Paul grunted. I could see that he did not believe this spurious
_volte-face_; nevertheless, an end to my active opposition would
force him to revise his plans; this would, I hoped, give me the time
I needed. I pressed on: “I think we can compromise. Short of rigging
my death which would cause suspicion, you must continue to put up with
me for a while. You’ve nothing to fear from me since you control the
Establishment and since the one weapon I have against you I will not
use.”
“You mean....”
“My having witnessed the murder of Cave. If I had wanted to I could
have revealed this before the cremation. An autopsy would certainly
have ruined everything for you.”
“Why didn’t you?” I could see that Paul was genuinely interested in my
motives.
“Because it would have meant the end of the work. I saw no reason to
avenge Cave at such a cost: you must remember he was not a god to me,
any more than you are.”
This twist of a blunt knife had the calculated effect: “What a cold
devil you are!” said Paul, almost admiringly. “I wish I could believe
you.”
“There’s no reason not to. I was opposed to the principle of suicide.
It is now firmly established. We must go on from there.”
“Then tell me where Iris is.”
“I haven’t any idea. As you know, I’ve been trying to get in touch with
her for days; your people intercepted everything. How _did_ she manage
to get away?”
“One of the guards let her out. I thought he was one of our boys but
it seems she worked on him and he left with her. I’ve alerted all the
Centers; so far no one’s seen her.”
Just before Grand Central Station, the crowd began to roar with
excitement and Paul held up the jar of ashes which glittered in his
hands; the crowd went wild and tried to break through the police lines.
The cortege drove a bit faster and Paul set the ashes down; he looked
triumphant but tired, as though he’d not slept in a month: one eyelid,
I saw, was twitching with fatigue.
“When are we to have a directors’ meeting?” I asked as we crossed the
bridge which spanned the Hudson. “We’re still legally a company. We
must elect a new board chairman.”
“As soon as we find Iris,” said Paul. “I think we should all be there,
don’t you? Two to two.”
“Perhaps three to one on the main things,” I said, allowing this to
penetrate, aware that his quick mind would study all the possibilities
and arrive at a position so subtle and unexpected as to be of use to me
if I, in turn, were quick enough to seize my opportunity.
At the airport, a detachment of airborne troops were drawn up before a
festooned reviewing stand. Near by the Marine Band played incongruous
marches while in the center of the stand, surrounded by cameras and
dignitaries, stood the smiling President of the United States.
2
The next day while I was examining the various accounts of the last
ceremony, the chief editor came into my office, his face blazing with
excitement: “Iris Mortimer!” was all he could say.
“Iris? Where?”
“Dallas.” He exploded the name in exhalation; then he told me: word had
come from our office there that Iris had, a few hours before, denounced
Paul for having ignored Cave’s last wishes to be embalmed and that, as
a result of this and other infidelities to Cavesword, she, as ranking
director and with the full concurrence of the Chief Resident of Dallas,
was calling a Council of Residents to be held the following week at
Dallas to determine the future course of the Establishment.
I almost laughed aloud with pleasure. I had not believed she would
show such vigor and daring. I had feared that she might choose to
vanish into obscurity, her life ended with Cave ... even at my most
optimistic, I had not dreamed she would act with such realism,
exploiting a rivalry between Paul and the Chief Resident of Dallas, the
premier member of the Council of Residents, a group that, until now,
had existed for purely ceremonial reasons, exerting no influence upon
the administration of the Establishment which, while Cave lived, was by
Paul directed. Now with one stroke Iris had undermined Paul by going
directly to the Establishment.
I moved swiftly. The _Journal_ was at that moment going to
press. I scribbled a brief announcement of the coming Council of
Residents, naming Iris as Cave’s spiritual heir and custodian of the
Establishment. By telephone, I ordered a box to be cut out of the first
page. I had not acted a moment too soon for a few minutes after my
telephone call to the compositor, Paul came to my office, furious. He
slammed the door behind him. We were alone for the first time in weeks.
“You knew this was going to happen.”
“I wish I had.”
He paced the floor quickly, eyes shining. “I’ve sent out an order
countermanding Iris. I’ve also removed the Resident at Dallas. I’m
still in charge of the Establishment. I control the funds and I’ve told
every damned Resident in this country that if he goes to Dallas I’ll
cut off his Center without a penny.”
