—What happened? You don’t have enough credits? Are you being expelled?
—Something like that.
Zarnee! End the conversation!
—It’s just …
His voice breaks off.
—I’m ashamed to tell you, you understand, he says.
—You can tell me anything.
—I’m not who you think I am, Zarnee says, or at least not exactly. I didn’t just move in here. It was an assignment.
My activity tracker starts beeping. A heart-rate warning. My pulse is racing. I take slow, deep breaths to try to calm down, while simultaneously sending Zarnee an onslaught of instructions that he ignores. My tracker doesn’t stop beeping. I rip it from my arm and throw it across the room.
—What do you mean by assignment? Riva asks.
Zarnee doesn’t answer, he takes the tablet and seems to be skimming through my messages. I type as fast as I can, so that Zarnee reads what I write before he puts the tablet down again.
You signed a non-disclosure agreement! You’ll be expelled for breach of contract.
I see Zarnee laugh.
—Talk to me, Riva cries. What’s going on? He takes her hands and kisses them.
—Listen, he says, give me a second. I just need a minute to get rid of a mosquito that’s buzzing around my nose.
He starts typing.
I don’t have a contract. Masters fired me.
My activity tracker beeps again. A warning that I’ve left it off for too long.
That can’t be, I write.
Check your facts, mosquito.
I check the server, Masters is offline. I dial his number and get an out-of-office message.
Even if it’s true, I write, the confidentiality agreement still stands. You can’t tell her, you’ll ruin everything. You’ll ruin Riva’s chances at getting better.
—Zarnee, Riva says, tell me what’s going on!
Riva was never sick, Zarnee writes.
The warning sound from my tracker just won’t stop. I pick it up and put it on again. My heart rate is still too high. I want to mute the tracker, but I’m so panicked that I can’t find the settings.
Masters isn’t responding to my urgent-messages™.
—I was hired by a company, Zarnee says.
—Why? Who?
Please Zarnee. Don’t ruin my project.
Zarnee skims my message from the corner of his eye.
He laughs and shakes his head.
—A company that Dom hired. Your sponsors are paying for the intervention. I’m supposed to make you productive again.
I’m overwhelmed by a feeling of powerlessness. I have the urge to turn the monitor off and on again, to restart the cameras. To start over.
How cold my apartment is. I have goose bumps all over my body. The tracker is beeping incessantly. My heart rate has risen to one hundred and sixty. I cling to the table to maintain consciousness. I have to breathe calmly. Think calmly.
—I don’t understand at all, Riva says. What are you supposed to do? Dom hired you?
She lets go of Zarnee’s hand and crosses her arms in front of her chest.
—I wasn’t supposed to do anything in particular, Zarnee says. The psychologist had this theory that my influence, my presence could have a positive effect on you.
—Why?
—Because you wrote about the peripheries in your diary app. They probably thought we would get along because of my blog. They weren’t wrong.
—Dom read my diary app? Riva moves away from Zarnee on the couch.
I keep dialing Masters’s number. My heart threatens to explode. Just a panic attack, I tell myself. It’s all in your head.
As I’m writing him another message, I get a notification that Zarnee has blocked me.
—The company that Dom hired decrypted it, he says.
—They can’t do that.
—You gave up any right to privacy when you signed your contract with the academy, Riva. Everything you write during your employment period belongs to them.
—What else? asks Riva angrily.
—I’m not sure. But they’re watching you. On the security cameras. They’re watching us. Right now at this moment. A psychologist has been writing me messages.
He holds out his tablet to show her. She shakes her head.
An alert sounds on my tablet. Someone is at reception in my apartment building. Masters appears on the security monitor. I buzz him in.
Riva is crying. The white surface of the sofa is like a chasm between them. He seems unsure about whether he can approach her, touch her.
Pounding on my front door.
When I open it, Masters storms in. He is beside himself, his face is red and blotchy. Sweat is running down his cheeks from both temples.
He stares at me for a moment, as if he has to reactivate his ability to speak. I try to see what’s happening on the monitor from the corner of my eye. I hear Riva crying.
—How could this happen?
Masters’s whole body is tense, fingers clenched, shoulders hard and square. His posture is so aggressive that I instinctively take a step backwards and hold my arms in front of my body.
—Mr. Masters, I say, I tried to stop him. There was nothing I could do.
—I’ve been telling you from the very start that this man is a ticking time bomb! You ruined the project. The investors will jump ship.
—He said you fired him today.
—I tried to get rid of him before it was too late. Apparently it was already too late.
—But his behavior is a direct reaction to the termination. Why didn’t you inform me?
—I had doubts from the beginning about whether he was the right person for the job.
—It did work after all. She was rehabilitated within a very short time.
—She is not one step closer. She’s not diving. All she does is waste time with shady characters in shady establishments. The relationship with your field agent has drawn her further away from us than ever before.
On the screen, the distance shot shows Riva on the couch. She’s sitting upright and still, as if posing for a photo. Zarnee is nowhere to be found.
