Altered Children

Zahra faced the older boy with her hands on her hips. “I am not evil,” she said, and stomped her foot. The boy’s jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide.

“You devil!” the boy yelled at Zahra. “You know my thoughts.” He pushed her to the ground near the swings in the park where the children had been playing. The boy shook a fist at her. “Only devils and demons do that.” Not quite four years old, Zahra began crying.

Children and parents looked over to see what was ruining what had been a beautiful late September day in 2022. Two of the boy’s friends picked up sticks and approached Zahra. Her fraternal twin brother, Kamal, who’d been tossing a ball with some of his friends, ran to Zahra. He got to her as a boy was about to strike her with a stick.

“Don’t you hit my sister.” Kamal said. As he glared at the three older boys, the sticks two were holding flew out of their hands and one of the boys was struck by a rock that seemed to come from nowhere. One of the boys shouted “You’re both devils!” Then, the three boys turned and ran.

By the time their mother, Aisha, reached them, Kamal had helped Zahra to her feet. “Are you alright, Zahra, what happened?”

She responded through tears and sniffles. “I don’t . . . under . . . stand, Mother. He . . . he asked me . . . if I could . . . guess what . . . he had in his bag.” Calming down, she continued. “I did, and he said I was evil—not with his voice—but, I heard him say it in my head. When I told him I wasn’t evil, he called me a devil and pushed me. Mother, I’m not evil or a devil, am I?”

“No, of course not. Never mind what those boys said. But, precious, how did you know what was in the bag, and how could you hear what he said if he didn’t speak it out loud?”

“I don’t know,” her daughter replied. “I want to go home now. Can we?”

“Yes. We should leave now.” The park was across the street from a small mosque, led by one of the few radical Islamic clerics in Rabat. So, Aisha tucked her hair under the scarf over her head and tightened it to avoid attracting attention.

She took her children’s hands and led them away. The park and their apartment building, three blocks away, were in one of the quieter neighborhoods of the crowded and popular Yaakuub Al Mansour section of Rabat, Morocco’s capital city. This area was named after the twelfth century sultan who began Rabat’s construction.

During the past two months, Zahra and Kamal had discovered they could communicate without speaking out loud. At first it was like sending images or impressions, but recently they had actually been able to converse using both impressions and words. It also seemed they could pass thoughts to one another much faster than using their voices. They conversed silently as they walked, undeterred by the noises of traffic and people shopping and chatting.

“Zahra, I heard the thoughts of those mean boys too. I don’t feel like a devil, do you?”

“No! We’re not. But I’ve never heard anyone else’s thoughts before, only yours.”

“Me too,” Kamal agreed. “Can anybody else do this, talk with their minds?”

“I don’t think so. But, those sticks . . . and the rock. Did you do something with them?”

“Maybe. I was thinking about knocking the sticks out of their hands . . . and . . . also throwing a rock to stop that boy from hitting you.”

“I’m frightened, Kamal. We have to tell Mother and Father about this.”

“You’re right. Maybe they know what’s happening.”

“Mother,” Zahra said, “we have to tell you about what happened in the park.”

Aisha stopped walking and turned her children to face her. “Well, I do want to talk to you both about that. But not now, and certainly not here on the sidewalk. Let’s wait until we get home.” She half dragged the children in her rush to get home. By now, they were within a block of their apartment, one of twenty in a five-story building, each with a view of the building’s central courtyard.

Many of their neighbors were young- to middle-aged, educated professionals, very much like themselves, with whom they often got together for meals, to listen to music and discuss issues of the day.

As soon as they arrived home and made themselves comfortable, Aisha had the children sit on the sofa, pulled over a chair and sat next to them. Their comfortable three-bedroom apartment included a combined kitchen and dining area, a living room and one bathroom. “Please tell me what happened. Zahra, you first.”

“Mother, we don’t really understand it but Kamal and I found out we could talk to each other in our minds.”

“In your minds, without actually talking? How could you—when did you start doing this?” Aisha asked.

Zahra thought for a bit. “Four or five weeks.” She glanced at Kamal who nodded in affirmation.

