Page 66 of Two Kinds of Stranger

‘I work in behavioral psychology and behavioral economics. I advise companies how to sell their products.’

‘And you do that through psychology?’

‘Yeah, once you understand why people buy something, then you can sell them anything.’

‘How does it work?’

‘Well, take you for example. You performed an act of kindness on the subway—’

‘Not the noodles again,’ said Grace, laughing.

‘Come on, you asked. You did that because you had the personal, environmental and situational capacity to do so.’

Clasping her hand to her forehead, Grace laughed again and shook her head.

‘I don’t get it,’ she said.

‘Okay, so there was a study done by John Darley and Daniel Batson. They took seminary students studying for the priesthood and asked them questions about why they wanted to be priests–was it about helping people or was it to do with their faith? Now, the questions had nothing to do with the study. The students were told after they had completed the questionnaire to go to another building on campus and give a presentation. Some were told they were already late for the presentation, and some were told they could take their time to get to the other building. This is the real part of the study: on their way across the campus, every student saw a guy lying in a doorway, coughing and groaning. Only ten percent of the students who were in a hurry stopped to help the guy. Sixty-three per cent of the students who were informed they could take their time getting to the next building stopped to help.’

With her elbow on the bar and her large blue eyes fixed on Logan, Grace smiled and listened, transfixed.

‘Here’s the kicker,’ said Logan. ‘Half of the students were on their way to give a talk about what they’d learned in seminary school and how that could be applied in later life, the other half were giving a talk on the parable of the Good Samaritan.’

‘The Good Samaritan?’

‘Yes, the story of the Samaritan who stops on the road to Jericho to help a wounded traveler, after a Jewish priest and a Levite had passed the wounded man on the road without helping.’

‘Okay, so the priests who were on their way to give a talk on the Good Samaritan, they all helped the guy lying in the doorway?’

‘No, it made no difference, even if that Bible story was right in the forefront of their minds. The only thing that made a difference was whether they had time to stop and help the man.’

‘Wow. So, most of the priests didn’t stop to help the stranger because they were worried they’d be late to give a talk on the Good Samaritan. That’s crazy.’

‘It’s how most people’s minds work. Kindness is relative to our capacity, which includes whether we have the time and the inclination to help others. So, getting back to the noodles—’

‘Not the noodlesagain?’ she said. A flush of embarrassment painted her cheeks a darker shade of ruby.

‘Yes, the noodles. You had three choices on the subway. You could have ignored the situation and let the woman’s groceries fall on the floor. You could have woken her up and told her about the bag spilling, but you did something else–you just helped her, not expecting any reward nor anyone else to see this small act of kindness. What academics forget about that study with the trainee priests is that ten per cent of them who were in a rush to get somewhere still stopped to help. I think you’re one of the ten per cent, Grace. And I like that.’

Logan hesitated, staring at Grace, a strange warmth flowing through him, suddenly embarrassed–worried that he had perhaps said too much.

‘I think you’re weird, Logan,’ she said with a smile, and added, ‘AndIlike that.’

That warm sensation became hot blood flushing his cheeks.

‘You’re very special,’ said Logan.

‘I’m not special,’ said Grace. ‘Where I grew up, you helped your neighbors.’

‘Where are you from originally?’

‘Just outside of Maysville, Georgia. My family worked the watermelon farms. Nobody in that area ever had very much, but what we had we shared with those who had nothing. It was just the way I was brought up. I remember one time old farmer Greggs went missing. He was the meanest old son-of-a-bitch in the whole county. But his wife was a gentle soul. Greggs treated everyone like they were dirt on his boots, but when he went missing everybody went out looking for him. We searched those fields all summer long. It was hot too, but we never gave up, because there was a woman in that farmhouse going crazy with worry. That’s where I come from. That’s how I was raised. You help people, and you don’t expect anything in return.’

‘Did they ever find the melon farmer?’

She laughed, said, ‘That’s the worst part. His wife got a letter from him a couple of months after he went missing saying he was living in Atlanta. He’d met a stripper named Candy and he wanted a divorce.’

‘So you all went through that for nothing?’