was invigorated by their enthusiasm, by the hunger with which they devoured Cavesword, by the dignity which their passion lent an enterprise that in Paul's busy hands resembled more often than not, a cynical commercial venture. And I recognized in them (oh, very early, perhaps in the first weeks of talking to them) that, in their goodness and their love they would, with Cavesword, smudge as it turned each bright new page of life; yet, suspecting this, I did not object nor did I withdraw. Instead, fascinated, I was borne by the tide to the shore ahead whose every rock I could imagine, sharp with disaster.
Once a week the directors met on Long Island in the walled estate where Cave now lived with his guards (his host had thoughtfully moved elsewhere until Cave chose for him to return).
The meetings soon demonstrated a division in our ranks between Paul and Stokharin on the one side and Iris, Clarissa and Cave on the other with myself as partisan, more often than not, to Cave. The division was amiable but significant. Paul and Stokharin wanted to place the Centers directly under the supervision of the analysts while the rest of us, led by Iris (Cave seldom intervened, but we had accepted already the fact that Iris spoke for him), preferred that the Centers be governed by the Residents. 'It is certainly true that the therapists are an important part of each Center,' said Iris briskly, at the end of a long wrangle with Stokharin. 'But these are Cavite Centers and not clinics for the advancement of post-Jungian analysis. It is Cavesword which draws people to the Centers, not mental illness. Those who have problems are of course helped by Stokharin's people but, finally, it is Cave who has made it possible for them to face death. Something no one has done before.' And thus the point was won in our council though Stokharin and Paul were still able at times, slyly, to insinuate their own creatures into important Residencies.
My own work went on fitfully. I composed an answer to Bishop Winston which brought down on my head a series of ecclesiastical thunderbolts, each louder than the one before. I wrote a short life of Cave in simple declarative sentences which enjoyed a considerable success for many years and, finally, seriously, my first attempt at a real counter-attack, I began the several dialogues in which Cave and I purportedly traversed the entire field of moral action.
I felt that in these dialogues I could quietly combat those absolutist tendencies which I detected in the disciples. Cave himself made no pretense of being final on any subject other than death where, even without his particular persuasiveness, he stood on firm, even traditional ground. The attacks he received he no longer noticed. It was as simple as that. He'd never enjoyed reading and to watch others make telecasts bored him, even when they spoke of him. After the fateful Empire State Building conference he ceased to attend the world; except for a few letters which Paul forwarded to him and his relations with us, he was completely cut off from ordinary life, and perfectly happy. For though human contacts had been reduced to a minimum, he still possessed the polished glass eye of the world before whose level gaze he appeared once a week and experienced what he called: 'Everyone: all of them, listening and watching everywhere.'
In one year he had come a long way from the ex-embalmer who had studied a book of newspaper clippings on a Washington farm and brooded about an old man in a hospital. Though Paul was never to refer again to the victim of Cave's driving, I was quite sure that he expected, sooner or later, it would return to haunt us all.
By midsummer, however, Cave had grown restless and bored and since the telecasts had been discontinued until the following November, he was eager to travel. He was never to lose his passion for places. It was finally decided that he spend the summer on one of the Florida keys, a tiny island owned by a Cavite who offered to place everything at Cave's disposal. And, though warned that the heat might be uncomfortable, Cave and his retinue left secretly one night by chartered seaplane from Long Island Sound and for at least a month the press did not know what had happened to him. I declined to accompany Cave and Iris. Paul remained in New York while Iris's work was temporarily turned over to various young enthusiasts, trained by her. I went back to the Hudson Valley, to my house and…
2
I've not been able to write for several days. According to the doctor, it is a touch of heat but I suspect that this is only his kind euphemism.
I had broken off in my narrative to take a walk in the garden last Friday afternoon when I was joined by Butler whose attentions lately have been more numerous than I should like.
'He'll be here Sunday, Hudson. Why don't we all three have dinner together that night and celebrate.'
I said nothing could give me more pleasure, as I inched along the garden path, moving toward the hot shaded center where, beneath fruit trees, a fine statue of Osiris stood, looted in earlier days by the hotel management from one of the temples. I thought, however, with more longing of the bench beside the statue than of the figure itself whose every serene detail I'd long since memorized. Butler adjusted his loose long stride to my own uneven pace. I walked as I always do now with my eyes upon the ground, nervously avoiding anything which might make me stumble for I have fallen down a number of times in the last few years and I have a terror of broken bones, the particular scourge of old bodies.
I was as glad as not that I didn't have to watch my companion while we chatted, for his red honest face, forever dripping sweat, annoyed me more than was reasonable.
'And he'll be pleased to know I've got us a Center. Not much of one but good enough for a start.'
I paused before a formidable rock which lay directly in my path. It would take some doing to step over it, I thought, as I remarked, 'I'm sure the Pasha doesn't know about this.'
'Not really.' Butler laughed happily. 'He thinks we're just taking a house for ourselves to study the local culture. Later, after we get going, he can find out.'
'I should be very careful,' I said and, very careful myself, I stepped over the rock: my legs detested the extra exertion; one nearly buckled as it touched the ground. I threw my weight on my cane and was saved a fall. Butler had not noticed.
'Jessup is going to bring in the literature. We'll say it's our library. All printed in Arabic, too. The Dallas Center thinks of everything.'
'Are they… equipped for such things?'
'Oh yes. That's where the main university is now. Biggest one in the world. I didn't go there myself. Marks weren't good enough, but Jessup did. He'll tell you all about it. Quite a crew they turn out: best in the business but then they get the cream of the crop to begin with.'
'Tell me, are the Residents still in charge of the Centers or do they share the administration with the therapists?'
'Therapists?' Butler seemed bewildered.
'In the old days there used to be the Resident and his staff and then a clinic attached where…'
'You really are behind the times.' Butler looked at me as though I'd betrayed a first-hand knowledge of earth's creation. 'All Residents and their staffs, including the Communicators like myself, get the same training; part of it is in mental therapy. Others who show particular aptitude for it are assigned clinical work just as I do communication work in foreign countries. People who get to be Residents are usually teachers and administrators. Sometimes a Communicator gets a Residency in his old age as a reward for the highest services.' He then explained to me the official, somewhat Byzantine structure of the Cavites. There were many new titles, indicating a swollen organization under the direction of a Counsel of Residents which, in turn, was responsible for the election from among their number of a unique Chief Resident whose reign lasted for the remainder of his lifetime.
With relief, I sat down on the bench beside Osiris. Butler joined me. 'Dallas of course is the main Residency,' he said.
'It used to be in New York, years ago,' I said, thinking of the brownstone house, of the loft on Twenty-third Street.
'Around twenty years ago it was moved to Dallas by the Chief Resident. Not only did they have the best- equipped Center there but the Texans make just about the best Cavites in the country. What they won't do for Cavesword isn't worth mentioning. They burned the old churches, you know… every one in the state.'
'And one or two Baptist Ministers as well?'
'You can't break eggs without making an omelet,' said Butler sententiously.
'I see what you mean. Still, Cave was against persecution. He always felt it was enough for people to hear