—Mr. Masters, I say, let me try to salvage the situation. Let me get in direct contact with Riva.
—You won’t do anything, Ms. Yoshida. You’re suspended until further notice.
—Mr. Masters. I promise you that I’ll do everything in my power to get the situation under control. At least let me try.
—You’re suspended from this moment onward. Failure to observe the rules will be punished with fines or punitive measures. Come to my office tomorrow morning. My assistant will send you the appointment. And mute your damn tracker. Your heart rate is way too high. Stick to your training plan and do your mindfulness exercises for once.
As I watch Masters step into the elevator on the security monitor, the strength leaves my body. I let myself slide down onto the floor. I try to focus my eyes on a specific point on the ceiling in an effort to avoid losing consciousness. The tracker finally stops beeping. My heart rate has dropped.
In the abrupt silence, I hear Riva crying. The monitor shows her in the same place on the sofa, but hunched over, collapsed. Her body shakes to the rhythm of her sobs. She seems smaller than before. The sight of her triggers a physical reaction in me, my heart rate starts to rise again, my stomach contracts and feels empty.
I click my way through all the cameras, but Zarnee has left the apartment. His tablet and his suitcase have disappeared. My facetag search for him delivers no results. He’ll be on his way to the peripheries, off the grid.
It’s not worth looking for him. No punishment can harm him if he’s already decided against the city.
But for Riva it’s not too late. Riva is still there, in her apartmen
t, on the sofa.
I think about going to her. To explain the situation. To persuade her to cooperate.
But I can’t defy the suspension if I don’t want to end up in the peripheries myself. I can only hope that Masters will give me another chance. I activate the training mode on my activity tracker and start my mindfulness exercises. I’ll do the double session to prove to Masters that I’m serious.
-
30
Masters’s office has changed once more. The Buddha statue is gone and he has furniture again. But the new office furniture is made of Plexiglas, so that you can see straight through it with just a little distortion. Masters is standing behind his desk, which makes parts of his stomach appear slightly wider than the rest of his body.
—Clearheadfurniture™, he says when he notices me staring. The CEO complained that you can’t sit properly in my office. He’s been having back problems lately. I chose acrylic because it has the same basic effect, don’t you think? You can still feel the expansiveness of the space, both internally and externally. The absence of disruptive objects.
I nod as if I agree with him.
—Ms. Yoshida, Masters says, coming out from behind his desk. I spoke to your doctor this morning. Your fitness values and the results of your latest compulsory exams are worrying.
For a moment I’m confused because Masters didn’t immediately start talking about the disaster from the previous day. I assume he’s following an outlined progression in which he gradually approaches the topic in steps of increasing urgency.
—I’m in the process of adjusting my sleep rhythm, I say. I’ve set myself the goal of doubling my physical activity quota and mindfulness exercises.
—You have a number of psychosomatic symptoms, Ms. Yoshida.
—What do you mean?
—In your pain log, you’ve cited different types of headaches. Migraines, shooting pain, visual disturbances. Also cramps in the stomach and lower abdomen. It sounds like a person who’s unfit for work.
—It’s not that bad. I have it under control. It usually passes quickly with medication. I only logged it for the sake of being thorough. I don’t want to cover anything up.
—I’ve spoken extensively with the specialist, Masters says, and, in view of your psychosomatic symptoms, we’re both of the opinion that you’re not in acceptable condition for employment at this time.
I can feel my heart racing. Heat floods my upper body.
—We have to release you from your contract for your own safety, Masters says. In this state, you aren’t fit to work as a psychologist.
—Mr. Masters, I say. I try to keep my vocal inflection as neutral as possible, while also talking over the roaring in my ears. I’m very sorry about what happened with Zarnee Kröger. I should’ve prevented it. But I knew nothing about his dismissal from the project.
—We’re grateful to you for the work you’ve done so far.
—At least let me try to make up for it. There’s been so much progress recently. Riva Karnovsky’s condition has improved. She wants to dive again. The prognosis is very good, an appointment has already been arranged for training at the academy. Give me a week. A few days at least.
—We’ve assigned a colleague to oversee the project from here on.
—Mr. Masters, please. Give me another chance.
Masters smiles.
—We’ve prepared a generous severance package for you. We recommend that you seek treatment for your symptoms. I’ve enclosed a list of the best outpatient and inpatient institutions in the area. Get help, Ms. Yoshida. We’re happy to contribute to the costs of your rehabilitation.
I feel sick. I try to fix my eyes on a specific point in the room. The beam of sunlight hitting the corner of the Plexiglas desk in front of the window. Refracted and split in two.
I take a deep breath and then exhale again. I look back at Masters.
—Mr. Masters, I say with a firm voice, I’m fine. I’m doing a good job.
—Your health is close to our hearts, Ms. Yoshida. It should be close to yours, too.
—Mr. Masters, I’m not ill. I made a mistake. But Zarnee Kröger’s influence on Karnovsky was positive. The investors must also see that.
