Frances
She’s mad. She’s crazy. She’s nuts. She’s unhinged.
It had all been a joke before. What Frances really meant was that Masha was odd, alternative, intense, excessively tall and exotic and different in every way from Frances. She hadn’t truly questioned Masha’s state of mind. Part of her had wondered if Masha was a genius. Didn’t all geniuses seem mad to mere mortals?
Even the drugs hadn’t truly concerned her. The fact was that if Masha had asked, ‘Would you like to try this smoothie laced with LSD?’ Frances might have said, ‘Sure, why not?’ She would have been impressed by all the talk about ‘research’, comforted by Yao’s background as a paramedic and intrigued by the possibility of a transcendent experience, and she would have been especially susceptible if someone else had said yes first. (As a teenager, her mother had once said to her, ‘If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you jump too?’ Frances had answered, without guile, ‘Of course.’)
But now, sitting here in the dark, watching Masha’s image on the screen, it was clear: Masha was not quite right. Her green eyes shone with an evangelical fervour that would not respond to logic or sense.
‘Congratulations to all of you!’ she said. ‘I am so pleased with your progress. You have all come so far from day one!’ She clasped her hands together like an actress accepting an Oscar. ‘Your journeys are nearly complete.’
The screen lit up the room in ghostly patches of light so that Frances could see everyone’s faces as they all stared up at Masha.
‘You need to let us out of here!’ shouted Jessica.
‘Can she hear us?’ asked Carmel uncertainly.
‘No need to shout, Jessica. Hello there, Carmel. I can see you, I can hear you,’ said Masha. ‘The magic of technology. Isn’t it amazing!’
Her eyes looked off-centre at the camera. It made it easier not to succumb to her madness.
‘I was so happy when you solved the escape puzzle and found the matryoshka,’ said Masha.
‘But we didn’t solve it!’ said Frances. She was personally offended by this. ‘We’re still here. There was no damned code in the doll.’
‘Exactly,’ said Masha. ‘Exactly.’
‘What?’ said Frances.
‘You worked as a team, though not quite to the extent I’d hoped. I assumed you would build a human pyramid to reach the doll – all of you! – rather than playing football.’ Her lip lifted in a sneer on the word ‘football’. Frances felt defensive of Tony.
‘When I was at school in Serov, many years ago, we made a human pyramid that was quite remarkable, I have never forgotten it.’ Her eyes lost their focus, and then she snapped back. ‘Anyway, that does not matter, you got there in the end, you found the doll and here we are.’
‘The doll told us nothing,’ said Jessica. ‘It was empty.’
‘That’s right, Jessica,’ said Masha patiently, as if to a small child who does not understand the way the world works.
‘She’s not making any sense,’ muttered Ben.
‘What I’d find truly transformative right now is a long hot shower,’ said Lars. He smiled up at Masha with the full force of his gorgeous face. It was like he was holding a glowing lightsaber up to the screen. Frances would bet that smile had opened many doors before.
But not this one. Masha just smiled back. It was an epic battle of beauty and charisma.
Lars held on for as long as he could before he surrendered. His smile vanished. ‘For God’s sake, I just want to get out of here, Masha.’
‘Ah, Lars,’ said Masha. ‘You need to remember what Buddha said: “Nothing is forever except change.”’
‘This already feels like forever, Masha.’
Masha chuckled. ‘I know you like your solitude, Lars. It is hard to find yourself having to interact with strangers all day long, yes?’
‘Everyone is very nice,’ said Lars. ‘That’s not really the point.’
‘We just want to go back to our rooms,’ said Heather. She sounded quite meek and reasonable. ‘The psychedelic therapy was wonderful, thank you, but –’
‘It was wonderful, was it? You have changed your tune then, Heather!’ A fine thread of aggression ran through Masha’s words. ‘I hope you speak from the heart. I heard talk of reporting me to the police! I must confess that was hurtful to me.’
‘I was upset,’ said Heather. ‘As you know, today is the anniversary of my son’s death. I wasn’t thinking straight. Now I understand.’ She looked up at the screen with what appeared to be complete acquiescence. It was inspiring to see. ‘We all understand,’ continued Heather. ‘We’re so grateful for what you’ve done for us. We would never have had this opportunity in our normal lives. But now we’d just like to go back to our rooms and enjoy the rest of the retreat.’
