Атлант расправил плечи
Anti-Life
That’showitworksforthetravelofone’sbody,shethought,butwhathavetheydonetothetrafficofthesoul?Theyhavesetthesignalsinreverse—andtheroadissafewhenthelightsaretheredofevil—butwhenthelightsarethegreenofvirtue,promisingthatyoursistheright-of-way,youventureforthandaregroundbythewheels.Allovertheworld,shethought—thoseinvertedlightsgoreachingintoeveryland,theygoon,encirclingtheearth.Andtheearthislitteredwithmangledcripples,whodon’tknowwhathashitthemorwhy,whocrawlasbesttheycanontheircrushedlimbsthroughtheirlightlessdays,withnoanswersavethatpainisthecoreofexistence—andthetrafficcopsofmoralitychortleandtellthemthatman,byhisnature,isunabletowalk.
Thesewerenotwordsinhermind,thesewerethewordswhichwouldhavenamed,hadshehadthepowertofindthem,whatsheknewonlyasasuddenfurythatmadeherbeatherfistsinfutilehorroragainsttheironpostofthetrafficlightbesideher,againstthehollowtubewherethehoarse,rustychuckleofarelentlessmechanismwentgratingonandon.
Shecouldnotsmashitwithherfists,shecouldnotbatteronebyoneallthepostsofthestreetstretchingoffbeyondeyesight—asshecouldnotsmashthatcreedfromthesoulsofthemenshewouldencounter,onebyone.