Aisha turned to her son. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, my darling?”

“Well, . . . I guess so.” He stared at the floor.

“Kamal, look at me and answer.”

“I think I can make things move without touching them. You know, by thinking about it.”

Aisha leaned over and put a hand on each child’s knee. “Children, I need you to show me how this can be. Kamal, come with me. Zahra, remain seated.” Zahra chewed on her lower lip and watched her mother and brother amble across the room. Aisha stopped, knelt down and whispered something in Kamal’s ear. She led her son back to his seat on the sofa and again sat on the chair. “Okay, Kamal tell your sister without speaking what I told you . . . and Zahra, repeat what Kamal said.”

Almost immediately, Zahra faced her mother and restated what she had been told silently, while Kamal sat with his arms crossed and a smug expression.

Aisha’s heart raced and she bit her knuckles. “Now, Kamal, you say you can move things just by thinking. Show me.” She pointed to a book. “Move that book from the table to your lap.”

Her son shuffled in his seat and the lines deepened between his eyebrows as he stared intently at the book. Soon the book ascended, hesitantly at first, then arched through the air and landed with a plop on the floor next to his feet.

Aisha’s eyes widened and she said “Maa Shaa Allah” (if it is the will of Allah). She then had her children describe what happened in the park. As they did, Aisha nervously drummed her fingers on her leg, then rose from her chair to pace back and forth before settling back down. Finally she said, “Children, some very religious people believe only devils and demons have these abilities. These people can be very mean to others who they think are evil. So, never use these unusual abilities of yours in public.”

“But, Mother, why can we do these things?” a teary-eyed Zahra asked.

“I don’t know, precious, but I will find out. Now, you two help me clean up here so I can prepare dinner.”

Later that evening, when the children were sleeping, Aisha sat down on the sofa with her husband, Rachid and told him of the day’s events. They were loving parents and discussed all important issues before making decisions. They came from the same home town, and their parents had arranged their marriage. Both had attended the Université Mohammed V, located in the center of Rabat, in a section called Agdal. The French had occupied Morocco for over eighty years, ending in 1956 and the university continued to follow the French model.

Their relationship was built on Moroccan tradition, which decreed that single males and females may not be together unless they are in public or chaperoned. While attending the university, they often met in public cafés and restaurants frequented by singles. However, sometimes they sneaked off to ride on Rachid’s motorcycle to their favorite restaurant, Ennajma (The Star), which catered to singles. It was a small, friendly restaurant between Rabat and the small town of Temara, and it served tagin, their favorite Moroccan meat and vegetable dish with chicken, potatoes, onions and olives.

“I’d like to know how our children got these unusual abilities,” Rachid commented.

“So would I. Nobody in your family or mine can do what they do. It really concerns me.”

Rachid shook his head. “Especially when we live a few blocks from that radical mosque.”

“I told them not to do anything that will make people aware of their abilities.”

“That’s good. We will have to keep a close watch on them.” Rachid leaned back in the sofa and rubbed his jaw between a thumb and forefinger. Then he sat up straight and took his wife’s hand. “But what do we do now? How do we find out what is happening with them?”

“My love,” Aisha proclaimed, “you don’t have the time, but I can use the Internet and go to the library. I’m certain the information we need is out there.”

The following afternoon, Aisha began to explore the library for relevant books and magazines. Not finding much at first, she returned home and started to search the Internet for information to help her and Rachid understand their children’s unusual abilities.

After a couple of weeks she was satisfied, and amazed, with what she had discovered. Finally, Aisha was prepared to discuss her findings with Rachid. After dinner, and when the children were asleep, Aisha asked her husband to sit down at the dining table on which she had placed three books and at least a dozen documents.

Aisha Zahraoui had graduated with a Licence en Droit (Bachelor of Law Degree) in Private Law. She and Rachid Fakherdin got married after he received a Diplôme Etudes Supérieur (Masters Degree) in Business Administration. The ceremony had taken place in their home town of Oued Zem, 170 km (106 miles) south of Rabat in the center of Morocco. Their wedding lasted for three days, with lots of food, games and music, and tents for family and friends. In keeping with Moroccan tradition, Aisha kept her maiden name.

