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02 - Anthem - Ayn Rand · Science Fiction Books - Daily

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  Chapter two, Liberty five three thousand, Liberty five three thousand, Liberty five
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  three thousand. We wish to write this name, we wish to speak it,
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  but we dare not speak it above a whisper. For men are forbidden
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  to take notice of women, and women are forbidden to take notice of men.
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  But we think of one among women, those whose name is Liberty,
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  five three thousand, and we think of no others. The women who have
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  been assigned to work the soil live in the homes of the peasants. Beyond
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  the city. Where the city ends, there is a great road winding off
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  to the north, and we street sweepers must keep this road clean. For
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  the first mile post there is a hedge along the road, and beyond the
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  hedge lies the fields. The fields are black and plowed, and they lie
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  like a great fan before us, furrows gathered in some hand beyond the sky,
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  spreading forth from that hand, opening wide apart as they come toward us,
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  like black pleats that sparkle with thin green spangles. Women work in the
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  fields, and their white tunics in the wind are like the wings of sea
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  gulls beating over the black soil. And there it was that we saw Liberty
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  five three thousand walking along the furrows. Their body was straight and thin as
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  a blade of iron. Their eyes were dark and hard and glowing, with
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  no fear in them, no kindness, and no guilt. Their hair was
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  golden as the sun. Their hair flew in the wind, shining and wild,
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  as if it defied men to restrain it. They threw seeds from their
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  hands as if they were designed to fling a scornful gift, and the earth
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  was a beggar under their feet. We stood still. For the first time,
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  we knew fear, and then pain, and we stood still that we
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  might not spill this pain, more precious than pleasure. Then we heard a
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  voice from the others call their name, Liberty five three thousand, and they
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  turned and walked back. Thus we learned their name, and we stood watching
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  them go till their white tunic was lost in the blue mist. And the
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  following day, as we came to the Northern Road, we kept our eyes
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  upon Liberty five three thousand in the field. And each day thereafter we knew
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  the illness of waiting for our hour on the Northern road, and there we
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  looked at Liberty five three thousand. Each day we knew not whether they looked
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  at us also, but we think they did. Then one day they came
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  close to the hedge, and suddenly they turned to us. They turned in
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  a whirl, and the movement of their body stopped, as if slashed off,
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  as suddenly as it had started. They stood still as a stone,
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  and they looked straight upon us, straight in our eyes. There was no
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  smile on their face, and no welcome, but their face was taut,
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  and their eyes were dark. Then they turned its swiftly and they walked away
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  from us. But the following day, when we came to the road,
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  they smiled. They smiled to us and for us, and we smiled in
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  answer. Their head fell back, and their arms fell, as if their
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  arms and their thin white neck were stricken. Suddenly, with a great lassitude,
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  they were not looking upon us, but upon the sky. Then they
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  glanced at us over their shoulder, and we felt as if a hand had
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  touched our body, slipping softly from our lips to our feet. Every morning
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  thereafter we greeted each other with our eyes. We dared not speak. It
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  is a transgression to speak to men of other trades, save in groups at
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  the social meetings. But once standing at the hedge, we raised our hand
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  to our forehead, and then moved it slowly, palmed down towards Liberty five
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  three thousand. Had the others seen it, they would have guessed nothing,
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  for it looked only as if we were shading our eyes for the sun.
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  But Liberty five to three sat thousand saw it and understood. They raised their
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  hand to their forehead and moved it as we had. Thus, each day
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  we greet Liberty five three thousand, and they answer, and no men can
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  suspect. We do not wonder at this new sin of ours. It is
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  our second transgression of preference. For we do not think of all of the
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  brothers as we must, but only of one, and their name is Liberty
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  five three thousand. We do not think of why we think of them.
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  We do not know why. When we think of them, we feel of
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  a sudden that the earth is good, and that it is not a burden
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  to live. We do not think of them as Liberty five three thousand any
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  longer. We have given them a name in our thoughts. We call them
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  the Golden One. But it is a sin to give men other names which
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  distinguished them from other men. Yet we call them the Golden One, for
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  they are not like the others. The Golden One are not like the others.
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  And we take no heed of the law which says that men may not
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  think of women save the time of mating. This is the time each spring
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  when all the men older than twenty and all the women older than eighteen,
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  are sent for one night to the city palace of Mating, and each of
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  the men have one of the women assigned to them by the Council of Eugenics.
