Awakening, 2nd edition (49 page)

The trinity of observers watched these movements from their corner with their typical emotionless attention. Ed was taking notes as usual, leaving everyone to wonder what part of the seat exchange could possibly be worth documenting.

At last, everyone was ready.

“The time has come, ” announced Chris, habitually taking the role of facilitator. “Joan, are you ready to do the draw again?”

Joan nodded graciously.

“My pleasure. Unless someone else wants to try.”

Everything was just like a few days ago. Scraps of paper rustled cheerfully under Joan ’s hand, Paul was quipping good-naturedly, Alex was contributing his direct no-nonsense remarks. The sun was pouring down generously on the speakers who, one by one , bathed in golden rays, walked t o the central table to speak about their aspirations and the steps they were taking to achieve them.

However, upon a second look, any resemblance with the past was thinning rapi dly. A few days ago , Alan rarely took his eyes off a speaker, except to shoot a glance at Joan. Today he was spending most of his time studying the boats that rocked softly beyond the window, reservin g only occasional half-bored looks for the speakers. As for Joan, the only look he gave her was during her own speech.

Joan, it seemed, had also gone through some sort of transformation. She was still emanating waves of charm, but at times a stern , adamant expression suddenly took over her face.

Three days ago, Ross had used every opportunity to ask a question or to express his opinion. Now he was only smiling infrequently, somewhat oddly moving his head and occasionally stroking his thinning hair. And at times the smile vacated his face in a frightening manner, like makeup running down the sweaty face of a clown after a long and tiring performance. At these moments, it seemed as if Ross was forgetting he was supposed to smile.

Brandon, who during the first few days frowned only on a few occasions, was now studying everyone with a great deal of suspicion. Looking at him, it was very hard to believe that this face was even capable of smiling.

Kevin was nodding frequently—in fact too frequently —as if agreeing with every word uttered by every speaker. He would break his nodd ing only to look at Stella, who sat unusually calm and imperturbable.

And Chris the Facilitator, Chris the Self-Appointed Leader, while having fully preserved his animated spontaneity, had obviously lost something during this week. At times, weird stiffnes s would surface in his words and gestures, as though what he really wanted to say was: “You guys take care, I ’m going home.” But obviously he didn’t say or even suggest anything of the sort and so the speeches went on.

In fact, no one had any desire to speak or even listen to others and they all knew it. It became clear yesterday, during their hot discussion at the pier.

“Come on, we all know each other through and through already, ” Brandon had said . “It ’ll be a total waste of time.”

“I’d say we know each other b etter than we should, ” Paul added. “The only way not to waste time tomorrow would be to talk our real deal.”

“We can’t, ” Joan objected. “We would tip them off immediately.”

“I understand that, but we don ’t have to be explicit about it. Anything real would be better than that throwaway talk.”

“We’ll have enough time later.”

“To do what? Conspire against our new boss?”

The argument was about to inflame when Michael killed it with one phrase, which in a manner typical for him, crisply articulated what many of them felt : “If they suspect we know something, they may simply invalidate the results.”

And so today the speeches were flowing.

Furthermore, in order to minimize their potential exposure , Stella had asked Michael and Paul to speak , too. “Would anyone buy the story that you two declined to give up your last speech without knowing the truth?” she asked. The question implied only one possible answer, and so they ended up with eleven speeches to listen to.

Eleven speeches . . . Stella felt warm satisfaction inside as she listened to the stories they had to tell. Somehow it seemed that the only people to preserve their equilibrium fully were Robert and she. And Michael, of course.

It seems, she thought, he always keeps his cool regardless of the circumstances and surroundings. Having known him now for four days , it ’s practically impossible to imagine this man losing his mind over anything. Not that he strikes you as robot-like —quite to the contrary, he seems more understanding and compassionate than many others. But whatever his inner self is, he ’s definitely in constant touch with it. Constant touch and constant control.

Now, others in this room are not so good about preserving their calm. Though in all fairness, you can ’t really blame them for that. The stakes are too high. And so is the pressure.
Peer pressure. Now everything appears in a different light. Even Barnett ’
s words about having “Certain plans for you ” have taken on a different meaning now . It ’s too hard to keep your cool when you get a glimpse of plans like that. Some things are too large to be consumed all at once. At least too large for most of us, anyway.

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.