found the ability to enrich other people and ourselves with our talents and our accomplishments. It may not seem to be a great achievement to be normal, but I assure you it is—to be normal as well as highly intelligent. Why? Perhaps because the intelligent person is usually frustrated to find so much foolishness in the world.”
“What do you call emotional maturity?” said Lawrence Tshekele in a voice that was uncharacteristically low and tense. “I’m not! I’m not mature, my friend. And I know it!”
Schneider turned his eyes on him. He said gently, “Your saying that proves that you are wrong. Do you understand?”
Stepan Prodshenko moved as though preparing for a heavy job of work—setting back his shoulders, tensing and relaxing his muscles in series. He said aggressively, “What must be done, must be done. I believe this is an extremely clever idea. I do not see how we can hope to succeed otherwise.”
How can he accept it like that?
Into Joe’s grey, frozen mind, the question came as the first new stirring of conscious thought. Behind it, he remembered what he had felt last night—that same sense of disappointment at not being able to share in the experience of oriental music or Indian poetry. That disappointment seemed now more meaningful than ever, and a new aspect was added to it. He was conscious of a lack in himself as compared with the Russian, and that lack was absence of the kind of incredible determination the other displayed in everything he did. Where he himself would be satisfiedwith doing something well enough for present needs, Stepan would not give up until he had done it as well as his resources of mind and body would permit him; even after that, he would still want to do better.
Words began to well up, unbidden, in his mind. He found himself uttering them and the others listening. He listened himself, because he didn’t know what he was going to say until he said it; he only knew that he was saying exactly what he felt, without qualification or restraint.
“I don’t like this idea,” he began, “but I’m going to go ahead with it. I’ll tell you why I don’t like it. It’s because I have private memories which mean a lot to me that will be exposed. There’s a girl who brought something new and precious into my life. Further back, there are things that aren’t pleasant—things I’m ashamed of, things I don’t enjoy remembering. All right. But I’m going to do it anyway, because I know that everything is equal in this. As the doc said, this is the ultimate nakedness. I’m putting my trust in a belief that all of us are just people, and for everything I expose—all the private secrets, whether pleasant or unpleasant—I’m going to find a match in your minds. I’m gambling on what I want to be able to believe with my mind as well as my heart, if you like: that you and I are enough alike in what really matters to stand each other under any and all circumstances.
“And if we can’t stand each other, then Gyul Kodran was right, and we’re certain to ruin ourselves sooner or later.”
He looked around, conscious of a certain air of defiance in his words. The others were reacting slowly, but when they did, they nodded and murmured words of approval.
“Joe,” said Schneider after a while, “you’ve made a confession—a confession of faith. I’m going to make another, and you won’t like it. Maggie happens to be Dr. Margaret Reynolds, one of my collaborators. You didn’t know, but she made your acquaintance on purpose.”
Sudden jealous alarm snatched Joe back from the state of tranquility he had somehow achieved a minute earlier. He said, “You mean it was faked?”
Horror and despair rang in his tone. Schneider winced and bowed his head. He said in a low tone, “No. It wasn’t faked, Joe. If you like, I set Maggie to you, just to report on you. I gave her hypnotic injunctions against getting emotionally involvedwith you. I don’t know what you did to
“What do you call emotional maturity?” said Lawrence Tshekele in a voice that was uncharacteristically low and tense. “I’m not! I’m not mature, my friend. And I know it!”
Schneider turned his eyes on him. He said gently, “Your saying that proves that you are wrong. Do you understand?”
Stepan Prodshenko moved as though preparing for a heavy job of work—setting back his shoulders, tensing and relaxing his muscles in series. He said aggressively, “What must be done, must be done. I believe this is an extremely clever idea. I do not see how we can hope to succeed otherwise.”
How can he accept it like that?
Into Joe’s grey, frozen mind, the question came as the first new stirring of conscious thought. Behind it, he remembered what he had felt last night—that same sense of disappointment at not being able to share in the experience of oriental music or Indian poetry. That disappointment seemed now more meaningful than ever, and a new aspect was added to it. He was conscious of a lack in himself as compared with the Russian, and that lack was absence of the kind of incredible determination the other displayed in everything he did. Where he himself would be satisfiedwith doing something well enough for present needs, Stepan would not give up until he had done it as well as his resources of mind and body would permit him; even after that, he would still want to do better.
Words began to well up, unbidden, in his mind. He found himself uttering them and the others listening. He listened himself, because he didn’t know what he was going to say until he said it; he only knew that he was saying exactly what he felt, without qualification or restraint.
“I don’t like this idea,” he began, “but I’m going to go ahead with it. I’ll tell you why I don’t like it. It’s because I have private memories which mean a lot to me that will be exposed. There’s a girl who brought something new and precious into my life. Further back, there are things that aren’t pleasant—things I’m ashamed of, things I don’t enjoy remembering. All right. But I’m going to do it anyway, because I know that everything is equal in this. As the doc said, this is the ultimate nakedness. I’m putting my trust in a belief that all of us are just people, and for everything I expose—all the private secrets, whether pleasant or unpleasant—I’m going to find a match in your minds. I’m gambling on what I want to be able to believe with my mind as well as my heart, if you like: that you and I are enough alike in what really matters to stand each other under any and all circumstances.
“And if we can’t stand each other, then Gyul Kodran was right, and we’re certain to ruin ourselves sooner or later.”
He looked around, conscious of a certain air of defiance in his words. The others were reacting slowly, but when they did, they nodded and murmured words of approval.
“Joe,” said Schneider after a while, “you’ve made a confession—a confession of faith. I’m going to make another, and you won’t like it. Maggie happens to be Dr. Margaret Reynolds, one of my collaborators. You didn’t know, but she made your acquaintance on purpose.”
Sudden jealous alarm snatched Joe back from the state of tranquility he had somehow achieved a minute earlier. He said, “You mean it was faked?”
Horror and despair rang in his tone. Schneider winced and bowed his head. He said in a low tone, “No. It wasn’t faked, Joe. If you like, I set Maggie to you, just to report on you. I gave her hypnotic injunctions against getting emotionally involvedwith you. I don’t know what you did to
Similar Books
