As he approached the end of the roadway he was greeted by an imposing structure built of reddish stone, a giant gateway consisting of two turreted towers from which extended a wall made of the same stone. The wall was seven feet high and appeared to encircle a substantial area of manicured lawn, in the center of which stood the single, many-cornered building of the retirement center. With that gateway and those walls it's really a medieval fortress, Zorn thought. A man could find himself at ease in a retirement place like this. Then he found that he had overlooked a significant feature that tied the place to its home office in Chicago: into the face of the right tower had been inserted a rather small brass plate containing in cast letters almost as small as those on the wall outside Mr. Taggart's office two austere words: THE PALMS.

Staring at the modest sign, Zorn said to himself: The chief doesn't go in for conspicuous display, but then he reflected: Wait! If you consider the whole setup-trees, gate, wall-it adds up to one clear message: class-this place has class. My job will be to keep it that way, but to make it profitable.

Once through the gate he entered an oval driveway that curved first to the right, then under a porte cochere leading to the main entrance, then on to the left where another porte cochere gave entrance to the health care area, and around to the exit through the gate. The area inside the oval was meticulously landscaped, with a cluster of varicolored croton bushes near the entrance to the main building. But the effect of elegance was somewhat marred by large macadamized parking lots covering almost every other inch of available space and packed with cars, many of expensive European make.

As he tried to back his bulky tandem in what he took to be a free area for visitors, an elderly woman of erect posture and blue-white hair, neatly coiffed, exploded from the main entrance, waving her cane and shouting in a voice unexpectedly rough and bold: 'Wait! Wait! That's my parking space, young man. Get your contraption out of there!'

Startled by the fury of her attack, Zorn became confused. Instead of maneuvering his car forward and out of the restricted parking area, he continued backward, which made the infuriated woman think he was ignoring her protest. She started beating on his left front fender with her cane, shouting louder and louder: 'Get out of there! Right now! Get your pile of junk out of my parking space!'

Though still disoriented by her attack, Zorn now shifted to go forward but stepped on the gas so firmly that the tandem leaped forward as if he were trying to run the woman down. She screamed: 'He's trying to kill me!' and stepped back but continued to pound on the fender.

She was so violent that staff from the main building began running out to see what trouble she was in this time, for they had learned that the Duchess, as she was called, lived from one crisis to the next. Her room was on the ground floor overlooking the oval, and from it she could guard the choice parking slot in which she usually kept her highly polished gray Bentley. Let a delivery boy try to park there when her car was in the garage, which it was more than half the time, and she could be relied upon to rush out, beat on the boy's car with her cane and force him to move. She also kept a sharp eye out for stray dogs that wandered into what she called My Oval, for she was its chief protector.

The first official to reach her this time was a chubby, rather nervous man in his mid-fifties who wore a three-piece business suit and an air of perpetual harassment. Running to where the Duchess was still hammering the fender, he cried in a quavering voice: 'Sir!'

'I'm trying to get out,' Zorn said plaintively, 'but she won't let me.'

'And who are you?' the man asked as he tried to pull the woman away.

'Dr. Zorn. I'm sure you've been told-'

As soon as he heard the name, the man became obsequious: 'Madam! Madam! This is our new director, Dr. Zorn!'

When the woman heard the word doctor it was as if an enormous lightbulb had been turned on in her mind. Her face changed from a scowl to a smile: 'So-you're the new man we heard about. Time you got here to bring some order to this dump!' She glowered again, but this time at the official who had been trying to placate her.

'I'm Kenneth Krenek, as you may have guessed,' the man said, 'and this fine lady is Mrs. Francine Dart Elmore of Boston, whom we honor as the Duchess. She occupies that bay-window room there and her job is to see that things move properly in the oval. She's a wonderful asset to this place, Doctor, and you'll come to rely on her.'

'And don't try any foolishness,' the woman said as she turned to head back to her room, 'because under my pillow I keep a loaded revolver.'

