GINGER AND BUBBLES

16| SAFire-X

From the outside, it looks like just another building.

I ascend the five steps leading to the rotating glass door and, as I step onto the fifth one, the door glides open.

"Welcome to the headquarters of SAFire-X, Miss Delheim. Please step inside and stand on the eagle in the centre."

I enter the stained glass cubicle set into a circular brass frame. Once inside the claustrophobic cubicle I hover, wide-eyed, casting my gaze around. Up. Down. Round. Up and round again, but nothing. There is no sign or sight of a camera or a microphone that betray the origin of the voice. The door rotates and shuts.

I am enveloped in a kaleidoscope of green yellow, red, and orange glass pieces. On closer inspection it forms a spectacular design of a subtropical wonderland. It is impossible to see what lay beyond the stained glass capsule.

When it opens I am on the inside of the building. There is not a single human being in sight. With trembling limbs, I put one foot inside the enormous reception hall. Then the other and freeze.

Stretched out in front of me is a floor, an illusionary 3-D path that forks into two. It is flanked by floor-to-wall frescoes of a forest teeming with nature and wildlife. One pathway morphs into a bridge leading to the second floor. The other one leads to a seating area around an aquarium.

"This is part two of your interview, Miss Delheim."

The voice is followed by silence. Again, I try and figure out where the sound comes from.

"Please, follow the footpath to the aquarium in the centre of the room and take a seat on the wingback."

I follow the path to the aquarium nestled in an almost unreal replica of a jungle. The table is a well-lit aquarium filled with exotic fish species, kelp, and seaweed. Six wooden, high-back chairs are arranged around it. Five chairs are fashioned into five animals-a lion, buffalo, rhinoceros, elephant, and a leopard.

The sixth chair, very different compared to the rest, is a large, handcrafted wingback that contains elements of silver, gold, diamonds sapphire, and other precious stones in its design. I settle into the chair. It is deceptively light for its size and makes me feel like a fly on a giraffe's tail.

"Press the 'talk' button on the panel in front of you whenever you address the panel."

The filtered sound reminds me of an aeroplane announcement. I retrieve the notes I brought along from my handbag. Slowly I unfold it and iron it flat with the palm of my hand. Out of sheer nervousness I adjust my glasses and scarf and. I read and read but nothing registers on the page in front of me. When my mind finally goes quiet I scan the handwritten notes one last time.

I zone into the soothing background sounds. Once my anxiety ebbs it is replaced with glee laced with enchantment. I want to soak it all up, too anxious to stare longer than necessary at one particular spot in case I miss something. I revel in the ambiance, reduced to a gawking freak. The sheer magnitude of the opulent interior melts my defences and release the tension in my knotted intestines. With trembling fingers and a bouncing heart threatening to jump through my throat, I press the 'talk' button.

"I'm ready," I respond, waiting to connect with the faces of the whole panel.

"I am Dr. Leo and I will be your guide during this session. Please try and relax."

No faces, only a voice is audible.

"Thank you, Dr. Leo."

The discomfort of the moisture build-up under my armpits is increasing.

"This interview will take the form of a question-and-answer session based solely on your tour of the Cape Flats' squatter camps and subeconomic housing schemes last week, particularly the community hospitals, schools, and police stations."

Lester's words resound in my bewildered thoughts. Close your eyes and imagine the lights are out. It's pitch dark and you cannot even see your hand in front of you. I close my eye to eliminate the distraction of my environment and concentrate on the questions whirring around in my head. I press the button.

"I'm ready. We can proceed."

One side of the wall, or what appeared to be a wall, starts to slide open. Five people are walking towards me, two women and three males. They are dressed casually, in printed shirts and dresses and introduce themselves before taking their seats around the table. The man in the leopard seat, Dr. Leo, addresses me.

"Congratulations and welcome to the next part of your interview."

He is a tall, lanky man with small round spectacles that fit perfectly into his eye socket. His high-pitched voice and grey Einstein-hairstyle does not match his physique.

I make a mental note of the five faces around the table. One of the women is seated on the elephant chair and the other one on the rhino chair. The man in the lion chair has pushed his chair far back, away from the table and, unlike the rest of them, he has no notes or papers with him. The one in the buffalo chair has a non-penetrable expression on his face.

Dr. Leo's voice draws me back.

"You will be questioned on your strategic, critical, and analytical skills because SAFire-X requires creators and questioning think tanks, not sheep. Evora will introduce this session with feedback on your reference check. I now give over to Evora."

He looks at Evora, a big woman with a matching turban to her printed dress and accessories that looks like ivory earrings. The three matching bangles make a hollow sound with every movement of her arm. She is staring at me, deep in thought. Her lips pressed tightly together as if there's something on her mind. Upon hearing her name her eyes lock momentarily with that of Dr. Leo's. She diverts it to the page in front of her before addressing me.

"Born in 1980, you are Suzan Dorel Delheim the only daughter of the late Sue-Anne and Doraldo Delheim. When you were two years old, in 1982 both your parents were killed in a car crash. You were educated and raised in a convent, St Jude. After matriculating at Theresa Girls High School you remained in the St Jude Convent to complete a BA-degree in Corporate Marketing through distance studies. You moved into Flat Nr 12 at Walmer Estate where you currently reside. At the time of your accident, you were employed at National Advertising. Your services were terminated. You are a recluse, single, and you see a psychiatrist, Dr. Marissa. As a result of the accident and the concomitant trauma of your facial deformity, you suffer memory loss. You have R15 million in your bank account and you made inquiries about a facial reconstruction recently."

Like her, I, too, am removed from the fast-paced account of the personal history. I am light years away from the stranger in the file in front of her. Yet, something feels off, wrong. What it is I can't figure out exactly.

"That's all of me?"

It's as if all of them have been, and still are, studying me closely.

"That's all of you," she confirms.

"I don't know that person, Since the memory loss..."

"Quite in order. We understand. What I want to know—Were you planning to use your savings to fix your face?"

"I can't go through life looking like this... So, yes. I am interested in-"

"You are a recluse. You are single, no children, a pet or a man. Why bother?"

"Wouldn't you?"

I ask as I meet her eyes head-on and throw the question back into her plump, middle-aged face.

"I'm not you, Miss Delheim."

With that, she looks at Dr. Leo.

"The next question-"

"Excuse me, Dr. Leo, before you proceed. How did you obtain all this personal information about me?"

He looks at Evora who has an answer lined up almost immediately.

"Personal? Nothing is personal in this era that we live in, Miss Delheim. Absolutely nothing. In answer. Simple. We vet everyone we employ. Extensively. It is intrusive."