"I told you it would be. The Moslems are very obstinate."
"I'll say! and the old devil of a mayor practically told me point-blank that if he caught me proselyting he'd send me back to Cairo. Imagine the nerve!"
"Well, it is their country," I said, reasonably, experiencing my first real hope: might the Cavites not get themselves expelled from Islam: I knew the mayor of Luxor, a genial merchant who still enjoyed the obsolete title of Pasha. The possibilities of a daring plot occurred to me. All I needed was another year or two by which time nature would have done its work in any case and the conquest of humanity by the Cavites could then continue its progress without my bitter presence.
I looked at Butler speculatively. He was such a fool. I could, I was sure, undo him, for a time at least; unless of course he was, as I first expected, an agent come to finish me in fact as absolutely as I have been finished in effect by those revisionists who have taken my place among the Cavites, arranging history… I'd experienced, briefly, while studying Butler's copy of the Testament, the unnerving sense of having never lived, of having dreamed the past entire.
"Maybe it is their country but we got the truth, and like Paul Himmell said: 'A truth known to only half the world is but half a truth.'"
"Did he say that?"
"Of course he did. Don't you…" he paused. His eye taking in at last the book in my hand. His expression softened somewhat, like a parent in anger noticing suddenly an endearing resemblance to himself in the offending child. "But I forget how isolated you've been up here. If I've interrupted your studies, I'll go away."
"Oh no. I was finished when you came. I've been studying for several hours which is too long for an old man."
"If a contemplation of Cavesword can ever be too long," said Butler reverently. "Yes, Himmell wrote that even before Cavesword, in the month of March, I believe, though we'll have to ask my colleague when he comes. He knows all the dates, all the facts. Remarkable guy. He has the brains of the team." And Butler laughed to show that he was not entirely serious.
"I think they might respond to pressure," I said, treacherously. "One thing the Arabs respect is force."
"You may be right. But our instructions are to go slow. Still, I didn't think it would be as slow as this. Why we haven't been able to get a building yet. They've all been told by the Pasha fellow not to rent to us."
"Perhaps I could talk to him."
"Do you know him well?"
"We used to play cards quite regularly. I haven't seen much of him in the past few years but, if you'd like, I'll go and pay him a call."
"He's known all along you're a Cavite, hasn't he?"
"We have kept off the subject of religion entirely. As you probably discovered, since the division of the world, there's been little communication between East and West. I don't think he knows much about the Cavites except that they're undesirable."
"Poor creature," said Butler, compassionately.
"Outer darkness," I agreed.
"But mark my words before ten years have passed they will have the truth."
"I have no doubt of that, Communicator, none at all. If the others who come out have even a tenth of your devotion the work will go fast." The easy words of praise came back to me mechanically from those decades when a large part of my work was organizational, spurring the mediocre on to great deeds… and the truth of the matter has been, traditionally, that the unimaginative are the stuff from which heroes and martyrs are invariably made.
"Thanks for those kind words," said Butler, flushed now with pleasure as well as heat. "Which reminds me, I was going to ask you if you'd like to help us with our work once we get going?"
"I'd like nothing better but I'm afraid my years of useful service are over. Any advice, however, or perhaps influence that I may have in Luxor…" There was a warm moment of mutual esteem and amiability, broken only by a reference to the Squad of Belief.
"Of course we'll have one here in time; though we can say, thankfully, that the need for them in the Atlantic states is nearly over. Naturally, there are always a few malcontents but we have worked out a statistical ratio of nonconformists in the population which is surprisingly accurate. Knowing their incidence, we are able to check them early. In general, however, the truth is happily ascendant everywhere in the really civilized world."
"What are their methods now?"
"The Squad of Belief's? Psychological indoctrination. We now have methods of converting even the most obstinate lutherist. Of course where usual methods fail (and once in every fifteen hundred they do), the Squad is authorized to remove a section of brain which effectively does the trick of making the lutherist conform, though his usefulness in a number of other spheres is somewhat impaired: I'm told he has to learn all over again how to talk and to move around."
"Lutherist? I don't recognize the word."
"You certainly have been cut off from the world." Butler looked at me curiously, almost suspiciously. "I thought even in your day that was a common expression. It means anybody who refuses willfully to know the truth."
"What does it come from?"
"Come from?" Semantics were either no longer taught or else Butler had never been interested in them. "Why it just means, well, a lutherist."
"I wonder, though, what the derivation of it was." I was excited: this was the only sign that I had ever existed, a word of obscure origin connoting nonconformist.
"I'm afraid we'll have to ask my side-kick when he comes. I don't suppose it came from one of those Christian sects… you know the German one which broke with Rome."
"That must be it," I said. "I don't suppose in recent years there have been as many lutherists as there once were."
"Very, very few. As I say, we've got it down to a calculable minority and our psychologists are trying to work out some method whereby we can spot potential lutherists in childhood and indoctrinate them before it's too late… but of course the problem is a negligible one in the Atlantic states. We've had no serious trouble for forty years."
"Forty years… that was the time of all the trouble," I said.
"Not so much trouble," said Butler, undoing the bandana and mopping his face with it. "The last flare-up, I gather, of the old Christians… history makes very little of it though I suppose at the time it must have seemed important. Now that we have more perspective we can view things in their proper light. I was only a kid in those days and, frankly, I don't think I paid any attention to the papers. Of course you remember it." He looked at me suddenly, his great vacuous eyes focused. My heart missed one of its precarious beats: was this the beginning? had the inquisition begun?
"Not well," I said. "I was seldom in the United States. I'd been digging in Central America, in and around the Peten. I missed most of the trouble."
"You seem to have missed a good deal." His voice was equable, without a trace of secondary meaning.
"I've had a quiet life. I'm grateful though for your coming here; otherwise, I should have died without any contact with America, without ever knowing what was happening outside the Arab League."
"Well, we'll shake things up around here."
"Shake well before using," I quoted absently.
"What did you say?"
"I said I hoped all would be well."
"I'm sure it will. By the way, I brought you the new edition of Cave's prison dialogues." He pulled a small booklet from his back pocket and handed it to me.
"Thank you." I took the booklet: dialogues between Cave and Iris Mortimer. I had never before heard of this particular work. "Is this a recent discovery?" I asked.