Атлант расправил плечи
By our love
Thecookingofmeals,shethought,islikethefeedingofcoaltoanengineforthesakeofagreatrun,butwhatwouldbetheimbeciletortureofcoalinganenginethathadnoruntomake?Itisnotproperforman’slifetobeacircle,shethought,orastringofcirclesdroppingofflikezerosbehindhim—man’slifemustbeastraightlineofmotionfromgoaltofarthergoal,eachleadingtothenextandtoasinglegrowingsum,likeajourneydownthetrackofarailroad,fromstationtostationto—oh,stopit!
Stopit—shetoldherselfinquietseverity,whenthescreamofthewoundedstrangerwaschokedoff—don’tthinkofthat,don’tlooktoofar,youlikebuildingthispath,buildit,don’tlookbeyondthefootofthehill.
ShehaddrivenafewtimestothestoreinWoodstock,twentymilesaway,tobuysuppliesandfood.Woodstockwasasmallhuddleofdyingstructures,builtgenerationsagoforsomereasonandhopelongsinceforgotten.Therewasnorailroadtofeedit,noelectricpower,nothingbutacountyhighwaygrowingemptieryearbyyear.
Theonlystorewasawoodenhovel,withspider-eatencornersandarottedpatchinthemiddleofthefloor,eatenbytherainsthatcamethroughtheleakingroof.Thestorekeeperwasafat,pallidwomanwhomovedwitheffort,butseemedindifferenttoherowndiscomfort.Thestockoffoodconsistedofdustycanswithfadedlabels,somegrain,andafewvegetablesrottinginancientbinsoutsidethedoor.
