He woke to the Indian gently stroking his hair.

The cave was totally dark. No fire, no hole in the ceiling. Only a hand moving gently over his hair. He felt rested, relaxed. He felt no need to escape, he no longer felt trapped. He felt no need to ask questions, no need to fight. He looked inside. Yes, the diamond was still there.

He was safe.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Then we can begin." The hand moved away. "Before we do, I want to say that I hope you understand my attitude yesterday. I was a bit more playful with you than I intended. It matters, and it does not matter."

The Indian started a small fire. The cave was soon filled with a sweet, heavy smoke. Lafe at first resisted breathing it. He found his lungs opening to it, welcoming it, like a breath of fresh spring air. He became conscious of the sensuality of air sliding into and out of his body.

Dimly Lafe saw that the Indian was standing near a wall. He spreads his arms with palms facing Lafe and says. "The story of stories. Just for young my friend."

A spot of light appears on the wall. As Lafe watches, the wall wavers, somehow becomes diffuse, then almost transparent finally disappearing altogether.

A vista of swirling mists of many colors reveal itself to Lafe, seems even to be speaking to him. A figure emerges, tall, female, naked. Her mouth does not moves but Lafe hears her speak. "I am the speaker who prefers to be silent by speaking through others. I come here now because I have been invited. I come to see one of my escaped sacrifices. As you watch me tell my story, I will be watching you tell yours, Neither of us will know which is which. And neither of us can do anything but celebrate the mystery of how any of us ever escape the other. I knowingly pursued you and lost you. You have pursued me in ignorance and you have me here now. One of us is a very great fool. Neither of us will ever know which." She smiled, bowed, and dissolved back into the mists.

A child emerges. Lafe recognizes himself. The child has a pair of scissors. The child cuts off his penis and tosses the scissors toward Lafe. As the scissors fly toward him, Lafe sees a fountain of blood spring from the child’s groin. Lafe forgets the scissors: the child is laughing. A new penis sprouts on the child's body. The child backs away, bowing, as if to applause.

Lafe enters the mists, leading a group of men through a many-floored building like a library, except each floor is all tile and there are showers everywhere and steam, and wet towels dripping on hooks. The bottom floor is a theater. In the lobby they pass a display of mechanical cardboard human figures, male and female, moving and embracing. Lafe peeks in back of them and sees an intricate clockwork mechanism.

They enter the theater.

Lafe finds himself in the flies, on a white platform looking down on the stage through a square opening. Also looking down through the opening is the king, who speaks as if to the actors below and waves a large gold-bound book he is holding. Too late Lafe sees that the book hides a gun, which the king takes out and alms down at the stage. Shots, and below Lafe sees an actor stagger. The actor looks up and shouts to the audience "The King, my lord, it is the King!" Lafe looks out toward the audience. It is clear they think the shots and the actor’s line are only part of the play; they don't realize the actor has figured that there is more to the play than meets the eye of actor and audience alike. More shots. Lafe looks at the king, now a white-robed figure of great age and strength. The actor below falls dead. Dark stains spread on the green carpet of the stage. other actors rush into view. More shots. They fall dead. One of them is a very old man.

The scene fades into the mists and Lafe is left with a feeling of great frustration, as if he had tried some great deed and left it incomplete.

"You!" he shouts. "You, whoever you are, come back! We have to talk!" He gets to his feet, walks toward the mists.

"No!" The Indian's voice booms from the darkness like thunder.