'What did he say?'

'We refuse to repeat it,' and Mrs. Robinson snapped: 'If Patrick had ever told a joke like that in our dining room, or kitchen either, I'd have thrown him out of our house.'

When it was clear that none of the widows would repeat the offensive joke, Dr. Zorn did his best to mollify them: 'You shouldn't have to listen to offensive jokes, especially at dinner. I'll speak to Muley and warn him that he must clean up his act.'

'I assure you our protest is not trivial,' Mrs. Robinson said, 'and when you hear the joke he told, I'm sure you'll agree.'

When the ladies were gone, Andy asked Krenek to fetch Muley if he could be located.

In a few minutes Ken arrived with the ex-truck driver, red-faced and chuckling at some new joke he had collected and shared with Krenek. Andy went right to the point: 'Muley, three of our women came in here objecting to one of the jokes you told at the long table last night. Since these women are not chronic complainers or prudes who feel insulted if a man says damn, Krenek and I have to take their protests seriously, especially since the incident occurred at dinner, when there are many people around.'

Muley leaned back, rubbed his chin and after a long pause said brightly: 'Oh, yes! I'd just heard this beauty about three old codgers sitting in the morning sun on a bench in St. Petersburg, known widely as God's Waiting Room. When I used that title, the women laughed, so I was encouraged to go ahead.'

'Share the joke with us,' Krenek said. 'Let's see how offensive it might have been.'

'These men in their late eighties were comparing health problems, and the first says: "My only serious complaint is I can't urinate easily. It's a real problem." And the second says: "Same kind of problem, but with me I can't have a bowel movement. And that can be nerve-racking." The third man says: "Now, that's funny. I empty my bladder every morning, at seven o'clock sharp. And I have a complete bowel evacuation every day at eight." And the two others said: "You are really lucky," but the third man held up his hand and waved it back and forth: "Not so fast. You see, I never wake up till nine." '

His two listeners could not suppress their amusement, and Krenek said: 'Rough, I'd agree with the women, but it's certainly not grossly offensive.' Andy, however, pointed out: 'It could get by in the billiard room, but in a dining room, with meals being served-I think they had a right to complain.'

'But look! I go to the long table to eat by myself, down at one end. They crowd around to hear my stories. I don't crowd around them.'

'Let's leave it this way, Muley,' Andy proposed. 'Continue to entertain the ladies, they enjoy it, but remember that they are ladies, not truck drivers,' and Muley, chastened by the complaints, promised to sanitize his yarns, and that night at the long table he sought out the women, sat among them and told them jokes more to their liking.

Later that night, when Dr. Zorn was checking on recent improvements in the appearance of Assisted Living he became aware that familiar music was coming out of the room long occupied by Muley Duggan's wife, Marjorie, and he wondered who was playing the tape Muley had transcribed of her favorite operatic selections. He stopped outside the door and heard those heavenly female voices in the duet 'Mira o Norma' but he also heard Muley's voice, pleading with his wife and calling her by the name he had given her when she was still able to understand and appreciate music. Now, far advanced in her Alzheimer's affliction, she could not respond to the music in any way, and this apparently frustrated her husband, for he was pleading with her: 'Norma? Listen to the music! It's your music, Norma. I made the tape for you. Norma, please listen!'

Andy was aware that he was eavesdropping and that he ought to pass on, but there was something so heartrending about the situation that he was held in position as if icy hands had gripped him. Suddenly Muley shouted: 'Goddammit, Norma! Listen to the music. It's your music. I made it for you-to keep you happy.' Silence, then: 'Norma, for God's sake, listen to it! Please!' But, of course, she could not. His heart aching for poor Muley, Andy slowly moved away.

Some weeks later Krenek, Nurse Varney and Zorn received formal invitations from Muley to attend Marjorie Duggan's sixty-eighth birthday party, which would be held in Muley's spacious apartment in Gateways at five-thirty on a Wednesday afternoon. At four Muley reported at his wife's room in Assisted Living to dress her for her evening meal, and on this occasion he brought along the hairdresser, who made sure that she looked as beautiful as she had in the early days when she was the cynosure of the Palms: a tall, graceful queen with an entrancing smile. So perfect was her blend of physical charm and social grace that Muley's guests could hardly take their eyes away from her.

