Chapter 18
LAMONT HAS OFTEN said—perhaps too often for her liking—that if they ever give out an award for the World’s Best Sleeper, Maddy would win it hands down.
In response Maddy once told him, “I think of myself as an aggressive sleeper.”
“What exactly does that mean?” he asked.
“I approach almost everything I do as a challenge. Everything. Learning a foreign language. Playing basketball. Climbing a mountain in Nepal. And, yes, even sleeping. I see a clock. I see my bed. I know I must get to sleep. I push idle thoughts out of my mind, and then I get down to the business of sleeping.”
When Lamont heard that, he just shook his head, squinted, then laughed. All he said was, “Maddy, you should be glad that I’m such a huge part of your life. Because I might be the only person in the world who understands what you mean when you explain something.”
Tonight Maddy is sleeping precisely as she’s described it: flat on her back, arms folded, a pulsating electronic blanket folded at her waist. She breathes heavily, rhythmically, making a sound somewhere between snoring and singing.
At least that’s what she’s doing until she hears a noise.
Is it coming from the doorway? From the window?
The bathroom? The… what the hell is it? She presses the Emergency button on the electronic console on her headboard.
Nothing. No alarm sounds. No lights come on. Nothing. She is frightened.
Like many people in the world, especially her family, she is super-aware of the Kyoto and Copenhagen disasters. She knows how many people expect a follow-up disaster, perhaps a whole series of unimaginable ones.
Then a voice. A man’s voice, deep, clear, calm.
“The time to be awoken is upon us,” comes the voice.
Who is it and what does it mean? Is he saying the word awoken in the sense of “It’s time to be aware” or literally, as in, “It’s time to wake up from your sleep”? And for that matter, is she even sure she’s awake? It feels like a dream.
The dark, rich voice comes again, but this time with one very interesting additional word.
“The time to be awoken is upon us, Madeline. ”
Now she knows!
There’s just one person in the world who refuses to follow her wish to be called Maddy. He insists—without fail—on addressing her as Madeline.
He makes himself known to her. He stands by the side of her bed.
It’s Dache, the master teacher, the crucible of learning.
Maddy resents that Dache refuses to call her by her preferred name. She’s angry at his childish teasing, but she also knows this: Dache is the real deal. Her attitude of disagreement will only be tolerated to a degree.
“Arise, Madeline. I am here to give you a very important upgraded lesson in mind control and its power. Very few others on earth receive this training. Gratitude, Madeline. Do show some gratitude.”
She knows the session will be grueling. But she also knows that it will strengthen and enhance her skills. This is what Lamont wants her to do. In fact, she suspects that it may have been Lamont who requested that Dache give her this extra jolt of tough training.
Dache holds up a series of ordinary playing cards. Like a weird magician, he shows Maddy only the backs of the cards.
She concentrates. She begins unsteadily but soon rattles off correct identifications. “Ten of hearts. Ace of spades. Jack of clubs. Six of hearts. You won’t catch me.”
“We’ll see,” says Dache.
He reaches into his pockets and comes back with a big handful of rice.
“Catch!” Dache yells. Then he tosses the rice high into the air, where it hangs, suspended. “I’m keeping the kernels afloat, and now, when I say the word begin, you can’t let them fall! Begin! Begin! Begin!”
Maddy pushes as hard as she can to will the tiny grains not to fall, but still, some do.
“Harder, Madeline. Harder! It’s up to you.”
Dache does not yell at her. He is no adrenaline-fueled high school coach. He is Dache. He is the leader. He is the teacher.
And so it goes, for what feels like hours. The rice stays aloft.
“Now for the truly challenging art of levitation,” Dache says.
He suddenly produces six very sharp iron sabers and tosses them into the air above Maddy’s head. Maddy knows that Dache would never inflict bodily harm on her. At least that’s what she wants to believe.
She keeps the knives from falling… except… except… except for one saber, which falls so close to her right shoulder that she can feel the wind as it passes her and embeds its point into the bedroom floor.
Next come chains that must be unlocked.
Then fifty-pound exercise weights that must be balanced five at a time.
Lastly, the smallest, simplest, silliest lesson of all.
“There is a button on the windowsill,” Dache says. “There is a spool of thread next to the button. There is a sewing needle next to the spool. There is a shirt with a missing button next to the needle.”
Maddy sees the setup a few feet away.
Dache continues. “Using only your mind power—nothing else, no movement, nothing, nothing, nothing— sew the button on the shirt. ”
The power of the mind, as taught by Dache, as learned by a chosen few, is surely not the mere intensity of concentration.
Any mere mortal can concentrate and not allow their mind to wander.
But this doesn’t work that way. The power of the mind is the mixture of serenity and goodness, intelligence and inner strength.
It is the effort to rise above the ordinary.
It is the hidden supremacy of inner control.
At some point Maddy emerges into the real world. She is exhausted and exhilarated at the same time. Dache has disappeared; the only sign that he has been there is a blue shirt with five perfectly sewn buttons on it.