“It’s quite all right, Chester. Merely a floor of very low reflectivity.”
Chester teetered on the narrow strip. “Get me out of here,” he choked.
“Close your eyes,” Kuve said quietly. Chester squeezed his eyes shut.
“Forget what you saw,” Kuve ordered. “Concentrate on sensing the floor through your feet. Accept its solidity.”
Chester swallowed, then opened his eyes slowly. He looked at Kuve. “I guess it will hold,” he said shakily.
Kuve nodded. “Working here for a few weeks will help dissipate your irrational fear of heights.”
* * *
“When weather permits,” said Kuve, “you’ll do your workouts here on the terrace in the open air.”
Chester surveyed the hundred-foot-square area, floored with dark wood and surrounded by a five-foot wall of flowering shrubs. A cluster of tall poplars shaded a portion of the floor from the high morning sun. Racked against the low wall was an array of weights, bars and apparatus.
“Perhaps I should explain that I have no aspirations to the Mr. Universe title,” Chester said. “I think perhaps a couple of Indian clubs would be more than adequate for me.”
“Chester,” said Kuve, motioning his pupil to a padded bench. “I’ve taken the first steps toward dispelling your certainty that pain is unendurable and that fear is both useful and overmastering. Now let us consider the role of boredom as a hindrance to the control of the intellect over the body. What is boredom, Chester?”
“Well, boredom sets in when you have nothing to occupy your mind.”
“Or when instinct says, ‘the activity at hand is not vital to my survival.’ It is a more potent factor in influencing human behavior than either fear or pain.” He handed Chester a small dumbbell. “Do you find that heavy?”
Chester weighed the five-pound weight in his hand. “No, not really.”
“Have another.” Chester hefted a dumbbell in each hand. “Now,” said Kuve, “please stand and place the two weights at shoulder height. Then press them alternately to arm’s length.”
Chester thrust the weights up, puffing. A minute passed. His pace grew slower.
Kuve seated himself comfortably in a canvas chair. “You’d like to stop now, Chester. Why?”
“Because . . . I’m getting exhausted . . . ” Chester gasped.
“Exhaustion would result in your failure to press the weight up, but it fails to explain the mere desire to stop while strength remains.”
“I think I’ve injured myself,” Chester gasped. “I’ve overexerted.”
“No,” said Kuve, “you’re bored. Therefore you feel the impulse to stop—nature’s automism for conserving energy vital to the hunt, flight, combat, or mating. From now on I’ll expect you to reject its control of your motivations.”
* * *
It was late afternoon. Chester let his hand fall from the hand grip of the machine which he had been squeezing, twisting, pulling and pushing at Kuve’s direction. He groaned.
“I thought you were exaggerating when you said you were going to test a hundred and seventy-two different muscles, but I believe you now. Every one of them is aching.”
“They’ll ache even more tomorrow,” Kuve said cheerfully. “But no matter. They’ll soon accustom themselves to the idea that you intend to call on them henceforth.”
“I’ve changed my mind, Kuve. Nature meant me to be the frail, sensitive type.”
“Put tomorrow’s ordeals out of your mind. At the proper time you’ll go through the schedule I’ve laid out for you. When it’s over forget it until it’s time to work again.”
“I haven’t got the will power,” Chester said. “I’ve tried diets and daily dozens before, to say nothing of night classes in which I was going to learn flawless French, or accountancy. It never lasted.”
“The secret of winning disputes with yourself is to refuse to listen. By the time you’ve perfected your argument you’ll be well into your routine. Now let’s move along to the dining room. I have a briefing on mnemonics for you, after which I’ll start you on pattern theory. Then—”
“When do I sleep?”
“All in good time.”
* * *
“Not bad,” Chester said, finishing off a bowl of clear soup. “What’s next on the menu?”
“Nothing,” said Kuve. “But as I was saying, the association of symbol with specific must relate to your personal experience—”
“What do you mean, nothing? I’m a hungry man. I’ve worked like a draft horse all day!”