On this night the hairdresser and the two nurses had re-created the beauty of the younger Marjorie, and when he escorted her into the apartment, where some two dozen of her former friends waited, the crowd broke into spontaneous applause, both for her and for her devoted husband. The dinner was a genuine pleasure, for by good luck she behaved herself as if some fragment of understanding had mysteriously returned, making her aware that this was a special occasion. The flawless skin seemed more radiant than ever and she was, however fleetingly, the woman of ultimate grace who had captivated everyone in the past.

A week after this celebration, which went smoothly and without incident, the nurses in Assisted Living telephoned Muley at four in the morning: 'Mr. Duggan, we think you'd better come over right away. Yes, a coma like before, but much deeper. Please come.'

Trembling, he slipped into his clothes as he mumbled: 'Dear God, don't take her yet. Please, please allow her to come back home, like before.' But when he hurried to Assisted, he was stopped before he could enter her room and told: 'She died peacefully.'

When he was finally allowed in the room he insisted on taking charge of dressing her in a gown she had particularly liked and in brushing her hair as he used to do, and in attending to all details, even though the nurses said: 'They'll have to do it over again when they prepare her for the funeral.'

These words, intended to be helpful, had such a note of finality that he collapsed in tears, and nothing could halt the flow. He created confusion when he demanded to ride with her corpse to the undertakers, where he created more confusion by wanting to remain with her during the preparation of the body. Two men had to draw him away and drive him home.

At the memorial service Reverend Quade reminded the residents of how gracious Marjorie had been, how helpful to everyone, and said in conclusion: 'She was a woman who walked with beauty and with music, so we shall send her from us on the wings of the songs she loved,' and from Muley's tape Mrs. Quade had selected the 'Barcarolle,' from The Tales of Hoffman, and the duet from Norma that had been Marjorie's favorite. When that duet faded, the listeners started to rise, but then, miraculously, came an angelic, far-off echo of the voices and the ceremony ended.

In the days that followed, the people of the Palms gained a new insight into the meaning of death, for even the least observant could see that Muley Duggan was declining almost as rapidly as his wife had. He did not want to be with people. He told no jokes, and residents found him wandering aimlessly. In Assisted Living the nurses had to tell him to stop tormenting himself by wanting to visit her room, and often at dinnertime Krenek would have to dispatch a waiter to bring him down to a meal he did not want. He sat alone, and while he did not rebuff anyone who might ask to join him, he said little and left abruptly before dessert was served.

One day when he asked to see Reverend Quade she did not wait for him to raise the subject of his wife's recent death and burial: 'All your friends have been worried, Muley, about the grief you are suffering. But those of us who've worked with Alzheimer's patients know it was, in a very real sense, God's benevolence that allowed her to die without extended agony. When we prayed at the service, Muley, we were thanking God for His kindness.'

'Not me,' Muley said. 'She was the loveliest woman God ever made, and I'd have been happy to care for her till the end of my life.'

'We know. Your acts of love enriched us all.'

'Mrs. Quade, do you believe ... what does your religion say about this? When I die, will I be reunited with her in heaven?'

This was the brutal question that clergy could never avoid. Death of a loved one was such an overwhelming blow that even people who had never thought much about religious explanations now wanted to know, and Helen Quade was not one who could answer the question in a way to give the bereaved the assurance they sought. Through the years, and from the teachings of many different societies in which she had served as a missionary, she had developed her own carefully considered idea of the afterlife, but it was not one that she could explain to another, not even a fellow religious leader, in a brief conversation. So, as a sensible leader of her flock, wherever it chanced to be, she had adopted the strategy of answering the terrible question like Muley's in this manner: 'Christianity teaches us that in heaven we shall be granted eternal life, and surely this means that we will be reunited with our loved ones.' She never said or even intimated that the Bible promised reunion with loved ones, nor did she find reassurance on that matter in the Church Fathers. The concept was a late invention, but she felt she was doing little harm in telling those who had already convinced themselves on the subject, 'Christianity teaches that we will be reunited,' because some branches of her faith did.

