Anthem By Ayn Rand
12 Temmuz 2007
ANTHEM by Ayn Rand
PART ONE
It is a sin to write this. It is a sin
to think words no others think and to put
them down upon a paper no others are to see.
It is base and evil. It is as if we were
speaking alone to no ears but our own.
And we know well that there is no transgression
blacker than to do or think alone.
We have broken the laws. The laws say
that men may not write unless the Council
of Vocations bid them so. May we be forgiven!
But this is not the only sin upon us.
We have committed a greater crime, and for
this crime there is no name. What punishment
awaits us if it be discovered we know not,
for no such crime has come in the memory
of men and there are no laws to provide for it.
It is dark here. The flame of the candle
stands still in the air. Nothing moves in
this tunnel save our hand on the paper. We are
alone here under the earth. It is a fearful
word, alone. The laws say that none among
men may be alone, ever and at any time,
for this is the great transgression and the root
of all evil. But we have broken many laws.
And now there is nothing here save our one body,
and it is strange to see only two legs
stretched on the ground, and on the wall
before us the shadow of our one head.
The walls are cracked and water runs
upon them in thin threads without sound,
black and glistening as blood. We stole the
candle from the larder of the Home of the
Street Sweepers. We shall be sentenced to
ten years in the Palace of Corrective
Detention if it be discovered. But this matters not.
It matters only that the light is precious and
we should not waste it to write when we
need it for that work which is our crime.
Nothing matters save the work, our secret,
our evil, our precious work. Still, we must
also write, for–may the Council have
mercy upon us!–we wish to speak for once
to no ears but our own.
Our name is Equality 7-2521, as it is
written on the iron bracelet which all men
wear on their left wrists with their names
upon it. We are twenty-one years old. We
are six feet tall, and this is a burden, for
there are not many men who are six feet tall.
Ever have the Teachers and the Leaders pointed
to us and frowned and said:
“There is evil in your bones, Equality 7-2521,
for your body has grown beyond the bodies
of your brothers.” But we cannot change
our bones nor our body.
We were born with a curse. It has always
driven us to thoughts which are forbidden.
It has always given us wishes which men
may not wish. We know that we are evil,
but there is no will in us and no power
to resist it. This is our wonder and our
secret fear, that we know and do not resist.
We strive to be like all our brother men,
for all men must be alike. Over the portals
of the Palace of the World Council, there
are words cut in the marble, which we
repeat to ourselves whenever we are tempted:
“WE ARE ONE IN ALL AND ALL IN ONE.
THERE ARE NO MEN BUT ONLY THE GREAT _WE_,
ONE, INDIVISIBLE AND FOREVER.”
We repeat this to ourselves, but it helps us not.
These words were cut long ago. There is
green mould in the grooves of the letters
and yellow streaks on the marble, which
come from more years than men could
count. And these words are the truth,
for they are written on the Palace of the
World Council, and the World Council is the
body of all truth. Thus has it been ever
since the Great Rebirth, and farther back
than that no memory can reach.
But we must never speak of the times before
the Great Rebirth, else we are sentenced to
three years in the Palace of Corrective Detention.
It is only the Old Ones who whisper about it in
the evenings, in the Home of the Useless.
They whisper many strange things, of the towers
which rose to the sky, in those Unmentionable
Times, and of the wagons which moved
without horses, and of the lights which
burned without flame. But those times
were evil. And those times passed away,
when men saw the Great Truth which is this:
that all men are one and that there is no
will save the will of all men together.
All men are good and wise. It is only we,
Equality 7-2521, we alone who were born
with a curse. For we are not like our brothers.
And as we look back upon our life,
we see that it has ever been thus and that
it has brought us step by step to our last,
supreme transgression, our crime of crimes
hidden here under the ground.
We remember the Home of the Infants
where we lived till we were five years old,
together with all the children of the City
who had been born in the same year.
The sleeping halls there were white and clean
and bare of all things save one hundred beds.
We were just like all our brothers
then, save for the one transgression:
we fought with our brothers. There are few
offenses blacker than to fight with our
brothers, at any age and for any cause
whatsoever. The Council of the Home told
us so, and of all the children of that year,
we were locked in the cellar most often.
When we were five years old, we were
sent to the Home of the Students, where
there are ten wards, for our ten years of
learning. Men must learn till they reach
their fifteenth year. Then they go to work.
In the Home of the Students we arose when
the big bell rang in the tower and we went
to our beds when it rang again. Before we
removed our garments, we stood in the
great sleeping hall, and we raised our right
arms, and we said all together with the
three Teachers at the head:
“We are nothing. Mankind is all. By the grace
of our brothers are we allowed our lives.
We exist through, by and for our brothers
who are the State. Amen.”
Then we slept. The sleeping halls were white
and clean and bare of all things save one hundred beds.
We, Equality 7-2521, were not happy in
those years in the Home of the Students.
It was not that the learning was too hard
for us. It was that the learning was too easy.
This is a great sin, to be born with a
head which is too quick. It is not good
to be different from our brothers, but it
is evil to be superior to them. The Teachers
told us so, and they frowned when they looked upon us.
So we fought against this curse. We tried
to forget our lessons, but we always remembered.
