Атлант расправил плечи

           Itlaybrokeninhalf,andhelookedintoitstrunkasintothemouthofablacktunnel. Thetrunkwasonlyanemptyshell;itshearthadrottedawaylongago;therewasnothinginside—justathingraydustthatwasbeingdispersedbythewhimofthefaintestwind. Thelivingpowerhadgone,andtheshapeitlefthadnotbeenabletostandwithoutit. 

           Yearslater,hehearditsaidthatchildrenshouldbeprotectedfromshock,fromtheirfirstknowledgeofdeath,painorfear. Butthesehadneverscarredhim;hisshockcamewhenhestoodveryquietly,lookingintotheblackholeofthetrunk. Itwasanimmensebetrayal—themoreterriblebecausehecouldnotgraspwhatitwasthathadbeenbetrayed. Itwasnothimself,heknew,norhistrust;itwassomethingelse. Hestoodthereforawhile,makingnosound,thenhewalkedbacktothehouse. Heneverspokeaboutittoanyone,thenorsince. 

           EddieWillersshookhishead,asthescreechofarustymechanismchangingatrafficlightstoppedhimontheedgeofacurb. Hefeltangerathimself. Therewasnoreasonthathehadtoremembertheoaktreetonight. Itmeantnothingtohimanylonger,onlyafainttingeofsadness—andsomewherewithinhim,adropofpainmovingbrieflyandvanishing,likearaindropontheglassofawindow,itscourseintheshapeofaquestionmark. 

           Hewantednosadnessattachedtohischildhood;heloveditsmemories:anydayofitherememberednowseemedfloodedbyastill,brilliantsunlight.