Frances tried to put herself in Masha’s position. It came to her that Masha considered herself an artist and, like any artist, she craved praise. She simply wanted recognition, respect, five-star reviews, gratitude.
‘I think I speak for all of us when I say this has been an incredible experience,’ she began.
But she was interrupted by Tony.
‘Is that Yao behind you?’ He was on his feet, his eyes on the screen. ‘Is he alright?’
‘Yao is here, yes,’ said Masha.
She moved to one side of her computer screen and gestured graciously like a model on a game indicating the prize.
The prize was Yao.
He was slumped forward in Masha’s chair, asleep or unconscious on Masha’s desk, one cheek squashed flat, while his arms formed a semicircle around his head.
‘Is he breathing? What’s wrong with him?’ Heather also stood and moved to a position beneath the television screen. She dropped the fake acquiescent tone. ‘What has he taken? What have you given him?’
‘Is he alive?’ asked Frances in panic.
‘He is just napping,’ said Masha. ‘He is so tired. He has been up all night, working hard for you!’
She caressed Yao’s hair, and pointed at something they couldn’t see on his scalp.
‘That is Yao’s birthmark. I saw it during my near-death experience.’ She smiled back at the camera and Frances shivered. ‘That is when I came face to face with my own mortality in the most remarkable and wonderful way.’ Her eyes shone. ‘This evening, you too will face your mortality. Sadly, I can’t give you the privilege of looking death directly in the eyes, but I can give you a glance, a glimpse! An unforgettable glimpse that will . . .’ She searched for the right word and found it with obvious satisfaction. ‘That will amalgamate all of your experiences so far: the silence, the psychedelic therapy, the escape puzzle.’
‘He doesn’t look like he’s napping,’ said Heather. ‘Have you given him something?’
‘Ah, Heather,’ said Masha. ‘You are practically a doctor, aren’t you? But I can assure you, Yao is simply napping!’
‘Where is Delilah?’ asked Ben.
‘Delilah is no longer with us,’ said Masha.
‘What do you mean “no longer with us”?’ said Ben. ‘What does that mean?’
‘She has left us,’ said Masha airily.
‘Of her own accord?’ asked Frances.
She thought about the other Tranquillum House staff: the lovely smiley chef who brought out the food; Jan, with her miraculous healing hands. Where were they, while the guests were locked up and Yao lay unconscious on Masha’s desk?
‘I need you all to listen carefully,’ said Masha, ignoring Frances’s question about Delilah. She moved to the front of the camera again so that Yao’s body was concealed. ‘We are now going to play a fun icebreaker!’
‘I feel like the ice is well and truly broken, Masha,’ said Lars.
‘Buddha said that we must “radiate boundless love towards the entire world”, and that’s what this exercise is all about. It’s about love. It’s about passion. It’s about getting to know each other,’ said Masha. ‘I call it: “Death Sentence!”’
She looked at them expectantly, as if waiting for an enthusiastic eruption of questions and comments.
Nobody moved.
‘You like the name?’ said Masha, lowering her head and lifting her eyes in a way that could almost be considered flirtatious.
‘I do not like the name,’ said Napoleon.
‘Ah, Napoleon, I like you. You are an honest man. Now, let me explain how this activity works,’ said Masha. ‘Imagine this: You have all of you been sentenced to death! You are on death row! Maybe that would have been a better name? Death Row.’ She frowned. ‘I think that is better. We will call it "Death Row".’
Carmel began to weep softly. Frances put her hand on her arm.
‘So how does this game Death Row work? Let me explain. If you are sentenced to death, what happens? You need someone to argue on your behalf, don’t you? To argue for clemency, for a stay of execution. Obviously that person is your . . .’ Masha raised encouraging eyebrows.
‘Lawyer,’ finished Jessica.
‘Yes!’ cried Masha. ‘Your lawyer who defends you! The person who says to the judge, “No, this person does not deserve to die! This is a good person, Your Honour! An upstanding member of the community with so much to offer!” You see what I’m saying? So, you are all lawyers and you each have a client. You understand?’
Nobody spoke.
‘I have assigned your clients. Let me read out the names to you.’
She held up a piece of notepaper and read out: ‘Frances defends Lars. Lars defends Ben.’ She looked up at them. ‘You’re listening? I will only say this once.’