We tried not to understand what the Teachers taught,
but we always understood it before the Teachers
had spoken. We looked upon Union 5-3992,
who were a pale boy with only half a brain,
and we tried to say and do as they did,
that we might be like them, like Union 5-3992,
but somehow the Teachers knew that we were not.
And we were lashed more often than all the other children.
The Teachers were just, for they had
been appointed by the Councils, and the
Councils are the voice of all justice,
for they are the voice of all men. And if
sometimes, in the secret darkness of our heart,
we regret that which befell us on our
fifteenth birthday, we know that it was
through our own guilt. We had broken
a law, for we had not paid heed to the
words of our Teachers. The Teachers
had said to us all:
“Dare not choose in your minds the
work you would like to do when you leave
the Home of the Students. You shall do
that which the Council of Vocations shall
prescribe for you. For the Council of
Vocations knows in its great wisdom where
you are needed by your brother men, better
than you can know it in your unworthy
little minds. And if you are not needed by
your brother man, there is no reason for
you to burden the earth with your bodies.”
We knew this well, in the years of our
childhood, but our curse broke our will.
We were guilty and we confess it here:
we were guilty of the great Transgression
of Preference. We preferred some work
and some lessons to the others. We did not
listen well to the history of all the
Councils elected since the Great Rebirth.
But we loved the Science of Things. We wished
to know. We wished to know about all the
things which make the earth around us.
We asked so many questions that
the Teachers forbade it.
We think that there are mysteries in the
sky and under the water and in the plants
which grow. But the Council of Scholars
has said that there are no mysteries,
and the Council of Scholars knows all things.
And we learned much from our Teachers.
We learned that the earth is flat and that
the sun revolves around it, which causes the
day and the night. We learned the names
of all the winds which blow over the seas
and push the sails of our great ships.
We learned how to bleed men to cure them
of all ailments.
We loved the Science of Things. And in
the darkness, in the secret hour, when we
awoke in the night and there were no
brothers around us, but only their shapes
in the beds and their snores, we closed our
eyes, and we held our lips shut, and we
stopped our breath, that no shudder might
let our brothers see or hear or guess,
and we thought that we wished to be sent
to the Home of the Scholars when our time
would come.
All the great modern inventions come
from the Home of the Scholars, such as
the newest one, which was found only a
hundred years ago, of how to make candles
from wax and string; also, how to make glass,
which is put in our windows to protect
us from the rain. To find these things,
the Scholars must study the earth and learn
from the rivers, from the sands, from the
winds and the rocks. And if we went to the
Home of the Scholars, we could learn from
these also. We could ask questions of these,
for they do not forbid questions.
And questions give us no rest. We know not
why our curse makes us seek we know not what,
ever and ever. But we cannot resist it.
It whispers to us that there are great things
on this earth of ours, and that we can know them
if we try, and that we must know them. We ask,
why must we know, but it has no answer to give us.
We must know that we may know.
So we wished to be sent to the Home of
the Scholars. We wished it so much that
our hands trembled under the blankets in
the night, and we bit our arm to stop that
other pain which we could not endure.
It was evil and we dared not face our brothers
in the morning. For men may wish nothing
for themselves. And we were punished
when the Council of Vocations came to
give us our life Mandates which tell those
who reach their fifteenth year what their
work is to be for the rest of their days.
The Council of Vocations came on the first day
of spring, and they sat in the great hall.
And we who were fifteen and all the
Teachers came into the great hall.
And the Council of Vocations sat on a high dais,
and they had but two words to speak to each
of the Students. They called the Students’ names,
and when the Students stepped before them,
one after another, the Council said:
“Carpenter” or “Doctor” or “Cook” or “Leader.”
Then each Student raised their right arm and said:
“The will of our brothers be done.”
Now if the Council has said “Carpenter” or “Cook,”
the Students so assigned go to work and they do not
study any further. But if the Council has said “Leader,”
then those Students go into the Home of the Leaders,
which is the greatest house in the City, for it has
three stories. And there they study for many years,
so that they may become candidates and be elected
to the City Council and the State Council and
the World Council–by a free and general vote
of all men. But we wished not to be a Leader,
even though it is a great honor. We wished to be a Scholar.
So we awaited our turn in the great hall
and then we heard the Council of Vocations
call our name: “Equality 7-2521.” We walked
to the dais, and our legs did not tremble,
and we looked up at the Council. There were
five members of the Council, three of
the male gender and two of the female.
Their hair was white and their faces were
cracked as the clay of a dry river bed.
They were old. They seemed older than
the marble of the Temple of the World Council.
They sat before us and they did not move.
And we saw no breath to stir the folds
of their white togas. But we knew that
they were alive, for a finger of the hand
of the oldest rose, pointed to us, and fell down again.
This was the only thing which moved, for the lips of
the oldest did not move as they said: “Street Sweeper.”
We felt the cords of our neck grow tight
as our head rose higher to look upon the
faces of the Council, and we were happy.
We knew we had been guilty, but now we
had a way to atone for it. We would accept
our Life Mandate, and we would work for
our brothers, gladly and willingly,
and we would erase our sin against them,
which they did not know, but we knew.
So we were happy, and proud of ourselves
and of our victory over ourselves.
We raised our right arm and we spoke,
and our voice was the clearest, the steadiest
voice in the hall that day, and we said:
“The will of our brothers be done.”
