He motioned to Chac to hurry. There would be no holding back today, no pussyfooting around. The Touch would recede in an hour and he wanted to treat as many as he could.

Chac brought the first forward: a middle-aged man with both arms locked at right angles in front of him.

"The Cong broke his elbows so that he would go through life unable to take food or drink by himself."

Alan wasted no time. He grabbed both elbows and felt the familiar shock. The man cried out as his arms straightened at the elbows for the first time in years, and then he began to swing them up and down. He fell to his knees, but Alan gently pushed him aside and motioned a limping boy forward.

On they came, in a steady stream. And as the Dat-tay-vao worked its magic on each one, Alan felt himself enveloped in an ever-deepening cloud of euphoria. The details of the room faded away. All that was left was a tunnel view of his hands and the person before him. A part of him was frightened, calling for a halt. Alan ignored it. He was at peace with himself, with his life. This was as it should be. This was what his life was about, this was what he had been born for.

He pressed on, literally pulling the people toward him and pushing them aside as soon as the pleasure flashed through him.

The haze grew thicker. And still the people came.

* * *

The flashes of ecstasy stopped coming but the haze remained. It seemed to permeate all levels of his consciousness.

Where am I?

He tried to remember but the answer wouldn't come.

Who am I?

He couldn't even think of his name. But there was another name surfacing through the haze. He reached for it, found it, and said it aloud.

"Jeffy."

He clung to the name, repeating it.

"Jeffy."

The name ignited a small flame within him. He turned his face northeast. He had to find Jeffy. Jeffy would tell him who he was.

He stood and almost fell. His left leg was weak. He called for help, and shadowy figures babbling gibberish propped him up until he was steady. As he began to walk toward the door, gentle hands tried to hold him back. He said one word: "No." The hands fell away and the figures parted to let him pass. He came to a set of stairs and paused, unsure of where his feet were. He tried to reach out for the banister with his left hand but could not raise it high enough. It was so heavy.

"Help," he said. "Jeffy."

Hands and arms lifted him and carried him down and around a number of times and finally brought him into the bright, hot sun where they set him on his feet again.

He began to walk. He knew the direction. Jeffy was like a beacon. He moved toward it.

"Jeffy."

___49.___

Sylvia

Sylvia sat on the library couch where she and Alan had made love last week and patiently listened to the noon news, waiting for further word on McCready. There was nothing new. She rose and reached to switch off the weatherman when the camera abruptly cut away from him to the anchorman.

"This just in: Senator James McCready is dead. We have just received word that the senator has died from complications of a long-standing illness. We will break into our regular programming as more details become available."

Her heart pounding, Sylvia strode forward and spun the dial. She searched across the band, hunting more details, but heard only the same information in almost exactly the same wording. All the stations must have received identical releases.

She flicked off the set.

Complications of a long-standing illness.

That was a relief. She had worried that the senator or his staff might try to lay the blame for what had happened on Alan. Normally such a fear would never have crossed her mind, but after what had happened lately…

The realization struck her: Alan could come home!

She checked the slip of paper that Ba had given her and called Chac Tien Dong's number. It went four rings before it was answered by a Vietnamese woman. Sylvia could barely hear her over the wild babble of voices in the background at the other end of the-line.

"May I speak to Dr. Bulmer, please?" There came a confusion of noise over the wire. "How about Chac?" Sylvia said. "Can I speak to Chac?"

More confusion, then a male voice.

"Yes? This is Chac."

"This is Mrs. Nash, Chac. May I speak to Dr. Bulmer?"

There was a long pause, then Chac said, "He not here."

Oh, my God! "Where is he? Where did he go? Did someone come and take him away?"

"No. He leave all by self."

That, at least, was a relief. It meant that none of the Foundation people were involved.

"But why didn't you stop him?"

"Oh, no," Chac said. "Never stop Dat-tay-vao! Very bad!"

Alarm spread through her like a cold wind. Ba said he had warned Alan against mentioning the Touch. How did Chac know?

"Did he use the Dat-tay-vao?"

"Oh, yes! Many times!"

Sylvia slammed the receiver down and shouted, "Ba!"

___50.___

Ba

Ba pushed his way through the thinning crowd in the tiny apartment to where Chac was standing and waving his reborn fingers in the air. His anger must have shown in his face, for the older man looked up at him and paled.

"I couldn't help it, Ba!" he said, retreating a step.

"You promised!" Ba said in a low voice, feeling hurt and angry. "You said you would keep him from all eyes except your family's, and here I find a party!"

"The Dat-tay-vao! He has the Dat-tay-vao!

"I know that. It was why I asked you to hide him."

"I didn't know that! Perhaps if you had told me, it would have made a difference!"

"Perhaps?"

"Little Lam Thuy would have died if he hadn't been here! Don't you understand? He was sent here! He was meant to be here at that very moment! The Dat-tay-vao knew it would be needed and so it brought him here!"

"I brought him here! And I'm glad with all my heart that he saved Lam Thuy, but that does not justify inviting the entire community to come here!"

Chac shrugged sheepishly. "I boasted. I was so honored to have the Dat-tay-vao in my home that I had to tell someone.

The news spread. Like fish to the spawning ground, they descended on me. What could I do?"

"You could have turned them away."

Chac gazed at him reproachfully. "If you had heard that someone with the Dat-tay-vao was down the street when Nhung Thi was dying of the cancer, would you have been turned away?"

Ba had no answer. None, at least, that he wished to voice. He knew that he would have fought like a thousand devils for a chance to let the Dat-tay-vao work its magic on his withering wife. He sighed and placed a gentle hand on Chac's shoulder.

"Tell me, old friend. Which way did he go?"

"He was looking northeast. I would have kept him here, but he was seeking someone. And as you know, one never impedes the Dat-tay-vao."

"Yes, I know," Ba said, "but I've never understood that."

" 'If you value your well-being/Impede not its way.' What more is there to understand?"

"What happens if you do impede its way?"

"I do not know. Let others learn; the warning is enough for me."

"I must find him for the Missus. Can you help me?"

Chac shook his head. "We did not follow him. He was under the spell of the Dat-tay-vao—he was not walking right and his thoughts were clouded. But he kept saying the same word over and over again: 'Jeffy.' Again and again: 'Jeffy.' '

Spurred by a sudden and unexplainable sense of danger, Ba stepped to the phone and dialed the Missus. He now knew where the Doctor was going. But if he was walking and if his mind was not right, he might never reach his destination. Ba would do his best to find him, but first he had to call the Missus.