Атлант расправил плечи

           ThatwaswhatIhadtoldmyselfthroughallthoseyears—exceptonsomenights,whenIcouldneitherwaitnorbelieveanylonger,whenIcried‘why?’butfoundnoanswer.Then,onthenightwhentheychosetocheerme,Istoodbeforethemonthestageofatheater,thinkingthatthiswasthemomentIhadstruggledtoreach,wishingtofeelit,butfeelingnothing.Iwasseeingalltheothernightsbehindme,hearingthe‘why?’whichstillhadnoanswer—andtheircheersseemedasemptyastheirsnubs.Iftheyhadsaid,‘Sorrytobesolate,thankyouforwaiting—IwouldhaveaskedfornothingelseandtheycouldhavehadanythingIhadtogivethem.ButwhatIsawintheirfaces,andinthewaytheyspokewhentheycrowdedtopraiseme,wasthethingIhadheardbeingpreachedtoartists—onlyIhadneverbelievedthatanyonehumancouldmeanit.Theyseemedtosaythattheyowedmenothing,thattheirdeafnesshadprovidedmewithamoralgoal,thatithadbeenmydutytostruggle,tosuffer,tobear—fortheirsake—whateversneers,contempt,injustice,torturetheychosetoinflictuponme,tobearitinordertoteachthemtoenjoymywork,thatthiswastheirrightfuldueandmyproperpurpose.AndthenIunderstoodthenatureofthelooter-in-spirit,athingIhadneverbeenabletoconceive.