And we looked straight into the eyes of the Council,
but their eyes were as cold blue glass buttons.
So we went into the Home of the Street Sweepers.
It is a grey house on a narrow street.
There is a sundial in its courtyard,
by which the Council of the Home can
tell the hours of the day and when to ring
the bell. When the bell rings, we all arise
from our beds. The sky is green and cold
in our windows to the east. The shadow on
the sundial marks off a half-hour while we
dress and eat our breakfast in the dining hall,
where there are five long tables with
twenty clay plates and twenty clay cups
on each table. Then we go to work in the
streets of the City, with our brooms and our
rakes. In five hours, when the sun is high,
we return to the Home and we eat our midday meal,
for which one-half hour is allowed. Then we go
to work again. In five hours, the shadows
are blue on the pavements, and the sky is blue
with a deep brightness which is not bright.
We come back to have our dinner, which lasts
one hour. Then the bell rings and we walk in
a straight column to one of the City Halls,
for the Social Meeting. Other columns of
men arrive from the Homes of the different
Trades. The candles are lit, and the Councils
of the different Homes stand in a pulpit,
and they speak to us of our duties and
of our brother men. Then visiting Leaders
mount the pulpit and they read to us the
speeches which were made in the City
Council that day, for the City Council
represents all men and all men must know.
Then we sing hymns, the Hymn of Brotherhood,
and the Hymn of Equality, and the Hymn
of the Collective Spirit. The sky is
a soggy purple when we return to the Home.
Then the bell rings and we walk in a
straight column to the City Theatre
for three hours of Social Recreation.
There a play is shown upon the stage,
with two great choruses from the Home of
the Actors, which speak and answer all together,
in two great voices. The plays are about
toil and how good it is. Then we walk
back to the Home in a straight column.
The sky is like a black sieve pierced
by silver drops that tremble, ready to
burst through. The moths beat against
the street lanterns. We go to our beds
and we sleep, till the bell rings again.
The sleeping halls are white and clean and
bare of all things save one hundred beds.
Thus have we lived each day of four
years, until two springs ago when our
crime happened. Thus must all men live
until they are forty. At forty, they are
worn out. At forty, they are sent to the
Home of the Useless, where the Old Ones
live. The Old Ones do not work, for the
State takes care of them. They sit in the
sun in summer and they sit by the fire in
winter. They do not speak often, for they
are weary. The Old Ones know that they
are soon to die. When a miracle happens
and some live to be forty-five, they are the
Ancient Ones, and the children stare at them
when passing by the Home of the Useless.
Such is to be our life, as that of all our
brothers and of the brothers who came before us.
Such would have been our life, had we
not committed our crime which changed
all things for us. And it was our curse
which drove us to our crime. We had been
a good Street Sweeper and like all our
brother Street Sweepers, save for our
cursed wish to know. We looked too long
at the stars at night, and at the trees and
the earth. And when we cleaned the yard
of the Home of the Scholars, we gathered
the glass vials, the pieces of metal, the dried
bones which they had discarded. We wished
to keep these things and to study them,
but we had no place to hide them.
So we carried them to the City Cesspool.
And then we made the discovery.
It was on a day of the spring before last.
We Street Sweepers work in brigades of
three, and we were with Union 5-3992,
they of the half-brain, and with International
4-8818. Now Union 5-3992 are a sickly lad
and sometimes they are stricken with
convulsions, when their mouth froths
and their eyes turn white. But International
4-8818 are different. They are a tall,
strong youth and their eyes are like fireflies,
for there is laughter in their eyes. We cannot
look upon International 4-8818 and not
smile in answer. For this they were not
liked in the Home of the Students, as it is
not proper to smile without reason. And
also they were not liked because they took
pieces of coal and they drew pictures upon
the walls, and they were pictures which
made men laugh. But it is only our brothers
in the Home of the Artists who are permitted
to draw pictures, so International 4-8818
were sent to the Home of the Street
Sweepers, like ourselves.
International 4-8818 and we are friends.
This is an evil thing to say, for it is a
transgression, the great Transgression of
Preference, to love any among men better
than the others, since we must love all men
and all men are our friends. So International
4-8818 and we have never spoken of it.
But we know. We know, when we look into
each other’s eyes. And when we look thus
without words, we both know other things
also, strange things for which there are
no words, and these things frighten us.
So on that day of the spring before last,
Union 5-3992 were stricken with convulsions
on the edge of the City, near the City
Theatre. We left them to lie in the shade
of the Theatre tent and we went with
International 4-8818 to finish our work.
We came together to the great ravine behind
the Theatre. It is empty save for trees and weeds.
Beyond the ravine there is a plain, and beyond
the plain there lies the Uncharted Forest,
about which men must not think.
We were gathering the papers and the
rags which the wind had blown from the
Theatre, when we saw an iron bar among
the weeds. It was old and rusted by many
rains. We pulled with all our strength, but
we could not move it. So we called
International 4-8818, and together we scraped
the earth around the bar. Of a sudden the
earth fell in before us, and we saw an old
iron grill over a black hole.
International 4-8818 stepped back. But
we pulled at the grill and it gave way.
And then we saw iron rings as steps leading
down a shaft into a darkness without bottom.
“We shall go down,” we said to International 4-8818.
