"But a little out of practice. All my Egyptian friends have seen fit to die and I live now as though I were already dead myself."
This had the desired effect of chilling him. Though he was still young, hardly fifty, the immediacy of death, even when manifested in the person of a chance acquaintance, did inspire a certain gravity.
He mumbled something which I did not catch. I think my hearing has begun to go: not that I am deaf but I have, at times, a monotonous buzzing in my ears which makes conversation difficult, though not impossible. According to the local doctor my arteries have hardened and at any moment one is apt to burst among the convolutions of the brain, drowning my life. But I do not dwell on this, at least not in conversation.
"There's been a big shake-up in the Atlantic community. Don't suppose you'd hear much about it around here since from the newspapers I've seen in Egypt they have a pretty tight censorship."
I said I knew nothing about recent activities in the Atlantic community or anywhere else, other than Egypt.
"Well they've worked out an alliance with Pan-Arabia which will open the whole area to us. Of course no oil exploitation is allowed but there'll still be a lot of legitimate business between our sphere and these people."
I listened to him patiently while he explained the state of the world to me; it seemed unchanged: the only difference was that there were now new and unfamiliar names in high places. He finished with a patriotic harangue about the necessity of the civilized to work in harmony together for the good of mankind: "And this opening up of Egypt has given us the chance we've been waiting for for years, and we mean to take it."
"You mean to extend trade?"
"No, I mean the Word."
"The Word?" I repeated numbly, the old fear returning.
"Why sure; I'm a Cavite Communicator." He rapped perfunctorily on the table twice. I tapped feebly with my cane on the tile: in the days of the Spanish persecution such signals were a means of secret communication (not that the persecution had really been so great but it had been our decision to dramatize it in order that our people might become more conscious of their splendid if temporary isolation and high destiny); it had not occurred to me that, triumphant, the Cavites should still cling to those bits of fraternal ritual which I'd conceived with a certain levity in the early days. But of course the love of ritual, of symbol is peculiar to our race and I reflected bleakly on this as I returned the solemn signal which identified us as brother Cavites.
"The world must have changed indeed," I said at last. "It was a Moslem law that no foreign missionaries be allowed in the Arab League."
"Pressure!" Butler looked very pleased. "Nothing obvious of course; had to be done though."
"For economic reasons?"
"No, for Cavesword. That's what we're selling because that's the one thing we've got." And he blinked seriously at the remnant of scarlet sun; his voice had grown husky, like a man selling some commodity on television in the old days. Yet the note of sincerity, whether simulated or genuine, was unmistakably resolute.
"You may have a difficult time," I said, not wanting to go on with this conversation but unable to direct it short of walking away. "The Moslems are very stubborn in their faith."
Butler laughed confidently. "We'll change all that. It may not be easy at first because we've got to go slow, feel our way, but once we know the lay of the land, you might say, we'll be able to produce some big backing, some real backing."
His meaning was unmistakable. Already I could imagine those Squads of the Word in action throughout this last terrestrial refuge. Long ago they had begun as eager instruction teams; after the first victories, however, they had become adept at demoralization, at brain-washing and auto-hypnosis, using all the psychological weapons which our race in its ingenuity had fashioned in the mid-century, becoming so perfect with the passage of time that imprisonment or execution for unorthodoxy was no longer necessary: even the most recalcitrant, the most virtuous man, could be reduced to a sincere and useful orthodoxy, no different in quality from his former antagonists, his moment of rebellion forgotten, his reason anchored securely at last in the general truth. I was also quite confident that their methods had improved even since my enlightened time.
"I hope you'll be able to save these poor people," I said, detesting myself for this hypocrisy.
"Not a doubt in the world," he clapped his hands. "They don't know what happiness we'll bring them." Difficult as it was to accept such hyperbole, I believed in his sincerity: he is one of those zealots without whose offices no large work in the world can be successfully propagated. I did not feel more than a passing pity for the Moslems: they were doomed but their fate would not unduly distress them for my companion was perfectly right when he spoke of the happiness which would be theirs: a blithe mindlessness which would in no way affect their usefulness as citizens. We had long since determined that for the mass this was the only humane way of ridding them of superstition in the interest of Cavesword and the better life.
"It's strange, though, that they should let you in," I said, quite aware that he might be my assassin after all, permitted by the Egyptian government to destroy me and, with me, the last true memory of the mission. I had not completely got over my first impression that Butler was an accomplished actor, sounding me out before the final victory of the Cavites, the necessary death and total obliteration of the person and the memory of Eugene Luther, now grown old with a false name in a burning land.
If he was an actor, he was a master. He thumped on interminably about America, John Cave and the necessity of spreading his word throughout the world. I listened patiently as the sun went abruptly behind the hills and all the stars appeared in the moonless waste of sky. Fires appeared in the hovels on the far shore of the Nile, yellow points of light like fireflies hovering by that other river which I shall never see again.
"Must be nearly suppertime."
"Not quite," I said, relieved that Butler's face was now invisible. I was not used to great red faces after my years in Luxor among the lean, the delicate and the dark. Now only his voice was a dissonance in the evening.
"Hope the food's edible."
"It isn't bad, though it may take some getting used to."
"Well, I've a strong stomach. Guess that's why they chose me for this job."
This job? could it mean…? but I refused to let myself be panicked. I have lived too long with terror to be much moved now; especially since my life of its own generation has brought me to dissolution's edge. "Are there many of you?" I asked politely. The day was ending and I was growing weary, all senses blunted and some confused. "Many Communicators?"
"Quite a few," said Butler. "They've been training us for the last year in Canada for the big job of opening up Pan-Arabia. Of course we've known for years that it was just a matter of time before the government got us in here."
"Then you've been thoroughly grounded in the Arab culture? and disposition?"
"Oh, sure. May have to come to you every now and then, though, if you don't mind." He chuckled to show that his patronage would be genial.
"I should be honored to assist."
"We anticipate trouble at first. We have to go slow. Pretend we're just available for instruction while we get to know the local big shots. Then, when the time comes…" He left the ominous sentence unfinished. I could imagine the rest, however. Fortunately, nature by then, with or without Mr. Butler's assistance, would have removed me as a witness. Inside the hotel the noise of plates being moved provided a familiar reference. I was conscious of being hungry: as the body's mechanism jolts to a halt, it wants more fuel than it ever did at its optimum. I wanted to go in but before I could gracefully extricate myself Butler asked me a question. "You the only American in these parts?"
I said that I was.