“It won’t work.” I smiled amiably at Paul. “Your only hold over the
Establishment is legal. You are the vice president of the corporation
and now, at least for the interim, you’re in charge. Fine. But since
you’ve become so devoted to the letter of the law you can’t act
without consulting your directors and two of them will be in Dallas,
reorganizing.”
He cursed me for some minutes: then abruptly he stopped. “You won’t go
to Dallas. You’re going to be here for the directors’ meeting which
cuts off every Resident who attends that circus without a penny. We own
the damned Centers; we can appoint whom we like. You’re going to help
ratify my new appointments.”
I pressed the buzzer in my chair: a secretary came in. I told her to
get me a reservation on the next plane to Dallas; then, before she had
closed the door behind her, I was halfway through it. I turned to look
back at Paul who stood now quite alone in the office. “You had better
come too,” I said. “It’s all over.”
3
The new Establishment was many months in the making. The Council of
seven hundred Residents from all parts of the world sat in general
session once a week and in various committees the rest of the time.
Iris was everywhere at once, advising, encouraging, proposing. We had
adjoining suites in the huge white marble Center which had now become
(and was to remain) the capitol of the Cavite Establishment.
The Residents were an extraordinary crew, ranging from zealous maniacs
to urbane, thoughtful men. None had been in the least disturbed by
Paul’s threats and with Iris and myself as chief stockholders (Clarissa
had turned her voting shares over to Iris, I discovered), we dissolved
the old company and a new organization was fashioned, one governed by
the Council of Residents who, in turn, chose an heir to Cave and an
administrative assistant to direct the affairs of the Establishment.
Iris was unanimously appointed Guardian of Cavesword while the Chief
Resident of Dallas undertook Paul’s old administrative duties. From
a constitutional point of view the Council was in perfect agreement,
accepting Iris’s guidance without demur.
I, myself, was something of a hero for having committed the _Journal_
at a crucial moment to the Dallas synod. I was made an honorary
Resident (Dubuque, Iowa, was given me as a titular Center) and
appointed to the Executive Committee which was composed of Iris,
Dallas, two elected Residents and myself.
We worked harmoniously for some weeks. Each day we would issue
bulletins to the news-services which had congregated in the city,
reporting our progress zealously, devotedly.
Paul arrived in the second week. He came secretly and unannounced. I
have no idea what it was that he said to Iris or what she said to him;
all I know is that a few hours after their meeting in the Center, he
took Cavesway of his own free will and to my astonishment.
I hadn’t believed it possible, I said, when Iris told me, shortly
after the Center announced the presence of Paul Himmell among the dead
for that week (regular lists were published of those who had used the
Center’s facilities to take Cavesway); in fact, so quietly was it
handled that very little was made of it in the press which did not even
report the event until ten days after it had taken place.
“We may have misunderstood Paul,” Iris was serene. Her figure had
become in the last year thick and maternal while her hair was streaked
with premature white. We were alone in the Committee Room, waiting for
our fellow committeemen who were not due for another half hour. The
August sun shone gold upon the mahogany table, illuminating warmly,
like a Byzantine mosaic, the painting of Cave which hung behind her
chair.
“He really did do it himself?” I looked at her suspiciously. She smiled
softly, with amusement.
“He was persuaded,” she said. “But he did it himself, of his own free
will.”
“Not forced?”
“I swear not. He was more sincere than I’d ever thought. He believed
in Cavesway.” How naturally she said that word which she had so
desperately tried to keep from ever existing. We had not once alone
referred to the murder of Cave, both acting, for different reasons, as
though his death had been, as the world now thought, his own doing.
“You had really planned to go away?” I asked.
She looked at me, suddenly alert, impersonal: “That’s all finished,
Gene. We must keep on in the present. I never think now of anything but
Cavesword and Cavesway. It does no good to think of what might have
been.”
And that was the most we were ever to say to one another about the
crisis in our lives. We talked of the present; we made plans. Stokharin
had disappeared at the same time Paul flew to Dallas and we both
decided it was wisest to forget him: certainly he would not trouble us
again. There was no talk of vengeance.