Returning to Rabat, they moved into the apartment a friend had found for them. Rachid began his new job as Chief of the Personnel Department at his alma mater, the Université Mohammed V. For two years Aisha worked at a small organization that provided assistance to women and children with legal problems. She became pregnant at twenty-six years old, and promptly quit working to take care of their home and young children. By then, Rachid was twenty-seven.

Aisha’s eyes sparkled. “I found interesting information on the Internet about studies of twins and these mental abilities of our children. There’s a history of twins being able to sense what each other is feeling, and sometimes thinking, even from a distance. It’s called ‘telepathy’. I tell you, our children are beyond anything I read about.”

“Telepathy . . . hmm . . . you know, I have heard about it, but I don’t know . . .”

“Kamal’s ability to move objects with his mind is called ‘telekinesis’,” she continued. “Others have demonstrated similar abilities, but I don’t think as strongly as Kamal.”

Rachid looked at his wife with great admiration and respect. Her trim figure, long dark hair, and long-lashed seductive brown eyes that had just a hint of green, always made his heart beat faster. He took her hand. “Intelligent and beautiful. I’m very lucky, my beloved.”

She smiled back at him. “Why thank you, husband. I’m so glad you appreciate me.” Aisha removed her hand from his and caressed his cheek. “But let’s get back to more pressing matters. I still have a lot to show you.”

“You have been busy, haven’t you?” he said, smiling.

“Yes,” Aisha replied, “I checked out three books from the library and printed some information from the Internet.” She pointed at the material that lay on the table. “You might want to look at these before we continue.”

Rachid thumbed through the papers. One set was a report titled The Psychological Connection between Twins from a series of forums conducted by an organization called ‘iEARN’ in Zimbabwe during 2002 and 2003. Another set was a report from a follow-up forum held in Switzerland in 2007. One book that particularly interested him was Twin Telepathy by Guy Playfair, published in 2002.

“Fantastic!” Rachid acknowledged. “Is there more?”

“A lot more than I’ve been able to look at. Barely scratched the surface. I did find out you can get a degree in parapsychology at a number of universities.”

“’Parapsychology’ . . . what is that?” Rachid asked.

His wife smiled. “It’s the study of things like telepathy and telekinesis—oh, almost forgot,” Aisha said, snapping her fingers. “Let’s look at one of the most interesting websites I found.”

They went to the desk and sat down. Aisha turned on their computer and located the website set up by a Dr. Dennis Murphy for his research project at the University of Washington. They read several pages containing information on the project and its objectives, as well as about intelligence, parapsychology and child prodigies.

“These child prodigies are amazing,” Rachid noted. “Check this out. The San Francisco Chronicle ran a story in 1994 on Michael Kearney who had graduated college at ten years old.”

“Yes, and see here,” Aisha scrolled down to another paragraph, “it says he was talking at four months old.” They looked wide-eyed at each other.

Rachid continued. “Listen to this, ‘by 10 months, he was comparison-shopping in the grocery store with his parents.’”

Aisha pointed out Dr. Murphy’s academic credentials to her husband. She then displayed the page with the website’s questionnaire. “Look. I didn’t want to fill it out until you saw it. I think we should, don’t you?”

“Yes I do,” he agreed. “Dr. Murphy and his project appear genuine. We might learn something important.”

A few days passed and Zahra was stretched out on the floor of Kamal’s bedroom, a box of colored pencils next to her, drawing a picture of a dog. Kamal was on his bed across the room watching an old Star Trek TV show. Suddenly he switched off the television. Dropping to the floor, he scrambled over to Zahra and tapped her shoulder.

When Zahra turned toward him, without making a sound Kamal said, “I had a bad dream last night and remembered it just now. Some scary, funny-looking people took me away from here, brought me into a room and put me on a table. Then, people who looked sort of like doctors poked me with tools like the doctor uses. They were not very careful either, and it hurt. That’s all I remember. I didn’t like it.”