'She does,' Mr. Krenek said. 'We've tried to take it away, but she says-'

'If a woman lives alone on the ground floor, available to anyone who comes through that gate, she deserves a pistol and I have one. I can use it, too.'

When they were alone Krenek told the doctor where he could park his rig: 'You'll learn that your most important job in this place-that is, the one that gives you the most trouble-is how to find enough parking spaces for the residents.' With a sweep of his arm he indicated the cars wedged in everywhere. 'And just as difficult, how to give everyone a spot that's convenient to one of the doors. I've tried for eleven years-' Abruptly he stopped, laughed and indicated the open bay window through which the Duchess was watching them. In a voice loud enough for her to hear he warned: 'Remember, if you try to take her parking space, she'll shoot you with her little gun,' and she shouted back: 'I would, too.'

When they entered the main portion of the building and were seated in Krenek's modest office, the temporary manager said frankly: 'Dr. Zorn, I want you to know that I understand you've been sent down here to run this place, to bring a clearer sense of mission. I've been the interim manager, but it was never intended that I remain so. Mr. Taggart telephoned this morning and spelled it out. You're to be advertised as Dr. Zorn, but you'll have no real medical duties. Your job is to be the director. I'm a great detail man, Dr. Zorn, and you can rely on me to carry out your orders. But I'm not the man to keep all the people here happy, and bring in new ones to keep the beds filled. That'll be your job.'

'Tell me what I need to know, Krenek. The Chicago office spoke well of you, said you were invaluable, knew which buttons to push.'

Krenek blushed: 'I hope they know what they're talking about. We've really needed you, Dr. Zorn.' Then he said, deferentially, 'Would you like a tour as we talk?'

'Great. Let's go.'

Because Krenek had worked at the Palms since the blueprint stage, he proved to be a knowing guide: 'In this main section called Gateways we have seven floors, offices occupying most of the first one, with double elevators at each end. Twenty-one spacious apartments to each of the upper floors, that's a hundred and twenty-six apartments plus eleven single rooms tucked away on the ground floor. If we had two occupants in each apartment, we'd have a total of two hundred and fifty-two plus the eleven singles, but actually we have only about half that number.'

'Business that bad?'

'No! Not at all! We're doing about what we expected.' Zorn could not accept this because in Chicago he had seen the red pin; however, he allowed Krenek to continue: 'Remember that about half the apartments contain only one person, usually a widow. We also keep three rooms available for renting to family friends of our residents who come visiting. We could accept maybe four more entrants, but that's about it.' Zorn wondered where the deficiencies were.

When they reached the end of the long, handsomely decorated ground-floor hall, Krenek suggested that they ride up to the seventh floor, and from that height at the far end of the building, he pointed out the feature that made the Palms distinctive among the many retirement homes in southwestern Florida: 'If you look down there, you'll see that here our land juts out into the river forming a rather fine peninsula. We've built right to the water's edge on all sides, which means that on each floor we have three suites in what we call the Peninsula, water visible from all windows.' Eager to demonstrate the elegance of these apartments, he went to a hall phone and dialed the number of the middle suite of floor seven: 'Chris, this is Krenek. Excuse me for intruding, but I have with me Dr. Zorn, our new man from Chicago. Yes. Just arrived, and I wanted to show him an apartment. Would like to start with our best. Could I bring him in? If Esther will allow it?'

When the answer was a hearty 'Sure!' Krenek led the way to the middle door of the graceful circle at the end of the peninsula. The door opened, with the inhabitants greeting him warmly. Andy soon realized that Ken Krenek was a lot shrewder than one might have guessed, for he had arranged that the first residents of the Palms his new director met would be one of the most remarkably lively pairs in the center. Mr. Mallory, eighty-nine years old, was a Midwestern banker who had amassed a minor fortune through prudent financial dealings, but he was at the same time a bon vivant who loved to entertain and frequent public dance halls, where he and his petite wife of eighty-seven not only did most of the newest dance steps but also charmed the onlookers with their strenuous exhibitions of the old dances like the Charleston. They were, Andy would discover, boundless sources of energy, and showed every sign that they would continue so into their nineties.

