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On Monday afternoon I placed a call to Tim Jameson at the Bettinger Foundation. I was quite relieved when he picked up the phone since I wanted to disengage myself from the whole matter as quickly as possible.

"Timothy Jameson speaking," he announced.

"Dr. Jameson," I began, "this is Dr. Phelps. How are you?" I asked with a friendly sociability that did not reflect my feelings.

"I'm very well, thank you," he replied. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, actually, Dr. Jameson," I answered. "I've called in order to let you know my decision about the external consulting offer."

"Oh?!" he said, with what seemed to be a mixture of concern, uncertainty and curiosity. "This sounds ominous," he added.

"I suppose that would depend on one's point of view," I responded. "In any event, as you appear to have intuited, I've decided to pass on your proposal."

"I'm sorry to hear that Dr. Phelps," he said. "If you don't mind my asking, was there a problem with our offer or the arrangements of the job? Maybe, we still may have some room to negotiate or fix whatever the difficulty might be.

"Dr. Jameson, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the terms and conditions of your proposal," I indicated. "In fact, I found the offer to be extremely generous, flexible and, quite frankly, very tempting."

"Does your decision have anything to do with the talk you attended last week at the Foundation?" he inquired. "You did seem to be in somewhat of a rush to absent yourself from our program. Perhaps, Professor Donaldson's comments were more upsetting to you than you wished to admit at the time."

"The answer to your question," I asserted, "is, once again, no, Dr. Jameson. If anything, I was very much impressed by Rachel Donaldson's comments concerning both terrorism and the Gulf War."

"Ahh," he exclaimed, with what appeared to be hybrid tones of revelation and puzzlement. "This leaves me with something of a paradox, Dr. Phelps," he added.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Well, on the one hand, you state everything about the terms, conditions, offer and talk were very good. Yet, on the other hand, you are declining our offer. The two don't seem to go together."

"Yes," I admitted, "when you put things that way, then I can appreciate your perplexity. However, believe it or not, Dr. Jameson, there really is more to me than job offers and talks."

"Dr. Phelps, I didn't mean to suggest..."

Before he could finish his sentence, I interrupted. "Rest easy, Dr. Jameson, I'm not suggesting you were suggesting anything. I'm merely trying to resolve your sense of paradox."

In an effort to elaborate, I said: "I've given your offer a lot of thought. Furthermore, I've explored the issue in considerable detail with someone whose opinion I value a great deal."

"This process of deliberation and exploration led me to certain conclusions. Consequently, for a variety of historical, professional, political, philosophical and personal reasons, I've decided your job offer and my present life circumstances are incompatible.

"My answer," I acknowledged, "still remains rather vague. However, I'm not really prepared to go into more precise detail at this time. I hope you will let things stand as they are."

"Of course, Dr. Phelps, of course," he confirmed. "Naturally, and I'm sure you can appreciate this, we try to find out as much as we can about why things did not have ... shall we say, a happier ending."

"Perhaps," I offered, "this is a happy ending. It just might not be the one either of us may have been led to expect by our original anticipations."

"Nicely phrased," he noted. "Nonetheless, your decision saddens me more than you can know. I wish there were some way in which I could persuade you to reconsider."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jameson, the decision is final. Yet, I do wish to thank you for your offer.

"Among other things," I indicated, "I've found the whole deliberation process to be quite instructive. A lot of things have become much clearer as a result of the opportunity for reflection that your proposal has afforded me."

"Well," he responded, "I'm glad we could be of assistance to you in this respect. Moreover, I believe you did get a good, free lunch as promised."

"Affirmative," I replied. "Thanks again, Dr. Jameson, good-by."

After replacing the phone in its cradle, I lifted the receiver once more and entered another number. The phone at the other end of the connection began to ring.

While I was waiting for someone to answer, a thought crossed my mind. Timothy Jameson was not entirely correct when he had told me at our luncheon engagement that the barbarians were at the gates.

In point of fact, as Ken's overview had demonstrated, some of those who were manning the gates were, themselves, barbarians. In a clever variation on the Trojan horse ploy, an unknown number of barbarians had managed to disguise themselves as guardians of civilization, and, as a result, they had been invited inside the compound.

Once inside, they, at their leisure, could set about dismantling whatever democratic defenses they wished to target while observed by the forgiving, and heedless, eye of patriotic fervor. The supreme irony in all of this was that these people could scream and foam at the mouth in frenzied outrage over the acts of the external barbarians in order to divert attention away from their own, far greater acts of barbarity.

After three or four rings, someone at the other end of the connection picked up the phone. "Hello," came the reply.

"Hello, yourself," I said.

