Awakening, 2nd edition (55 page)

On the right, the sun was sparkling on the mass of water at the foot of the mountain. The sun wasn ’t anything like on that day. It wasn ’t spitefully burning out the eyes with myriads of shards—instead, it was serenely stretched out across the water in a long , softly glowing stripe. It was beautiful. . . Of course, now everything was beautiful.

After the lost faith, after the ultimate weakness, after the moments of faintheartedness. The workshop indeed had turned out to be very useful. Only not in the way its creators envisioned . . .

At this workshop, a naive childhood ended forever. Here , for the first time in twenty -seven years , a close encounter with real l ife had taken place —that rude, cruel and indifferent life. At first, that real life knocked him down with its iron fists, mercilessly threw him to the ground, into mud and stench, where only weakness and shame lived , mixed with cowardice. But two days have passed—and he’d managed to rise from there—from that sticky , cold mud. He hadn’t been sure till the last second whether he ’d be able to pull it off, but when the time came to make the choice he didn ’t back down. Because no matter what they say, you always have a choice. You just don’t always have the guts to make it .

And now he knows what he is capable of. Thanks, of course, to Michael. Rising without him most likely would ’ve been impossible. Without his words, without his firm calmness, without his, “You keep surviving for too long. . .”

Now all the rules can be replaced by a single one. Just a few words with no catchy name: always be true to yourself.

That’s all. Being yourself has a price and the reason we have so many ‘me-toos ’ in this world is that very few are willing to pay it. But this is the only true way to live. There ’s something inside you that always measures everything you do against some invisible elusive scale. And you always know whether you ’d be able to sleep peacefully after taking an action. You have to live your life so that you ’re never ashamed of yourself, so that you can always look straight into the eyes of your reflection in the mirror. Otherwise, life is not worth living. And everything in life, every situation, every problem , fits perfectly into these words. Be true to yourself. Just like the quick decision back there in that room . . .

The black car exiting a turn emerged in the mirror. Emerged—and was suddenly very close. What do you know —he caught up. Weren ’t you miles behind just two minutes ago? You must be in a hurry. Tough luck, it ’s one lane in each direction and the white line on the left has been solid for a while. Looks like we ’re in for a long trip together. It ’s turn after turn and the canyon on the right is kinda steep, you know.

But the car appeared to be naive. It abruptly picked up speed and suddenly closed in. Alan frowned. Are you stupid or what? Where exactly are you going? Don ’t you see what kind of road we ’re driving here? But , hey, if you want to stare at my rear bumper, be my guest.

He smoothly entered the next turn, enjoying the speed. It would ’ve been wiser to slow down, of course. Less than a mile ago a road sign called for speed to be reduced by half. But there ’s no place for a police car to hide and it ’s so much more fun to ride like this—feeling the speed and squeezing the steering wheel with both hands. Got news for you, got news for you, you ’ll pay and you ’ll pay dearly—Where does he think he’s g oing? The black car was apparently late for some important appointment—it suddenly jerked and confidently entered the oncoming lane, showing not the slightest respect for the solid white line. You want to pass me here?
Now ? Are you nuts? You can ’
t see twenty feet beyond your nose —what if someone ’s speeding towards us a hundred yards away? You ’re just out of your freaking mind!

Alan, now seriously irritated by the persistent stupidity of the black car, began hesitantly slowing down, although he could think of a better place for doing this than a sharp turn on a narrow mountain road, driving at a speed twice higher than the limit. But the black car was short-tempered. It lurched forward and assumed a position next to Alan ’s car like a soldier in formation.

And then Alan saw the face of the man behind the steering wheel. A stone, calm, indifferent face. For some reason, which was too late to analyze, he hadn’t tried to make out the driver until this moment. The man behind the wheel unhurriedly turned his head and then , with an abrupt curt movement . turned the steering wheel.

A black shimmering surface closed in, almost touching Alan ’s car. Without giving it any thought , Alan automatically swung the wheel to the right, tried pushing the brakes—and realized that he was no longer controlling his car. The low steel railing jerked towards him, a shrill , screeching , heart-freezing sound moaned from underneath the tires and slashed his nerves. The tune in his head squealed and broke off. And , just like on that day , the sun shattered into thousands of glimmering needles . . .

For a minute or two, Clark sat unmoving, his eyes fixed in a lifeless gaze on the door that closed behind Ed. Then he reached for the phone in front of him and dialed a number.

“Yes,” he said , skipping salutations. “Just what we thought. He pulled a fast one on us. Thanks to Ed.”

The handset muttered something indignant in reply.

“So he’s a moron, ” sighed Clark. “Got too cozy with this doll, and somehow our hero learned about it. What? No, I ’m clueless as to how this might ’ve happened. Not that it makes any difference at this point. The only thing that matters is that he learned about this and the next morning Ed was his puppet.”

An authoritative confusion emanated from the headset. Clark heaved another sigh.

“It was Ed who made it. The letterhead, the quality, the text—everything was first class. The key thing was, he told Ed to put all the salaries there. Ed claims that he tried objecting, but it was hopeless. The paper was bulletproof—I could ’ve failed for it myself.”

Upon receiving this news , the handset burst into furious gurgling.

“Take it easy, ” Clark said wearily once the gurgling died down. “What sabotage? We ’ll handle it. They could ’ve shar ed the salaries and company names on their own. Won ’t be the first time. We ’ll tell them the moron was fired—h uh? Of course we’ll fire him. There ’re things I have little tolerance for . . . What? We ’ll take care of that too. You are not seriously afraid that we won ’t make it look right, are you? I ’ll write you a speech in twenty minutes. Yes, the right kind of speech. We just need to be prompt, so they ’ll hear about this from us first, and not from their boys and girls. Good thing it ’s still the weekend. What ’s even better, we don ’t need to worry about Ed ’s encroachments. They did it by mutual consent. I know him way too well. He ’s a moron, but not a sex offender. She got nothing from him in exchange for her services, so I ’m sure she just wanted t o get even. She would never file a complaint. Trust me.”

