It was our first "family dinner" in some months (Paul insisted on regarding us as a family and the metaphors which he derived from this one conceit used even to irritate the imperturbable Cave). At one end of the table sat Clarissa, with Paul and me on either side of her; at the other end sat Cave, with Iris and Stokharin on either side of him; Iris was on his left and on my right and, early in the dinner, when the conversation was particular, we talked.
"I suppose we'll be leaving soon," she said. A sea gull missed the awning by inches.
"I haven't heard anything about it. Who's leaving . . . and why?"
"John thinks we've all been here too long; he thinks we're too remote."
"He's quite right about that." I blew soot off my plate. "But where are we to go? After all, there's a good chance that if any of us shows his head to the grateful populace someone is apt to blow it off."
"That's a risk we have to take. But John is right. We must get out and see the people . . . talk to them direct." Her voice was urgent. I looked at her thoughtfully, seeing the change that three years of extraordinary activity had wrought: she was overweight and her face, as sometimes happens in the first access of weight, was smooth, without lines, younger-looking but also without much character or expression . . . I kept thinking irrelevantly of a marshmallow for, in the light of day, her casually made-up face did resemble a pale smoothly powdered confection. Her wonderful sharpness, her old fineness was entirely gone and the new Iris, the busy, efficient Iris had become like . . . like . . . I groped for the comparison, the memory of someone similar I had known in the past, but the ghost did not materialize; and so haunted, faintly distrait, I talked to the new Iris I did not really know, to the visible half of a like-pair whose twin was lost somewhere in my memory.
"I'll be only too happy to leave," I said, helping myself to the salad which was being served us by one of the Eurasian servants Paul, in an exotic mood, had engaged to look after the penthouse and the person of Cave. "I don't think I've been away from here half a dozen times in two years."
"It's been awfully hard," Iris agreed. Her eyes shifted regularly to Cave, like an anxious parent. "Of course I've had more chance than anyone to get out but I haven't seen nearly as much as I ought. It's my job, really, to look at all the Centers, to supervise in person all the schools but of course I can't if Paul insists on turning every trip I take into a kind of pageant."
"It's for your own protection."
"I think we're much safer than Paul thinks. The country's almost entirely Cavite."
"All the more reason to be careful. The die-hards are on their last legs; they're maniacal, some of them."
"Well, we must take our chances. John says he won't stay here another autumn. September is his best month, you know. I think he's a little superstitious about it: it was September when he first spoke Cavesword."
"What does Paul say?" I looked down the table at our ringmaster who was telling Clarissa what she had seen in Europe.
Iris frowned. "He's doing everything he can to keep us here . . . I can't think why. John's greatest work has been done face to face with people yet Paul acts as if he didn't dare let him out in public. We have quarreled about this for over a year, Paul and I."
"He's quite right, I know. I'd be nervous to go about in public without some sort of protection. You should see the murderous letters I get at the Journal."
"We've nothing to fear," said Iris flatly. "And we have everything to gain by mixing with people. We could easily grow out of touch, marooned in this tower."
"Oh, it's not that bad." To my surprise, I found myself defending our monastic life. "Everyone comes here. Cave speaks to groups of the faithful every day. I sit like some disheveled hen over a large newspaper and I couldn't be more instructed, more engaged in life, while you dash around the country almost as much as Paul does."
"But only seeing the Centers, only meeting the Cavites. I have no other life any more." I looked at her curiously. There was no bitterness in her voice yet there was a certain wistfulness which I'd never noticed before.
"Do you regret all this, Iris?" I asked. It had been some time, three years, since I had spoken to her of ourselves, of personal matters: we had become, in a sense, the offices which we held; our symbolic selves paralyzing all else within, true precedent achieved at a great cost. Now a fissure had suddenly appeared in that monument which Iris had become and, through the flaw, I heard again, briefly, the voice of the girl I had met on the bank of the Hudson in the spring of a lost year.
"I never knew it would be like this," she said, almost whispering, her eyes on Cave while she spoke to me. "I never thought my life would be as alone as this, all work."
"Yet you wanted it: you do want it. Direction, meaning, you wanted all that and now you have it. The magic worked, Iris. Your magician was real."
"But I sometimes wonder if I am real anymore." The words, though softly spoken, fell upon my ear like rounded stones, smooth and hard.
"It's too late," I said, mercilessly. "You are what you wanted to be. Live it out, Iris. There is nothing else."
"You're dead too," she said at last, her voice regaining its usual authority.
"Speaking of dead," said Cave suddenly turning toward us (I hoped he had not heard all our conversation), "Stokharin here has come up with a wonderful scheme."
Even Clarissa fell silent. We all did whenever Cave spoke which was seldom on social occasions. Cave looked cheerfully about the table for a moment. Stokharin beamed with pleasure at the accolade.
"You've probably all heard about the suicides as a result of Cavesword." Cave had very early got into the habit of speaking of himself in the third person whenever a point of doctrine was involved. "Paul's been collecting the monthly figures and each month they double. Of course they're not accurate since there are a good many deaths due to Cavesword which we don't hear about. Anyway, Stokharin has perfected a painless death by poison, a new compound which kills within an hour and is delightful to take."