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  Children are born each winter, but women never see their children, and
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  children never know their parents. Twice have we been sent to the Palace of
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  mating. But it is an ugly and shameful matter of which we do not
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  like to think. We had broken so many laws, and today we have
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  broken one more. Today we spoke to the Golden One. The other women
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  were far off in the field when we stopped at the hedge by the side
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  of the road. Were kneeling along the moat which runs through the field,
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  and the drops of water falling from their hands as they raised the water to
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  their lips were like sparks of fire in the sun. Then the Golden One
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  saw us, and they did not move kneeling there looking at us, and
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  circles of light played upon their white tunic from the sun on the water of
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  the moat, and one sparkling drop fell from a finger of their hand,
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  held as frozen in the air. Then the Golden One rose and walked to
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  the hedge, as if they had heard a command in our eyes. The
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  two other street sweepers of our brigade were a hundred paces away down the road,
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  and we thought that International four eight eight one eight would not betray us,
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  and Union five three nine nine two would not understand. So we looked
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  straight upon the Golden One, and we saw the shadows of their lashes on
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  their white cheeks, and the sparks of sun on their lips, and we
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  said, you are beautiful Liberty five three thousand. Their face did not move,
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  and they did not avert their eyes. Only their eyes grew wider,
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  and there was a triumph in their eyes, and it was not triumph over
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  us, but over things we could not guess. Then they asked, what
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  is your name? Equality seven two five two one. We answered, you
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  are not one of our brothers, Equality seven two five two one, for
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  we do not wish you to be. We cannot say what they meant,
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  for there are no words for their meaning. But we knew it without words,
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  and we knew it. Then no, we answered, nor are you
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  one of our sisters? If you could see among scores of women, will
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  you look upon us? We shall look upon you liberty five three thousand,
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  if we see you among all the women of the earth. Then they asked,
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  our street sweepers sent to different parts of the city, or do they
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  always work in the same places. They always work in the same places,
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  we answered, and no one will take this road away from us. Your
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  eyes, they said, are not like the eyes of any among men.
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  And suddenly, without cause for the thought which came to us, we felt
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  cold, cold to our stomach. How old are you, we asked.
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  They understood our thought, for they lowered their eyes for the first time seventeen
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  they whispered, and we sighed, as if a burden had been taken from
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  us. For we had been thinking without reason, of the palace a mating,
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  and we thought that we would not let the Golden One be sent to
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  the palace. How to prevent it, how to bar the will of the
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  councils, we knew not, But we knew suddenly that we would. Only
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  we do not know why such thought came to us, For these ugly matters
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  bear no relation to us in the Golden One, what relation can they bear?
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  Still, without reason, as we stood there by the hedge, we
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  felt our lips drawn tight with hatred, a sudden hatred for all our brother
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  men. And the Golden One saw it and smiled slowly, And there was
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  in their smile the first sadness we had seen in them. We think that
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  in the wisdom of women, the Golden One had understood more than we can
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  understand. Then three of the sisters in the field appeared coming toward the road,
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  So the Golden One walked away from us. They took the bag of
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  seeds, and they threw the seeds into the furrowers of earth as they walked
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  away. But the seeds flew wildly, for the hand of the Golden One
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  was trembling. Yet, as we walked back to the home of the street
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  sweepers, we felt that we wanted to sing without reason. So we were
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  reprimanded tonight in the dining hall, for without knowing it, we had begun
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  to sing aloud some tune we had never heard. But it is not proper
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  to sing without reason, save at the social meetings. We are singing because
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  we are happy, we answered the one of the Home Council, who reprimanded
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  us. Indeed, you are happy, they answered, How else can men
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  be when they live for their brothers? And now, sitting here in our
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  tunnel, we wonder about these words. It is forbidden not to be happy,
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  for, as it has been explained to us, men are free,
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  and the earth belongs to them, and all things on earth belong to all
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  men, And the will of all men together is good for all, and
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  so all men must be happy. Yet, as we stand at night in
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  the Great Hall, removing our garments for sleep, we look upon our brothers,
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  and we wonder. The heads of our brothers are bowed, the eyes
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  of our brothers are dull, and never do they look one another in the
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  eyes. The shoulders of our brothers are hunched, and the muscles are drawn,
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  as if their bodies were shrinking and wished to shrink out of sight.
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  And a word steals into our mind as we look upon our brothers, and
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  that word is fear. There is a fear hanging in the air of the
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  sleeping halls, and in the air of the streets. Fear walks through our
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  city, fear without name, without shape. All men feel it, and
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  none dare to speak. We feel it also, and we are in the
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  home of the street sweepers. But here in our tunnel we feel it no
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  longer. The air is purer. Under the ground, there is no odor
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  of men. And these three hours give us strength for our hours above the
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  ground. Our body is traying us, for the counsel of the home looks
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  with suspicion upon us. It is not good to feel too much joy,
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  nor to be glad that our body lives, for we matter not, and
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  it must not matter to us whether we live or die, which is to
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  be as our brothers will it. But we Equality seven two five two one
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  are glad to be living. If this is a vice, then we wish
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  no virtue. Yet our brothers are not like us. All is not well
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  with our brothers. There are Fraternity two five five o three, a quiet
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  boy with wise kind eyes, who cry suddenly without reason, and in the
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  midst of the day or night, and their body shakes with sobs, so
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  they cannot explain. There are Solidarity nine six three four seven, who are
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  bright youth without fear in the day, but they scream in their sleep,
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  and they scream, help us, help us, help us into the night,
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  in a voice which chills our bones. But the doctors cannot cure solidarity.
