hall at the head of the landing above was empty. To the right of the stairs additional light fanned forth from an open doorway.
“I’m in here,” said the man.
And he was.
Kay entered the small office, marveling at its musty clutter. All four walls were flanked with bookshelves and their contents had overflowed onto the uncarpeted floor. Cartons of hardbound volumes and paperbacks, magazines and newspapers, stood in the corners and ranged in random rows on either side of the desk at the center of the room.
The bookworm seated behind the desk nodded a greeting.
“Peace and wisdom to you,” he said softly. His voice had a lilting accent she couldn’t quite place.
“Reverend Nye?”
He rose, holding out a white-gloved hand.
Kay shook it, wondering if her surprise was noticeable; apparently so, because he smiled.
“The gentleman at the agency should have told you,” he said. “You didn’t expect me to be black.”
That, Kay decided, was the understatement of the year. And even if Max Colbin had told her, she wouldn’t have been prepared—not for this.
Because the Reverend Nye was cliché- black, as in coal, or the ace of spades. The accent could be West Indian, probably Jamaican. But with his jet coloring, dark suit and the incongruous white gloves he looked like the end-man in an oldtime minstrel show.
Kay managed to return his smile. “The gentleman at the agency should have told you something,” she said. “He happens to be black too.”
“Touché.” Reverend Nye chuckled. “Well, one lives and learns.” He stepped around the desk and pushed a large cardboard carton of books to one side, revealing a small cushioned stool that had been hidden behind it. He gestured to Kay and she seated herself.
“Sorry about the accommodations,” he said. “I keep promising myself to get this place straightened up but there never seems to be enough time. Too busy living and learning.” Reverend Nye moved back and eased himself into his seat again. “A pity we must make the distinction. Living and learning should be one and the same thing, don’t you agree?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“Few ever do.” He nodded soberly. “They must be enlightened, and that is the purpose of my ministry. Are you familiar with the teachings of the Starry Wisdom?”
The question caught Kay offguard. “Not really. I mean there are so many new movements these days—Hare Krishna, Scientology—”
The soft chuckle sounded again. “I assure you there is no resemblance. And the Starry Wisdom is not new. Its ancient teachings antedate all other living faiths. But that’s the point, of course—other faiths aren’t actually living, because they aren’t learning. They’re dead and done for, victims of today’s technology. What did the Buddha know about electricity? Did Mohammed prepare us for the Space Age? Could Christ cope with the computer?
“The Bible, the Koran, the Talmud are all outmoded. Their lore and laws were suited to the life-style of desert nomads leading an earthbound existence with no thought of cosmic realities beyond. Today we scan their pages and find nothing pertinent to present problems.
“That’s why these new movements, as you call them, are arising. But most of them offer the same old answers in different terms. Meaningless answers. The complexities of today’s existence require mediation, but they teach meditation. And all their metaphysical trappings and psychological frills add up to the weary platitude— Know Thyself. But even if that were possible—and it isn’t, not in any meaningful sense—what’s the point of self-awareness? Our sole hope of salvation lies in knowing the world outside ourselves, the world of space and the stars. Don’t you agree?”
Kay nodded, wondering what he was driving at. Reverend Nye was a preacher, no doubt about it, but why preach to her?
“Once, long ago, mankind knew the truth about itself, about our place in the universe. Are you
“I’m in here,” said the man.
And he was.
Kay entered the small office, marveling at its musty clutter. All four walls were flanked with bookshelves and their contents had overflowed onto the uncarpeted floor. Cartons of hardbound volumes and paperbacks, magazines and newspapers, stood in the corners and ranged in random rows on either side of the desk at the center of the room.
The bookworm seated behind the desk nodded a greeting.
“Peace and wisdom to you,” he said softly. His voice had a lilting accent she couldn’t quite place.
“Reverend Nye?”
He rose, holding out a white-gloved hand.
Kay shook it, wondering if her surprise was noticeable; apparently so, because he smiled.
“The gentleman at the agency should have told you,” he said. “You didn’t expect me to be black.”
That, Kay decided, was the understatement of the year. And even if Max Colbin had told her, she wouldn’t have been prepared—not for this.
Because the Reverend Nye was cliché- black, as in coal, or the ace of spades. The accent could be West Indian, probably Jamaican. But with his jet coloring, dark suit and the incongruous white gloves he looked like the end-man in an oldtime minstrel show.
Kay managed to return his smile. “The gentleman at the agency should have told you something,” she said. “He happens to be black too.”
“Touché.” Reverend Nye chuckled. “Well, one lives and learns.” He stepped around the desk and pushed a large cardboard carton of books to one side, revealing a small cushioned stool that had been hidden behind it. He gestured to Kay and she seated herself.
“Sorry about the accommodations,” he said. “I keep promising myself to get this place straightened up but there never seems to be enough time. Too busy living and learning.” Reverend Nye moved back and eased himself into his seat again. “A pity we must make the distinction. Living and learning should be one and the same thing, don’t you agree?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“Few ever do.” He nodded soberly. “They must be enlightened, and that is the purpose of my ministry. Are you familiar with the teachings of the Starry Wisdom?”
The question caught Kay offguard. “Not really. I mean there are so many new movements these days—Hare Krishna, Scientology—”
The soft chuckle sounded again. “I assure you there is no resemblance. And the Starry Wisdom is not new. Its ancient teachings antedate all other living faiths. But that’s the point, of course—other faiths aren’t actually living, because they aren’t learning. They’re dead and done for, victims of today’s technology. What did the Buddha know about electricity? Did Mohammed prepare us for the Space Age? Could Christ cope with the computer?
“The Bible, the Koran, the Talmud are all outmoded. Their lore and laws were suited to the life-style of desert nomads leading an earthbound existence with no thought of cosmic realities beyond. Today we scan their pages and find nothing pertinent to present problems.
“That’s why these new movements, as you call them, are arising. But most of them offer the same old answers in different terms. Meaningless answers. The complexities of today’s existence require mediation, but they teach meditation. And all their metaphysical trappings and psychological frills add up to the weary platitude— Know Thyself. But even if that were possible—and it isn’t, not in any meaningful sense—what’s the point of self-awareness? Our sole hope of salvation lies in knowing the world outside ourselves, the world of space and the stars. Don’t you agree?”
Kay nodded, wondering what he was driving at. Reverend Nye was a preacher, no doubt about it, but why preach to her?
“Once, long ago, mankind knew the truth about itself, about our place in the universe. Are you
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