Атлант расправил плечи
The Immovable Movers
Whensheturnedonalamp,longtrianglesofshadowcutthebarewalls,inageometricalpatternoflightraysbrokenbyafewangularpiecesoffurniture.
Shestoodinthemiddleoftheroom,alonebetweenskyandcity.Therewasonlyonethingthatcouldgiveherthefeelingshewantedtoexperiencetonight;itwastheonlyformofenjoymentshehadfound.SheturnedtoaphonographandputonarecordofthemusicofRichardHalley.
ItwashisFourthConcerto,thelastworkhehadwritten.Thecrashofitsopeningchordssweptthesightsofthestreetsawayfromhermind.TheConcertowasagreatcryofrebellion.Itwasa"No"flungatsomevastprocessoftorture,adenialofsuffering,adenialthatheldtheagonyofthestruggletobreakfree.Thesoundswerelikeavoicesaying:Thereisnonecessityforpain—why,then,istheworstpainreservedforthosewhowillnotacceptitsnecessity?—wewhoholdtheloveandthesecretofjoy,towhatpunishmenthavewebeensentencedforit,andbywhom?...Thesoundsoftorturebecamedefiance,thestatementofagonybecameahymntoadistantvisionforwhosesakeanythingwasworthenduring,eventhis.Itwasthesongofrebellion—andofadesperatequest.
Shesatstill,hereyesclosed,listening.
NooneknewwhathadhappenedtoRichardHalley,orwhy.Thestoryofhislifehadbeenlikeasummarywrittentodamngreatnessbyshowingthepriceonepaysforit.