‘We’re listening,’ said Napoleon.
‘Heather defends Frances, Tony defends Carmel, Carmel defends Zoe, Zoe defends Jessica, Jessica defends Heather, Ben defends Napoleon and . . .’ she took an exaggerated breath ‘. . . Napoleon defends Tony! Whew! That’s all of you!’ She looked up from the paper. ‘Do you all know you are defending?’
Nobody answered. They all looked dumbly back at the screen.
‘Tony, who are you defending?’ asked Masha.
‘Carmel,’ said Tony evenly.
‘And Zoe, what about you?’
‘I’m defending Jessica,’ said Zoe. ‘I don’t really understand what crime she’s committed.’
‘The crime is not relevant. We’ve all committed crimes, Zoe,’ said Masha. ‘I think you know that. No-one is innocent.’
‘You’re a psychotic –’
‘So presumably you are the judge, Masha?’ Napoleon spoke loudly over the top of his wife.
‘That’s right! I will be the judge!’ said Masha. ‘You will each have just five minutes to defend your client. It’s not long – but it’s long enough. Don’t waste time with waffle! Make sure that every word packs a punch.’ She curled her hand into a fist.
‘You will have the night to prepare. Presentations will be at dawn. You must ask yourself, Why does my client deserve to live?’
‘Because everyone deserves to live,’ said Tony.
‘But why your client in particular? Let’s say there is only one parachute left! Only one place left in the lifeboat! Why should your client take that parachute over someone else?’ said Masha.
‘Then it’s women and children first,’ said Tony.
‘But what if you are all the same gender? All the same age? Who lives? Who dies?’ said Masha.
‘Is the game called “Last Parachute” now?’ said Lars, his face hard with bitter mockery. ‘So we’re all going to sit around and discuss ethical dilemmas like first-year philosophy students while Yao lies there comatose on your desk? Wonderful, this is all just so transformative.’
‘Careful,’ said Tony under his breath.
‘This is an important exercise!’ shouted Masha. The tendons on her neck were rigid with rage.
Frances felt sick. She was going to lose this game. She always performed poorly in these kinds of ‘activities’ and now her ‘client’, Lars, had already got the judge offside.
Ben spoke up in a placatory manner. ‘So, could you just explain, please, Masha, what happens if – according to you, our judge – we don’t successfully defend our clients?’
Masha breathed in deeply through her nostrils. ‘Well, obviously we don’t generally execute our guests! That’s not good for business!’ She laughed gaily.
‘So this is all just . . . hypothetical?’ said Ben.
‘That’s enough questions!’ screamed Masha so loudly that Carmel took a step back and landed quite hard on Frances’s toe.
‘This is totally ludic–’ began Heather. Napoleon grabbed her arm.
‘We’re all going to take part in the exercise, Masha,’ he said loudly. ‘It sounds very . . . stimulating.’
Masha nodded graciously. ‘Good. You’re going to find it transformative, Napoleon. You really are. Now, I must give you light for this enlightening exercise!’ She reached out her hand and the lights came back on, causing everyone to blink and stare dazedly at each other.
‘Once we’ve defended our “clients”, will you let us out?’ asked Carmel, rubbing her eyes, her voice hoarse.
‘You’re asking the wrong questions, Carmel,’ said Masha. ‘Only you can set yourself free. Remember, I talked to you just a few days ago about impermanence. Nothing lasts forever. Do not cling to happiness or suffering.’
‘I just really want to go home right now,’ said Carmel.
Masha clucked sympathetically. ‘Spiritual awakenings are rarely easy, Carmel.’
Frances raised a hand. ‘I need a pen. I can’t prepare a presentation if I can’t write it down!’ She patted the empty pockets of her sweatpants. ‘I have nothing to write with!’
Masha behaved as if Frances hadn’t spoken. ‘Now, my sweetie pies, I wish you the best of luck. I shall be back at dawn. Remember to focus your thoughts. Ask the right questions of your clients, and listen with your heart. Convince me why each of you deserves to live.’
She looked fondly at Yao if he were her sleeping child, patted his head and then looked back at the screen. ‘Let me leave you with these words: “Ardently do today what must be done. Who knows? Tomorrow death comes.” The Buddha.’ She put her hands together in prayer and lowered her head. ‘Namaste.’