Атлант расправил плечи

           Myhusbandpointedaftertheyoungmanandsaid,‘Didyouseehim?That’stheboyItoldyouabout.’‘Theonewho’sthegreatmakerofmotors?’‘Theonewhowas.’"

           "Andhetoldyounothingelse?"

           "Nothingelse.Thiswasnineyearsago.Lastspring,IwenttovisitmybrotherwholivesinCheyenne.Oneafternoon,hetookthefamilyoutforalongdrive.Wewentupintoprettywildcountry,highintheRockies,andwestoppedataroadsidediner.Therewasadistinguished,gray-hairedmanbehindthecounter.Ikeptstaringathimwhilehefixedoursandwichesandcoffee,becauseIknewthatIhadseenhisfacebefore,butcouldnotrememberwhere.Wedroveon,weweremilesawayfromthediner,whenIremembered.You’dbettergothere.

           It’sonRoute86,inthemountains,westofCheyenne,nearasmallindustrialsettlementbytheLennoxCopperFoundry.Itseemsstrange,butI’mcertainofit:thecookinthatdineristhemanIsawattherailroadstationwithmyhusband’syoungidol."

           Thedinerstoodonthesummitofalong,hardclimb.Itsglasswallsspreadacoatofpolishovertheviewofrocksandpinesdescendinginbrokenledgestothesunset.Itwasdarkbelow,butaneven,glowinglightstillremainedinthediner,asinasmallpoolleftbehindbyarecedingtide.

           Dagnysatattheendofthecounter,eatingahamburgersandwich.