"Yes."

"Where were you speaking from? Where was the cut-off?"

The boy remembered how John's fingers had torn into his shoulders; he remembered June's double body in the baths that morning. "Probably as high as the back of my neck."

"That's right." John paused. Then he stared straight into the boy's eyes and said, "Do you want to take a far out trip?"

The boy did not know what to say or think. He almost said no. "Yes."

"Lie down on your back in the middle of the circle."

And the boy did, and smiled to think that two minutes after announcing that he would not get into the center, here he was, flat on his back.

"Will everybody please hold onto a part of his body and gently stroke him." The boy's eyes were shut. He could feel hands moving all over him. He was a little afraid. John's hands were on his stomach, and he was glad to know that John was there.

"Please don't touch my left big toe," boy said. That was the toe he had injured.

"Somebody take his left big toe," John commanded.

"No, no, he injured it." That was Paul's voice. It sounded far away, but the boy knew he was there, watching out for him.

"What!" the boy said. "Did You think I was hung-up about my left big toe?" John laughed.

Then there was a long silence, but all the time the boy could feel hands everywhere on his body. His eyes were shut, but he felt John above him. John was leaning over him, and then the boy heard his voice, so strong, so quiet, so close, heard his voice like the voice of a lover lying next to him in bed. "For she's touched your perfect body with her mind."

The boy felt his body tremble. But he only said, "It's a beautiful song."

John laughed softly. He put his hands on the back of the boy's neck. "Feel that. It's a total cut-off."