So now, when Muley pressed his question and she saw how eager he was for an affirmative answer she repeated her standard ending 'we will be reunited,' and she watched his face glow with a peace that had previously eluded him. He told her: 'You can't imagine how much I loved her, this society figure, attending operas and balls, and me a lousy truck driver who went to smokers when I was making my way in New York. When she accepted me as her second husband, it was like a rainbow filling the sky.' Wondering whether he was saying too much, he added: 'It wasn't money, you understand. Her husband talked a lot but he didn't leave much. I had far more than she did, and it's been my money she lived on down here. I wanted you to know.'

'Muley! You don't have to apologize for anything. All of us in the Palms looked upon your love for Marjorie as a highlight in our experience. You were a wonderful husband,' and when she saw how his face brightened, she repeated: 'You will be reunited with her in heaven,' and he left her with a smile and a lighter step.

At about four next morning the Duchess, who had a keen ear for suspicious sounds, telephoned the main desk and told them she had heard a muffled gunshot somewhere in the upper floors. But when the night men investigated, they could find nothing, and the night nurses in Assisted and Extended said they'd heard no sound like that. Dawn came and the night men reported Mrs. Elmore's call, so Ken Krenek made investigations and uncovered nothing. However, when he checked attendance at dinner that night, a ritual carefully observed in a large building with many elderly people, he found that Muley Duggan was absent.

Suddenly nervous, he called for one of the guards to fetch a master key, and when they entered Muley's apartment they found him in bed, a heavy revolver in his right hand; a high-caliber bullet had ripped completely through his brain to exit at the top of his skull.

At his funeral service six different men recited his wildest jokes, even the naughty ones, so that there was much laughter as his neighbors recalled his boisterous ways. On a more serious theme, however, Reverend Quade eulogized: 'Muley taught us a new definition of the word love, and in the end he proved to skeptics that a man truly can die of a broken heart. We watched it happen, and let us pray that this wonderfully loyal man is now reunited with his beautiful bride.'

But she could not bestow benediction upon herself, because she had good reason to suspect that it might have been her reassuring words about an afterlife of reunion in heaven that had encouraged heartbroken Muley Duggan to take his own life in order to join Marjorie. In her distress she asked Ambassador St. Pres if he might have time to talk with her, and when he joined her for a walk under the palms, she posed the question: 'Did I do something terribly wrong when I promised Muley that he would be reunited with Marjorie? Whom he loved so desperately? And around whom his life was built?'

'If it's part of your faith, of course you were justified. It seems to have been a significant part of his.'

'That's the ugly part, Richard. It's not part of my religion. I find nothing in the Bible that promises reunion with spouses. It's a late invention, to make people feel easy.' She strode along, kicking at pebbles, then added: 'One reads damned little in the Bible about wives. Has it ever bothered you that all twelve of Christ's apostles were men, and I wouldn't be able to guess whether any of them had ever been married. Our New Testament is rather silent on the married state. And it isn't much concerned about remarriage in the hereafter for the good reason that the men weren't much concerned about it in the here and now.'

'Helen, I must warn you. You're riding the theme of your book too hard. Look at the great love stories in the Old Testament, as in the last chapter of Proverbs, where women are idealized. I think you can extrapolate from them and deduce the concept that those married on earth will likewise be married in heaven.'

'I have this dreadful fear that it was my counsel, lightly given and not explained because I did not want to confuse him in his sorrow-' She burst into tears: 'I was a poor shepherd to my lamb when I told him something that may have speeded his death. It hangs heavy on me, and then to allow his jokes to be told at his service. I must have been out of my mind these past days.'

