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....”
Clarissa turned her bright eyes on me and, without acknowledging the presence of our host, said right off: “You’ve met him at last.”
I nodded. The plot was finally clear to me: the main design at least. “We had dinner together last night.”
“I know. Iris told me. You’re going to help out of course.”
“I’d like to but I don’t know what there is I might do. I don’t think I’d be much use with a tambourine on street corners, preaching the word.”
“Don’t be silly!” Clarissa chuckled. “We’re going to handle this quite, quite differently.”
“We?”