Zahra stared at Kamal for a minute without saying anything. Then she sat up and spoke slowly while she tried to remember. “You know, . . . I think . . . I think I had a similar dream. And someone stuck me in a . . . a big tank or something, and I was all closed in. What does it mean if we both have the same kind of dream?”

He stared back and said aloud “I don’t know. Maybe, . . . do you think it wasn’t a dream?”

“Now I’m really scared.” Zahra rubbed her hands together nervously. “And in the last few days I’ve been hearing more voices in my head, besides that mean boy at the park a few weeks ago, but I can’t understand them.”

“So have I!” Kamal exclaimed. “It does sound strange, but like talking in a different language.”

“Sometimes I can sort of get what they’re saying,” Zahra said, “but only pictures in my mind—like when you and I first started.”

“Right, me too”

“I don’t think this is happening with anybody else we know. I wish we knew why it’s happening to us.” Zahra slapped the floor angrily, then shook her hand. “Ouch, that was dumb.”

Kamal reverted to silent speech again. “Do you think we should tell Mother and Father about the dreams and the voices we both hear?”

“We told them we could hear each other’s thoughts and didn’t get into trouble. So, maybe we should,” she remarked. “But, I don’t want to say anything about the dreams right now.”

“I’m already in trouble because of my practical jokes,” Kamal informed Zahra, concern showing on his face. “I don’t want to say much until we know more ourselves. If you think it will be all right, let’s tell them about the voices, but not the dreams.” The children went to the living room and faced their parents.

“We want to speak with you. It’s important.” Kamal held his hands behind his back and twisted his body back and forth.

“It is important, and we couldn’t wait.” Zahra added.

Kamal looked at his sister and nudged her. She continued, “Remember that mean boy in the park, whose voice I heard in my head? Well, . . . we’ve been hearing other voices too.”

Kamal shifted from foot to foot. “We thought you should know.”

“How long has this been going on?” Aisha asked.

Following a short pause, Zahra said, “Not too long, a few days—isn’t that right, Kamal?”

“Yes. But today we found out both of us are hearing voices.”

“I wasn’t even sure about the voices until now,” Zahra interjected.

“What do these voices say to you?” Rachid wanted to know.

Kamal stood straighter. Confident now. “We can’t understand them, but it’s like hearing people talk from far away and in a different language.”

Zahra jumped in. “That’s right. But I think it’s mostly two or three different people.”

Rachid shook his head and then took the children into his arms. “Don’t worry. Your mother has found information about people who can communicate by thinking, and who can move things with their minds. It seems you are not the only ones who can do these things.”

The children sighed, and their faces beamed with delight.

“Great!” Kamal exclaimed. “We were afraid you might be angry or something.”

“Kamal, don’t think you are off the hook,” Aisha said. “You’re old enough to know better than to play those practical jokes. You could hurt someone, or make your friends so angry they won’t play with you anymore.”

Kamal looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry, Mommy,” he muttered.

“Both of you consider how you’re going to use these precious gifts from Allah,” Rachid said, “and that is what they are. Let’s each reflect on this for a while and we’ll talk about it another time, soon.”

Zahra and Kamal were relieved by how their parents had reacted. They went back to Zahra’s room and discussed their strange abilities. It was time to give the situation very serious thought.

Once the children left the room, Aisha asked, “What of this new development? I thought I was just beginning to get a handle on the telepathy between the two of them, and now this. I don’t know what to make of these other voices. Unless . . . oh . . . I don’t know.”

Rachid leaned closer to Aisha. “Maybe . . . maybe we should speak to Doctor Ben Nafi.”

“Who?”

“He’s the head of the Psychology Department at the university. He might have some insight into how we should deal with this.”

Kamal and Zahra were seated at the dining table playing backgammon on a sunny Wednesday morning in the third week of October. Over the last several months they’d been learning to read autodidactically, picking it up on their own at a rapid pace and remembering virtually everything. They had recently learned to play backgammon by reading a rule book, and had been playing for over two hours.

Kamal furrowed his brow, narrowed his brown eyes to two slits and rolled the dice. Zahra glared at Kamal; then she grabbed the dice before they stopped rolling and flung them at him.