Andy, meeting them for the first time, thought: These are the sort of people I expected-well-bred, well cared for through the years, probably never had to worry much about money. But Krenek quickly killed that misinterpretation: Chris Mallory was a night-school graduate from the University of Wisconsin who as a young man had progressed in various businesses until he became president of a major bank with eight or nine branches. He now drove a stock two-door Pontiac, but his wife had insisted strenuously that they could afford a four-door so that when they invited couples to drive with them the other wife need not mess her hair climbing into the rear seat. He had told her somewhat mendaciously that he believed they could afford it, and she had bought a Cadillac, but he did not intend trading in his two-door; he liked its compact convenience.

He had met his wife, Esther, whom everyone at the Palms called Es, when she was working as a teller at his bank's Sheboygan branch, and after watching her masterly way with customers, he found numerous excuses for inspecting the Sheboygan facility. At the end of one protracted visit she had said: 'Mr. Mallory, if you intend proposing to me ultimately, why not do it now and get our family started?' He replied as if she had asked for a loan: 'I think that might be eminently sensible,' but he did not formally propose until some time later, for he believed that bankers should never take precipitate action on any proposal. Many years later, when he watched the debacle into which Savings and Loan managers had plunged the country because they acted incautiously, he growled: 'They should be horsewhipped.'

Both the Mallorys acknowledged that his subsequent success in putting together a banking empire was attributable in large part to Mrs. Mallory's instinct for bold business moves. She loved to gamble on new ventures with whatever excess funds they had at the close of any business year. Her acumen regarding new developments in national finance plus his country-boy prudence in assessing specific situations had made them a formidable team whose fortunes grew not spectacularly but with absolute certainty. Among the numerous well-to-do couples at the Palms, they were unquestionably the wealthiest, the best dancers, the freest with their money and the best hosts.

They had been happily married for sixty-one years, and when they reached their late seventies Mrs. Mallory, tired of maintaining a large house in a harsh climate, said: 'Let's get out of these hellish Wisconsin winters and have some enjoyment in life.' Es Mallory had launched a search committee of her business friends, who recommended the west coast of Florida. When Es and her husband saw the architectural layout of the Palms, they grabbed the largest apartment on the topmost floor of the peninsula wing.

From their balcony, to which they led their visitors when the tour of the rooms was completed, Zorn could see to his right the smaller waterway called the river, and to his left the area where it widened and became a spacious body called the channel, which was protected on the west by a chain of small islands on which handsome, low houses had been built. 'When a storm blows in from the Gulf of Mexico,' Mr. Mallory said, 'those islands take a real beating. Water three feet up in the houses. But with us, hiding behind the islands, it's never too bad.'

Mrs. Mallory, who loved the natural features of their site, pointed across the river to a tangle of trees growing in the water, scraggly bushes, vines and muddy flats: 'That's our cypress swamp, a marvelous place for birds. Paths run through it, but so do mosquitoes and snakes. Stay clear.'

As she spoke, Zorn moved around to the eastern edge of their balcony: 'What's the name of those extraordinary trees I saw coming in? Can they be palms, as the sign says?'

'They're palms,' Mr. Mallory said, 'that's for sure, but they are queer. What you must do is ask Laura Oliphant, the do-good lady on the first floor. She knows everything about nature and loves to share her knowledge.'

So on the walk through the corridors to the Assisted Living and Extended Care wing of the building, Krenek stopped at another telephone and asked Ms. Oliphant if he could bring the new director in to ask about the curious palms that lined the two walks, and she agreed. Zorn wondered where the second walk might be.