“You’re overweight, Chester. The soup was carefully compounded to supply the needed nutrients to maintain your energy level.”
“I’ll starve.”
“You’ve been eating from boredom, Chester. When your attention is occupied elsewhere, you forget food. You’ll have to master habit.”
“This whole day has consisted of your telling me to mortify the flesh, mind over matter.”
“The mind is the supreme instrument in nature; it must establish its supremacy. I asked you earlier what pain was. What is pleasure?”
“Right now, it’s eating!”
“An excellent example: the satisfaction of a natural impulse.”
“It’s more than an impulse. It’s a necessity! I need more food than a bowl of egg-flower soup without egg flowers!”
“All pleasure impulses, when oversatisfied, become destructive; controlled, the instincts can be very useful. Anger, for example. Here nature has provided a behavioral mechanism to deal with those situations in which aggression seems indicated. It can override other impulses, such as fear. When you are angry, you are stronger, less sensitive to pain, and immune to panic. You desire only to close with your enemy and kill. Before combat males of many species customarily set about working themselves into a rage.”
“I’m well on the way.”
“You’ll learn to control the anger impulse, and evoke it at will without losing control. Now we must move on to the next training situation.”
“More?” Chester protested. “I’m exhausted.”
“The laziness instinct again,” said Kuve. “Come along, Chester.”
* * *
The sun was setting. Chester and Kuve stood at the base of an eighty-foot tower beside a pool. A steep flight of steps led to a lonely platform at the top.
Kuve handed Chester a small locket. “Climb to the top of the tower. This will enable me to talk to you at a distance. Tomorrow a similar device will be surgically implanted. Now, up you go.”
“Let’s just go back to that glass floor and pretend some more.”
“Simply climb slowly and steadily.”
“What’s the point in risking my neck up there?”
“Chester, intellectually you are aware that you should co-operate with me. Ignore the distractions of instinct and follow your mind.”
“I’ll freeze on the ladder. You’ll have to send three men up to pry my fingers loose.”
“Last week I watched you at the dancing terrace. You sat at a table and ate a large amount of food. You watched the dancers. A girl called to you to join in. You patted your stomach and shook your head.”
“What’s that got to do with flagpole sitting?”
“The dance they were performing requires great skill and strength and endurance. Had you joined in, would you now enjoy recalling it?”
“Of course, I’d like to be able to—”
“Remembered moments of high achievement satisfy; remembered excesses disgust. Next week will you look back with pleasure on having refused the tower?”
“Not if I fall off and break my neck.”
“You have the power to mold your memories—but only before they become memories. This is your opportunity to endow yourself with a recollection worth having.”
“Well, just to humor you, I’ll start—but I won’t guarantee I’ll go all the way.”
“One step at a time, Chester. Don’t look down.”
Chester mounted the stairs cautiously, gripping the slender handrail. “This thing wobbles,” he called back from ten feet up.
“It will hold. Just keep going.”
Chester moved higher. The steps were of wood, eight inches wide and four feet long. The handrail was aluminum, bolted to uprights every fourth step. Chester concentrated his attention on the wood and metal. A buzz sounded from the locket at his throat. “You’re going very well. Halfway up now.”
The sunset sky flared purple and orange. Chester paused, breathing hard.
“A few more steps, Chester,” said the tiny voice in the communicator. He went on. The top of the tower was before him now. Clinging to the rail, he made his way up the last few steps. Far away a twinkle of light showed against the dark forest on the skyline. Red light reflected from a river winding down the valley. The low white building of the Center glowed peach-colored in the fading light. Chester looked down at the pool below.
He dropped flat, eyes shut. “Help!” he croaked.
“Move to the steps, feet first,” Kuve said calmly. “Lower your legs, then start down!”
Chester felt the first step under his foot, edged down, one step at a time.
“Halfway down,” Kuve’s voice said. Chester was moving faster now. At ten feet from the bottom, Kuve halted him.
“Look at the water. Can you jump in from there?”
“Yes, but . . . ”
“Go back up a step. Can you jump from there?”