The handset had more or less calmed down and began giving orders and suggestions.

“Let it go,” Clark said disrespectfully when the stream of orders dried up. “I told you, we ’ll take care of it. It ’s a piece of cake. Better think of him . . . That ’s the problem. That ’s the real problem. Why? I ’ll tell you why. We know it ’s impossible to win at the workshop. After forty years, it ’s not a theory —it ’s a fact. No normal man can win here. Even a talented man can ’t win here. But he won. And make no mistake, he didn ’t defeat others here. He defeated our system. He defeated us . Don ’t you see it? He beat us hands down at our own game.”

The handset, which seemed to calm down completely, expressed its competent opinion. Clark shook his head.

“Ed has nothing to do with it. The paper, the blackmail, Ed ’s stupidity—these are just particulars. If it hadn ’t been Ed, there would ’ve been something else. He would ’ve found another loophole, another weak link, another w ay around the system. You should ’ve seen their eyes when they looked at him towards the end. You should ’ve seen the eyes of that boy, Alan. I ’ve seen that kind of stare only in documentaries. To put ten mature independent adults in five days into this sort of mindset . . . no kind of talent is capable of this. And that conversation he had with me . . .

“Just think about this : he went home being the first winner ever while everyone else went home having been ultimately misled. They ’re wolves, you know that, wolves. And yet they all fell for it. They all left absolutely sure there was something bigger waiting for them after the workshop. I can only imagine what they will feel once they realize that it ’s been nothing but a set -up by one of them. And even then I ’ll bet, half of them won ’t suspect Michael. Even though he won! What he ’s done to them, what he ’s done to their brains in five days is simply unimaginable.
That is the real problem. Not Ed. Not Joan. Him .
”

The handset produced a series of patronizing sounds. Clark wrinkled his face.

“Don’t you think I ’ve read his profile? There is nothing even close. Nothing. Good, strong, bright . . . the usual crap. He hasn ’t shown any of that before —that ’s what I ’m trying to tell you.”

The handset offered a brief consideration.

“This is not a matter of terminology!” Clark barked suddenly. “I ’ve been doing this for twenty years! I ’ve seen it all, I know them all, I know them better than they ever will! He had never been like this before the workshop! Never! But he is now! Don ’t you get it? Aren ’t you listening to anything I say? Do you know who he really is? No? Of course , you don ’t. No one does yet. So let me tell you. He ’s a genius, that’s who he is! A genius ! Like Mozart. A o nce -in -three -generations sort of genius! Only no one has ever bothered to give him a damn piano! They read him about music, they told him stories about music, they told him some people were really good at music, but they never gave him a piano. They never let him close to a piano! They taught him pianos didn ’t exist anymore. They taught him pianos were evil. They ’ve been hammering this into his head for years! And so he was bored to death and ready to spend his life without music —despite the fact he was born for it! But then . . . then he came to us!

And we put him in front of a perfect piano, and we told him about the best composers who ever lived, and we showed him the basics, and we insisted the music was as live as ever, and we gave him complete freedom to do whatever he wanted with that instrument. And with our games , we ’ve awakened him! That ’s what we ’ve done. Whatever ’s been sleeping inside of him for all these years, we ’ve awakened it!”

He broke off, sat for a second with the muscles on his jaw bulging and said wearily into the stunned headset , “He came to power through democratic elections. He charmed the purest ones. He made the strong and the dangerous serve him. He made some love him, he made the rest fear him . . . Don ’t you see some analogies?
You , of all people, don ’
t you see some analogies? And all in five days. Five days. I ’m telling you, we ’ve awakened something terrible.”

Epil o g ue

So that’s how it ended. Michael slowly folded the morning paper. A tragic road accident. Tragic it is, no argument about that. But an accident? Unlikely. Although they, of course, won ’t find anything. A clear case of speeding on a dangerous section of the road, a poor but apparently reckless driver couldn ’t handle the turn, the car skidded . . . Words. Such a powerful tool. Use it right—and you can make a man think whatever you please. Speeding, a dangerous section . . . and what do you see behind this description? A wretched car, twisted metal, the loud sound of a crash. And in no way—the man sitting behind that steering wheel. His life until that instant, his hopes, his dreams, his horror when he realized the inevitability of the shattering blow, his pain, however long it lasted . . .

He could’ve beco me someone very useful. At times he was too naive, too trusting, but with time that could have been fixed. And he was the first one to believe—completely, with no reservations, wholeheartedly, unconditionally believe. It will be hard to forget him. It ’s b etter to remember.

There will be many of them—young, impetuous, looking unconsciously for a foundation, for a base to build their lives on. Confident that they know everything about life, while having no clue about it. Acting like cynics, while having no idea what true cynicism really is. They only pretend to know what they want. But they have nothing real to base their lives on. They don’t believe anymore in what their parents taught them. They have already gone through the first stage of growing up: disillusionment. But for most of them it is also the last stage . They never fill the void. And so they live with no purpose, scared to death to admit it. They spend their lives pretend ing to others, even to themselves . All these careers, hot jobs, the race to own the latest and greatest electronic gadgets, pubs, aimless evenings in front of the TV—all of this is nothing but the helpless wriggling about of puppies, their eyes barely open . What they really want is a single thing—a direction. They ’re dying to have someone come and show them the way, show them the goal. Someone to give their life a purpose.