Then I looked ahead, and tried to think about what I should do next. This was much more difficult; I was locked into a way of thinking. What I did best, the one unique service I could offer, was healing people; those with some specific ailments. It seemed that my whole life would be spent in visiting hospitals. I had no objection to the thought, or to the constant travel with which I recharged my mental batteries. I thought I might work my way around the world, running, swimming and healing forever.
The end of this strange interlude came in the early autumn, in a small hospital on the rural west coast of France. It was the only one in that area which was close to the sea, so it was a fairly safe bet that I would visit. After my usual meal (every hospital in the regions through which I passed must have had a supply of fruit and nuts on hand, just in case) I worked my way through assorted cases of paralysis and nervous disorder. I was about to leave when the English-speaking doctor who had been deputed to look after me (no doubt every hospital had one of those on standby, too) received a slip from a messenger and frowned.
‘Another one’s just arrived. An English paralysis case, come out here specially to see you.’
‘OK, wheel him in.’ He was duly wheeled in, in a wheelchair. I was still thinking about my last patient – an overworked housewife whose arms had been paralysed as a result of an hysterical reaction to her lot – concerned that I had cured the symptom and not the cause. I didn’t try to scan the new arrival until I turned to face him. It was Richards.
We looked at each in silence for a few seconds.
‘Hello Cade,’ he said neutrally, ‘you’ve lost weight.’
I remembered that I had only paralysed his limbs, leaving him free to speak.
‘What are you running from?’
I looked at him and found that I was the one who was speechless; I could think of nothing sensible to say. Richards looked almost sympathetic.
‘I’ve come because there’s someone I want you to meet.’
‘Another spy needing scanning?’ My voice sounded harsh, even to me.
‘No. He’s nothing to do with me, but I’ve been asked to introduce you.’
‘And you?’
He understood what I meant. ‘I’m not complaining. I deserved what you did. It was criminal negligence to let them get at you both.’ His tone and mood were both bitter with self-reproach.
I looked at him, and realised that I no longer felt angry. That had been washed away by the sea and my long journey, along with the other emotions which had been tearing me apart. I sighed and mentally touched him, releasing the paralysis lock. His breath hissed out slowly and I felt the pain, the intense pins-and-needles as the feeling poured back into his limbs. I shrugged and touched his mind again. He relaxed suddenly, with a long sigh of relief.
‘Don’t try standing up yet. You’ll be shaky for a while.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
He turned to the man who had been pushing his chair. ‘Would you ask Mr Yamamoto to join us please?’
The middle-aged man who entered the room was slim and immaculately dressed. His straight bearing and air of authority disguised his lack of height. He extended his hand and bowed. ‘Good morning, Mr Cade, I am very pleased to meet with you at last.’
His English pronunciation was very good, difficult for a Japanese, which suggested that he had learned the language in childhood.
‘Mr Yamamoto is the special representative of the Secretary-General of the United Nations.’
I looked at him with more interest. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘First I would like to bring greetings from the Secretary-General. He would have preferred to be here himself but was unable to get away.’
I inclined my head in acknowledgment, feeling distinctly sceptical. I could not imagine such a person travelling around the world to meet an itinerant freak.
‘I have come to ask you, on his behalf, to join us.’
I was puzzled. ‘Join who, exactly?
‘The Secretary-General’s team, as a special representative.’
I looked at him in astonishment. ‘Whatever for?’
He regarded me with a slight smile. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve been keeping up with the international news? No, I thought not. You may be surprised to learn that you are famous. In fact, you have become something of a sensation. Television coverage of your travels and your healings is broadcast around the world, every day. There are special programmes on you and many websites, speculating about who you really are, why you are running, what you are going to be doing next. Hundreds of millions of people follow your progress.’
I stood astonished, as Mr Yamamoto continued. ‘You have become something of a cult figure, especially among the young. There are frequent massed rallies of your followers in all parts of the globe.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I am told that the best-selling tee-shirt in the world has your three principles printed on it, and a substantial part of the world’s youth seems to know them by heart. There are even signs of changes in people’s behaviour as a result.’
I sat down, stunned out of my usual sense of detachment, trying to grapple with the incredible picture he was painting. He continued, gently. ‘Mr Cade, you are a person of immense influence, already a great force for good. I understand why you want to keep healing people, but if you worked with us you could improve the lives of far more people than you could ever meet individually. This may sound very corny, but I do not apologise for it; I am asking you to help make the world a better place.’
I looked at him blankly, trying to gather my thoughts. I scanned him and found nothing but sincerity and, to my astonishment, awe. ‘I’ll have to think about it, Mr Yamamoto. This has come as rather a shock.’
‘Of course. I will leave you now if I may? Mr Richards can convey any message to me.’ He bowed again and left.
I looked at Richards, who had a slight, ironic smile on his face. ‘All right, what’s this all about?’
He shrugged. ‘Pretty much what he said. Of course, they’re not being entirely altruistic. They’re hoping that having you on board would add greatly to the prestige and influence of the UN in general, and the Secretary-General in particular.’
‘So what would they expect me to do?’
‘You’d have to discuss that with them. However, I suspect that they’d like you to endorse some of their favoured policies, get public opinion on the side of the UN – especially in countries where the governments aren’t being very co-operative – maybe bring pressure on some of the less desirable regimes to mend their ways.’
I sighed heavily and tried to think about the implications. My travelling days suddenly seemed intensely appealing in their simplicity. ‘I’ll have to think about it over the next few days. For now, I’ll carry on as I am.’
So I carried on running. But it was not the same. Always at the back of my mind – and frequently at the front – was Mr Yamamoto’s request. As I neared the Spanish border I realised that I couldn’t put it off any longer. In Biarritz early one morning, I swam ashore, walked up the beach and into the lobby of a seafront hotel and requested permission to use their phone. The receptionist nodded shakily, too stunned to speak. I dialled the number and an operator instantly put me in contact with Richards. ‘All right, I’m prepared to discuss Mr Yamamoto’s offer in more detail. Can you put me in touch?’
‘I’ll do that. I expect they’ll want you to travel to New York to meet him.’
I grunted in annoyance. I suddenly realised that although I had flown many times in the past, I no longer wanted to seal myself up with hundreds of others in a metal container being hurtled through the atmosphere. ‘In that case, they’d better lay on a ship. I’ll only go by sea.’