Атлант расправил плечи
The Sacred and the Profane
Theydroveon,notwantingtoknowwhatelselayhiddenunderthemilesofweeds.Theyfeltthesamewonderlikeaweightinthesilencebetweenthem:wonderastohowmuchtheweedshadswallowedandhowfast.
Theroadendedabruptlybehindtheturnofahill.Whatremainedwasafewchunksofconcretestickingoutofalong,pittedstretchoftarandmud.Theconcretehadbeensmashedbysomeoneandcartedaway;evenweedscouldnotgrowinthestripofearthleftbehind.Onthecrestofadistanthill,asingletelegraphpolestoodslantedagainstthesky,likeacrossoveravastgrave.
Ittookthemthreehoursandapuncturedtiretocrawlinlowgearthroughtracklesssoft,throughgullies,thendownrutsleftbycartwheels—toreachthesettlementthatlayinthevalleybeyondthehillwiththetelegraphpole.
Afewhousesstillstoodwithintheskeletonofwhathadoncebeenanindustrialtown.Everythingthatcouldmove,hadmovedaway;butsomehumanbeingshadremained.Theemptystructureswereverticalrubble;theyhadbeeneaten,notbytime,butbymen:boardstornoutatrandom,missingpatchesofroofs,holesleftinguttedcellars.Itlookedasifblindhandshadseizedwhateverfittedtheneedofthemoment,withnoconceptofremaininginexistencethenextmorning.
Theinhabitedhouseswerescatteredatrandomamongtheruins;thesmokeoftheirchimneyswastheonlymovementvisibleintown.
