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afraid."  He held his hands out where Benjamin could see them.
    The room fell completely silent.  Psychiatrists do not touch.  They maintain rigid boundaries.  They heal from across the room.
    "What the heck?" Jonah heard Paul Plotnik mutter.
    Jonah glanced at Craig Ellison and saw a dubious look on his face.  But he also glimpsed Michelle Jenkins leaning forward in her seat, transfixed.
    He focused on Benjamin again.  "Don’t be afraid," he said.  He kept looking into his eyes for several seconds, then turned his attention to the boy’s left arm, lying motionless on his thigh.  He lifted it about eight inches, let go and watched it fall like a dead weight.  Then he lifted his right arm and dropped it.  It slowly drifted back down.
    Like a man working the extremities of a life-size Gumby, Jonah pushed and pulled Benjamin’s arms and legs this way and that.  He ran the tip of his thumb along the bottoms of Benjamin’s feet, watching the way his toes curled in response to the peculiar pressure.  He leaned even closer, bringing his face within a few inches of Benjamin’s.  He looked left and right, up and down, noting when Benjamin’s eyes tracked along with his, as ocular reflexes would dictate, and when they did not.
    He sat back on his heels.  "Thank you," he said to Benjamin.  "I think I see the problem."  He stood up and motioned for the man who had wheeled Benjamin into the room.  "All set," he said.
    He walked to the lectern and waited for Benjamin to be wheeled away.  He looked out over the audience and let out a long breath.  "This is an unusual case," he said.
    "It’s an unusual case conference," Paul Plotnik said in a stage whisper.
    Nervous laughter filled the room.
    Jonah looked at Plotnik, who had broken into a wide grin.  "Glioblastoma brain tumors in this age group are exceedingly rare," he said.  "In this case," he went on, addressing the whole audience, "the tumor mimics mental illness perfectly, because of its location.  Its point of origin lies just lateral to the limbic system, on the right side of the brain, so that the malignant cells invaded the amygdala first, causing mood alterations and changes in muscle function.  They then moved into the caudate nucleus, slowing invading upward, into the medial sulcus of the cortex, which is, of course, the primary speech center."  He paused and looked at Paul Plotnik again.  "Dr. Plotnik," he said.  "Did you get a CAT scan?"
    "Of course," Plotnik said defensively.
    "I knew you would have, because of how thorough your presentation was," Jonah said.  He wanted to save Plotnik from looking foolish and save himself from making an enemy.  He looked out over the audience again.  "The trouble is that eight percent of glioblastoma lesions show up only on MRI.  And we don’t generally order MRIs on patients whose symptoms seem to be explained by depression — or schizophrenia."  He paused.  "Benjamin doesn’t need electroconvulsive therapy.  He needs surgery — and right away.  Glioblastomas are aggressive, but treatable if caught early."
    "What about the psychosis?" Michelle Jenkins asked.  "How do we explain that?"
    "I don’t think Benjamin is seeing visions," Jonah said.  "His eyes drift upward and toward the left because the nerves to the ocular muscles which center the eye are weak.  The tumor is destroying them."
    A young woman near the back of the room raised her hand.
    Jonah nodded toward her.
    "How did you figure this out?" she asked.
    "By listening to Benjamin," Jonah said.
    "He didn’t say a word," the young woman said.
    "Exactly," Jonah said.
    "Exactly, what?" another man in the middle of the audience asked.
    "Benjamin’s complete silence was my first clue to what was wrong with him," Jonah said.  "If he had uttered a single word, I would have been tempted to wonder what it meant psychologically.  If he had cried, I may have taken time trying to get him to tell me about his sadness, or what other symptoms of