The committee members, important and proud, joined us and we took up
the day’s problem which was, by some irony, the standardization of
facilities for Cavesway in the different Centers. Quietly, without
raising our voices, in a most good-humored way, we broke neatly in
half on Cavesway. I and one other Resident objected to the emphasis
on death. Dallas and the fourth member were in favor of expanding
the facilities, both physically and psychologically, until every
Cavite at the moment when he felt his social usefulness ebbing could
take Cavesway. We argued reasonably with one another until it became
apparent that there was no possible ground for compromise.
It was put to a vote and Iris broke the tie by endorsing Cavesway.
4
This morning as I finished the above lines I suffered a mild stroke ...
a particularly unusual one since I did not become, as far as I know,
unconscious. I was rereading my somewhat telescoped account of the
Council of Dallas when, without warning, the blow fell; a capillary
burst in my brain and I felt as though I were losing my mind in one
last fantastic burst of images. The pain was negligible, no worse than
a headache, but the sensation of letting go one’s conscious mind, one’s
control was terrifying. I tried to move from my work-table, to call for
help, but I was too weak. For one long giddy moment I thought: I am
dying; this is the way it is and, even in my anguish, I was curious,
waiting for that approach of winged darkness which years ago I once
experienced when I fainted and which I have always since imagined to be
like death’s swift entrance.
But then my body recovered from the assault: the wall was breached, the
enemy is in the city but the citadel is still intact and yet I live.
Weakly I got up, poured myself a jigger of brandy and then, having
drunk it all at once, fell across my bed and slept and did not dream,
which is a rare blessing in these feverish last days.
I was awakened by the sensation of being watched. I opened my eyes and
saw above me, looking like a bronze figure of Anubis, Jessup who said,
“I’m sorry ... didn’t mean to disturb you. Your door was open and I....”
“Perfectly all right,” I said, as smoothly as I could, drugged with
sleep. I pulled myself up against the pillows. “Excuse me for not
getting up but I’m still a little weak from my illness.”
“I wanted to see you,” said Jessup, sitting down in the chair which I
indicated beside the bed. “I hope you don’t mind my barging in like
this.”
“Not at all. How do you find Luxor?” I wanted to delay as long as
possible the questions which I was quite sure he would want to ask me,
questions concerning my identity.
“The people are not so fixed in error as we’d been warned. There’s
a great curiosity about Cavesword.” His eyes had been taking in the
details of the room with some interest; to my horror I recalled that I
had left the manuscript of my work on the table instead of hiding it as
usual in the washstand. He saw it. “Your ... memoirs?” He looked at me
with a polite interest which I was sure disguised foreknowledge.
“A record of my excavations,” I said, in a voice which descended the
scale to a whisper. “I do it for my own amusement, to pass the time.”
“I should enjoy reading it.”
“You exaggerate, in your kindness,” I said, pushing myself higher on
the bed, preparing if necessary for a sudden spring.
“Not at all. If it is about Egypt, I should read it. There are no
contemporary accounts of this country ... by one of us.”
“I’m afraid the details of findings in the valley yonder,” I gestured
toward Libya and the last acres of the kings, “won’t be of much use to
you. I avoid all mention of people less than two millennia dead.”
“Even so.” But Jessup did not pursue the subject. I relaxed a little.
“I must tell you,” he said suddenly, “that I was suspicious of you.”
Now I thought, now it comes; then I was amused: right at the end they
arrive, when it was too late for them, or for me. “What form did your
suspicions take?” My fear left me in one last flurry, like a bird
departing in a cold wind for another latitude, leaving the branch which
held it all summer through to wither in the snow.
“I thought you might be the one we have so often heard of ... in
legend, that is: the enemy of Cave.”
“Which enemy?”
“The nameless one or at least we know a part of his name if lutherist
is derived from it.”
“What made you suspect me?”
“Because were I an enemy of Cave and were I forced to disappear, I
should come to just such a town in just such a country as this.”
“Perfectly logical,” I agreed. “But there are many towns in the Arab
League, in Asia too. Why suppose one old man to be this mythical
villain?”
Jessup smiled. “Intuition, I’m afraid. A terrible admission from one
who has been trained in the logic of Cavesword. It _seemed_ exactly
right. You’re the right age, the right nationality ... in any case, I
telephoned Dallas about you.”