wouldn’t know, to look at it now, what it really is.”
“Forget the Hill!” Eleanor snapped the gray mist back. “It isn’t me? Then it’s Verrick. I know—it’s Reese Verrick. Oh, God. You were so eager that day, when you came bursting into the office with your briefcase clutched like a chastity belt.” She smiled a little. “You were so excited. Like a Christian finally getting into heaven. You had waited so long … you expected so much. There was something terribly appealing about you. I hoped to see you around.”
“I wanted to get out of the Hill system. I wanted to get to something better. To the Directorate.”
“The Directorate!” Eleanor laughed. “What’s that? An abstraction! What do you think makes up the Directorate?” She breathed rapidly, eyes wide, pulse throbbing. “It’s people who are real, not institutions and offices. How can you be loyal to a—thing? New men come in, the old ones die, faces change. Does your loyalty remain? Why? To what? Superstition! You’re loyal to a word, a name. Not to a living entity of flesh and blood.”
“There’s more than that,” Benteley said. “It isn’t just offices and desks. It represents something.”
“What does it represent?”
“It stands above all of us. It’s bigger than any man or any group of men. Yet, in a way it’s everybody.”
“It’s nobody. When you have a friend he’s a particular person, not a class or a work-group, isn’t he? You don’t have class 4–7 as your friend, do you? When you go to bed with a woman, it’s a particular woman, isn’t it? Everything else in the universe has collapsed … shifting, random, purposeless gray smoke you can’t put your hands on. The only thing that’s left is people; your family, your friends, your mistress, your protector. You can touch them, be close to them … breathing
life
that’s warm and solid. Perspiration, skin and hair, saliva, breath, bodies. Taste, touch, smell, colors. Good God, there has to be something you can grab hold of! What is there,beyond people? What is there you can depend on besides your protector?”
“Depend on yourself.”
“Reese takes care of me! He’s big and strong.”
“He’s your father,” Benteley said. “And I hate fathers.”
“You’re—psychotic. There’s something wrong with you.”
“I know,” Benteley agreed. “I’m a sick man. And the more I see, the sicker I get. I’m so sick I think everybody else is sick and I’m the only healthy person. That’s pretty bad off, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Eleanor said breathlessly.
“I’d like to pull this whole thing down with a big loud crash. But I don’t have to; it’s collapsing by itself. Everything is thin and empty and metallic. Games, lotteries—a bright kid’s toy! All that holds it together is the oath. Positions for sale, cynicism, luxury and poverty, indifference … noisy tv sets shrilling away. A man goes out to murder another man and everybody claps their hands and watches. What do we believe in? What do we have? Brilliant criminals working for powerful criminals. Loyalty we swear away to plastic busts.”
“The bust is a symbol. And it’s not for sale. That’s one thing you can’t buy and sell.” Her green eyes flashed triumphantly. “You know that, Ted. It’s the most precious thing we have. Loyalty between us, between protector and serf, between a man and his mistress.”
“Maybe,” Benteley said slowly, “a person should be loyal to an ideal.”
“An ideal what?”
Benteley’s mind refused to turn out an answer. The wheels, the gears and rods, were stuck. Unfamiliar, incomprehensible thoughts were crowding in, unwanted and unasked-for, throwing the mechanism into grinding uncertainty. Where had the torrent come from? He didn’t know. “That’s all we have left,” he said finally. “Our oaths. Our loyalty. That’s the cement that keeps this whole thing from collapsing. Andwhat’s it worth? How good is it? Not much good.
“Forget the Hill!” Eleanor snapped the gray mist back. “It isn’t me? Then it’s Verrick. I know—it’s Reese Verrick. Oh, God. You were so eager that day, when you came bursting into the office with your briefcase clutched like a chastity belt.” She smiled a little. “You were so excited. Like a Christian finally getting into heaven. You had waited so long … you expected so much. There was something terribly appealing about you. I hoped to see you around.”
“I wanted to get out of the Hill system. I wanted to get to something better. To the Directorate.”
“The Directorate!” Eleanor laughed. “What’s that? An abstraction! What do you think makes up the Directorate?” She breathed rapidly, eyes wide, pulse throbbing. “It’s people who are real, not institutions and offices. How can you be loyal to a—thing? New men come in, the old ones die, faces change. Does your loyalty remain? Why? To what? Superstition! You’re loyal to a word, a name. Not to a living entity of flesh and blood.”
“There’s more than that,” Benteley said. “It isn’t just offices and desks. It represents something.”
“What does it represent?”
“It stands above all of us. It’s bigger than any man or any group of men. Yet, in a way it’s everybody.”
“It’s nobody. When you have a friend he’s a particular person, not a class or a work-group, isn’t he? You don’t have class 4–7 as your friend, do you? When you go to bed with a woman, it’s a particular woman, isn’t it? Everything else in the universe has collapsed … shifting, random, purposeless gray smoke you can’t put your hands on. The only thing that’s left is people; your family, your friends, your mistress, your protector. You can touch them, be close to them … breathing
life
that’s warm and solid. Perspiration, skin and hair, saliva, breath, bodies. Taste, touch, smell, colors. Good God, there has to be something you can grab hold of! What is there,beyond people? What is there you can depend on besides your protector?”
“Depend on yourself.”
“Reese takes care of me! He’s big and strong.”
“He’s your father,” Benteley said. “And I hate fathers.”
“You’re—psychotic. There’s something wrong with you.”
“I know,” Benteley agreed. “I’m a sick man. And the more I see, the sicker I get. I’m so sick I think everybody else is sick and I’m the only healthy person. That’s pretty bad off, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Eleanor said breathlessly.
“I’d like to pull this whole thing down with a big loud crash. But I don’t have to; it’s collapsing by itself. Everything is thin and empty and metallic. Games, lotteries—a bright kid’s toy! All that holds it together is the oath. Positions for sale, cynicism, luxury and poverty, indifference … noisy tv sets shrilling away. A man goes out to murder another man and everybody claps their hands and watches. What do we believe in? What do we have? Brilliant criminals working for powerful criminals. Loyalty we swear away to plastic busts.”
“The bust is a symbol. And it’s not for sale. That’s one thing you can’t buy and sell.” Her green eyes flashed triumphantly. “You know that, Ted. It’s the most precious thing we have. Loyalty between us, between protector and serf, between a man and his mistress.”
“Maybe,” Benteley said slowly, “a person should be loyal to an ideal.”
“An ideal what?”
Benteley’s mind refused to turn out an answer. The wheels, the gears and rods, were stuck. Unfamiliar, incomprehensible thoughts were crowding in, unwanted and unasked-for, throwing the mechanism into grinding uncertainty. Where had the torrent come from? He didn’t know. “That’s all we have left,” he said finally. “Our oaths. Our loyalty. That’s the cement that keeps this whole thing from collapsing. Andwhat’s it worth? How good is it? Not much good.
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