Before they reached her door, Krenek whispered: 'She occupies our most inexpensive apartment, doesn't have much money, but she's one of the most valuable residents we have. People call her "our do-gooder," because she has a fantastic moral conscience. Her role in life has always been to make things better than they are.' He chuckled: 'But she's no dreamer. She doesn't want to do all the work herself. She intends from the moment she meets you for you to do the heavy work. I sometimes tremble when I see her approaching, because it means she has a new job for me.' Nevertheless, Andy noted, Ken knocked on her door with real enthusiasm as if assured that his new director was about to meet a woman of extraordinary qualities. As they waited for the door to open, Zorn said: 'Did I hear you pronounce it "Miz Oliphant"?' and Krenek explained: 'She insists. She's been a leader in the battle for women's rights.'

Ms. Oliphant welcomed them into what was clearly one of the least expensive apartments at the rear of the building, but it provided ample space, made almost ideal by opening onto a small plaza that fronted on the channel, where privately owned boats of all dimensions drifted by so close to shore that she sometimes felt she could reach out and touch them. 'It was made for Laura,' Krenek said as the men sat facing her. 'Not long ago she had both hips replaced and she wanted something on the ground floor so she could walk directly onto the plaza and exercise her mechanical joints. You've done wonderfully, haven't you?'

'I'm not penned up, that's for sure.'

'What was it?' Zorn asked. 'Arthritis?'

'Yes. By the way, have you heard about the Georgia cracker who said: "My friend Oliver was told that his wife was in bed with Arthuritis, and he swore that if he could find where that guy Arthur lived, he was gonna shoot him"? Last year I wanted to shoot him, too, but this hip operation is sensational. And I was seventy-five when I had it.'

She asked to be excused for a moment while she prepared a welcoming drink for her guests, and when she got up Andy had an opportunity to look at her more closely. She was of medium height, spare in appearance and very determined in her gestures, as if she did not wish to waste a minute of her time. She had fine-looking thick gray hair, which she wore in a trim schoolboy bob. Returning from the corner of the room that served as a kind of kitchenette, she brought with her a silver tray on which stood three elegant glasses containing a pale reddish wine.

'It's called blush,' she said, as if that were a name equal to port or sherry. Krenek explained: 'It's good old vin rose from a California winery, but our women residents like to call it blush, as if that dignifies it in some way.' She shot back with 'You keep your mouth shut, Kenneth, or no blush for you.'

Krenek took a substantial gulp of the wine, declared it to be superb and said: 'Dr. Zorn asked the Mallorys the name of our famous palm trees, but none of us could remember because we're not really tree people.'

Ms. Oliphant took a guide from her shelf, thumbed through it till she reached the palm section and read: ' "Florida can boast of eleven native species of palm trees, including all the most famous ones except the spectacular traveler's palm of Africa, with its fanlike branches in a flat display." ' Looking at Zorn, she said, 'So our remarkable specimens could be almost anything in the book, but actually they're unique,' and she showed him an exact drawing of the trees he had stopped to inspect: 'I'm sure you've spotted the salient features.' He noticed that she spoke eagerly, with a professional interest in enlightening others: 'It's the Washingtonia, that's its proper name, but no one can tell me how it got the name. It's a wonderful tree, but it's not native to Florida!'

Ms. Oliphant rose, walked vigorously to her door and led the way to her private plaza without using a cane, and he asked admiringly: 'How long ago was your operation?' When she replied: 'Three months,' he said: 'Miraculous. I know strong men who're afraid to walk without a cane after six months,' and she said: 'I couldn't wait.' She was the first person he had met at the Palms who could properly be called a patient, and to see her striding about with such spirit was a reassuring sign.

When they were out on the plaza she pointed south and there, along the channel with its little boats, was the second row of the amazing palms like a file of drum majors on stilts. But much as he admired them he could not understand why the trees had that curious ruff of black. 'Simple, really,' she said. 'You can see that the fronds on top are green, the ones in the snarl below are dusty brown. A year ago the black ones in the middle were alive and green. Like all else in nature, at their appointed time they died and turned black. But they still retained strength enough to reach straight out in a whorl. As sap leaves them and they really die, they'll turn brown, lose their strength and form part of the tangle below.'