“It is forbidden,” they answered.
We said: “The Council does not know
of this hole, so it cannot be forbidden.”
And they answered: “Since the Council
does not know of this hole, there can
be no law permitting to enter it.
And everything which is not permitted by law
is forbidden.”
But we said: “We shall go, none the less.”
They were frightened, but they stood by
and watched us go.
We hung on the iron rings with our hands and our feet.
We could see nothing below us. And above us
the hole open upon the sky grew smaller and smaller,
till it came to be the size of a button. But still we
went down. Then our foot touched the ground.
We rubbed our eyes, for we could not see.
Then our eyes became used to the darkness,
but we could not believe what we saw.
No men known to us could have built
this place, nor the men known to our
brothers who lived before us, and yet it
was built by men. It was a great tunnel.
Its walls were hard and smooth to the
touch; it felt like stone, but it was not stone.
On the ground there were long thin tracks
of iron, but it was not iron; it felt smooth
and cold as glass. We knelt, and we crawled
forward, our hand groping along the iron
line to see where it would lead. But there
was an unbroken night ahead. Only the
iron tracks glowed through it, straight and
white, calling us to follow. But we could
not follow, for we were losing the puddle
of light behind us. So we turned and we
crawled back, our hand on the iron line.
And our heart beat in our fingertips,
without reason. And then we knew.
We knew suddenly that this place was
left from the Unmentionable Times. So it
was true, and those Times had been, and
all the wonders of those Times. Hundreds
upon hundreds of years ago men knew
secrets which we have lost. And we thought:
“This is a foul place. They are damned
who touch the things of the Unmentionable Times.”
But our hand which followed the track, as we crawled,
clung to the iron as if it would not leave it,
as if the skin of our hand were thirsty and
begging of the metal some secret fluid
beating in its coldness.
We returned to the earth. International
4-8818 looked upon us and stepped back.
“Equality 7-2521,” they said, “your face is white.”
But we could not speak and we stood looking upon them.
They backed away, as if they dared not touch us.
Then they smiled, but it was not a gay smile;
it was lost and pleading. But still we could
not speak. Then they said:
“We shall report our find to the City
Council and both of us will be rewarded.”
And then we spoke. Our voice was hard
and there was no mercy in our voice. We said:
“We shall not report our find to the City Council.
We shall not report it to any men.”
They raised their hands to their ears,
for never had they heard such words as these.
“International 4-8818,” we asked, “will you report us
to the Council and see us lashed to death before your eyes?”
They stood straight all of a sudden and they answered:
“Rather would we die.”
“Then,” we said, “keep silent. This place is ours.
This place belongs to us, Equality 7-2521, and to
no other men on earth. And if ever we surrender it,
we shall surrender our life with it also.”
Then we saw that the eyes of International 4-8818
were full to the lids with tears they dared not drop.
They whispered, and their voice trembled, so that
their words lost all shape:
“The will of the Council is above all things,
for it is the will of our brothers, which is holy.
But if you wish it so, we shall obey you.
Rather shall we be evil with you than good
with all our brothers. May the Council
have mercy upon both our hearts!”
Then we walked away together and back
to the Home of the Street Sweepers.
And we walked in silence.
Thus did it come to pass that each night,
when the stars are high and the Street
Sweepers sit in the City Theatre, we,
Equality 7-2521, steal out and run through
the darkness to our place. It is easy to leave
the Theatre; when the candles are blown out
and the Actors come onto the stage, no eyes
can see us as we crawl under our seat and
under the cloth of the tent. Later, it is easy
to steal through the shadows and fall in line
next to International 4-8818, as the column
leaves the Theatre. It is dark in the streets
and there are no men about, for no men
may walk through the City when they have
no mission to walk there. Each night, we
run to the ravine, and we remove the
stones which we have piled upon the iron
grill to hide it from the men. Each night, for
three hours, we are under the earth, alone.
We have stolen candles from the Home
of the Street Sweepers, we have stolen flints
and knives and paper, and we have brought
them to this place. We have stolen glass
vials and powders and acids from the Home
of the Scholars. Now we sit in the tunnel
for three hours each night and we study.
We melt strange metals, and we mix acids,
and we cut open the bodies of the animals
which we find in the City Cesspool. We have
built an oven of the bricks we gathered
in the streets. We burn the wood we find
in the ravine. The fire flickers in the
oven and blue shadows dance upon the walls,
and there is no sound of men to disturb us.
We have stolen manuscripts. This is a
great offense. Manuscripts are precious,
for our brothers in the Home of the Clerks
spend one year to copy one single script
in their clear handwriting. Manuscripts are
rare and they are kept in the Home of the
Scholars. So we sit under the earth and
we read the stolen scripts. Two years have
passed since we found this place. And in
these two years we have learned more than
we had learned in the ten years of the
Home of the Students.
We have learned things which are not
in the scripts. We have solved secrets of
which the Scholars have no knowledge.
We have come to see how great is the
unexplored, and many lifetimes will not
bring us to the end of our quest. But we
wish no end to our quest. We wish nothing,
save to be alone and to learn, and to
feel as if with each day our sight were
growing sharper than the hawk’s and clearer
than rock crystal.
Strange are the ways of evil. We are
false in the faces of our brothers.