“Kamal!” Zahra yelled. “I know you’re cheating!”

“What do you mean?” Kamal asked, looking innocent with raised eyebrows, just before he started laughing.

“I could tell by the way you were concentrating when you rolled the dice.” Zahra growled. “I know that look you get.” She jumped off the chair, crossed her arms, and turned her back on her twin brother as her long, dark brown hair swished about.

“Sorry,” Kamal muttered. “I couldn’t help it. You beat me twice in a row, and I wanted to win. I won’t do it again. Come on, let’s play another game.”

Zahra turned and regained her seat. “Well, I’m watching you,” she warned, wagging a finger at him.”

Later, in the early evening, Rachid and Aisha relaxed on the sofa in the living room. Voices of street vendors, people talking and children playing drifted in from outside.

They had instructed Zahra and Kamal to play in one of their bedrooms until told to come out in order to plan a party for the twins’ fourth birthday in two and a half weeks on the seventh of November. Aisha held up the paper she had been writing on. “Here’s a list of their friends, and I would like to invite them all. But before we say anything to Kamal and Zahra, I think we should speak to the parents and find out which children can come.”

“Good idea,” Rachid agreed. “I don’t want to disappoint the children if any of their friends are not allowed to come.”

Aisha smiled at her tall, handsome husband and briefly thought how, with his narrow mustache, black hair and dark brown eyes he slightly resembled Omar Shariff when he co-starred in the 1962 film Lawrence of Arabia. “Right now, I’m not even sure we should have a party,” she said. “You know how Kamal can be. Since he discovered his telekinetic ability, he has difficulty holding it in. He wants to play jokes on people all the time.”

Rachid looked at her and shook his head. “Kamal just doesn’t take his gift seriously enough. We have to convince him practical jokes may seem like fun now, but he might alienate all his friends.”

“That’s not all,” Aisha added. “He could seriously injure somebody. Last week, Kamal moved a chair as Mustafa was preparing to sit on it. I know because, before the chair moved, I saw the look of concentration Kamal gets. When I questioned Kamal about it, he confessed.”

“I’ve been trying to reach Dr. Ben Nafi at the university, but he has been away at a conference. He’ll be back soon.”

“I hope so. We need his advice—now!”

“I tell Kamal over and over again that if those radical Islamists find out about him and Zahra, they could cause a lot of trouble.” Rachid slapped his knee. “I’ve even taken privileges away from him to make him understand how important this is.”

Aisha gripped one hand in the other and said quite emphatically, “This isn’t something we can allow to continue uncontrolled!”

“No,” Rachid concurred. “Ahmed told me yesterday he didn’t want Mustafa to play with Kamal unless one of us supervised them. Ahmed doesn’t know what’s going on with Kamal. He said he is worried Kamal’s harmful pranks will hurt someone.”

Aisha thought a moment, nodded her head and said, “I think we should find a private school for Kamal, if not for both of them, one which might be better equipped to deal with this than the public schools. Allah be praised the twins’ ability to sense what each other is thinking hasn’t caused problems.”

“I’m not sure any school would be equipped to deal with them,” Rachid countered. “However, . . . hmm . . . the university runs a school for children of its employees. They have resources many schools don’t have. I’ll check into it tomorrow.”

“They’re so smart. It astounds me how well they both read—without lessons. Perhaps you’re right, husband, and the university’s school would be best for them.”

“It’s something to consider. They seem much more articulate than the average child their age, and I’m astonished by how good they are with math and games.”

“I saw them playing backgammon this morning,” Aisha said. “They played for almost three hours. The advanced quality of their strategy was remarkable.”

“I know,” Rachid added. “I played a game with each of them last week. I won only one game, and that one by just two stones.”

Two days later, on Friday, Rachid reached Munir Ben Nafi on the phone. In addition to being the department chairman, he was a full professor, with a busy teaching schedule. Dr. Ben Nafi was an eminent psychologist in North Africa and Europe. One of the three psychology books he had written was a standard textbook on early childhood development at many universities.