Zorn was impressed that she was so knowledgeable: 'You amaze me with your ability to make things clear. I've had college professors-'

'I was headmistress of an elite private girls' school. With a group like that you'd better be able to explain things.' She paused, then laughed: 'Young girls can be so much more inquisitive than young boys their same age.'

'I'm fascinated by that inverted teardrop effect,' Zorn said. 'Does the tangle remain forever?'

'In due course the whole tree dies. Its roots cannot sustain it. Some night in a storm it topples and the solemn grandeur is gone. Even the dead fronds die again.' She did not deliver this judgment funereally, for as she spoke she turned to point to the edge of what appeared to be a low jungle and there a Washingtonia not three feet high was starting its climb toward the stars. 'Eighty more feet to go,' she said brightly, 'but it'll make it long years from now.' She paused, studied the ambitious little tree and said: 'Of course, none of us in residence now will be around to applaud its victory.'

Dr. Zorn was eager to see the hospital, but when he used that word, Krenek corrected him: 'We never say that. Remember, with most Taggart operations it's a twofold deal, Assisted Living and Extended Care. Both part of the same structure.' And he led the way out of the main wing and into the oval so that Zorn could approach the other wing as if he were a visitor coming to inspect facilities. There embedded in the wall beside the entrance was the sign in small letters ASSISTED LIVING, and inside was a handsome reception area designed to make visitors feel they had entered a place truly dedicated to their welfare. The receptionist wore a nurse's uniform. Medical journals were stacked on tables, and carefully placed signs indicated doctors' offices, rehabilitation clinics and the dietitian's room. Certain business offices for the entire establishment were also here, dealing with health services and limousine reservations for residents who wanted to shop in the nearby mall or visit medical men outside the Palms.

As Ken invited Zorn to join him for coffee in one of the offices, he explained a major peculiarity of the place: 'Under Florida law, which the medical profession has enacted to protect itself, no one on our premises, not even you as medical adviser, is allowed to prescribe or issue so much as an aspirin, or tape a broken finger, and certainly not treat a serious illness.'

'What must I do?'

'You must advise the patient to get in touch with his or her own doctor. A score of them practice nearby. That doctor must do the diagnosis and establish the treatment. That doctor alone can recommend that a patient be moved into our Assisted Living facilities or go into one of the local hospitals.'

'I thought the idea was that anyone in the main building who became ill could be transferred automatically to this building.'

'Only under doctor's orders-an outside doctor.'

Zorn considered this for some moments, then said: 'So our advertising stressing complete health care-'

'Is false.'

Again Zorn fell into silent thought: 'Ironclad rules?'

'Yes. To protect the local medical men.' Having said this, Krenek quickly added: 'And also to protect us from lawsuits if our personnel were to give improper diagnosis or medication. The law safeguards us as much as it aids the local doctors.'

'Why don't we make that clear in our advertising?'

'Because people coming in like to feel they're safe for the remainder of their lives. They are, of course, but under a rather different set of rules from what they imagined.'

'But isn't that a fraud?'

'An amiable one-does no harm to anyone.'

'Except in the pocketbook.'

'Nothing in this life that's worth a damn is inexpensive. Especially the American health system.' Before Andy could break in, Krenek added: 'Living in the Palms is not cheap, Doctor. Our residents can afford medical care, and we assure them the best.'

'On our terms?'

'The state's. Health services for older people are big business in Florida, and everyone is careful to protect his share of the economic pie.'

When Krenek was called away to handle a phone call, Andy contemplated his surprising situation: 'Here I sit, a certified doctor with these handsome facilities at hand, and I'm forbidden to use either my own skills or these wonderful lifesaving machines. I've thrown myself into a weird world.'

But when Ken returned to resume their trip through the Assisted Living facilities, Andy noted with growing approval the neatness of the place, the attractiveness of the individual rooms, the warmth of the public areas and the exceptional congeniality of the small, well-decorated dining room. It was, he judged, a part of the larger building in which one could reside in comfort and care as one recovered from an operation or a broken limb. 'It's not a permanent residence, you understand,' Krenek said. 'In and out's the motto here, with an emphasis on rehabilitation. But we spend great effort to make patients comfortable and happy while they're on the mend.'

