"Do any of you play the violin?" he asked the inspectors.
"Yeah, I used to play quite a bit," grunted McNear, "but I didn't intend to launch a student recital! We're not here to spend the morning listening to musical trivialities."
This brought a glare from his female colleague, who was still clutching her tape spool as if it were a precious jewel.
"Thank you for offering to play for us, Sandylou," said Royster, "but our guests are in a hurry today and—"
"I'll play something short, and fast," replied the girl, who already had the violin under her chin and was tightening the bow hairs. "And it won't be no triviality. It's a Wohlfahrt study!"
She dug into a piece that consisted mostly of ascending arpeggios, almost every one of which had a harmonic at its summit. Royster, Mrs. Morelli, and the class watched in numb, helpless silence as one pure, unexplainable note after another flowed from the instrument. McNear, his head lowered slightly and his lips puckered critically, gazed at Sandylou through his eyebrows in deep concentration.
The music ended and McNear said, "Very good, little girl. Very good indeed! You'll be an accomplished musician one of these days if you practice hard. You have a . . . a sure touch."
"Shall we move on, folks?" Royster said hurriedly, sensing that the situation had been saved—but unable to guess how. He moved toward the door and saw Arthur waiting in the hall. The inspectors were busy taking their leave of Mrs. Morelli, so he stepped outside.
In a somewhat mystified tone, Arthur hissed to him, "Fat Stuff saw it, but he didn't believe it, so he didn't see it! Is he looney or something?"
After a moment, Royster nodded in understanding. McNear had responded to the inexplicable as people often do: he had ignored its existence. An excellent way to maintain sanity—provided the inexplicable does not become overpowering.
"Oh," said Arthur. "You've never thought much about that before. It'll help us stay a secret, won't it?"
"Don't depend on it," said Royster.
"You've got the old biddy and Fat Stuff now," Arthur reported, "but you've lost Stilly, and he's the top man. He feels like they're being had, because they ain't found nothing wrong anywhere. We're too perfect! He'll like Miss Smith, though."
Miss Smith? Royster thought as the inspectors came into the hall and Arthur fell silent. What has liking Miss Smith got to do with it?
He glanced at his watch and said, "Classes will change in a couple of minutes, and the first lunch period will start. What's your desire, folks? We can stay here and let you observe the movement of the students through the hall, or we can get on with a tour of the dormitories, or we can go to the cafeteria for lunch, now or later."
"Whichever you think preferable, Mr. Royster," Dr. Ross said pleasantly.
"Lunch sounds fine to me," smiled McNear.
Dr. Stilly said, "We may look into the dormitories later, Mr. Royster, but that would serve no essential purpose of this inspection. As for lunch, I wonder if we could have that somewhere other than in the cafeteria? Do you have a conference room where we could confer with you while we eat, without being interrupted by children or other distractions?"
"Why, yes. There's a conference table in my office. Arthur, run down to the cafeteria and tell Mrs. Sams to send four regular trays, plus coffee, to my office . . . Make that five trays, Arthur. If we eat there, Miss Smith can join us."
Arthur counted noses and asked, "What about me, sir? Where do I eat?"
"Oh, I was forgetting you. Make that six trays."
Dr. Stilly frowned. "Don't you think, Royster, that we can dispense with this young man's company now? Surely, you've considered his case sufficiently . . ."
Royster blinked, then nodded. "Quite right, Dr. Stilly. Have your lunch in the cafeteria, Arthur, and return to your regular schedule. And report to the night room each evening this week for one hour of vocabulary PI."
"Yes, sir."
* * *
In the office Royster introduced the inspectors to Miss Smith. As Arthur had predicted, Dr. Stilly was visibly impressed by her, and Royster felt a pang of bitter annoyance at the friendly warmth with which Miss Smith responded. His assistant had never favored him with such a charming smile!
But if the kids had expected Stilly to develop an immediate, disarming crush on Barbara Smith, they were wrong. As soon as the trays were brought in and the group settled around the table, the inspector said:
"In going over your background, Mr. Royster, I noticed that you spent two years, after finishing college, with a parapsychology group. That struck me as very strange preparation for a headmaster."
There was no point in denying the record, which Stilly had apparently gone to some trouble to look into. "Yes, I became quite interested in parapsychology during college. I viewed it as one of our scientific frontiers." Royster chuckled wryly at the idea and continued, "I soon realized the parapsychology people were getting nowhere with their researches, of course."
"But you stayed two years," Stilly persisted.
"Yes. I became interested, while I was there, in the general problems of disturbed children. You may not know that such children are brought to the group quite frequently. Perhaps it is a complex some parents have—to see abnormal behavior in their children as an indication of abnormal, or paranormal, abilities. At any rate, I saw enough such children there to gain an appreciation of their problems, and left the group to do graduate work in special education. So, in a sense, you could say that those two years were responsible for me being in my present position."
All of which was the truth—the carefully edited truth.
Stilly ate for a moment in frowning silence, then remarked, "I understand those two years might have been responsible in more ways than one. Wasn't it while you were with the parapsychology people that you first met J.V. Thorling?"