We are defying the will of our Councils.
We alone, of the thousands who walk this
earth, we alone in this hour are doing a
work which has no purpose save that we
wish to do it. The evil of our crime
is not for the human mind to probe. The
nature of our punishment, if it be discovered,
is not for the human heart to ponder.
Never, not in the memory of the Ancient
Ones’ Ancients, never have men done that
which we are doing.
And yet there is no shame in us and no regret.
We say to ourselves that we are a wretch and a traitor.
But we feel no burden upon our spirit and no fear in our heart.
And it seems to us that our spirit is clear as a lake
troubled by no eyes save those of the sun. And in our heart–
strange are the ways of evil!–in our heart there is
the first peace we have known in twenty years.
PART TWO
Liberty 5-3000 . . . Liberty five-three thousand
. . . Liberty 5-3000 . . . .
We wish to write this name. We wish to speak it,
but we dare not speak it above a whisper.
For men are forbidden to take notice of women,
and women are forbidden to take notice of men.
But we think of one among women, they whose name
is Liberty 5-3000, and we think of no others.
The women who have been assigned to work
the soil live in the Homes of the Peasants
beyond the City. Where the City ends
there is a great road winding off to the
north, and we Street Sweepers must keep
this road clean to the first milepost.
There is a hedge along the road, and beyond the
hedge lie the fields. The fields are black
and ploughed, and they lie like a great
fan before us, with their furrows gathered
in some hand beyond the sky, spreading
forth from that hand, opening wide apart
as they come toward us, like black pleats
that sparkle with thin, green spangles.
Women work in the fields, and their white
tunics in the wind are like the wings of
sea-gulls beating over the black soil.
And there it was that we saw Liberty
5-3000 walking along the furrows. Their
body was straight and thin as a blade of
iron. Their eyes were dark and hard and
glowing, with no fear in them, no kindness
and no guilt. Their hair was golden as the
sun; their hair flew in the wind, shining
and wild, as if it defied men to restrain it.
They threw seeds from their hand as if
they deigned to fling a scornful gift,
and the earth was a beggar under their feet.
We stood still; for the first time did we
know fear, and then pain. And we stood
still that we might not spill this pain more
precious than pleasure.
Then we heard a voice from the others
call their name: “Liberty 5-3000,” and they
turned and walked back. Thus we learned
their name, and we stood watching them go,
till their white tunic was lost in the blue mist.
And the following day, as we came to the
northern road, we kept our eyes upon
Liberty 5-3000 in the field. And each day
thereafter we knew the illness of waiting
for our hour on the northern road. And
there we looked at Liberty 5-3000 each day.
We know not whether they looked at
us also, but we think they did.
Then one day they came close to the
hedge, and suddenly they turned to us.
They turned in a whirl and the movement
of their body stopped, as if slashed off,
as suddenly as it had started. They stood
still as a stone, and they looked straight
upon us, straight into our eyes. There was
no smile on their face, and no welcome.
But their face was taut, and their eyes
were dark. Then they turned as swiftly,
and they walked away from us.
But the following day, when we came to
the road, they smiled. They smiled to us
and for us. And we smiled in answer.
Their head fell back, and their arms fell,
as if their arms and their thin white neck
were stricken suddenly with a great lassitude.
They were not looking upon us, but upon the sky.
Then they glanced at us over their shoulder,
as we felt as if a hand had touched our body,
slipping softly from our lips to our feet.
Every morning thereafter, we greeted each
other with our eyes. We dared not speak.
It is a transgression to speak to men of other
Trades, save in groups at the Social Meetings.
But once, standing at the hedge,
we raised our hand to our forehead
and then moved it slowly, palm down,
toward Liberty 5-3000. Had the others seen
it, they could have guessed nothing, for it
looked only as if we were shading our eyes
from the sun. But Liberty 5-3000 saw it
and understood. They raised their hand to
their forehead and moved it as we had.
Thus, each day, we greet Liberty 5-3000,
and they answer, and no men can suspect.
We do not wonder at this new sin of ours.
It is our second Transgression of Preference,
for we do not think of all our brothers,
as we must, but only of one, and their name
is Liberty 5-3000. We do not know why
we think of them. We do not know why,
when we think of them, we feel all of
a sudden that the earth is good and
that it is not a burden to live.
We do not think of them as Liberty
5-3000 any longer. We have given them a
name in our thoughts. We call them the
Golden One. But it is a sin to give men
names which distinguish them from other
men. Yet we call them the Golden One,
for they are not like the others.
The Golden One are not like the others.
And we take no heed of the law which
says that men may not think of women,
save at the Time of Mating. This is the
time each spring when all the men older
than twenty and all the women older than
eighteen are sent for one night to the City
Palace of Mating. And each of the men
have one of the women assigned to them
by the Council of Eugenics. Children are
born each winter, but women never see
their children and children never know
their parents. Twice have we been sent to
the Palace of Mating, but it is an ugly and
shameful matter, of which we do not like to think.
We had broken so many laws, and today
we have broken one more. Today, we
spoke to the Golden One.
