Messiah

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.'

I took this calmly. 'You talked to the Chief Resident himself?'

'Of course not.' Jessup was surprised at my suggestion. 'One just doesn't call the Chief Resident like that. Only the senior Residents ever talk to him personally. No, I talked to an old friend of mine who is one of the five principal assistants to the Historian General. We were in school together and his specialty is the deviationists of the early days.'

'And what did you learn from this scholar?'

Jessup gave me a most charming smile. 'Nothing at all. There was no such person as I thought existed, as a number of people thought existed. It was all a legend… a perfectly natural one for gossip to invent. There was a good deal of trouble at the beginning, especially over Cavesway. There was even a minority at Dallas which refused to accept the principle of Cavesway without which of course there could be no Establishment. According to the stories one heard as recently as my university days, ten years ago, the original lutherist had led the opposition to Iris, in the Council and out. For a time it looked as though the Establishment might be broken in two (this, you must remember since you were contemporary to it; fortunately, our Historical Office has tended more and more to view it in the long perspective and popular works on Cave now make no reference to it); in any case, there was an open break and the minority was soon absorbed by the majority.'

'Painlessly?' I mocked him. Could he be telling the truth? or was this a trap?

Jessup shrugged. 'These things are never without pain. It is said that an attempt was made on our mother Iris's life during the ceremony of Cave's ashes. We still continue it, you know.'

'Continue what?'

'The symbolic gathering of the ashes. But of course you know the origin of all that. There was a grave misinterpretation of Cave's last wishes. His ashes were scattered over the United States when it was his wish to be embalmed and preserved. Iris, each year, traveled to the four cities over which the ashes had been distributed and she collected a bit of dust in each city to symbolize her obedience to Cavesword in all things. At Seattle, during this annual ceremony, a group of lutherists tried to assassinate her.'

'I remember,' I said. I had had no hand in that dark episode but it provided the Establishment with the excuse they needed. My partisans were thrown in prison all over the country. The government, which by then was entirely Cavite, handed several thousand over to the Centers where they were indoctrinated, ending the heresy for good. Iris herself had secretly arranged for my escape… but Jessup could know nothing of this.

'Of course you know these things, perhaps even better than I since you were alive then. Forgive me. I have got into the bad Residential habit of explaining the obvious. An occupational disease.' He was disarming. 'The point I'm trying to make is that my suspicions of you were unworthy and unfounded since there was no leader of the lutherists to escape; all involved responded nicely to indoctrination and that was the end of it. The story I heard in school was a popular one. The sort that often evolves… like Lucifer and the old Christian God, for instance… for white there must be black, that kind of thing. Except that Cave never had a major antagonist, other than in legend.'

'I see. Tell me, then, if there was no real leader to the lutherists, how did they come by their name?'

His answer was prompt. 'Martin Luther. My friend in the H.O. told me this morning over the telephone. Someone tried to make an analogy, that's all, and the name stuck though, as a rule, the use of any words or concepts derived from the dead religions is frowned upon. You know the story of Martin Luther? It seems that he…'

'I know the story of Martin Luther,' I answered, more sharply than I intended.

'Now I've tired you.' Jessup was sympathetic. He got to his feet. 'I just wanted to tell you about my suspicions, that's all; I thought it might amuse you and perhaps bring us closer together for I'd very much like to be your friend, not only for the help you can give me up here but also because of your memories of the old days when Cave and Iris, his mother, still lived.'

'Iris was at least five years younger than Cave.'

'Everyone knows that, my friend. She was his spiritual mother, as she is ours. 'From the dark womb of unbeing we emerge in the awful light of consciousness from which the only virtuous escape is Cavesway.' I quote from Iris's last testament. It was found among her papers after her death.'

'Did she take Cavesway?'

Jessup frowned. 'It is said that she died of pneumonia but had death not come upon her unexpectedly it was well known that she would have taken Cavesway. There has been considerable debate over this at Dallas. I hear from highly placed people that before many years have passed they will promulgate a new interpretation, applying only to Iris, which will establish that intent and fact are the same, that though she died of pneumonia she intended to take Cavesway and, therefore, took Cavesway in spirit and therefore in fact.'

'A most inspiring definition.'

'It is beautifully clear, though perhaps difficult for an untrained mind. Can I read your memoir? His eyes strayed curiously to the table.

'When it's finished,' I said. 'It's almost done now. In a few days perhaps; I should be most curious to see how it strikes you.'

'Well, I won't take up any more of your time. I hope you'll let me come to see you.'

'Nothing could give me more pleasure.' And then, with a pat on my shoulder and a kind suggestion that should I choose Cavesway he would be willing to administer the latest drug, Jessup departed.

I remained very still for some minutes, holding my breath for long intervals, trying to die. Then, in a sudden rage, I hurled my pillow across the room and beat the mattress with my fists: it was over. All was at an end except my own miserable life which will soon enough be gone. My name erased; my work subverted; all that I most detested regnant in the world. I could have wept had there been one tear left in me. Now there is nothing I can do but finish this narrative… for its own sake since it will be thought, I know, the ravings of a mad man when Jessup reads it, as he surely will after I am dead.

I have tried now for several hours to describe my last meeting with Iris but I find that my memory is at last seriously impaired, the result, no doubt, of that tiny vein which broke this morning in my brain. It all seems a jumble. I think there were several years in which I was in opposition. I think that I had considerable support and I am almost sure that, until the attempted assassination of Iris at Seattle, I was close to dominating the Council of Residents. The idiotic attempt on her life, however, ruined everything. She knew of course that I had had nothing to do with it but she was a resolute leader and she took this opportunity to annihilate my party. I believe we met for the last time in a garden. A garden very like the one where we first met in California. No, on the banks of the Hudson… I must reread what I have written to refresh my memory. It is all beginning to fade rapidly.

In any case, we met in a garden in the late autumn when all the trees were bare. She was white-haired then, though neither of us was much over forty.

I believe that she wept a little: for we were the last who had been close to Cave, heirs both though now adversaries, she victrix and I vanquished. I never loved her more than at that last moment; of this I am sure. We talked of possible places of exile. She had arranged for my passage on a ship to Alexandria under the name of Richard Hudson (yes, she who erased my name, in her compassion, gave me a new one). She did not want, however, to know where I intended to go from there.

'It would be a temptation to the others,' she said. I remember that one sentence and I do remember the appearance of the garden though its location I have quite forgotten: there was a high wall all around it and the smell of moldering leaves was acrid. From the mouth of a satyr no water fell in a mossy pool.

Ah yes! the question and the answer. That's it of course. The key. I had nearly lost it. Before I left, I asked her what it was that Cave had said to her when he was dying, the words the rest of us had not heard. At first she hesitated but then, secure in her power and confident of her own course, she told me: 'He said: 'Gene was right.'' I remember looking at her with shock, waiting for her to continue, to make some apology for the monstrousness of her deeds, for her reckless falsification of Cave's life and death. But she said no more: there was, I suppose, no