The Touch

"It seeks but will not be sought.

It finds but will not be found.

It holds the one who would touch,

Who would cut away pain and ill.

But its blade cuts two ways

And will not be turned.

If you value your well-being,

Impede not its way.

Treat the Toucher doubly well,

For he bears the weight

Of the balance that must be struck."

"It sounds much better in my village tongue," Ba told her.

"It sounds like a folktale, Ba."

"I had always thought so, too. Until I saw. And I saw it again at the party."

"I'm sorry, Ba. I just can't believe that something like that can happen."

"The article lists many of his patients who say it has."

"Yes, but…" A look of alarm crossed her face. "If it's true—God, they'll eat him alive!"

"I think there might be another danger, Missus." Ba was silent a moment as he pictured the face of the man with the Dat-tay-vao as he remembered it from some thirty years ago: the vacant eyes, the confusion, the haunted look about him. "I once spoke to a Buddhist priest about the man with the Touch. He told me that it is hard to tell whether a man possesses the Dat-tay-vao, or the Dat-tay-vao possesses the man."

The Missus stood up. Ba could tell by her expression that she still did not believe. But she was deeply concerned. "Would you be willing to tell Dr. Buhner what you told me?"

"If you wish it, of course."

"Good."

She stepped over to the phone and punched in a number. "Yes. Is the doctor in? No, never mind. I'll call him tomorrow. Thank you."

She turned to Ba again. "He's left the office and I don't want to disturb him at home. We'll catch him tomorrow. He should know about this." She shook her head slowly. "I can't believe I'm buying this. I just don't see how it can be true."

Lost in thought, she walked slowly from the room.

It is true, Missus, Ba thought as he watched her leave. He knew beyond all doubt. For he had been touched by the Dat-tay-vao in his youth, and the awful growth that had stretched him so far above his fellow villagers was finally halted.

___16.___

Alan

Gi

"Alan, what's going on?"

Her lips were slightly parted as they tended to be when she was a

"I don't know." It had been a long day and he was tired. A game of Twenty Questions didn't appeal to him. "You tell me."

She held up a newspaper. "Josie dropped this off."

Alan grabbed the paper and groaned when he saw the logo: The Light. Then he saw the ba

It was all there: five of his patients—Henrietta Westin, Lucy Burns, and others—all documenting their former chronic or incurable illnesses, now cured after a trip to Dr. Alan Buhner. There was no malice in them. Quite the contrary. They sang Alan's praises. Anyone reading their comments would come away convinced he walked on water as well.

He looked up and found Gi

"How did something like this get started?"

Alan shrugged, barely able to hear her. He was too shaken to think straight. "I don't know. People talk—"

"But they're talking about miracles here! Faith-healing stuff!"

Alan sca

"That reporter says he spoke to you. He even quotes you. How can that be?"

"He came by the office, posing as a patient. I threw him out."

"How come you didn't tell me about it?"

"It didn't seem worth it," Alan said. Actually, he had forgotten to tell Gi

"Did he quote you right?" She pulled the paper away and read from the article. " 'Probably a few coincidences. Maybe some placebo effect'?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. I believe that's about what I said."

"That's all?" Her face was getting red. "How about something like 'Bullshit!'? Or 'You're nuts!' "

"Come on, Gi

"Maybe so," she said. "But I can tell you one thing he is going to print, and that's a retraction!"

Alan felt a twinge of despair. "That would only magnify the problem and give the story more publicity, which is just what The Light would love. If we simply refuse to dignify the story with a reply, interest will slowly die out."

"And what are we supposed to do in the meantime? Nothing?"

"Easy, easy," Alan said, rising and moving toward her. She was working herself up into one of her rages. He went to put his arms around her but she pushed him away.

"No! I don't want to be known as the wife of the local witch doctor! I want this junk straightened out and fast! You just tell me why—!"

Her voice was reaching a screechy pitch that frazzled Alan's nerves.

"Gi

"You just tell me why you can't call Tony and have him sue this rag for defamation of character or libel or whatever it's called and print a retraction!"

"Gi

"You just tell me!"

"Because it's true, goddamnit!"

Alan regretted the explosion immediately. He hadn't wanted to say that.

Gi

"What?"

"It's true," Alan said. "I tried to tell you last month but I knew you wouldn't believe me."

Gi

"Alan, you've got to be kidding!"

Alan sat on the sofa across from her. "At times, Gi

He saw her mouth form a question that found no voice. He asked it for her:

"How? I don't know." He didn't mention the incident with the derelict. This was all hard enough to believe without adding that and what Tony had recently told him about the man. "All I know is that at certain times of the day I can cure people of whatever ails them."

Gi

Finally she spoke, falteringly.

"If it's true—and I really can't believe I'm sitting here talking about this—but if it's true, then you've got to stop."

Alan sat in stu

"It's healing, Gi

Gi

"Gi

She shot to her feet and turned away. "I see it doesn't."

Alan gently turned her around and pulled her to him. She clung to him as if she were about to fall. They stood there in silence, arms wrapped around each other.

"What's happened to us?" he finally asked.