The conviction in these words was somewhat dampened when one of the doors leading to a private room on the second floor was banged open by a handsome woman in her seventies who rushed out into the hall. Her slim, well-groomed appearance bespoke years of careful attention to good health habits and the free expenditure of money for clothes. But dominating all else was a face of exquisite porcelain beauty, with the classic lines of some Greek sculpture and framed by silvery hair. Slightly taller than the average woman but much slimmer, she looked as if she should always be dressed in flowing garments of a romantic past and sitting beside a glowing fireplace in the great hall of some castle as evening shadows settled. She looked to be the kind of woman Zorn had not often encountered while performing his medical duties in Chicago.

Incongruously, this delicate beauty began to assault Krenek with the utmost fury. In the shrill voice of a streetcorner harridan she accused him of snooping on her, of incessantly abusing her, and of trying in every devious way to steal her money. These were devastating charges to lodge against a man whose job it was to make life easy and safe for her, and Zorn was amazed that such charges had been allowed to accumulate without attracting the attention of someone with enough authority to correct them. Before he could intervene to ask the distraught woman for details, especially about the theft of the money, he was surprised to see Krenek face his accuser calmly and say in a quiet voice: 'I know, Mrs. Duggan, these things must distress you, but I'm having a meeting this afternoon with Scotland Yard, and they've promised to look into this sorry affair. Now, if you'll wait in your room till after lunch-'

'Thank you, Dr. Penobscott. I can always rely on you for help.' Then suddenly she turned to Zorn: 'But you, damn you, you'll be hanged when your behavior is exposed,' and she was so wild-eyed with fury that Andy fell back lest she attack him with her long, pale pink fingernails.

She fell silent, not because of anything that Krenek did but because of something she saw over Zorn's shoulder. From the elevator that brought visitors to Assisted Living came a man in his mid-seventies who looked out of place in the posh surroundings; his misshapen nose, broken often by fists, gave him the appearance of a stumblebum pugilist who moved about alleys and barrooms shadowboxing with imaginary foes. Shorter than the elegant woman he approached, he had thin, wispy hair and watery eyes but an aggressive manner. Elbowing his way past Zorn and nodding to Krenek, he moved directly to the woman, took her hand and said in a voice as soft and gentle as his whiskey-roughened throat would allow: 'It's all right, darling. I've come to take you to lunch.'

With a grace acquired from attending the grand balls of New York society, she accepted his arm, smiled at the two men she had been abusing, and allowed the tough-mannered little man to lead her toward the open elevator doors, but as she neared the entrance she stopped, whirled around and screamed at the man: 'Damn you! You stole all my money. And when Scotland Yard gets here, you're going to hang.' She pushed him aside and entered the elevator, still heaping abuse on the man beside her.

When the couple were gone, Krenek said quietly: 'That's Marjorie Duggan. As Marjorie Bates Lambert she reigned as a queen of Manhattan society. Her husband owned four major department stores along the East Coast. After he died people have told me all New York was amazed when she married Muley Duggan, the man you just saw. He'd been head of a trucking company Mr. Lambert had used to service his stores. She must have appreciated Muley's rough-and-tumble ways after the stiff high-society propriety of Mr. Lambert and his side of the family. Anyway, she married Muley and I believe they were very happy, with lots of money and a lively way of spending it.'

'And then?'

'Alzheimer's.'

'You must see a lot of that in a place like this. In my practice I saw none.'

'Constantly. And sometimes it almost breaks your heart. People that you know were wonderful. Lively, bright, concerned, totally in charge of their lives. And suddenly the lights dim. They flicker. They go out. The brain almost vanishes, but the body goes on, sometimes seeming even better than before because it's no longer under any tension.'