The other women were far off in the
field, when we stopped at the hedge by the
side of the road. The Golden One were
kneeling alone at the moat which runs
through the field. And the drops of water
falling from their hands, as they raised the
water to their lips, were like sparks of fire
in the sun. Then the Golden One saw us,
and they did not move, kneeling there,
looking at us, and circles of light played
upon their white tunic, from the sun on the
water of the moat, and one sparkling drop
fell from a finger of their hand held as
frozen in the air.
Then the Golden One rose and walked
to the hedge, as if they had heard a
command in our eyes. The two other Street
Sweepers of our brigade were a hundred
paces away down the road. And we
thought that International 4-8818 would
not betray us, and Union 5-3992 would
not understand. So we looked straight upon
the Golden One, and we saw the shadows
of their lashes on their white cheeks and
the sparks of sun on their lips. And we said:
“You are beautiful, Liberty 5-3000.”
Their face did not move and they did not
avert their eyes. Only their eyes grew wider,
and there was triumph in their eyes,
and it was not triumph over us,
but over things we could not guess.
Then they asked:
“What is your name?”
“Equality 7-2521,” we answered.
“You are not one of our brothers, Equality
7-2521, for we do not wish you to be.”
We cannot say what they meant, for there
are no words for their meaning, but we know it
without words and we knew it then.
“No,” we answered, “nor are you one of our sisters.”
“If you see us among scores of women,
will you look upon us?”
“We shall look upon you, Liberty 5-3000,
if we see you among all the women of the earth.”
Then they asked:
“Are Street Sweepers sent to different
parts of the City or do they always work
in the same places?”
“They always work in the same places,”
we answered, “and no one will take this
road away from us.”
“Your eyes,” they said, “are not like the
eyes of any among men.”
And suddenly, without cause for the
thought which came to us, we felt cold,
cold to our stomach.
“How old are you?” we asked.
They understood our thought, for they
lowered their eyes for the first time.
“Seventeen,” they whispered.
And we sighed, as if a burden had been
taken from us, for we had been thinking
without reason of the Palace of Mating.
And we thought that we would not let the
Golden One be sent to the Palace. How to
prevent it, how to bar the will of the
Councils, we knew not, but we knew suddenly
that we would. Only we do not know why
such thought came to us, for these ugly
matters bear no relation to us and the
Golden One. What relation can they bear?
Still, without reason, as we stood there
by the hedge, we felt our lips drawn tight
with hatred, a sudden hatred for all our
brother men. And the Golden One saw it
and smiled slowly, and there was in their
smile the first sadness we had seen in them.
We think that in the wisdom of women
the Golden One had understood more than
we can understand.
Then three of the sisters in the field appeared,
coming toward the road, so the Golden One
walked away from us. They took the bag of seeds,
and they threw the seeds into the furrows of earth
as they walked away. But the seeds flew wildly,
for the hand of the Golden One was trembling.
Yet as we walked back to the Home of the
Street Sweepers, we felt that we wanted
to sing, without reason. So we were
reprimanded tonight, in the dining hall,
for without knowing it we had begun to
sing aloud some tune we had never heard.
But it is not proper to sing without reason,
save at the Social Meetings.
“We are singing because we are happy,”
we answered the one of the Home Council
who reprimanded us.
“Indeed you are happy,” they answered.
“How else can men be when they live for
their brothers?”
And now, sitting here in our tunnel, we
wonder about these words. It is forbidden,
not to be happy. For, as it has been
explained to us, men are free and the earth
belongs to them; and all things on earth belong
to all men; and the will of all men together is
good for all; and so all men must be happy.
Yet as we stand at night in the great hall,
removing our garments for sleep, we look
upon our brothers and we wonder. The heads
of our brothers are bowed. The eyes of our
brothers are dull, and never do they look
one another in the eyes. The shoulders
of our brothers are hunched, and their
muscles are drawn, as if their bodies were
shrinking and wished to shrink out of sight.
And a word steals into our mind, as we look
upon our brothers, and that word is fear.
There is fear hanging in the air of the
sleeping halls, and in the air of the streets.
Fear walks through the City, fear without name,
without shape. All men feel it and none dare to speak.
We feel it also, when we are in the Home of the
Street Sweepers. But here, in our tunnel,
we feel it no longer. The air is pure
under the ground. There is no odor of men.
And these three hours give us strength
for our hours above the ground.
Our body is betraying us, for the Council
of the Home looks with suspicion upon us.
It is not good to feel too much joy nor to be glad
that our body lives. For we matter not and
it must not matter to us whether we live or die,
which is to be as our brothers will it.
But we, Equality 7-2521, are glad to be living.
If this is a vice, then we wish no virtue.
Yet our brothers are not like us. All is
not well with our brothers. There are
Fraternity 2-5503, a quiet boy with wise,
kind eyes, who cry suddenly, without reason,
in the midst of day or night, and their
body shakes with sobs they cannot explain.
There are Solidarity 9-6347, who are a
bright youth, without fear in the day; but
they scream in their sleep, and they scream:
“Help us! Help us! Help us!” into the
night, in a voice which chills our bones, but
the Doctors cannot cure Solidarity 9-6347.
And as we all undress at night, in the
dim light of the candles, our brothers are
silent, for they dare not speak the thoughts
of their minds. For all must agree with all,
and they cannot know if their thoughts
are the thoughts of all, and so they fear to
speak. And they are glad when the candles
are blown for the night. But we, Equality
7-2521, look through the window upon
the sky, and there is peace in the sky,
and cleanliness, and dignity. And beyond
the City there lies the plain, and
beyond the plain, black upon the black sky,
there lies the Uncharted Forest.
