‘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.’
chapter sixty-three
Lars
The guests of Tranquillum House stood in a huddled, whispering group in the centre of the studio, their heads bent, like a cluster of banished smokers outside their office on a chilly day. Lars could smell acrid sweat and stale breath. Ben and Jessica held hands. Carmel and Frances both chewed at their fingernails. Tony tugged aggressively at his bottom lip, as if he could somehow contort his mouth into providing the correct answers, while Zoe kneaded her stomach and studied her feet and her parents both studied her.
‘I’m sure Yao is fine, don’t you think? And Delilah? There is no way Masha would really hurt anyone,’ said Frances. ‘No way in the world. She sees herself as a healer.’
Lars could tell Frances was trying to convince herself. The longer they were in here the more stripped back she got. Her red lipstick was gone and her blonde hair, which had been in a bouncy circa 1995 ponytail, was now slicked back against her head. Lars liked Frances, but she wasn’t the lawyer he would have retained, given a choice, if he were on death row. He didn’t know who he would have chosen out of this motley lot. He wasn’t sure how much it really mattered. Masha was going to do what she was going to do.
‘We just need to make it look as if we’re going along with the madness,’ he said to the group.
‘I agree,’ said Napoleon. ‘We have to play along and take the first opportunity we can to find a way out of here.’
‘I believed in her,’ said Carmel sadly. ‘I believed in this.’ She indicated her surroundings. ‘I thought I was being transformed.’
‘So I’m representing you,’ said Frances to Lars anxiously. ‘We need to talk. God, I would do anything for a pen.’
‘Well, supposedly I’m representing you, Frances, in this grotesque . . . game,’ sighed Heather. ‘So I guess we need to talk too.’
‘Okay, yes, yes, but just let me talk to my client first,’ said Frances, breathing fast. She put a hand to her chest to try to calm herself. Lars smiled at her. She would be the sort to play a game of charades with endearing seriousness and little skill, as if it were a matter of life and death, and now that it truly might be a matter of life and death (surely not!), she was in danger of hyperventilating.
‘Let’s go have a chat, Frances,’ said Lars soothingly. ‘And then you can go convince Heather why you should live.’