'You are not, Helen. You were edging your way along after you were shocked, we all were, by Marjorie Duggan's death, which we applauded as the termination of an evil and a burden on Muley. I was as deeply shaken as you were-'

'But you were not in a responsible position. I faced a major test and failed. Mea culpa, mea culpa,' and he said: 'Those are the sacred words that preface enlightenment, that suggest wisdom is at hand.'

'You're a dear friend, Richard.' Then as they returned through the grand gate she said: 'I have a feeling that I received more meaningful help when I consulted you than poor Muley did when he consulted me.'

For some years, with approval from Chicago, the Palms had allowed the scientist Maxim Lewandowski and his wife, Hilga, to occupy an additional room without additional cost. In this rather small space Max had installed a filing cabinet, a word processor, a computer, a fax machine and a high-quality television set with special controls for easy use of videotapes.

When his burgeoning scientific reputation had been damaged by the controversy over the extra Y chromosome, he was discredited as a serious researcher. And his academic career was ruined. Fortunately both he and his wife found alternative work; they saved their money and were able to move into the Palms at a much reduced rate.

The instruments that crowded his small office had been paid for by a consortium of universities and scientific centers in the United States, England, Sweden and Japan who recognized his unparalleled skill as a researcher. The schools sent him tasks whose solutions would speed their work, and which would be verified by other scientists. What the consortium was seeking, as were hundreds of other researchers in other countries, was an answer to this complex question: What causes Alzheimer's, why does it strike certain individuals and not others, and what triggers the onset of the disease in which large deposits of a translucent waxy substance collect in the brain, causing the loss of normal mental functions?

Breaking this gigantic puzzle into its many component parts meant that any brilliant new insight into any portion of the tangle might cast light on half a dozen collateral topics, for as a researcher in Japan pointed out: 'We're looking for needles that can be enlarged into mountain ranges.'

Dr. Zorn, having been told by members of the tertulia of the fascinating talk Lewandowski had given them on his researches, suggested to Krenek that it might be rewarding to invite the scientist to talk informally to the residents about his work, and Kenneth, with his entrepreneurial skill, devised the perfect announcement for the affair: THE SECRET OF ALZHEIMER'S, but when Maxim saw the poster he forced Krenek to take it down: 'I got into deep trouble when the newspapers proclaimed that I'd uncovered the secret of criminality.' But he did allow: RECENT ADVANCES IN ALZHEIMER'S, which attracted a full house of fascinated listeners.

He began soberly with an astonishing fact: 'In nations that keep records, Alzheimer's stands high among the scourges of mankind. The causes of death, in descending order, are heart disease, cancer, stroke, Alzheimer's.'

This was immediately challenged by several questioners, but he stood his ground: 'It's my business to know. But I'll have copies made of the studies that prove what I've just said,' and he handed Krenek two studies for the Xerox machine.

'The insidious disease produces a massive breakdown of the communicating system in the brain. A translucent waxy substance called an amyloid protein is deposited in areas that clog and finally halt the delivery of messages from one part of the brain to another.

'There is no medical test that will prove that a patient has Alzheimer's; only an autopsy after death, when the horrible entanglement that can be seen by even an amateur proves that the person had Alzheimer's. The diagnosis while the patient is still living is simple: "We've proved that it isn't anything else, so it has to be Alzheimer's." But as you've probably seen for yourselves, the symptoms in people you love are devastating. Loss of memory. Loss of ability to recognize friends or even close family members. Loss of control over bodily functions. A mad desire to break loose and wander. And finally commitment to a bed twenty-four hours a day, and a suspension of all normal vital functions except mere existence. That's the hell of Alzheimer's, a living death.'

'Is that all we know?' asked a woman who suspected her husband might be developing the dreaded affliction.

'We know a tremendous lot, that's the business we're in. There seem to be numerous parts of the human system whose malfunctioning could cause Alzheimer's-the bloodstream, the lining of a vein, the weakness of a crucial part of the brain, a failure of an inhibitor-and at each of these many spots there could be a multitude of things that might go wrong, and to complicate things further, there is a staggering multiplicity of theories-guesses, if you wish-to explain why things go wrong.'