We do not wish to look upon the
Uncharted Forest. We do not wish
to think of it. But ever do our eyes
return to that black patch upon the sky.
Men never enter the Uncharted Forest,
for there is no power to explore it
and no path to lead among its ancient
trees which stand as guards of fearful
secrets. It is whispered that once or
twice in a hundred years, one among
the men of the City escape alone and run to
the Uncharted Forest, without call or reason.
These men do not return. They perish from
hunger and from the claws of the wild
beasts which roam the Forest. But our
Councils say that this is only a legend.
We have heard that there are many Uncharted
Forests over the land, among the Cities.
And it is whispered that they have grown
over the ruins of many cities of the
Unmentionable Times. The trees have
swallowed the ruins, and the bones under
the ruins, and all the things which perished.
And as we look upon the Uncharted Forest
far in the night, we think of the
secrets of the Unmentionable Times.
And we wonder how it came to pass that
these secrets were lost to the world.
We have heard the legends of the great fighting,
in which many men fought on one side and only
a few on the other. These few were the Evil
Ones and they were conquered. Then great
fires raged over the land. And in
these fires the Evil Ones and all the
things made by the Evil Ones were burned.
And the fire which is called the Dawn of
the Great Rebirth, was the Script Fire
where all the scripts of the Evil Ones
were burned, and with them all the words of
the with them all the words of the Evil Ones.
Great mountains of flame stood in the squares
of the Cities for three months. Then came
the Great Rebirth.
The words of the Evil Ones . . .
The words of the Unmentionable Times . . .
What are the words which we have lost?
May the Council have mercy upon us!
We had no wish to write such a question,
and we knew not what we were doing till
we had written it. We shall not ask
this question and we shall not think it.
We shall not call death upon our head.
And yet . . . And yet . . .
There is some word, one single word
which is not in the language of men,
but which had been. And this is the
Unspeakable Word, which no men may speak
nor hear. But sometimes, and it is rare,
sometimes, somewhere, one among men find
that word. They find it upon scraps of old
manuscripts or cut into the fragments of
ancient stones. But when they speak it
they are put to death. There is no crime
punished by death in this world, save this
one crime of speaking the Unspeakable Word.
We have seen one of such men burned
alive in the square of the City. And it was
a sight which has stayed with us through
the years, and it haunts us, and follows us,
and it gives us no rest. We were a child
then, ten years old. And we stood in the
great square with all the children and all the
men of the City, sent to behold the burning.
They brought the Transgressor out into
the square and they led them to the pyre.
They had torn out the tongue of the
Transgressor, so that they could speak no
longer. The Transgressor were young and tall.
They had hair of gold and eyes blue as morning.
They walked to the pyre, and their step did
not falter. And of all the faces
on that square, of all the faces which
shrieked and screamed and spat curses upon
them, theirs was the calmest and the happiest face.
As the chains were wound over their
body at the stake, and a flame set to the
pyre, the Transgressor looked upon the
City. There was a thin thread of blood
running from the corner of their mouth,
but their lips were smiling. And a monstrous
thought came to us then, which has
never left us. We had heard of Saints.
There are the Saints of Labor, and the
Saints of the Councils, and the Saints of the
Great Rebirth. But we had never seen a
Saint nor what the likeness of a Saint
should be. And we thought then, standing
in the square, that the likeness of a Saint
was the face we saw before us in the flames,
the face of the Transgressor of the
Unspeakable Word.
As the flames rose, a thing happened
which no eyes saw but ours, else we would
not be living today. Perhaps it had only
seemed to us. But it seemed to us that the
eyes of the Transgressor had chosen us
from the crowd and were looking straight
upon us. There was no pain in their eyes
and no knowledge of the agony of their
body. There was only joy in them, and
pride, a pride holier than is fit for human
pride to be. And it seemed as if these eyes
were trying to tell us something through
the flames, to send into our eyes some word
without sound. And it seemed as if these
eyes were begging us to gather that word
and not to let it go from us and from the
earth. But the flames rose and we could not
guess the word. . . .
What–even if we have to burn for it
like the Saint of the Pyre–what is the
Unspeakable Word?
PART THREE
We, Equality 7-2521, have discovered a
new power of nature. And we have discovered
it alone, and we alone are to know it.
It is said. Now let us be lashed for it,
if we must. The Council of Scholars has
said that we all know the things which exist
and therefore the things which are not
known by all do not exist. But we think
that the Council of Scholars is blind.
The secrets of this earth are not for all men
to see, but only for those who will seek them.
We know, for we have found a secret unknown
to all our brothers.
We know not what this power is nor
whence it comes. But we know its nature,
we have watched it and worked with it.
We saw it first two years ago. One night,
we were cutting open the body of a dead
frog when we saw its leg jerking. It was
dead, yet it moved. Some power unknown
to men was making it move. We could not
understand it. Then, after many tests,
we found the answer. The frog had been
hanging on a wire of copper; and it had
been the metal of our knife which had sent
the strange power to the copper through the
brine of the frog’s body. We put a piece of
copper and a piece of zinc into a jar of
brine, we touched a wire to them, and
there, under our fingers, was a miracle
which had never occurred before, a new
miracle and a new power.
