Then the commentators who had been exclaiming at some length on the size of the crowd, excitedly announced the arrival of Cave. A roar of sound filled the plaza. The banners were waved back and forth against the sky and I saw everywhere the theatrical hand of Paul Himmell.
The scene shifted to the House of Representatives entrance to the Capitol. Cave wearing an overcoat but bare-headed, stepped out of the limousine. He was alone. Neither Paul nor Iris was in sight. It was most effective that he should come like this, without equerries or counselors. He stood for a moment in the pillared entrance, aware of the crowd outside; even through the commentator's narrative one could hear, like the surf falling: Cave! Cave! Cave! For a moment it seemed that he might turn and go, not into the Capitol, but out onto the steps to the crowd; but then the chief of the Capitol guard, sensing perhaps that this might happen, gently steered him up the stairs.
The next shot was of the Committee Room where the hearings had at last begun. A somewhat phlegmatic Jesuit was testifying. His words were difficult to hear because of the noise in the committee room, and the impotent shouts of the chairman. The commentator gave a brief analysis of the Jesuit's attack on Cave and then, in the midst of a particularly loud exchange between the chairman and the crowd, the clerk of the court proclaimed: John Cave.
There was silence. The crowd parted to make way for him. Even the members of the committee craned to get a good look at him as he moved quietly, almost demurely, to the witness chair. The only movement in the room was that of the Papal Nuncio who, in his robes, sat in the front rank of the audience. He crossed himself as Cave passed and shut his eyes.
Cave was respectful, almost inaudible. Several times he was asked to repeat his answers even though the room was remarkably still. At first Cave would answer only in monosyllables, not looking up, not meeting the gaze of his interrogators who took heart at this, professionals themselves: their voices which had almost matched his for inaudibility, began to boom with confidence.
I waited for the lightning. The first intimation came when Cave looked up. For nearly five minutes he had not raised his eyes once during the questioning. Suddenly he looked up and I saw that he was trying to locate the camera; he did, and it was like a revelation: a sudden shock went through me and as well as I knew him, as few illusions as I had about him, I was arrested by his gaze… it was as though only he and I existed, as though he
The Committee, however, was not aware of what had happened, that their intended victim had with one glance appropriated the eye of the world. The subsequent catechism is too well known to record here; we used it as the main exposition of Cavesword, the one testament which contained the entire thing. It was almost as if the Congressmen had been given the necessary questions to ask, like those supporting actors whose minor roles are designed to illuminate the genius of the star. Two of the seven members of the Committee were Cavites. This was soon apparent. The other five were violently in opposition. One as a Catholic, another as a Protestant, and two as materialistic lovers of the old order. Only one of the attackers, a quiet scholarly-looking Jew, made any real point. He argued the perniciousness of an organization which, if allowed to prosper, would replace the state and force all dissenters to conform; it was his contention that the state prospered most when no one system was sufficiently strong to dominate. I wanted to hear more of him but his Catholic colleague, a bull-voiced Irishman, drowned him out, winning the day for the Cavites.
Cave, to my astonishment, had memorized most of the dialogues I'd written and he said my words with the same power that he said his own. I was startled by this. There had been no hint that such a thing might happen and I couldn't, for some time, determine the motive until I recalled Cave's reluctance to being quoted in print; he had apparently realized that now there would be a complete record of his testimony and so, for the sake of both literacy and consistency, he had committed to memory those words of mine which were thought to be his. At the great moment, however, the peroration (by which time there were no more questions and Cave's voice alone was heard), he became himself, and spoke Cavesword.
Then, without the Committee's leave, in the dazzled silence which followed upon his last words, he got up abruptly and left the room. I switched off the television set. That week established Cavesword in the country and, except for various priests and ministers of the deserted gods, the United States was Cavite.
2
The desertion of the old establishments for the new resembled, at uneasy moments, revolution.
The Congressional Committee, though anti-Cavite, did not dare even to censure him… partly from the fear of the vast crowd which waited in the Capitol plaza and partly from the larger, more cogent awareness that it was politically suicidal for any popularly elected Representative to outrage a minority of such strength.
The hearing fizzled out after Cave's appearance and though there were a few denunciatory speeches on the floor of Congress, no official action was taken; shortly afterwards the ban on Cave's television appearances was lifted but by then it was too late and millions of people had got permanently into the habit of attending weekly meetings at the various Centers to listen to Cave, to discuss with the Residents and their staffs the points of doctrine… and doctrine it had become. The second year in our yellow citadel was more active than the first. It was decided that Cave make no personal appearances anywhere. According to Paul, the mystery would be kept intact and the legend would grow under the most auspicious circumstances. He did not reveal his actual motive in Cave's presence but I was aware, from private conversations we had, just the two of us, of the wisdom of his plan.
He explained himself to me late one afternoon in my office.
'Get him in front of a really hostile crowd and there'd be no telling what might happen.' Paul was restlessly marching about the room in his shirtsleeves… a blunt cigar in his mouth gave him the appearance of a lower- echelon politician.
'There's never been a hostile audience yet,' I reminded him. 'Except for the Congressional hearings and I thought he handled himself quite well with them.'
'With your script in his head,' Paul chuckled and stopped his march to the filing cabinet by way of that huge television screen which dominated every office and home. 'What I mean is, he's never been in a debate. He's never had a tough opponent, a heckler. The Congressmen were pretty mild and even though they weren't friendly they stuck to easy issues. But what would happen if Bishop Winston got him up before an audience? Winston's a lot smarter and he's nearly as good in public.'
'I suppose Cave would hypnotize him, too.'
'Not on your life.' Paul threw himself into a chair of flimsy chrome and plastic. 'Winston's been trying to arrange a debate for over two years. He issues challenges every Sunday on his program (got a big audience, too… though not close to ours; I keep checking it).'
'Does Cave want to give it a try?'
'He's oblivious to such things. I suppose he would if he thought about it. Anyway it's to our advantage to keep him out of sight. Let them see only a television image, hear only his recorded voice. It's wonderful copy! Big time.' He was out of the chair and playing with the knob of the television set: the screen was suddenly filled with a romantic scene, a pulsating green grotto with water falling in a thin white line… so perfected had the machine become that it was actually like looking through a window, the illusion of depth quite perfect and the colors true. A warm deep voice off-screen suggested the virtues of a well-known carbonated drink. Paul turned the switch off. I was relieved since I, alone in America, was unable to think or work or even relax while the screen was bright with some other place.
'He won't like it. He expects next year, at the latest, to start his world tour.'
'Perhaps then,' said Paul thinly. 'Anyway, the longer we put it off the better. Did you know we turn away a thousand people a day who come here just to get a glimpse of him?'
'They see him at the Center meetings.'
'Only our own people… the ones in training to be Residents. I keep those sessions carefully screened. Every now and then some outsider gets in but it's rare.'
I glanced at the tear-sheet of my next day's editorial; it contained, among other useful statistics, the quite incredible figures of Cavite membership in the world. Dubiously, I read off the figure which Paul had given me at a
