They both laughed loudly; then the car pulled away from the tower and drove down Park Avenue at the head of a long procession. Crowds lined the street as we drove slowly by. They were curiously still, as though they hardly knew how to react: this was a funeral yet Cavesway was glorious. Some cheered; most simply stared and pointed at our car, recognizing Paul. I suddenly realized why they were so interested in this particular car: on the floor, at Paul’s feet, was what looked like a large flower pot covered with gold foil.
“Are those the ashes?”
Paul nodded. “Did an extra quick job, too, I’m glad to say. We didn’t want any slip up.”
“Where’s Iris?”
“I was going to ask you that.” Paul looked at me sharply. “She disappeared yesterday and it’s very embarrassing for all of us, very inconsiderate too: she knew I especially wanted her at the ceremony. She knows that everyone will expect to see her.”
“I think she took the idea of Cavesway most illogically,” said Stokharin, his usual sang-froid had returned, his breakdown forgotten. “She should be grateful to us for making all this possible, despite Cave’s weakness.”
I ignored Stokharin. I looked at Paul who was beaming at the crowd, acknowledging their waves with nods of his head. “What will you do now?”
“You heard the ceremony?”
“Yes.”
“Well, just that. Cavesway has become universal. Even the economists in Washington have privately thanked us for what we’re doing to reduce the population. There’s a theory that by numerous voluntary deaths wars might decrease since ... or so the proposition goes ... they are nature’s way of checking population.”