"Yes, indeed," Royster said brightly. "Our late benefactor was quite a psi buff, as is fairly well known."
"He attributed his financial success to a freakish mental ability to foresee the future, didn't he?"
Royster laughed. "So the magazine articles about him said. From my own conversations with him, I got the impression he wasn't really sure of the source of his success. But he wondered about it, and therefore took some interest in parapsychology. We have to remember, though, that he had a fine head for finance, and I'm sure a more acceptable explanation of his accomplishments would be that he often could see the financial possibilities of a situation, through subconscious but quite normal mental processes, that were invisible to less capable minds."
"That doesn't explain why he chose to endow this school rather generously," Stilly frowned.
"That's no mystery," Royster shrugged. "When Mr. Thorling visited the parapsychology people he wasn't much impressed, and since I was something of a rebel there he talked with me quite a bit—to the annoyance of the group's brass, I might add. I told him about my plans, such as they were at the time, to work with children of above-average potential but suffering from severe behavioral defects. In the rarefied air of that group my ideas must have had a down-to-earth, constructive ring to Mr. Thorling. He became interested, and said if he could ever be of assistance to let him know. So, here we have Thorling School."
"From all this, then," said Stilly, "I take it that you no longer believe in parapsychology. Is that correct?"
Royster peered curiously at the inspector for a moment before replying, "I'm a rather conservative man, Dr. Stilly. I don't believe in getting something for nothing, and that's what parapsychology tries to do when you boil it down to the essentials. Man has to work for what he gets—for his food, for his knowledge, or to develop his skills. Now I try not to be prejudiced against parapsychologists, but I've seen enough of them to know that they are mostly of the visionary type, dreamers of dreams, not doers of jobs. They seem to expect to find some magic word that will bridge any gap in time and space, through telepathy, or teleportation, or some such, so they can manipulate the real world without exerting real ener
gy. I certainly don't believe in magic, Dr. Stilly."
"I don't see what all this has to do with an accreditation inspection," yapped McNear rather crossly.
"Evidently it has nothing to do with it," said Stilly. "However, Mr. Royster had some crackpottist connections in the past, and if he still took such things seriously that would certainly reflect on his ability to direct the educational life of hundreds of children. But I find his explanations and his present, more adult, view of parapsychology quite satisfactory. Miss Smith, have you been with Thorling School any length of time?"
"Only four months, Dr. Stilly," she said, and the conversation drifted into less perilous waters.
* * *
After lunch the inspectors made a perfunctory tour through the dormitory floors, the cafeteria, and the gymnasium. Afterwards Royster walked out to their auto with them.
"An excellent job you're doing here, Mr. Royster," said Dr. Ross. "I was particularly impressed with the orderliness of activities in the classrooms. I really don't know quite how you do it, considering the backgrounds of your children."
"There are several factors involved," he responded. "A child coming here finds himself in a new environment, where he can make a fresh start. And as my written reports for earlier inspections have explained, and I'm sure you've read them, we try to let the child know where he stands with us, to make the rules perfectly clear to him—and above all to let him know we're on his side, that he can feel secure and loved. And understood. Fortunately, we have been able to bring together a faculty of sufficient size and ability to do the job. As in any school, success depends on the individual teacher."
"You'll see to it that that little violinist gets good training, Royster?" demanded McNear.
"Well, this is no conservatory, you realize," he replied, "and I must reemphasize the stress we place on proper personality and behavioral development. But you can rest assured, Mr. McNear, that Sandylou will be given ample opportunity to develop her special talents."
McNear nodded. "O.K. Just so you realize that she has something special." He climbed in the car with the others.
Royster smiled. "To us at Thorling, Mr. McNear," he said, "all of our children have something special."
"How true!" cooed Dr. Ross. "Good day, Mr. Royster, and thank you for an inspiring morning!"
Royster walked back in the building and, even though he could hear what sounded like a minor riot down the hall, he went into the office and sat down.
Miss Smith nodded toward the noise and said, "I don't have to ask if our visitors are gone."
"Yeah, back to normal," he said with a relieved sigh. "It's funny that I let things like that scare me, but I suppose I keep thinking of our kids as—just kids. I never realize what a help they can be in a pinch."
"I hear Sandylou almost gave the whole show away."
Royster nodded and lit a cigarette. "She had the kids upset for a moment there. Some of them looked as pale as I felt."
"Can't something be done about that child?"
"The kids'll be working on her, never fear," Royster shrugged. "They can do more with her kind of problem than we can."
"It frightens me to think," Miss Smith shuddered, "what would have happened if that McNear slob hadn't been so stupid."
Royster nodded without replying. Miss Smith had been with the school less than half a year and—well, there were some things she just wasn't ready to know yet. For example, that the kids could have handled the McNear problem, if absolutely necessary, with selective mental erasure. It was a repulsive idea, to him as it was to the kids, and it would be too disgusting for Miss Smith to accept until the Thorling children became her children more fully.
