The Intuitives(48)

“Why ‘hopefully’?” Sam asked. “Why would we want to be scared of imaginary monsters in somebody’s basement? Nothing personal, but that seems kind of stupid.” She continued to watch him as he set about rearranging the chairs to face the whiteboard in its new position. He paused for a moment and looked at her directly.

“Yes! That is the question! Why ‘hopefully’ indeed! If we spend so much of our lives learning to ignore the impulses of the unconscious mind, why would we want to hear them again? Yes! Good, Samantha!”

Sam knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. She was not used to adults praising her for calling them stupid.

“Because the unconscious mind is not stupid,” he explained. “In fact, it is highly intelligent in its own right, and in a very different way than the rational mind. When we can merge the two intentionally, learning to hear what our unconscious mind is telling us and filtering out only that which we decide to filter out, that is when we begin to reach our full potential.”

“There,” he proclaimed. “Much better. Now we can sit more comfortably.” He sat again in one of the two center chairs, and this time his left side was to the door instead of his back. When Sam sat down, purposefully leaving a chair between them, she realized that the door was now well within her peripheral vision. She didn’t like to admit it, not even to herself, but he was right. This position was more comfortable.

“So,” he said. “Samantha. I believe that the test has done precisely what it was designed to do. Your scores on the IAB indicate that your conscious and unconscious minds are, in fact, communicating to a significant degree, whether you realize it or not. It might take us some time to identify the pathway by which this is occurring most directly, but I do believe that such a pathway exists for you, and I remain dedicated to discovering it.”

He paused, as though waiting for some kind of reply.

What am I supposed to say to that? she thought to herself. Am I supposed to tell you I think you’re wasting your time? That I can’t have a very good pathway if everyone else instantly knew what theirs was and I have absolutely no idea? That even if you find it, I’m probably going to be so far behind in learning to use it that you’re going to send me home eventually anyway?

“OK,” was all she said.

“Good. I’m sure you spent some time last night thinking about hobbies and interests and the like. Did anything in particular occur to you?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “I do well in school. That’s the only thing I can think of that I’m good at, but that’s not unconscious. That’s a formula. I read the assignments. I do all the homework. I study before the tests, and I do well on them. That’s it. There’s nothing unusual about it. I’m just better at it than most people.”

“Anything people do that makes them stand out can be an indication of a deeper talent, Samantha. If you don’t have a particular subject that fascinates you or a particular hobby you find engaging, then perhaps you have noticed that you respond in certain situations to what people might call a ‘gut feeling’ rather than relying upon your intellect. Are you aware of making any decisions in your day-to-day life based on such an impulse?”

Sam could only think of two gut feelings she had ever had in her life, and they had both been completely and utterly worthless. This whole program is so stupid. I can’t believe I signed up for this—trapped all summer with this artsy-fartsy mumbo-jumbo about the unconscious mind and nothing to do for like a hundred miles in every direction and no Internet. What kind of a quack is this guy?

“What are you a professor of?” she asked out loud, ignoring his question.

“Pardon me?”

“Christina called you ‘Professor Mubarak.’ What are you a professor of?”

“I see,” Ammu said. “I hold PhDs in both archaeology and neuroscience.”

“That’s a strange combination,” Sam commented.

“It is,” Ammu agreed. He said nothing else, simply watching her, but he showed no sign of being even the least bit perturbed about either her question or her commentary. There was an aura of patience about him, a sense that he was merely taking in the world as it came, without any judgment whatsoever, that Sam found both disconcerting and compelling at the same time.

“I can only think of two gut feelings I’ve ever had. I mean ever,” she finally said.

“Go on,” Ammu said, his demeanor not changing in the slightest.

“My dad was going to let me out of school the day of the test, but I felt like I should take it, so I did. And then when the letter came from the ICIC, I felt like I should come here, so I did that, too. But then the feelings went away. The first one went away before I took the test, and the second one went away before I left to come here. So I’ve only had two gut feelings in my whole life, and as far as I can tell they were both wrong, so that seems pretty useless.”

“On the contrary,” Ammu said, his eyes bright with excitement, “I find it fascinating that you have had only two gut feelings and they both involved this program. I do not believe that to be a coincidence.”

“Just because your unconscious mind wants something to have meaning doesn’t mean it does,” Sam replied. “As a neuroscientist, you should know that.”

“Samantha—” Ammu started, his voice gentle, but just then Christina and the other students started filing in for their afternoon class.