Атлант расправил плечи
The Face without Pain or Fear or Guilt
ShecouldseethewholeofManhattanIsland,along,triangularshapecuttingintoaninvisibleocean.Itlookedliketheprowofasinkingship;afewtallbuildingsstillroseaboveit,likefunnels,buttherestwasdisappearingundergray-bluecoils,goingdownslowlyintovaporandspace.
Thiswashowtheyhadgone—shethought—Atlantis,thecitythatsankintotheocean,andalltheotherkingdomsthatvanished,leavingthesamelegendinallthelanguagesofmen,andthesamelonging.
Shefelt—asshehadfeltitonespringnight,slumpedacrossherdeskinthecrumblingofficeoftheJohnGaltLine,byawindowfacingadarkalley—thesenseandvisionofherownworld,whichshewouldneverreach...You—shethought—whoeveryouare,whomIhavealwayslovedandneverfound,youwhomIexpectedtoseeattheendoftherailsbeyondthehorizon,youwhosepresenceIhadalwaysfeltinthestreetsofthecityandwhoseworldIhadwantedtobuild,itismyloveforyouthathadkeptmemoving,myloveandmyhopetoreachyouandmywishtobeworthyofyouonthedaywhenIwouldstandbeforeyoufacetoface.NowIknowthatIshallneverfindyou—thatitisnottobereachedorlived—butwhatisleftofmylifeisstillyours,andIwillgooninyourname,eventhoughitisanameI’llneverlearn,Iwillgoonservingyou,eventhoughI’mnevertowin,Iwillgoon,tobeworthyofyouonthedaywhenIwouldhavemetyou,eventhoughIwon’t...