"I have combined certain narcotics which together insure a highly exhilarated state before the end, as well as most pleasant fantasies." Stokharin smiled complacently.
Cave nodded and continued. "I've already worked out some of the practical details for putting this into action. There are still a lot of wrinkles, but we can iron them out in time. One of the big problems of present-day unorganized suicide is the mess it causes for the people unfortunate enough to be left behind. There are legal complications; there is occasionally grief in old-fashioned family groups; there is also a general disturbance which, though only social, still tends to leave a bad taste, giving suicide, at least among the reactionaries, a bad name.
"Our plan is simple. We will provide at each Center full facilities for those who have listened to Cavesword and have responded to it by taking the better way. There will be a number of comfortable rooms where the suicidalist may receive his friends for a last visit. We'll provide legal assistance to put his affairs in order. Not everyone of course will be worthy of us. Those who choose death merely to evade responsibility will be censured and restrained. But the deserving, those whose lives have been devoted and orderly, may come to us and receive the gift."
I was appalled; before I could control myself I had said: "But the law! You just can't let people kill themselves . . ."
"Why not?" Cave looked at me coldly and I saw, in the eyes of the others, concern and hostility. I had anticipated something like this ever since my talk with Paul but I had not thought it would come so swiftly or so boldly.
Paul spoke for Cave. "We've got the Congress and the Congress will make a law for us. For the time being, though, it is against the present statutes; however, we've been assured by our lawyers that there isn't much chance of their being invoked except perhaps in the remaining pockets of Christianity where we'll go slow until we do have the necessary laws to protect us."
At that moment the line which had, from the very beginning, been visibly drawn between me and them, became a wal
l apparent to everyone. Even Clarissa, my usual ally, fearless and sharp, did not speak out. They looked at me, all of them awaiting a sign; even Cave regarded me with curiosity. My hand shook and I was forced to seize the edge of the table to steady myself. The sensation of cold glass and iron gave me a sudden courage. I brought Cave's life to its end. I turned to him and said, quietly, with all the firmness I could summon: "Then you'll have to die as well as they, and soon."
There was a shocked silence. Iris shut her eyes. Paul gasped and sat back abruptly in his chair. Cave turned white but he did not flinch. His eyes did not waver. They seized on mine, terrible and remote, full of power; with an effort, I looked past him. I still feared his gaze.
"What did you say?" The voice was curiously mild yet it increased rather than diminished the tension. We had reached the crisis, without a plan.
"You have removed the fear of death for which future generations will thank you, as I do. But you have gone too far . . . all of you." I looked about me at the pale faces; a faint wisp of new moon curled in the pale sky above. "Life is to be lived until the flesh no longer supports the life within. The meaning of life, Cave, is more life, not death. The enemy of life is death, an enemy not to be feared but no less hostile for all that, no less dangerous, no less wrong when the living choose it instead of life, either for themselves or for others. You've been able to dispel our fear of the common adversary; that was your great work in the world . . . now you want to go further, to make love to this enemy we no longer fear, to mate with death . . . and it is here that you, all of you, become the enemies of life."
"Stop it!" Iris's voice was high and clear. I did not look at her. All that I could do now was to force the climax.
"But sooner or later every act of human folly creates its own opposition. This will too, more soon than late, for if one can make any generality about human beings it is that they want not to die. You cannot stampede them into death for long. They are enthusiastic now. They may not be soon . . . unless of course there is some supreme example before them, one which you, Cave, can alone supply. You will have to die by your own hand to show the virtue and the truth of all that you have said."
I had gone as far as I could. I glanced at Iris while I spoke; she had grown white and old-looking and, while I watched her, I realized whom it was she resembled, the obscure nagging memory which had disturbed me all through dinner: she was like my mother, a woman long dead, one whose gentle blurred features had been strikingly similar to that frightened face which now stared at me as though I were a murderer.
Paul was the one who answered me. "You're out of your mind, Gene," he said, when my meaning had at least penetrated to them all. "It doesn't follow in the least that Cave must die because others want to. The main work is still ahead of him. This country is only a corner of the world. There's some of Europe and most of Asia and Africa still ahead of us. How can you even suggest he quit now and die?"
"The work will be done whether he lives or not, as you certainly know. He's given it the first impetus. The rest is up to the others, to the ambitious, the inspired . . . we've met enough of them these last few years: they're quite capable of finishing the work without us."
"But it's nothing without Cave."
I shrugged. I was suddenly relieved as the restraint of three furious years went in a rush. "I am as devoted to Cave as anyone," I said (and I was, I think, honest). "I don't want him to die but all of you in your madness have made it impossible for him to live. He's gone now to the limit, to the last boundary: he is the son of death and each of you supports him. I don't, for it was only my wish to make life better, not death desirable. I never really believed it would come to this: that you, Cave, would speak out for death, against life." I raised my eyes to his. To my astonishment he had lowered his lids as though to hide from me, to shut me out. His head was shaking oddly from left to right and his lips were pressed tight together.