'What are the things that can go wrong?' a man asked.

'Well, there are forty-six chromosomes, each strand containing its multitude of genes, perhaps millions in all, and each aberration is susceptible to a hundred or more scientific explanations.'

'That's an overwhelming problem.'

'Not really. Daunting but not impossible. We have a steadily accumulating knowledge about the chromosomes. We know for instance that a problem in Chromosome four results in Huntington's disease, cystic fibrosis seven, eye cancer thirteen, kidney disease sixteen, muscular dystrophy nineteen.' Then he paused, studied the attentive audience and said: 'Now follow me closely, taking down numbers if you wish, and I'll ask Mr. Krenek to bring in the blackboard he has in his office. Here we go into the wonders of the human genetic system.

'Sometime ago it was discovered that Chromosome twenty-one was related to a curious disease. Babies born with three components of twenty-one, as opposed to the normal two, always developed Down's syndrome, and I'm sure many of you know what that is.'

'Produces mongoloid infants.'

'We don't use that phrase anymore. It's already a terrible affliction, doesn't need an ugly name, too. But the interesting thing is that anyone who has Down's syndrome also has many of the brain patterns-the tangles, that is-the amyloid-protein blockages of Alzheimer's. Tests have shown that Chromosome twenty-one is the villain that produces the amyloids.'

'So is the mystery solved?' a man asked.

'Heavens, no! From tests in Sweden we also know that a defect in Chromosome fourteen definitely accounts for the type of Alzheimer's that starts conspicuously early in life. So we know firmly that twenty-one and fourteen are somehow involved. So you might think we'd direct all our brainpower on the analysis of those two, and hundreds of brilliant researchers are doing just that.'

'I have to conclude from what you've said and how you said it,' observed Senator Raborn from the audience, 'that you yourself are onto something else?'

'Yes. Mysterious evidence, not yet well supported, has filtered in from various sources, like Livermore in California, Duke here in the East, that Chromosome nineteen is also involved. It seems to contribute, and my specific job is to accumulate whatever evidence surfaces-I'm what you might call the garbage collector, looking for anything at all that might involve nineteen. As researchers around the world untangle the genes of Chromosome nineteen-and that may take decades because the chain seems endless-we'll eliminate those that have no apparent bearing on the problem and report to the world whatever minute bits of solid evidence we've collected.'

'You say lots of countries are involved in the search?' a woman asked, and he said enthusiastically: 'Oh, yes! Venezuela provided a major clue for Chromosome twenty-one, Sweden gave us the hint on fourteen, and Japan has been an active contributor. It's a worldwide effort.'

'So what you're all striving to do is solve the mysteries of the human race?' Raborn asked.

'You make it sound too grand. I myself am working on only a tiny piece of a vast puzzle. I'm an expert in genetic structures, contributing my bookkeeping skills, my past knowledge, to assist the brilliant young scientists who are doing the demanding laboratory work.'

'Are you getting any closer to an answer?' a woman asked.

'Madam, there are ten thousand questions. An answer to them all? No. But if our group can affirm or eliminate one small segment of that tangle, we'll have made a true contribution.' He felt so strongly on this point that he spoke with extreme gravity: 'Are you aware of what we're attempting? To compile an atlas of the entire genetic structure of the human race. When others are through with their work in the next century, experts will be able to look at any human deformity, any kind, and pinpoint the gene or genes that cause the problem, and maybe correct it. Did you know that even today skilled doctors can cut into the womb of a pregnant woman, go into the fetus and adjust anomalies in the gene system of the unborn, sew everything back up and await the birth of a normal baby? Yes! We can do that now.'

'Don't you feel as if you were playing God?' a woman asked.

'I've thought about that frequently since coming to the Palms. The purpose of my life's work, what does it mean?'

'And your conclusion?' a man asked.

