“In the old days there used to be the Resident and his staff and then a clinic attached where....”
“You really are behind the times.” Butler looked at me as though I’d betrayed a firsthand knowledge of earth’s creation. “All Residents and their staffs, including the Communicators like myself, get the same training; part of it is in mental therapy. Others who show particular aptitude for it are assigned clinical work just as I do communication work in foreign countries. People who get to be Residents are usually teachers and administrators. Sometimes a Communicator gets a Residency in his old age as a reward for the highest services.” He then explained to me the official, somewhat Byzantine structure of the Cavites. There were many new tides, indicating a swollen organization under the direction of a Counsel of Residents which, in turn, was responsible for the election from among their number of a unique Chief Resident whose reign lasted for the remainder of his lifetime.
With relief, I sat down on the bench beside Osiris. Butler joined me. “Dallas of course is the main Residency,” he said.
“It used to be in New York, years ago,” I said, thinking of the brownstone house, of the loft on Twenty-third Street.
“Around twenty years ago it was moved to Dallas by the Chief Resident. Not only did they have the best-equipped Center there but the Texans make just about the best Cavites in the country. What they won’t do for Cavesword isn’t worth mentioning. They burned the old churches, you know ... every one in the state.”
“And one or two Baptist Ministers as well?”
“You can’t break eggs without making an omelet,” said Butler sententiously.
“I see what you mean. Still, Cave was against persecution. He always felt it was enough for people to hear Cavesword....”
“You got a lot of reading to do,” said Butler sharply. “Looks like you’ve forgotten your text: 'And, if they persist in superstition, strike them, for one idolator is like a spoiled apple in the barrel, contaminating the others.’” Butler’s voice, as he quoted, was round and booming, rich in vowel-sounds while his protruding eyes gazed without blinking into the invisible radiance of truth which hovered, apparently, above a diseased hibiscus bush.
“I’ve forgotten that particular quotation,” I said.