I struck again, without mercy. "But don't stop now. You've got your wish. By all means, build palaces if you like for those who choose to die in your name. But remember that you will be their victim, too. The victim of their passionate trust. They will force you to lead the way and you must be death's lover, Cave."
He opened his eyes and I was shocked to see them full of tears. "I'm not afraid," he said.
Nine
1
A few days after our disastrous dinner, Clarissa came to me in my office. It was our first real meeting since her return from Europe. It was also my first meeting with any one of the directors for, since the scene on the penthouse terrace, none had come near me, not even Paul whom I usually saw at least once a day.
Clarissa seemed tired but fashionable in summer lace. She sat down heavily in the chair beside my desk and looked at me oddly. "Recriminations?" I asked cheerfully: the recent outburst had restored me to perfect health and equanimity. I was prepared for anything, especially battle.
"You're an absolute fool and you know it," she said at last. "I suppose there are wires in here, recording everything we say."
"I shouldn't be surprised. Fortunately, I have no secrets."
"There's no doubt of that," she glared at me. "There was no need to rush things."
"You mean you anticipated this?"
"What else? Where else could it lead? The same thing happened to Christ, you know. They kept pushing him to claim the kingdom. Finally, they pushed too hard and he was killed. It was the killing which perpetuated the legend."
"And a number of other things."
"In any case, it's all gone too far. Also, I don't think you even begin to see what you've done."
"Done? I've merely brought the whole thing into the open . . . as well as put myself on record as being opposed to this . . . this passion for death."
"That of course is nonsense. Just because a few nitwits . . ."
"A few? Have you seen the statistics? Every month there are a few hundred more and as soon as Stokharin gets his damned roadhouses for would-be suicides going we may find that . . ."
"I always assumed Paul made up the statistics. But even if they are true, even if a few hundred thousand people decide to slip away every year, I am in favor of it. There are too many people as it is and most of them aren't worth the room they take up. I suspect all this is just one of nature's little devices to reduce the population . . . like pederasty on those Greek islands."
"You're outrageous."
"I'm perfectly rational which is more than I can say for you. Anyway, the reason I've come to see you today is, first, to warn you and, second, to say good-by."
"Good-by? You're not . . ."
"Going to kill myself?" she laughed. "Not in a hundred years . . . though I must say lately I've begun to feel old. No, I'm going away. I've told Paul that I've had my fun, that you're all on your own and that I want no part of what's to come."
"Where will you go?"
"Who knows? Now for the warning: Paul of course is furious at you and so is Iris."
"Perfectly understandable. What did he say?"
"Nothing good. I talked to him this morning. I won't enrage you by repeating all the expletives; it's enough to say he's eager to get you out of the way. He feels you've been a malcontent all along."
"He'll have trouble getting me to take Stokharin's magic pill."
"He may not leave it up to you," said Clarissa significantly, and, inadvertently, I shuddered. I had of course wondered if they would dare go so far. I had doubted it but the matter-of-fact Clarissa enlightened me. "Watch out for him, especially if he becomes friendly. You must remember that with the country Cavite and with Paul in charge of the organization you haven't much chance."
"I'll take what I have."
Clarissa looked at me without, I could see, much hope; it was disagreeable. "What you don't know, and this is my last good deed for in a sense I'm responsible for getting you into this, is that you accidentally gave the game away."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Paul has been p
lanning for over a year to do away with Cave. He feels that Cave's usefulness is over; he's also uneasy about letting him loose in the world. Paul wants full control of the establishment and he can't have it while Cave lives. Paul also realizes . . . he's much cleverer than you've ever thought, by the way . . . that the Cavites need a symbol, some great sacrifice and obviously Cave's suicide is the answer. It is Paul's intention either to get Cave to kill himself or else to do it for him and then announce that Cave, of his own free will, chose to die."
I had the brief sensation of a man drowning. "How do you know all this?"
"I have two eyes; also, Iris told me."
"She knows too?"
"Of course she knows! Why else do you think she's so anxious to get Cave away from this place? She knows Paul can have him killed at any time and no one would be the wiser."
I grunted with amazement: I understood now what it was that had happened on the terrace. I felt a perfect fool. Of them all I alone had been unaware of what was going on beneath the surface and, in my folly, I had detonated the situation without knowing it. "He knows too?" I asked weakly.
"Of course he does; he's on his guard every minute against Paul."
"Why has no one ever told me this?"
Clarissa shrugged. "They had no idea which side you'd take. They still don't know. Paul believes that you are with him and though he curses you for an impetuous fool, he's decided that perhaps it's a good idea now to bring all this into the open, at least among ourselves. He hopes for a majority vote in the directors' meeting to force Cave to kill himself."
"And Cave?"
"Has no wish to die . . . sensible man."
"I am a fool."
"What I've always told you, dear." Clarissa smiled at me. "I will say, though, that you are the only one of the lot who has acted for an impersonal reason, and certainly none of them understands you except me. I am on your side, in a way. Voluntary deaths don't alarm me the way they do you but this obsession which Cave has of death being preferable to life may have ghastly consequences."