'That God, when He fashioned the universe, left in it a handful of puzzles, which man is challenged to solve. The wheel, what a marvelous invention. Electricity, how wonderful. The operation of the blood system. The discovery of the great galaxies. A vaccine for polio. The adjusting of the human eye so that we can manufacture glasses to enable us to see. On and on it goes, intelligent man solving the great secrets God left on the table before us. Radio, television, the atomic bomb, and now the wild secrets of the gene system, millions of them hanging on to those forty-six chromosomes.'

'You speak like a poet,' one of the men from Assisted Living said, and Lewandowski replied: 'Or a philosopher, or a scientist who has wrestled with these problems all his life.'

'Do you anticipate any solution to the Alzheimer mystery?' asked one man. Another: 'How about AIDS?' Yet another: 'Or the common cold?'

'I sit in my little research center close to your rooms and place one minute building block after another in its proper order.' Turning to the blackboard, he took a piece of chalk and said: 'I thought you might like to see what I work with while you're asleep. This is from a communication I received today from Sweden,' and with great care, checking his letters as he wrote them on the board, he showed the audience this message: SEV KM DAEFRHDSGYEVHHQKLFVFFAEDVGSHKGAIIGLMVGGVVIATVIVITLVML.

'It's quite exciting, really, a breakthrough in relating one part of the beta-amyloid sequence to another. When we accumulate enough of these linkages we'll have mapped the entire human genome, maybe sometime around A.D. 2040.'

'Are you working in the dark?' a man asked.

'Me personally? Yes. I cannot see the grand pattern evolving, but I hope that someone like me working in Copenhagen or Kyoto will sense it, and bang!' He slammed the lectern. 'We've solved another one. In my lifetime, apparently no sure solution to Alzheimer's. In yours?' and he pointed to one of the waiters who had lingered to hear the talk: 'Yes. Surely the work we're doing now will unravel this mystery by then.'

When the lecture ended, Zorn accompanied Krenek to the latter's office and along the way he said: 'You did a great job, Ken, in arranging that talk. Who'd have thought so many would be interested-and be able to follow what he was saying?'

'That's the secret of a place like this. It looks to be a collection of exhausted warriors idling in the sun as they recall old battles. But these people are still in the middle of the fray. Senator Raborn flies to Chicago next week to try to knock some sense into his Republican party. Armitage is on a committee to wrestle with the problem of conflict between conservatives and liberals on college campuses, Max is struggling with Alzheimer's, and did you know that Nora is deep into the problem of how to provide nursing care for young men dying of AIDS?' As he entered his office he said: 'I don't think that even John Taggart realizes it, but a man like me, in his fifties, actually loves these old geezers. They give me hope that I'll have thirty more years of activity.'

He entered his office, took a magazine from his desk, and said: 'And look what our beloved Ral Jimenez has been up to! A masterly eleven-page essay with photographs and specific names detailing the crimes the Medelln and Cali cartels in his homeland have committed in both Colombia and the United States. He's in the forefront of the battle, and residents take great pride in having a fighter like that in our midst.' He reflected on this judgment for some moments, then said: 'So in this dreamy little world of ours, which seems so soporific with old men and women living out their last days, we find ourselves in the front line.'

When they were settled in Krenek's chairs, Zorn said: 'Ken, I'm worried about that crazy airplane the men have built. I can see real trouble rising out of that nonsense. You know, I suppose, they've moved it out to an airfield, but did you know that the other night, by himself, completely alone, St. Pres sneaked out there at midnight and flew the damned thing by himself? Way out over the gulf, back over the savanna.'

'He did! I'll be damned!'

'Now, if they take it up right after Christmas as they plan, and the newspapers and television crews are here watching, and something goes wrong and there's a crash-' He shuddered, then asked: 'Do you suppose you could persuade them to call it off?'

'You say he flew it? Successfully?'

'Yep.'