"Is this the poet laureate?" Jennifer asked. "Are you the one who has just come back in triumphant return from walking in the corridors of power of our nation's capital as well as hobnobbing with the rich and famous?"

"If you must know, the people with whom I visited are neither rich nor famous. Furthermore, their front hallway could not easily be mistaken for a corridor of power.

"As far as your first question is concerned, I am uncertain whether I am the correct referent of your inquiry. While, from time to time, I have tried to be inspired to write in a sort of up-scale doggerel style, there have not been, at least heretofore, any laurels which have come my way in acknowledgment of such poetic efforts."

"In that case," Jennifer advised, "I wouldn't resign from your day job just yet. However, as a, I hope, leading candidate for the coveted position of inaugural groupie in your fan club for up-scale doggerel style, let me be the first, unofficially though it may be, to confer honors upon your latest literary rendering."

"When one translates your words from high-English to low-English, would one be safe in assuming that you liked the flowers and poem?" I asked.

"The risks entailed by such an assumption would be minimal," Jennifer confirmed. "At the same time," she cautioned, "I have not quite made up my mind about playing the roles of the damp to your mold, or fodder to your cows, even though I appreciate ... I think ... the sentiment behind these words."

"I am gratified and encouraged by the graciousness with which my modest efforts have been received," I said with unctuous humility. "Perhaps, you would be willing to entertain further efforts in this vein at some future time."

"As long as such efforts were sufficiently far enough in the future, I believe I probably could handle it," she replied. "Although, as one gets older, one is less able to deal with the stress surrounding the responsibilities and demands of etiquette that are entailed by entertaining things of that ilk."

"I think," I indicated, "I'll quit while I'm only moderately behind. The luster of my status as poet laureate seems to be attracting considerable tarnish with each passing moment."

Attempting to change topics before my would-be international reputation was further sullied, I asked: "Are we still on for tomorrow evening?"

"I wouldn't exchange it for all the poems in Boston," she replied. "When all is said and done, David, I've missed you very much."

"That's very nice to hear, Jennifer. I'm really looking forward to being with you again."

"Is 7:30 O.K.?" I asked.

"Sounds good," she said.

"Is there anything in particular you want to do?" I inquired.

"Just come over," she indicated. "We'll figure something out."

"See you tomorrow, Jennifer," I concluded. After she had said her good-bye in reciprocation, I depressed the button and terminated the connection.

Without replacing the phone, I released the button and entered another number. The line intermittently came alive with the sounds of electronic signals being transmitted from location to location.

"Hello, Beth Idaho speaking. How can I help you?"

"Beth, its David Phelps. I hope you don't mind my calling you at work."

"Not at all, David. How are you doing?" she inquired.

"Quite well, actually," I answered. "How about yourself?"

"All things considered, I'm doing O.K.," she replied.

"Any further developments with either your brother or the FBI?" I asked.

"All is quiet on the eastern front," she responded.

"Are you suffering any after-effects of the abduction ordeal?" I probed.

"Not as far as I can tell, David," she indicated. "I'm sleeping, eating and working well. I'm not feeling particularly depressed about anything, although, I am concerned, naturally, about Brian's situation."

"Sounds like you are in pretty good shape under the circumstances," I concurred. "I just wanted to touch base with you and to let you know that I'm available if you want someone to talk to or be with."

"I appreciate your thoughtfulness, David," she said.

"I'm afraid," I confided, "I'm pretty much of a bust as far as being able to help your brother is concerned."

"Don't count yourself out yet, David," she countered. "The path of life consists of many twists and turns. Just because one can't see beyond the bend in the road doesn't mean there aren't interesting things waiting for one around the next corner."

"Why do I keep getting the feeling, Beth, that you should be the clinician, and I should be the one seeking your help?" I mused.

She laughed. "Offering advice is like babysitting," she suggested. "As long as one doesn't have to take responsibility for it on a full-time basis, it usually makes one appear better than one is."

"I like your simile," I said, "but I'm not sure it applies in your case."

"That's nice of you to say, David, even if I don't happen to agree with you," Beth responded.

"Well, I don't want to keep you from your work," I indicated. "If there is anything I can do for you, Beth, please don't hesitate to call me."

"I will, David," she promised.

"In turn, I'll try to keep you informed about what I find around the next curve," I offered.

"It's a deal," she noted. "Be careful, David," she added.

"Sure," I affirmed, despite feeling a sense of disquiet from her request of caution. "You take care too, Beth."

"Bye, David," she said. The next sound I heard was 'click'.

"For some reason, her "bye" bothered me. It had an unsettling quality to it, as if it possessed a sense of finality about it.

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