This discovery haunted us. We followed
it in preference to all our studies.
We worked with it, we tested it in more ways
than we can describe, and each step was as
another miracle unveiling before us.
We came to know that we had found the
greatest power on earth. For it defies all
the laws known to men. It makes the needle
move and turn on the compass which we
stole from the Home of the Scholars;
but we had been taught, when still a child,
that the loadstone points to the north and that
this is a law which nothing can change;
yet our new power defies all laws.
We found that it causes lightning, and never
have men known what causes lightning.
In thunderstorms, we raised a tall rod of
iron by the side of our hole, and we
watched it from below. We have seen the
lightning strike it again and again.
And now we know that metal draws the power
of the sky, and that metal can be made to
give it forth.
We have built strange things with this
discovery of ours. We used for it the
copper wires which we found here under the
ground. We have walked the length of our
tunnel, with a candle lighting the way.
We could go no farther than half a mile, for
earth and rock had fallen at both ends.
But we gathered all the things we found
and we brought them to our work place.
We found strange boxes with bars of metal
inside, with many cords and strands and
coils of metal. We found wires that led
to strange little globes of glass on the walls;
they contained threads of metal thinner
than a spider’s web.
These things help us in our work. We do
not understand them, but we think that
the men of the Unmentionable Times had
known our power of the sky, and these
things had some relation to it. We do not
know, but we shall learn. We cannot stop
now, even though it frightens us that we
are alone in our knowledge.
No single one can possess greater
wisdom than the many Scholars who are
elected by all men for their wisdom.
Yet we can. We do. We have fought against
saying it, but now it is said. We do not care.
We forget all men, all laws and all things
save our metals and our wires. So much
is still to be learned! So long a road
lies before us, and what care we if we
must travel it alone!
PART FOUR
Many days passed before we could speak
to the Golden One again. But then came
the day when the sky turned white, as if
the sun had burst and spread its flame in
the air, and the fields lay still without
breath, and the dust of the road was white
in the glow. So the women of the field
were weary, and they tarried over their
work, and they were far from the road
when we came. But the Golden One stood
alone at the hedge, waiting. We stopped
and we saw that their eyes, so hard and
scornful to the world, were looking at us as
if they would obey any word we might speak.
And we said:
“We have given you a name in our
thoughts, Liberty 5-3000.”
“What is our name?” they asked.
“The Golden One.”
“Nor do we call you Equality 7-2521
when we think of you.”
“What name have you given us?”
They looked straight into our eyes and
they held their head high and they answered:
“The Unconquered.”
For a long time we could not speak.
Then we said:
“Such thoughts as these are forbidden,
Golden One.”
“But you think such thoughts as these
and you wish us to think them.”
We looked into their eyes and we could not lie.
“Yes,” we whispered, and they smiled,
and then we said: “Our dearest one,
do not obey us.”
They stepped back, and their eyes were
wide and still.
“Speak these words again,” they whispered.
“Which words?” we asked. But they
did not answer, and we knew it.
“Our dearest one,” we whispered.
Never have men said this to women.
The head of the Golden One bowed slowly,
and they stood still before us, their arms
at their sides, the palms of their hands
turned to us, as if their body were delivered
in submission to our eyes. And we could
not speak.
Then they raised their head, and they
spoke simply and gently, as if they wished
us to forget some anxiety of their own.
“The day is hot,” they said, “and you have
worked for many hours and you must be weary.”
“No,” we answered.
“It is cooler in the fields,” they said,
“and there is water to drink. Are you thirsty?”
“Yes,” we answered, “but we cannot cross the hedge.”
“We shall bring the water to you,” they said.
Then they knelt by the moat, they gathered
water in their two hands, they rose and
they held the water out to our lips.
We do not know if we drank that water.
We only knew suddenly that their hands
were empty, but we were still holding our
lips to their hands, and that they knew it,
but did not move.
We raised our head and stepped back.
For we did not understand what had made
us do this, and we were afraid to understand it.
And the Golden One stepped back, and
stood looking upon their hands in wonder.
Then the Golden One moved away, even
though no others were coming, and they
moved, stepping back, as if they could not
turn from us, their arms bent before them,
as if they could not lower their hands.
PART FIVE
We made it. We created it. We brought
it forth from the night of the ages.
We alone. Our hands. Our mind.
Ours alone and only.
We know not what we are saying. Our head
is reeling. We look upon the light which
we have made. We shall be forgiven for
anything we say tonight. . . .
Tonight, after more days and trials
than we can count, we finished building
a strange thing, from the remains of the
Unmentionable Times, a box of glass, devised
to give forth the power of the sky of greater
strength than we had ever achieved before.
And when we put our wires to this box,
when we closed the current–the wire glowed!
It came to life, it turned red, and a circle
of light lay on the stone before us.
We stood, and we held our head in our hands.
We could not conceive of that which
we had created. We had touched no
flint, made no fire. Yet here was light,
light that came from nowhere, light from
the heart of metal.
We blew out the candle. Darkness swallowed us.
There was nothing left around us,
nothing save night and a thin thread of
flame in it, as a crack in the wall of a prison.
We stretched our hands to the wire,
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