmly. “I want to be very clear —we know for a fact who this person is. This a slightly imperfect crime. But we ’re going to keep silent about it, if someone else wins. After all, what do we care? But, if the majority of the votes go to this person, we will make his name known and show the proof. Right here and right now.”
She looked firmly at Ross and for some reason he dropped his eyes.
“Moreover, there ’re witnesses in this room who are willing to confirm our claims. There ’s enough proof and you will all see it. And if , after seeing it , everyone still decides to go on, ignore the crime and call this person the winner, we—Robert and I—won ’t recognize him as our leader anyway. We all know what this would mean. This person will never become a winner. That ’s all.”
For a few moments the room was quiet. Then Chris coughed loudly.
“Don’t you think calling it a c rime is a bit much?” he asked. “I— I ’m shocked. Just like everyone else here. I still can ’t believe it. But a crime? A felony? We were told there were no rules, and taking a walkie-talkie away is not a crime. Same goes for that meter. It ’s a powerboat we ’re talking about. You ’re making it sound as if it was a plane.”
“The meter—” Stella began.
Then Michael’s voice interrupted her—for the first time ever.
“The walkie-talkie part may not be a crime, ” he agreed , ignoring Stella ’s objecting gesture. “But Stella didn ’t give you the whole story. Certain things have happened that make the whole boat incident look very innocent. Things that any court would consider a felony. Especially since there ’s no shortage of motives.”
He quieted for a moment.
&nb
sp; “And no shortage of witnesses.”
Now every face was stunned.
“What are these things ?” Paul asked finally. “I don ’t like the sound of it.”
Michael shook his head.
“The people who were involved know perfectly well what I ’m talking about. But just like Stella and Robert , I ’ll only speak out if this man wins. Besides, some people in this room have already figured out what this is all about.”
“Perfect.” said Brandon . “Just perfect . That ’s exactly what ’s been missing. Mike, are you sure these are two different people? Your guy and that walkie-talkie monster.”
Michael shrugged.
“I don’t care either way. If there are two of them , at this point they should both be avoiding winning at any cost.”
“Okay—now what?” Paul asked sourly.
“We vote,” replied Robert who had remained silent until now. “I don ’t remember us cancelling the voting.”
“Yes,” Michael said. “We vote.”
Suddenly he raised his hand.
There was a white piece of paper in it, a piece that had not been there just a few moments ago. Michael held it up in the air for a second, somehow turning its virgin whiteness into the center of everyone ’s attention. Then, in silence, which had become a most prominent element of the day, he put the paper on the table in front of him and quickly wrote two words on it. His fingers folding the paper methodically, he crossed the room and put his white piece of paper on the central table.
“I’m done, ” he said turning back to face others.
“Monkey see . . .” said Paul.
Awakening, 2nd edition Page 36
