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Every now and then he was aware that the woman giving the test was glancing at him, but she never said anything to him and so he just kept reading. It was a book about the life of St. John Paul II, the great Polish pope that he had been named for, and John Paul was fascinated because he was finally getting answers to some of his questions about why Catholics were different and the Hegemon didn't like them.
Even as he read, he also listened to all of the testing. But it wasn't like the government tests, with questions about facts and seeing if they could figure out math answers or name parts of speech.
Instead she asked each boy questions that didn't really have answers. About what he liked and didn't like, about why people did the things they did. Only after about fifteen minutes of those questions did she start the written test with more regular problems.
In fact, the first time, John Paul didn't think those questions were part of the test. Only when she asked each boy the exact same questions and then followed up on the differences in their answers did he realize this was definitely one of the main things she was here to do. And from the way she got so involved and tense asking those questions, John Paul gathered that she thought these questions were actually more important than the written part of the test.
John Paul wanted to answer the questions. He wanted to take the test. He liked to take tests. He always answered silently when the older children were taking tests, to see if he could answer as many questions as they did.
So when she was finishing up with Andrew, John Paul was just about to ask if he could take the test when the woman spoke to Mother. "How old is this one?"
"We told you," said Mother. "He's only five."
"Look what he's reading."
"He just turns the pages. It's a game. He's imitating the way he sees the older children read."
"He's reading," said the woman.
"Oh, you're here for a few hours and you know more about my children than I do, even though I teach them for hours every day?"
The woman did not argue. "What is his name?"
Mother didn't want to answer.
"John Paul," said John Paul.
Mother glared at him. So did Andrew.
"I want to take the test," he said.
"You're too young," said Andrew, in Polish.
"I turn six in three weeks," said John Paul. He spoke in Common. He wanted the woman to understand him.
The woman nodded. "I'm allowed to test him early," she said.
"Allowed, but not required," said Father, coming into the room. "What's he doing in here?"
"He said he was going into the other room to read," said Mother. "I thought he meant the other bedroom."
"I'm in the kitchen," said John Paul.
"He didn't disturb anything," said the woman.
"Too bad," said Father.
"I'd like to test him," the woman said.
"No," said Father.
"Somebody will just have to come back in three weeks and do it then," she said. "And disrupt your day one more time. Why not have done with it today?"
"He's already heard the answers," said Mother. "If he was sitting here listening."
"The test isn't like that," said the woman. "It's all right that he heard."
John Paul could see already that Father and Mother were both going to give in, so he didn't bother saying anything to try to influence them. He didn't want to use his ability to say the right words too often, or somebody would catch on, and it would stop working.
It took a few more minutes of conversation, but then John Paul was sitting on the couch beside the woman.
"I really was reading," said John Paul.
"I know," said the woman.
"How?" asked John Paul.
"Because you were turning the pages in a regular rhythm," she said. "You read very fast, don't you?"
John Paul nodded. "When it's interesting."
"And St. John Paul II is an interesting man?"
"He did what he thought was right," said John Paul.
"You're named after him," she said.
"He was very brave," said John Paul. "And he never did what bad people wanted him to do, if he thought it was important."
"What bad people?"
"The Communists," said John Paul.
"How do you know they were bad people? Does the book say so?"
Not in words, John Paul realized. "They were making people do things. They were trying to punish people for being Catholic."
"And that's bad?"
"God is Catholic," said John Paul.
The woman smiled. "Muslims think that God is a Muslim."
John Paul digested this. "Some people think God doesn't exist."
"That's true," said the woman:
"Which?" he asked.
She chuckled. "That some people think he doesn't exist. I don't know, myself. I don't have an opinion on the subject."
"That means you don't believe there is a God," said John Paul.
"Oh, does it?"
"St. John Paul II said so. That saying you don't know or care about God is the same as saying you believe he doesn't exist, because if you had even a hope that he existed, you would care very much."
She laughed. "Just turning the pages, were you?"
"I can answer all your questions," he said.
"Before I ask them?"
"I wouldn't hit him," said John Paul, answering the question about what he would do if a friend tried to take away something of his. "Because then he wouldn't be my friend. But I wouldn't let him take the thing either."
The follow-up to this answer had been, How would you stop him? So John Paul went right on without pausing. "The way I'd stop him is, I'd say, 'You can have it. I give it to you, it's yours now.
Because I'd rather keep you as a friend than keep that thing.' "
"Where did you learn that?" asked the woman.
"That's not one of the questions," said John Paul.
She shook her head. "No, it's not."
"I think sometimes you have to hurt people," said John Paul, answering the next question, which had been, Is there ever a time when you have a right to hurt somebody else?
He answered every question, including the follow-ups, without her having to ask any of them. He did it in the same order she had asked them of his brothers, and when he was done, he said, "Now the written part. I don't know those questions cause I couldn't see them and you didn't say them."
They were easier than he thought. They were about shapes and remembering things and picking out right sentences and doing numbers, things like that. She kept looking at her watch, so he hurried.
When it was all done, she just sat there looking at him.
"Did I do it right?" asked John Paul.
She nodded.
He studied her face, the way she sat, the way her hands didn't move, the way she looked at him. The way she was breathing. He realized that she was very excited, trying hard to stay calm. That's why she wasn't speaking. She didn't want him to know.
But he knew.
He was what she had come here looking for.
"Some people might say that this is why women can't be used for testing," said Col. Sillain.
"Then those people would be mentally deficient," said Helena Rudolf.
"Too susceptible to a cute face," said Sillain. "Too prone to go 'Aw' and give a kid the benefit of the doubt on everything."
"Fortunately, you don't harbor any such suspicions," said Helena.
"No," said Sillain. "That's because I happen to know you have no heart."
"There we are," said Helena. "We finally understand each other."
"And you say this Polish five-year-old is more than just precocious."
"Heaven knows, that's the main thing our tests identify—general precociousness."
"There are better tests being developed. Very specific for military ability. And younger than you might think."
"Too bad that it's already almost too late."
Col. Sillain shrugged. "There's a theory that we don't actually have to put them through a full course of training."