'Andy, you might be able to talk Jimenez and Armitage out of it, and maybe Lewandowski, but Raborn? No. He's Nebraska-tough. And St. Pres will surprise you. He's the polished gentleman, socially correct and urbane, but they tell me he was the one who got his whole embassy out of a tight spot in Africa. I can assure you that he does not scare easily, and if you propose to him and Raborn to drop the subject, they'll-'

'You want them to try it, don't you. You're on their side.'

'I am. At their age, give it a last shot. I'm told that if St. Pres doesn't fly it, Raborn will. Believe me, Andy, you are not powerful enough to browbeat those tigers.'

As he walked back to his apartment, where Betsy waited. Andy wondered if Krenek was right, that these adventurous old men were entitled to a last flight, and he thought: Maybe they are. But one thing's for sure, even if they do get the damned thing in the air and down, next day they'll have to find somebody to give the plane to.

When Betsy greeted him with excited approval of Lewandowski's talk, he said: 'It staggers me. So much amazing activity in this place. Lewandowski probing the innermost secrets of the human race, the men of the tertulia building a plane that actually flies, Nora fighting to find a way to help young men suffering from AIDS.' He kissed her and broke into laughter: 'And you and me trying to figure out the next step in our lives.'

In early December Noel and Gretchen Umlauf found themselves at a terrible impasse regarding their mother's care at the Palms. For several weeks after her heart attack, Dr. Farquhar and a team of experts tried every medical means available to bring Berta back to consciousness, but all to no avail. After weeks of failure and a battery of sophisticated tests they had to conclude that during her heart attack the supply of blood to her brain had been cut off, causing irreversible damage.

With a heavy heart, Dr. Farquhar called Noel and Gretchen into his office. Since their mother's heart attack they had been staying at a hotel near the Palms but spending most of their days and evenings in anxious vigil by her bedside.

'Noel, Gretchen, in my many years as a doctor I have seen some extraordinary cases of recovery from patients who seemed doomed, had no hope. I had a male patient with prostate cancer who I didn't think had more than a couple of months to live. Well, that was two years ago and the old codger beat me last weekend at golf. I had another patient, a woman with ovarian cancer. Again, her doctors, myself included, didn't give her much time left on this earth, but she went into remission and lived several years, enough time to see her own daughter marry and give birth to a daughter herself. So there are extraordinary cases-miracles are really what they are. And as a friend, you know that's what I'm praying for in your mother's case. I am very fond of that tough little woman and want to believe that somehow she'll once more become the Berta we all love. But as a doctor, I have to tell you that I don't believe there is any hope of her recovering. Her brain has been too badly damaged for her to ever be herself again. I don't think she'll wake from the coma she's in now.'

With tears streaming down his face, Noel tried to answer. 'I've feared there's no hope, Doctor. I've sat by Mother's bedside day after day and looked in her eyes, and there's nothing, there's nothing there-' He covered his face with his hands.

Gretchen, fighting to control her own emotions, spoke up, 'Dr. Farquhar, we've brought the living will that Mother drew up. The sort of death-in-life existence she's in now is what she most feared. If there really is no hope of her recovering, then I know she would want us to follow the instructions in this will. In fact, we promised that we would honor her wishes.' She withdrew the document from her purse and handed it to Dr. Farquhar.

He read each page carefully, then put the document down and sat quietly for a moment staring at his clasped hands. Then he looked up at Noel and Gretchen: 'If it's all right with you, I think we'd better call Dr. Zorn in.'

Farquhar dialed Zorn's office, spoke to him quickly in a low voice, then picked up the will from his desk, and excusing himself went to wait for Zorn in the hallway. When the director of the Palms arrived, Noel and Gretchen watched the two men in conversation. They were both frowning and Farquhar was pointing repeatedly to something on one page of the will.

When they finally joined Noel and Gretchen in Farquhar's office, Zorn greeted the couple gravely and took a seat.

Farquhar began: 'Neither Dr. Zorn nor I want to add to the terrible burden you are under right now. But I'm sorry, the Palms simply cannot follow the dictates of this living will.'

'But why not?' Noel asked. 'It makes Mother's wishes completely clear.'