Tears formed in his eyes and his heart swelled nearly to bursting as the dry rivers of his soul began to flow with streams of joy. The passions he felt unlocked within him could not be contained. He wanted to leap, to dance, to weep and shout and exhaust himself in singing. Shudders of pleasure coursed through him; he heard a strange music ringing in his ears and realized that it was his own voice giving free vent to his pleasure in spontaneous song.

The sculpture, as if sensing his joyous outpouring, moved more swiftly in response. The brilliant shades spun and changed, weaving themselves together and parting in intricacies beyond reckoning.

It seemed to live, growing larger and more luminous, throwing off flashes of light and filling his tear-filled eyes with shapes too wonderful to behold.

At last he could take no more. He closed his eyes, but still felt the shifting colors of light playing over him. A voice nearby said, "This is Soa Lokiri. "

Spence turned to see Kyr standing beside him. He had not been aware of the Martian's presence.

"It is beautiful." He returned his gaze to the shimmering display. At length he said, "What is Soa Lokiri?"

"It means Starmaker. It is an artwork in homage to Dal Elna, made by the hand of one of our most revered artists, Bharat."

"Starmaker." Spence repeated the name, nodding to himself. "It is aptly titled. But who is Dal Elna?"

Kyr tilted his head sideways, looking at Spence closely. "Dal Elna, the All-Being."

"All-Being? You mean God?"

Kyr's head began weaving from side to side. "That word does not communicate to me."

A pang of guilt squirmed inside Spence. Possibly the word held no meaning for Kyr because it held no particular meaning for him. Whatever means Kyr had used to, as he said, assimilate Spence's language, he had only received Spence's vocabulary and only the meanings Spence himself attached to the various words at his command. God, for Spence, was an empty word. It did not communicate.

"The word God, I think, is what men call the All-Being."

Kyr merely looked at him.

"I have never been so moved by anything in my life. Bharat is a most extraordinary artist. Are there more of his works here?"

"No. This was, as many considered, his greatest. It alone survived the Burning."

"That's tragic. I would like to have seen more." He looked back at the sculpture. He now imagined he could see the hot points of stars forming in starfields, worlds bursting into creation, and more. There was a pattern to it-a greater pattern than could be taken in all at once. "I feel as if I were always on the verge of apprehending it, and yet… not at all," Spence said.

"That is the greatness of the work. Bharat has mirrored Dal Elna's mystery and given visual expression to the greatest single truth of our philosophers: Rhi sill dal kedu kree. It means: In the many there is One."

Spence repeated the words with a slow shaking of his head. "You'll have to explain that to me. I don't get it at all."

"Many hundreds of lifetimes ago our philosophers reduced their theories to this one axiom. It cannot be expressed more simply. But I will think about it and find a way to explain it to you."

They left the alcove and the kinetic sculpture silently. Spence went on tiptoes like a priest leaving the holy of holies. He was conscious of a sharp longing, almost a loneliness, as if he had left the presence of the Deity himself. He felt cut off.

He turned to view the sculpture a last time, but the alcove was dark and the slender object still. He wondered if he had imagined the patterns and color. The ache in his heart told him that he had encountered a masterpiece, and that, as an onlooker at a miracle, he, too, had been inwardly changed.

10

… CAROLINE ZANDERSON CALLED FOR a pen and paper, something she had not done in the eleven years she had been at Holyoke Haven. The request caused a sudden rush of the asylum's staff as they tripped over one another to fulfill it. Mrs. Zanderson, wife of the director of GM Advancement Center, was a most perplexing case.

Of all the patients she seemed the most normal, and the most severely disturbed, depending on the time one happened to see her. She was often remarkably lucid and calm, calling everyone by name and glowing with a genuine vibrant charm. But her good days were separated by periods of extreme anguish and depression. Her highs were balanced by the lowest lows.

When her madness came upon her, the charming sophisticate became a hunkering crone. Her personality disintegrated; she neither knew who she was nor where she was. She became fixated on the strange force she believed to be torturing her, possessing her, stealing her sanity.

That is why, when she called for a pen and paper, the staff fell over themselves in their haste to provide it. The act signaled a beginning perhaps to one of her good periods, and there had been few of those in the last year.

"Is that you, Belinda?" Mrs. Zanderson heard a slight commotion at her door and turned toward it, peering around her faded red chair.

At the door a white-uniformed nurse was speaking to another patient, a woman in a light blue flowered dress who strained ahead eagerly, clutching a worn cloth suitcase.

"The ship has not come today, Mrs. Mawser," the nurse intoned gently.

The woman turned a suddenly stricken face to the nurse, her eyes wild and fearful. "I haven't missed it? Oh! Ohhh…"

"No, no," the nurse soothed, placing her hand on the woman's back. "You haven't missed it. We won't let you miss the ship when it comes. Now you go back to your room and unpack. It's almost time for lunch."

The woman shuffled away with the suitcase, muttering as she went. The nurse watched her go and then stepped lightly into the room.

"Caroline, I've brought your paper and pen-and an envelope, too."

"An envelope?" The blue eyes were pools of lead in her face.

"You'll need an envelope if you are going to write a letter. Remember?"

"Oh, yes. I'll need an envelope. May I have the paper and pen now, please?" She took them and moved to the tiny antique writing desk that stood by the French doors. Without another word to the nurse she began. After several strained attempts she wrote:

My Dearest Ari,

Don't be alarmed at receiving a letter from your mother. I have long wanted to write to you and thank you for all the wonderful letters and gifts you send, but I have not been up to it for a very long time. I do think of you often, of course-when I am myself, that is.

I am writing now to tell you something very important. Please listen to me and do as I ask. You are in great danger, my dear one. The greatest possible danger! The Dream Thief has turned his eyes on you and he wants you. Even now his hands are stretching after you. Be careful. Please, be careful!

You must take steps to protect yourself. Come to me and I will tell you what to do. I dare not put it in a letter-his eyes are everywhere. But come soon, my darling. Please, before it is too late.

Always my love, Mother When she had finished the letter she read it through several times and then folded it neatly and placed it in the envelope and addressed it. She then called for the nurse again.

"Good, Belinda, you're here. Take this letter and make sure it is trailed properly. Mail it yourself, please. It's important."

"Of course I will, Caroline. I would be happy to. Oh, I see its to your daughter. I'm sure Ari will enjoy hearing from you. It's bee,, a long time since she has been here, hasn't it? I'll mail the letter today, right after lunch. Would you like to come down and eat now? We're having a nice chicken salad. They say it's very good."

"I think I will have some tea in my room," Caroline said, slumping back into her overstuffed chair facing the doors. "I'm a little tired right now. Maybe I'll come down later."