Атлант расправил плечи
The Sign of the Dollar
andFeed—wordsraisedlikeflagstotheemptydarknessofthesky,themotionlessformsofmovement,ofeffort,ofcourage,ofhope,themonumentstohowmuchhadbeenachievedontheedgeofnature’svoidbymenwhohadoncebeenfreetoachieve—shesawthehomesbuiltinscatteredprivacy,thesmallshops,thewidestreetswithelectriclighting,likeafewluminousstrokescriss-crossedontheblacksheetofthewastelands—shesawtheghostsbetween,theremnantsoftowns,theskeletonsoffactorieswithcrumblingsmokestacks,thecorpsesofshopswithbrokenpanes,theslantingpoleswithshredsofwire—shesawasuddenblaze,theraresightofagasstation,aglitteringwhiteislandofglassandmetalunderthehugeblackweightofspaceandsky—shesawanice-creamconemadeofradianttubing,hangingabovethecornerofastreet,andabatteredcarbeingparkedbelow,withayoungboyatthewheelandagirlsteppingout,herwhitedressblowinginthesummerwind—sheshudderedforthetwoofthem,thinking:Ican’tlookatyou,Iwhoknowwhatithastakentogiveyouyouryouth,togiveyouthisevening,thiscarandtheice-creamconeyou’regoingtobuyforaquarter—shesaw,ontheedgebeyondatown,abuildingglowingwithtiersofpalebluelight,theindustriallightsheloved,withthesilhouettesofmachinesinitswindowsandabillboardinthedarknessaboveitsroof—andsuddenlyherheadfellonherarm,andshesatshaking,cryingsoundlesslytothenight,toherself,towhateverwashumaninanylivingbeing:Don’tletitgo!.
