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
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
