The white-haired three-year-old steps up to the slab and takes a forward stance, his weight displaced perfectly over his bent left knee, his right arm slightly bent as it arcs slowly overhead, practicing the breaking movement. The blade of his right hand comes to rest at the center of the top slab.

‘Permission to break, sir?’

‘Permission granted.’

Barbara Walters and her crew watch in amazement as the small boy closes his eyes and meditates, his shallow breaths growing gradually into a low growl as he gathers strength, his right arm continuing its downward practice swings over and over, pressing the concrete heavier with each successive strike.

Suddenly, the blue eyes flash open, the boy’s face a mask of rage. With a tremendous, ‘ki-yahhh!’ he slams his open knife hand against the slab, the impact of his slender right wrist striking the concrete like a bullet hitting glass.

The slab collapses to the protective mat, the concrete split in half.

The crew applauds wildly.

The boy doesn’t so much as smile. He bows to his instructor, then takes his place next to his brother.

Master Pope turns to the dark-haired twin. ‘Immanuel.’

The dark-eyed boy ignores him, too engrossed in playing with his toes.

‘Immanuel, join me please.’

The boy rolls over and stands, then bunny-hops over to his instructor.

‘Manny, these nice people want to see how well you can break a board. Do you want to show them?’

The boy runs to his mother, hugging her legs.

Dominique picks him up. ‘Sorry, he’s a little shy.’

Barbara strokes his hair. ‘He’s so cute, but so much different than his brother. Jacob seems so mature, I mean, I know he’s only three, but—’

‘The Hunahpu gene is dominant in Jake, recessive in his brother. At times, Jake possesses the awareness of an adult.’

‘Can I meet him?’

‘Sure. Master Pope?’

Master Pope signals Jacob to stand. Student and teacher bow to one another, then the white-haired boy hustles over to his mother.

‘Jake, this is Barbara.’

‘Hi.’

‘Hello. Would you mind if I ask you and your brother some questions?’

‘Okay.’

‘How were you able to break that thick slab of concrete with your tiny hand?’

The boy points to a bone along the outside of his right wrist. ‘We strike this bone over and over until it calcifies and the nerves deaden. Then we learn to focus.’

‘Wow. You sound so grown-up for a three-year-old.’

Jacob shrugs.

‘Tell us what else you can do.’

‘I like to swim.’

‘How far can you swim?’

‘I do a mile in the pool every morning before breakfast.’

Barbara’s jaw drops. ‘A mile?’

‘I can swim, too,’ chimes in Manny.

‘You can? And how far do you swim?’

Manny buries his face against his mother’s chest.

Dominique strokes the boy’s jet-black hair. ‘Manny can swim ten laps in the pool, can’t you, Manny?’