'That must produce bizarre conditions.'

'It does. When we receive an Alzheimer's case off the street, never been with us in the other building, we often think: "This poor woman ought to go straight to the third floor. She can't survive very long." But she comes to this floor, good care, good food, pleasant surroundings, and she appears to flourish for a while. As her mind disappears her body remains relatively strong, and we realize that she could be here for years, mind fading constantly, body failing more slowly but death refusing to knock on her door.'

'More women than men?'

'Fifty-fifty.'

Krenek said that the Palms had three families with Alzheimer's in which the victim lived in Assisted Living while the healthy spouse continued in Gateways. 'Two of the cases, it's the wife who's over here.'

'How does it end?'

'It's not uncommon for the healthy partner to die first, worn out by the strain of incessant caring for the stricken partner. It's as if the sane person surrenders: I cannot bear this terrible burden any longer. Life on these terms has no meaning.'

'What happens to the Alzheimer's patient?'

'At our level, I mean our economic one, the sane spouse has usually made full arrangements for extended care for his or her partner. So the loved one who has died without dying lives on and on, knowing nothing, not even aware that her husband is gone. Then one day, far down the road, she quietly dies, having known nothing for many years.' He paused, looked out the window, and said: 'When you work with Alzheimer families you learn what love is, what terror can be, and what nothingness in life in certain forms can mean.'

'The people involved must from time to time think of euthanasia.'

'Not in this establishment. It's a forbidden word.' His voice became stern: 'You must understand, Doctor, that the Alzheimer folks are still alive. There's no reason why their life should be terminated simply because they no longer have a functioning brain. Do you exterminate a diabetic because he's lost a leg? Or even two legs?'

At the mention of lost legs, Zorn suddenly felt faint, overwhelmed by the memory of a bloody scene and of himself kneeling down to recover the legs of the stricken girl who would never use those legs again. Hastily putting out his hand to steady himself, he looked out the window as Krenek asked: 'Are you all right, Doctor?'

'Yes.... I was wondering what you call those red bushes we saw as we came along the drive. The ones down there.'

'I've been told half a dozen times, but I forget-we should have asked Ms. Oliphant. I'm going to call her now and write down what she tells me. Visitors often ask.' He placed the call from a phone near the entrance to the dining room: 'Laura, I should have asked when we were with you. What's the name again of that red-budded bush along our entrance? Yes, I knew it was Brazilian something. Brazilian pepper tree, and you say it's a pest? Outlawed by the state? You cannot plant it in your garden or any public place. On our land it looks great.'

When he hung up he said: 'Well, you heard. It's the Brazilian pepper tree,' but Zorn had not heard, nor did he hear now. Painfully, he was remembering a beautiful girl in her early twenties who had fainted in his arms, and he felt a tremendous desire to fly back to Chattanooga to see how she was progressing. Thinking of Dr. Zembright's wise counsel about staying clear lest lawsuits by initiated, he banished the fleeting thought, but he did offer a fervent prayer: 'God, give her the courage to battle it through,' and he wondered if she'd be able to use the amazingly effective modern prosthetics.

As they left Assisted Living to walk up to the top floor, Krenek said: 'New staff frequently make the joke: "Second floor's Assisted Living, third floor's Assisted Dying," but we forbid such levity. We don't allow the word hospice, either.'

'Yes,' Zorn replied. 'I know it's called Extended Care. But extended to the point of death?'

'Yes.' As they came into the sunny and immaculate hall with its colorful wallpaper, comfortable chairs, and little enclaves by picture windows, Krenek said: 'Americans are uneasy about dying. The entire nation all the way to the Supreme Court is scared to death about the simple act of dying. We can't define it. We can't provide for it. We can give family members no guidance as to how to respond to it. Up here we mask it with the euphemism Extended Care as if it were hanging on to life that mattered, not the orderly passage on to death.'

'You cover a long span of human experience here in the Palms, don't you? Full mental capacity in a person's sixties to little or none in his or her nineties?'