Gore Vidal - Messiah

"The whole time Cave's here? Yes. I wouldn't miss it for anything."

"I'm glad. I've so much I want to talk to you about. So many things are beginning to happen. Call me tomorrow. I'll be staying at my old place. It's in the book."

"Cave?"

"Is staying with Paul, out on Long Island at someone's house. We want to keep him away from pests as much as possible."

"Manic depression, I should say," said Stokharin thoughtfully, his pipe now clenched between his teeth and his attention on Cave's still figure. "With latent schizoid tendencies which… Miss Mortimer, you must have an affair with him. You must marry him if necessary. Have children. Let him see what it is to give life to others, to live in a balanced…"

"Doctor, you are quite mad," said Iris and she crossed the room, cool in her anger. I too got away from the doctor as quickly as I could: "False modesty, inhibited behavior, too early bowel training," and similar phrases ringing in my ears.

Paul caught me at the door. I'd intended to slip away without saying good night, confident that Clarissa would understand, that the others would not notice. "Not going so soon, are you?" He was a little drunk, his face scarlet with excitement. "But you ought to stay and celebrate." I murmured something about having an early appointment the next day.

"Well, see me tomorrow. We've taken temporary offices in the Empire State Building. The money has begun to roll in. If this thing tonight turns out the way I think it has, I'm going to be able to quit my other racket for good and devote all my time to Cave." Already the name Cave had begun to sound more like that of an institution than of a man.

"By the way, I want to tell you what I think of the Introduction: superior piece of work. Tried it out on several highbrow friends of mine and they liked it."

"I'm afraid…"

"That, together with the talks on television, should put this thing over with the biggest bang in years. We'll probably need some more stuff from you, historical background, rules and regulations, that kind of thing, but Cave will tell you what he wants. We've hired a dozen people already to take care of the mail and inquiries. There's also a lecture tour being prepared, all the main cities, while…"

"Paul, you're not trying to make a religion of this, are you?"

I could hold it back no longer even though both time and occasion were all wrong for such an outburst.

"Religion? Hell, no… but we've got to organize. We've got to get this to as many people as we can. People have started looking to us (to him, that is) for guidance. We can't let them down."

Clarissa's maid ushered in a Western Union messenger, laden with telegrams. "Over three hundred," said the boy.

"The station said to send them here." Paul paid him jubilantly and, in the excitement, I slipped away.

The results of the broadcast were formidable. My small book which until then had enjoyed the obscurity of being briefly noted among the recent books was taken up by excited editors who used it as a basis for hurried but exuberant accounts of the new marvel.

One night a week for the rest of that winter Cave appeared before the shining glass eye of the world and on each occasion new millions in all parts of the country listened and saw and pondered this unexpected phenomenon, the creation of their own secret anxieties and doubts, a central man.

The reactions were too numerous for me to recollect in any order or with any precise detail; but I do recall the first few months vividly: after that of course the work moved swiftly of its own and one lost track of events which tended to blur, the way casualties late in a large war do, not wringing the wearied heart as the death of one or a particular few might earlier have done.

A few days after the first broadcast, I went to see Paul at the offices which he had taken in the Empire State Building… as high up as possible, I noted with amusement: always the maximum, the optimum.

Halfway down a corridor, between lawyers and exporters, Cavite, Inc. was discreetly identified in black upon a frosted-glass door. I went inside.

It appeared to me the way I'd always thought a newspaper office during a crisis might look. Four rooms opening in a row off one another, all with doors open, all crowded with harassed secretaries and clean-looking young men in blue serge suits carrying papers, talking in loud voices which together made the room sound like a hive at swarming time.

Though none of them knew me, no one made any attempt to ask my business or to stop me as I moved from room to room in search of Paul. Everywhere there were placards with Cave's picture on them, calm and gloomy-looking, dressed in what was to be his official costume: a dark suit, an unfigured tie, a white shirt. I tried to overhear conversations as I passed the busy desks and groups of excited debaters, but their noise was too loud. Only one word was identifiable, sounding regularly, richly emphatic like a cello note: Cave, Cave, Cave.

In each room I saw piles of my Introduction which pleased me even though I had come already to dislike it.

The last room contained Paul, seated behind a desk with a dictaphone in one hand, three telephones on his desk (none fortunately ringing at this moment) and four male and female attendants with notebooks and pencils eagerly poised. Paul sprang from his chair when he saw me. The attendants fell back. "Here he is!" He grabbed my hand and clung to it vise-like: I could almost feel the energy pulsing in his fingertips, vibrating through his body… his heartbeat was obviously two to my every one.

"Team, this is Eugene Luther."

The team was properly impressed and one of the girls, slovenly but intelligent-looking, said: "It was you who brought me here. First you I mean… and then of course Cave."

I murmured vaguely and the others told me how clear I had made all philosophy in the light of Cavesword. (I believe it was that day, certainly that week, Cavesword was coined by Paul to denote the entire message of John Cave to the world). Paul then shooed the team out with instructions he was not to be bothered. The door, however, was left open.

"Well, what do you think of them?" He leaned back, beaming at me from his chair.

"They seem very… earnest," I said, wondering not only what I was supposed to think but, more to the point, what I did think of the whole business.

"I'll say they are! I tell you, Gene, I've never seen anything like it. The thing's bigger even than that damned crooner I handled… you may remember the one. Everyone has been calling up and, look!" He pointed to several bushel baskets containing telegrams and letters. "This is only a fraction of the response since the telecast. From all over the world. I tell you, Gene, we're in."

"What about Cave? Where is he?"

"He's out on Long Island. The press is on my tail trying to interview him but I say no, no go, fellows, not yet; and does that excite them! We've had to hire guards at the place on Long Island just to keep them away."

"How is Cave taking it all?"

"In his stride, absolute model of coolness which is more than I am. He agrees that it's better to keep him under wraps while the telecasts are going on. It means that curiosity about him will increase like nobody's business. Look at this." He showed me a proof sheet of a tabloid story: "Mystery Prophet Wows TV Audience," with a photograph of Cave taken from the telecast and another one showing Cave ducking into a taxi, his face turned away from the camera. The story seemed most provocative and, for that complacent tabloid, a little bewildered.

"Coming out Sunday," said Paul with satisfaction. "There's also going to be coverage from the big circulation media. They're going to cover the next broadcast even though we said nobody'd be allowed on the set while Cave was speaking."