TEN

1

Now the work was complete. Cavesword and Cavesway formed a perfect

design and all the rest would greatly follow ... or so Paul assumed. I

believe if I had been he I should have killed both Iris and myself the

same day, removing at one stroke witnesses and opposition. But he did

not have the courage and, too, I think he underestimated us, to his own

future sorrow.

Iris and I were left alone in the penthouse. Paul, after shaking

Stokharin into a semblance of calm, bundled Cave’s body into a blanket

and then, with the doctor’s help, put it upon the private elevator.

The next twenty-four hours were a grim carnival. The body of Cave,

beautifully arranged and painted, lay in the central auditorium of the

center as thousands filed by to see him. Paul’s speech over the corpse

was telecast around the world.

Iris and I kept to our separate rooms, both by choice and from

necessity since gentle guards stood before our doors and refused,

apologetically, to let us out.

I watched the services over television while my chief editors visited

me one by one unaware of what had happened, ignoring the presence of

the guards. It was assumed that I was too shocked by grief to go to

the office. Needless to say, I did not mention to any of them what had

happened. At first I had thought it best to expose Paul as a murderer

and a fraud but, on second thought (the second thought which followed

all too swiftly upon the first, as Paul had no doubt assumed it would),

I did not want to risk the ruin of our work. Instead, I decided to

wait, to study Paul’s destruction, an event which I had grimly vowed

would take place as soon as possible. He could not now get rid of

either Iris or me in the near future and all we needed, I was sure, was

but a week or two. I was convinced of this though I had no specific

plan. Iris had more influence, more prestige in the Establishment than

Paul, and I figured, correctly as later events corroborated, that

Cave’s death would enhance her position. As for myself, I was not

without influence.

I kept my lines of communication clear the next few days during what

was, virtually, a house-arrest. The editors came to me regularly and I

continued to compose editorials. The explanation for my confinement to

my room was, according to a bulletin signed by Stokharin, a mild heart

condition. Everyone was most kind. I was amused when I first heard of

the diagnosis: one of Stokharin’s pellets in my food and death would be

ascribed to coronary occlusion, the result of the strain attendant upon

Cave’s death. I had less time than I thought. I made plans.

Paul’s funeral oration was competent though less than inspiring.

The Chief Resident of Dallas, one of the great new figures of the

Establishment, made an even finer speech over the corpse. I listened

attentively, judging from what was said and what was not said the

wind’s direction: it was quite obvious that Cavesway was to be the

heart of the doctrine. Death was to be embraced with passion; life

was the criminal; death the better reality; consciousness was an evil

which, in death’s oblivion, met its true fate ... man’s one perfect

virtuous act was the sacrifice of his own consciousness to the pure

nothing from which, by grim accident, it had come, a malignancy in

creation. The Chief Resident of Dallas was most eloquent, and chilling.

Even sequestered in my room, I caught some of the excitement which

circled the globe like a lightning storm. Thirty-five hundred

suicides were reported within forty-eight hours of Cave’s death. The

statisticians lost count of the number of people who fought to get

inside the building to see Cave in death. From my window, however,

I could see that Park Avenue had been roped off for a dozen blocks.

People, like ants, swarmed toward the gates of the tower.

I sent messages to Iris but received none, nor, for that matter, did I

have any assurance that she had got mine. Paul’s adventures I followed

on television and from the reports of my editors who visited me

regularly, despite Stokharin’s orders.

On the third day, I was allowed to go to my office: Paul having decided

that it would be thought odd if I were to die so soon after Cave and,

too, he was no doubt relieved to discover that I had not revealed to my

friends what actually had happened. Having established the fact of my

weak heart, my death could be engineered most plausibly at any time.

I did not see him face to face until the fourth day, when John Cave’s

ashes were to be distributed over the United States. Stokharin, Paul

and I sat in the back seat of a limousine at the head of a motorcade

which, beginning at the tower, terminated at the airport where the

jet-plane which would sprinkle the ashes over New York, Seattle,

Chicago and Los Angeles was waiting, along with a vast crowd and the

President of the United States, an official Christian but known to

incline, as Presidents do, toward the majority.... Cavites were the

majority and had been for almost two years.

I was startled to find Paul and Stokharin in the same automobile. It

had been my understanding that we were to travel separately in the

motorcade. They were most cordial.

“Sorry to hear you’ve been sick, Gene,” Paul grinned ingenuously.

“⁗Mustn’t strain the old ticker.”

“I’m sure the good doctor will be able to cure me,” I said cheerfully.

They both laughed loudly; then the car pulled away from the tower and

drove down Park Avenue at the head of a long procession. Crowds lined

the street as we drove slowly by. They were curiously still, as though

they hardly knew how to react: this was a funeral yet Cavesway was

glorious. Some cheered; most simply stared and pointed at our car,

recognizing Paul. I suddenly realized why they were so interested in

this particular car: on the floor, at Paul’s feet, was what looked like

a large flower pot covered with gold foil.

“Are those the ashes?”

Paul nodded. “Did an extra quick job, too, I’m glad to say. We didn’t

want any slip up.”

“Where’s Iris?”

“I was going to ask _you_ that.” Paul looked at me sharply. “She

disappeared yesterday and it’s very embarrassing for all of us, very

inconsiderate too: she knew I especially wanted her at the ceremony.

She knows that everyone will expect to see her.”

“I think she took the idea of Cavesway most illogically,” said

Stokharin, his usual sang-froid had returned, his breakdown forgotten.

“She should be grateful to us for making all this possible, despite

Cave’s weakness.”

I ignored Stokharin. I looked at Paul who was beaming at the crowd,

acknowledging their waves with nods of his head. “What will you do now?”

“You heard the ceremony?”

“Yes.”

“Well, just that. Cavesway has become universal. Even the economists

in Washington have privately thanked us for what we’re doing to reduce

the population. There’s a theory that by numerous voluntary deaths

wars might decrease since ... or so the proposition goes ... they are

nature’s way of checking population.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” I assumed a troubled expression as I made the

first move of my counteroffensive.

Paul looked away from the crowd to regard me briefly, shrewdly. “You

don’t think I trust you, do you?”