Rachid explained who he was and described the twins’ abilities and the research Aisha had done. Rachid asked if he and Aisha could meet with him soon to get his advice. Dr. Ben Nafi was intrigued and scheduled a meeting for the following Tuesday afternoon.

“I want to meet with you and your wife first,” the professor declared. “Have your wife drop the children off in the day care center and then come to my office. I’ll want to talk to the children afterward. If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“No, nothing I can think of,” Rachid said. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

When Dr. Ben Nafi hung up, he made arrangements with the day care center and sat back in his chair. He filled his pipe with his favorite tobacco blend, tamped it down and lit it. He took a puff, blew out little circles of smoke, and contemplated what Rachid had told him. The professor was extremely interested in the paranormal.

He turned to his desktop computer, opened his file on future projects, and typed a few notes highlighting the possibilities. His entry concluded with: “Can these children be genuine? If so, could be an opportunity for breakthrough research and maybe another book.”

On Tuesday, the Mediterranean humidity hung heavy in the air. City smells flowed with the light, cool breeze. Intermittent rainfall, typical for a late October day, made Aisha decide on the convenience of taking one of the special taxis for the short ride, instead of the bus. Since it cost the same, money was not a factor. She planned to go home with her husband and children after their meeting concluded. Aisha dropped the children off at the day care center and arrived ten minutes early. She was seated in the outer office when Rachid entered.

Rachid greeted his wife and approached the secretary, a portly gentleman in his forties, balding and with a conspicuous comb-over, seated behind a desk. Rachid coughed to get the secretary’s attention and then asked him to tell the department head they were waiting. The secretary buzzed the professor and instructed Rachid and his wife to go in, pointing to the door.

Rachid and Aisha entered an office with stacks of books and papers on almost every flat surface. Bookshelves lined two walls and a file cabinet backed against a third wall. To Rachid, the office seemed crowded, especially with an easy chair in a corner by a window that overlooked a courtyard. Aisha, however, thought it was cozy. They faced a desk with two chairs in front and Dr. Ben Nafi sitting behind it. Rachid noticed the framed doctoral certificate from the University of British Columbia displayed prominently on the wall behind the desk.

He rose, walked around his desk. “Salaam alaykum” (Peace be upon you).

At their reply “wa alaykum salaam” (and on you be peace), he shook their hands, finding it necessary to look up into Rachid’s eyes. He invited them to sit down opposite him at the desk and returned to his chair. Bald, hook-nosed, with a neatly trimmed goatee under a narrow face, Dr. Ben Nafi looked very professorial. His thick horn-rimmed glasses did not hide his flashing green eyes with gray flecks in them. He wore a tweed jacket with leather-patched elbows, a white shirt with a bow tie, and corduroy slacks, all neatly pressed and clean.

The professor glanced at each of them. “Well, I’m delighted to meet both of you.”

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with us,” Rachid acknowledged. “Please call me Rachid. This is my wife, Aisha.”

“Thank you for seeing us Dr. Ben Nafi,” Aisha said. “We do appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure. I was excited by what Rachid told me. Tell me about your children.”

For the next half hour, they described the telepathic abilities the children shared, Kamal’s telekinetic talents, and the information Aisha had obtained from the Internet and library. Dr. Ben Nafi listened intently.

Munir Ben Nafi stroked his chin. “I must advise you, in all honesty, a majority of what you got from the Internet and those books on paranormal behavior are anecdotal and not markedly reliable. There haven’t been many scientific studies on paranormal abilities.”

“Did I waste my time?” Aisha inquired.

Dr. Ben Nafi threw up a hand as if to say stop. “Don’t get me wrong. Some of the information you have is good, just not terribly scientific. The twin studies actually deal with identical twins, not fraternal like your children.”

“What about Dr. Murphy’s website?” Aisha asked.

“Now that is different. This project of his is most interesting. I’ll see what I can find out. If I think it’ll be worth while, I’ll contact him. Did you get a reply from that questionnaire?”

“Not yet,” Rachid replied. “Do you have any reliable information?”