The corners of Masters’s mouth are slowly shifting. His facade of well-meaning professionalism is starting to crumble. He glances over at a glass clock on the wall to his right.
—Our assignment is to enable Riva Karnovsky to compete again, he says, and we have not made it a single step closer to that goal. The investors understand your medical situation. They wish you all the best for the future.
—Give me at least one week, please!
—Ms. Yoshida, the personnel change has already been initiated.
Masters’s eyes move away from me and through the room. I feel my heart pounding against my chest. My fitness tracker is about to sound the alert.
—I want a second medical opinion, I say. I deserve that.
Masters’s expression is ice cold.
—I have to warn you, Ms. Yoshida, he says. We can initiate proceedings against you at any time. You deleted sensitive company data, withheld information about illegal activities, and removed data from an external security camera from your historical log. Did you think we wouldn’t notice? As a gesture of goodwill, we’ve decided against pressing charges. If you would rather lose your license than just this single contract, that’s your choice. The data shows that your finances are not exactly stable. You live in a building category that you can’t afford with your income. If you lose your license, you’ll be on your way to the peripheries within a few days. Do you want that?
While Masters is speaking, I’m having an out-of-body experience. With every word, my consciousness moves a bit further away until I see myself from across the room, standing in the middle of Masters’s office. From a distance, I watch him stand in front of me, smile at me, and hold out his hand. I hear him say something, but I can’t tell what. The blood rushes into my ears like white water crashing down a mountain. And then I come crashing down. My legs give way, but I can still see both of us standing in space, as if only a part of my body is fainting, as if I exist in two states: unconscious and completely lucid. I observe myself slowly sinking to the ground in front of Masters. I see him bending down to feel my pulse. Watch him pulling my legs up at a right angle, as if he were performing a gymnastics exercise on me. He has evaluated and understood the situation. He is acting with complete composure. A model student, implementing every action point from his manager training—trainings that I conducted myself for a while—a combination of affirmations and maneuvers that were repeated until the measures could be carried out intuitively.
I watch myself being brought back to consciousness, Masters methodically shaking my body. The space gains contour. The darkness, like a filter over my irises, starts to fade. An asymmetrical Plexiglas shelf slowly appears in front of me.
Masters is still holding my legs up at right angles. They feel dull, dead. I feel tiny stitches in my fingers.
Then Masters lets my legs slide slowly to the ground and places them at an angle. As if I were a doll, deposited like a toy in his office.
I feel feverish. I sit up. Unsteady, I slowly take off my jacket and then let my upper body drop again. Even though my heart is racing, I’m consumed by extreme exhaustion.
—I’ll get you a glass of water, Masters says matter-of-factly.
A sentence from a crisis training that I could have conducted.
He comes back with a glass of water, which he holds up to my mouth with one hand while lifting my head with the other.
—Don’t touch me.
My voice sounds soft and brittle. I straighten up. Masters leaves the glass to me. He seems relieved to be able to give up the responsibility.
—Are you feeling better?
—No. I don’t feel better. You j
ust fired me.
My voice sounds like someone else’s. The tasteless choice of words and the angry tone make me uncomfortable, as if they hadn’t come out of my own mouth.
—Strictly speaking, it’s not a termination. It is an exemption from your contract on medical advice.
I push myself up from the floor and stand.
—One day, you’ll see what I’m capable of, I say, following an impulse that I can’t understand.
—Is that a threat? Masters says with a smile I can’t classify. Please sign here.
He holds out a tablet with the release contract. I press my fingers one by one into the designated fields.
Without looking him in the face again, I leave his office. I feel sick.
I hurry to the next bathroom and throw up into the sink. I’m ashamed of my weakness. I’m sure that Masters is watching me.
Standing in the bathroom, seeing my pale face in the mirror, I think of how often I’ve observed Riva in her bathroom. An unexpected wave of compassion comes over me. I see Riva sitting on her sofa and crying. The walls of the staff restrooms are all covered with tiles. I never wondered where the cameras might be hidden.
The thought of going home is nauseating to me. I feel hot. Instead of heading to the parking deck, I walk down to the lobby and out through the main entrance. The cold hits me as I step out of the revolving door; it’s like walking into an invisible wall. An unannounced cold spell. It occurs to me that I left my coat hanging on the Plexiglas coat stand in Masters’s office. My jacket is probably still on the floor, reminding him of my presence like a bloodstain. All I have on is a white blouse and a heathered gray skirt with pantyhose underneath. The shock of cold does me good, I suddenly feel very awake. I am glad to have the heat of the past few weeks behind me.
Then I start to freeze.
At the building entrance terminal, it hits me that my tablet and my key fobs for the office, my apartment, and my car are in my jacket. Without the key fob to the office, I have to buzz back in. The woman at the door doesn’t understand what I’m trying to tell her.
—You work for PsySolutions?
—Yes.
The High-Rise Diver Page 17
