“And I knew it was the dying which was the better part,” he finished. The sun, released, drowned in the Pacific. In the darkness I asked, “But you, you still live?” “Not because I want to,” came the voice, soft as the night “I must tell the others first. There’ll be time for myself.” I shuddered in the warmth of the patio. My companions were only dim presences in the failing light. “Who told you to tell this to everyone?” The answer came back, strong and unexpected: “I told myself. The responsibility is mine.” That was the sign for me. He had broken with his predecessors. He was on his own. He knew ... and so did we. 2 I have lingered over that first meeting for, in it, was finally all that there was to come. Later details were the work of others, the exotic periphery to a simple but powerful center. Not until late that night did I leave the house near the beach. When I left, Cave stayed on and I wondered again, idly, if perhaps he was living there with Iris, if perhaps her interest in him might not be more complex than I had suspected. We parted casually and Iris walked me to the door while Cave remained inside, gazing in his intent way at nothing at all: daydreaming, doubtless, of what was to come. “You’ll help?” Iris stood by the car’s open door, her features indistinct in the moonless night. “I think so. I’m not sure, though, about the scale.” “What do you mean?” “Must _everyone_ know? Can’t it just be kept to ourselves? for the few who do know him?” “No. We must let them all hear him. Everyone.” And her voice assumed that zealous tone which I was to hear so often again and again upon her lips and on those of others. I made my first and last objection: “I don’t see that quantity has much to do with it. If this thing spreads it will become organized. If it becomes organized, secondary considerations will obscure the point. The truth is no truer because only a few have experienced it.” “You’re wrong. Even for purely selfish reasons, ruling out all altruistic considerations, there’s an excellent reason for allowing this to spread: a society which knows what we know, which believes in Cave and what he says, will be a pleasanter place in which to live, less anxious, more tolerant.” And she spoke of the new Jerusalem in our sallow land and I was nearly convinced. The next day I went to Hastings’ house for lunch. He was there alone; his wife apparently had a life of her own which required his company only occasionally. Clarissa, sensible in tweed and dark glasses, was the only other guest. We lunched on an iron-wrought table beside the gloomy pool in which, among the occasional leaves, I saw, quite clearly, a cigarette butt delicately unfolding like an ocean flower. “Good to, ah, have you, Eugene. Just a bit of potluck. Clarissa’s going back to civilization today and wanted to see you ... I did too, of course. The bride’s gone out. Told me to convey her....”