Dr. Ben Nafi puffed on his pipe and then replied. “There was a Dr. Rhine at Duke University in the United States during the 1930s who did excellent pioneering studies. It was generally called extrasensory perception then, or ESP. During the 1960s and 70s, scientists in the former Soviet Union performed interesting, and secretive, experiments. Some universities have added or continued with studies in parapsychology and others have eliminated their programs.”

“The children are very intelligent,” Aisha commented, “and we think they should start school early. But we don’t know how soon to enroll them, or where.”

Rachid continued. “We’re not sure a public school would be right for them, and have been thinking of finding a private school. We wondered about the university’s school. What do you think we should do next?”

“I would like to meet the children before I answer your question,” the professor replied. “I’ll call the day care center and you can tell the children someone will bring them here.” The call completed, he directed his secretary to get the children.

While they waited for the children Dr. Ben Nafi asked, “What makes you think your children are particularly intelligent?”

“They were able to read before they were three,” Rachid answered.

Aisha jumped in with, “and talk in complete sentences too—as well as adults. Isn’t that a sign they are much more intelligent than average?”

The professor nodded. “Yes, it is. Children typically speak in sentences of several words by two and a half years, but their grammar is often incorrect. They seldom use complete, adult level sentences until they are nearly six years old.”

Aisha told Dr. Ben Nafi what she and Rachid had read regarding child prodigies.

“Here’s another one,” Munir Ben Nafi said. “Do you know who John Stuart Mill was?”

“Yes,” Aisha replied. “He was a nineteenth century English philosopher.”

Dr. Ben Nafi shifted in his chair. “Correct. By the time he was seven, he’d been taught Greek by his father. And at seven he read Plato’s first six dialogues . . . in Greek.”

The creaking hinge of the opening door made them look up as the children were shown in. They greeted their parents and were introduced to the professor. He shook their hands, his large hands completely covering the children’s. He had them sit in the chairs his secretary brought in for them.

“Your parents described your amazing abilities,” Dr. Ben Nafi told the children. “Did they tell you that many twins have a special connection, and sometimes sense what is happening to each other, even if a long distance separates them?”

Zahra shrugged. “Sort of. My daddy said other people can do it too.”

Kamal’s eyes grew wide. “But, we didn’t know about the twins.”

“Well, it’s true. I hear you can talk with your minds. Can you do it whenever you want?”

“Yes,” they both answered.

“Would you like to show me?” Dr. Ben Nafi inquired.

The children turned to their parents. “Is it okay?” Kamal wanted to know.

Aisha reached over, covered Rachid’s hand with hers and glanced at him. When Rachid nodded his head, Aisha got her children’s attention and said, “Do whatever he asks.”

“Can you children read and write your letters and numbers?”

Kamal rolled his eyes. “Yes,” he replied in an exasperated tone.

“We read really well,” Zahra contributed.

“Good. Kamal, come over here to me.” Dr. Ben Nafi motioned to him. “Aisha, please take Zahra into the next room for a moment.” While they were leaving the office, the professor wrote something down on a piece of paper.

Once Aisha and Zahra left, Dr. Ben Nafi turned to Kamal. “When Zahra returns I want you to tell her, with your mind only, to go to your father and kiss him on his right cheek, but not until I tell you.”

Munir Ben Nafi buzzed his secretary and asked him to send Aisha and Zahra back into his office. They rushed in and, at the professor’s direction, sat again.

Dr. Ben Nafi faced Kamal. “Okay Kamal, turn your back to your sister and give her the instructions with your mind as I told you.”

Kamal concentrated for a moment. Zahra immediately got off her chair, walked to her father, grasped his hand, pulled him down so his face was level with hers, and planted a kiss on his right cheek. She glanced at Kamal, who had turned toward her again, and smiled. Kamal put his hand up to his mouth, covering a big grin, shrugged his shoulders and giggled.

Dr. Ben Nafi rubbed his hands together and gave one loud guffaw. “Excellent, children. Now I have something else for you to do.” He reached across the desk and gave Kamal a pad of paper and a pencil. “Zahra is going to read some letters and numbers to you with her mind. When she does, please write them down exactly as she reads them.” The professor wrote fifteen letters and numbers on a piece of note paper and handed it to her. “Now, slowly, with your mind, read those to Kamal and then give the paper back to me.”