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  Nine six three four seven. And as we all undress at night in
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  the dim light of candles, our brothers are silent, for they dare not
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  speak the thoughts of their minds, for all must agree with all, and
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  they cannot know if their thoughts are the thoughts of all. So they fear
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  to speak, and they are glad when the candles are blown for the night,
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  and we equality seven two five two One look through the window upon the
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  sky, and there is peace in the sky, and cleanliness and dignity.
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  And beyond the city there lies the plane, and beyond the plane black upon
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  the black sky, there lies the uncharted forest. We do not wish to
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  look upon the uncharted forests, we do not wish to think of it.
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  But ever do our eyes return to that black patch upon the sky. Men
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  never enter the uncharted forests, for there is no power to explore it,
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  and no path to lead among its ancient trees, which stands as guards of
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  fearful secrets. It is whispered that once or twice in a hundred years,
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  one among the men of the city escape alone and run into the uncharted forests
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  without call or reason. These men do not return. They perish from hunger
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  and from the claws of the wild beasts that roam the forests. But our
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  councils say this is only a legend. We have heard that there are many
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  uncharted forests over the lands among the cities, and it is whispered that they
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  have grown over the ruins of many cities of the unmentionable times. The trees
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  have swallowed the ruins, and the bones under the ruins, and all the
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  things which perished. And as we look upon the uncharted forest far in the
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  night, we think of the secrets of the unmentionable times, and we wonder
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  how it came to pass that these secrets were lost to the world. We
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  have heard the legends of the great fighting, in which many men fought on
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  one side and only a few on the other. These few were the evil
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  ones, and they were conquered. Then great fires raged over the land,
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  and in these fires the evil ones were burned. And the fire, which
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  is called the dawn of the Great Rebirth was the script fire, where all
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  the scripts of the evil Ones were burned, and with them all the words
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  of the evil ones. Great mountains of flames stood in the squares of the
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  city for three months. Then came the great rebirth the words of the evil
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  ones, the words of the unmentionable times. What are the words which we
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  have lost? May the Council have mercy upon us. We had no wish
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  to write such a question, and we knew not what we were doing till
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  we had written it. We shall not ask this question, and we shall
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  not think it. We shall not call death upon our head. And yet,
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  and yet there is some word, one single word, which is not
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  in the language of men, but which has been And this is the unspeakable
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  word, which no men may speak nor hear. But sometimes, and it
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  is rare, sometimes somewhere one among men find that word. They find it
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  upon scraps of old manuscripts, or cut into the fragments of ancient stones.
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  But when they speak it, they are put to death. There is no
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  crime punished by death in this world save this one crime of speaking the unspeakable
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  word. We have seen one of such men burned alive in the square of
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  the city. And it was a sight which has stayed with us through the
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  years, and it haunts us and follows us, and it gives us no
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  rest. We were a child then ten years old, and we stood in
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  the great square with all the children and all the men of the city,
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  sent to behold the burning. They brought the transgressor out into the square and
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  led them into the pyre. They had torn out the tongue of the transgressor
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  so that they could speak no longer. The transgressor were young and tall.
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  They had hair of gold and eyes of blue as morning. They walked to
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  the pyre, and their step did not falter. And of all the faces
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  in that square, of all the faces which shrieked and screamed and spat curses
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  upon them, theirs was the calmest and happiest face. As the chains were
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  wound over their body at the stake, and a flame set to the pyre,
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  the transgressor looked upon the city. There was a thin thread of blood
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  running from the corner of their mouth, but their lips were smiling. And
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  a monstrous thought came to us then, which has never left us. We
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  had heard of saints. There are the saints of labor, the saints of
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  the councils, the saints of the Great Rebirth. But we had never seen
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  a saint, nor what the likeness of a saint should be. And we
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  thought, then, standing in the square, that the likeness of a saint
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  was the face we saw before us in the flames, the face of the
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  transgressor of the unspeakable word. As the flames rose, a thing happened which
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  no eyes saw but ours, else we would not be living today. Perhaps
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  it had only seemed to us, But it seemed to us that the eyes
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  of the transgressor had chosen us from the crowd and were looking straight upon us.
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  There was no pain in their eyes, and no knowledge of the agony
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  of their body. There was only joy in them and pride, a pride
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  holier than it is fit for human pride to be. And it seemed as
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  if these eyes were trying to tell us something through the flames, to send
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  into our eyes, some word without sound. And it seemed as if these
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  eyes were begging us to gather that word and not let it go from us
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  and from the earth. But the flames rose, and we could not guess
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  the word. What even if we had to burn for it like the Saint
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  of the Pyre. What is the unspeakable word? End of chapter two,