"Well, I'd like to get back to my young gladiators as you call them," she said.
Royster looked up curiously.
"To Stevie and David," she explained. "That test might still work even though—"
"Miss Smith," Royster said, grinding out his cigarette, "I've gone along with you on your experiments so far, partly to let you learn for yourself that this age-old search for a mental Midas touch is a waste of time, because there are no shortcuts, and partly not to discourage creative thinking from you, and partly I guess just to keep you happy.
"But you've been here four months now, and you're still busily barking up the same old empty tree. How much longer is it going to take you to get this nonsense out of your system and turn your energies to our real problems?"
She stared at him in hurt astonishment. He would have felt ashamed of his outburst, except for the tensions of the inspection and the way she had flirted with Dr. Stilly. His anger continued to boil.
"Well really, Mr. Royster," she snapped, her face turning red, "I see no need to shout! And I haven't been aware of neglecting my duties because of my interest in various experiments that, you must surely comprehend, can be conducted here more ideally than anywhere else in the world! If you're too stodgy to realize—"
"Stodgy?" barked Royster. "Is that what you think? Maybe you'd be happier doing something else—somewhere else! With livelier company! Maybe inspecting schools with your pal Stilly!"
"If you can't even have an argument like this without being ridiculous, maybe I should move along!" she flared. "Stilly indeed!"
"I saw you turn on the old charm for him!" replied Royster.
"Sure I did! The kids told me it would help!"
"Oh." He ought to have guessed that, he realized. His anger was suddenly gone. He said, "I'm sorry for jumping on you that way, Miss Smith. It was uncalled-for. Nerves, I guess . . . I have no objection, really, to you continuing that test with Stevie and David. So if you want to get on with it . . ."
She blinked a couple of times and turned toward her cubbyhole office. "No. I don't know. Maybe tomorrow . . ." She turned to face him again. "You really think it's a waste of time, don't you?"
He nodded glumly. "Yes, I do. But I don't know everything, after all, and had no business sounding off as if I did. I know that my own ideas work—today the kids proved just how well they've worked. But that doesn't make all other ideas worthless. So, if there's anything you want to try . . ."
"I . . . I don't think so." She sat down and propped her chin in her hand. "You're probably right, and it's high time I realized that. Maybe you had to yell at me to get through. ESP ability isn't a . . . a gift . . ."
"In a way it is," Royster said. "It's a gift in the sense that Sandylou's musicianship is a gift. But a gift is merely a capacity. Sandylou's doesn't automatically make her a great violinist, it just provides her with the capacity to become one—after several more years of hard work and practice. What would have happened to her gift if our society had no use for music, if the whole concept of music didn't exist? Not much of anything would have happened to it. Unless maybe it got her thrown in the loony-bin for making strange noises.
"That's what happens to ESP capacity, most of the time. A few people, like Old Man Thorling, manage to develop some primitive skill with it. But mostly, it just pops up, unexplainably and usually frighteningly, in moments of great emotional stress, and then it's gone again. It's an unrealized capacity because it isn't trained.
"That's what I decided while with the parapsychology group, working with the children brought there. Thorling agreed when I explained it to him. Take a child with ESP capacity, still young enough to have a pliable mind, let him know that ESP development is desirable, and figure out ways to train him to use his capacity. Encourage him to practice, practice, practice! Bring many such children together, so they can learn things from each other that we don't know to teach them. Children are eager to please, and to learn—and they'll work hard to do both.
"Now, as for shortcuts, some may exist. But I believe if they do they won't be discovered by you or me. The kids will find them. They have the knowledge and the skills that we'll never attain for ourselves. If Sandylou learns an improved violin technique, it will be from another fiddle player, not from a non-musician. That's why I feel our job is to h
elp the children develop themselves, in the only way we know how, and leave it to them to devise ways to build on their basic skills."
"One thing bothers me about this," said Miss Smith. "You keep referring to consciously-controlled ESP as a skill, and equating its development to other skills such as learning to play a violin. Yet, you say the learning has to start at a very tender age—in the kindergarten years if not sooner. But this isn't true of other skills. I know it helps for a child to start his musical training early, but many adults, starting with no musical training at all, learn to become adequate performers on some instrument. Now if ESP were really a skill, why couldn't you, or I, or some of the teachers develop some degree of it? All of us have tried, without the slightest result."
Royster shook his head. "You're wrong, I think, when you speak of an adult learning to play an instrument with no early musical training at all. I don't think there is any such adult, for the simple reason that every person in our culture has some early musical training. From babyhood on we hear music, sung by our mothers, played on radios, and so on. And babies begin attempting to gurgle songs about the same time they are learning to talk. They experience music from the beginning. It's part of their lives. So no adult starts cold to learn an instrument. And there are similar parallels for any other skill you can name—except controlled ESP. Only in this school of ours does a child have a chance to grow up with ESP as an integral part of his daily experience. In fact, I think it's remarkable that they can start from scratch at the relatively advanced age of four or five, and still—"
The Creatures of Man Page 14