Zahra glanced at the paper for a second, closed her eyes and from memory read the letters and numbers to him without speaking.

Kamal finished writing and looked up. Dr. Ben Nafi asked him to give the paper to his mother. “Now, Aisha, will you please read what Kamal wrote.” As she read the list, he checked off his list from the paper he had given Zahra to read. He looked up and said, “Zahra . . . you had your eyes closed and did not actually read the list did you?”

“Kind of. I remembered it and gave it to Kamal with my mind.”

“Truly remarkable. Absolutely correct. I have never seen a demonstration of such strong telepathic abilities . . . and memory as well. Now, if we may do one last test. Kamal, would you move something with your mind like the book over there.” He pointed to the top book of a pile of books on his desk he wanted moved. “Can you move it over there on top of that cabinet?” The professor pointed to the cabinet.

Instead of replying to the question, Kamal looked at the book, squinted his eyes with concentration. The book slowly rose off the stack and landed on the cabinet with a soft plop. Kamal crossed his arms, cocked his head and looked at the professor. “Do you want me to do anything else, sir?”

Dr. Ben Nafi pressed his hands together in front of his chest as if in prayer. He looked up and smiled. “Allaho Akbar (God is great). How exciting!”

“Do you have any idea how they might have come by these abilities?” Rachid asked.

“Maa Shaa Allah,” Dr. Ben Nafi said. “These things happen if it is the will of Allah. Scientifically though, it is possible these abilities are the result of a natural genetic mutation, a process that points to the future evolution of humanity. Anything else I can’t say at this point.”

“What should we do now?” Rachid asked. “They’ll be of school age in two years, but we think they’re ready now, and we’re worried about them.”

“I would love to see them again, do some proper tests. Together we can prepare them for school. Probably in a few months, I believe we’ll be able to enroll them in our University Elementary School.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Aisha cried out. “Oh, I’m sorry, excuse me please.”

Dr. Ben Nafi grinned and chuckled. “It’s all right, Aisha. Completely understandable.”

“We’re grateful for your help,” Rachid said.

The professor looked first at Aisha and then at Rachid. “It is I who should be grateful. I have always been interested in the development of children, and in parapsychology. This will give me an opportunity to work with these delightful children and study them as well.” He then turned and looked at the children.

Zahra stood up, “You said tests, Dr. Ben Nafi. What kind of tests?”

“The tests are a lot like games. They will show us how strong your abilities are. Your mother can bring you and assist with the tests. Our time together will help to ready you for school and for whatever may come later. Would you both like to do this?”

“Yes, thank you Dr. Ben Nafi,” Kamal said. “I would like it very much.”

Zahra nodded her head vigorously. “Me too. What are the tests like?”

“Excellent question,” Munir Ben Nafi noted. “There are several ways to test your extraordinary abilities. We’ll use the special deck of cards developed by Dr. Rhine to test your telepathic and clairvoyant abilities. We’ll also use dice to test your ability to move objects with your mind. And there are memory tests I’m sure you will enjoy.”

The twins gave Dr. Ben Nafi a puzzled look. “What is that word ’clair—voy’ . . . what was it?” Kamal asked.

“I’m sorry. I should have explained. The word was ‘clairvoyant’ and it means to know something without the use of your five primary physical senses: touch, vision, smell, hearing, and taste. Does that help you?”

Zahra and Kamal looked at each other. Their faces glowed with anticipation. Zahra turned back to the professor, smiled, and said, “Yes, sir. When can we start?”

“I’ll check my calendar, and then discuss it with your parents. We’ll get started soon, and then we’ll find out where this takes us.”

As the twins and their parents got up to leave, Dr. Ben Nafi said, “Wait, one more thing. I would like to schedule CAT and MRI brain scans on both children to see the structure and activity levels of their brain. I’ll email you links to websites where can learn about them. Get back to me with any questions and to schedule the scans.”