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The Man who belonged on Earth
Inthefogofthepainwhichhewouldnotdefine,therewasalsothedesperatefeelingthatnoone—nooneofthosehevalued—wouldeverwishtoseehimagain.
Heknewthewordswhichhehadnotuttered.HehadnotsaidthathewoulddenouncethebookinpublicandrepudiateitinthenameoftheInstitute.Hehadnotsaidit,becausehehadbeenafraidtodiscoverthatthethreatwouldleaveFerrisunmoved,thatFerriswassafe,thatthewordofDr.RobertStadlerhadnopoweranylonger.Andwhilehetoldhimselfthathewouldconsiderlaterthequestionofmakingapublicprotest,heknewthathewouldnotmakeit.
Hepickedupthebookandletitdropintothewastebasket.
Afacecametohismind,suddenlyandclearly,asifhewereseeingthepurityofitseveryline,ayoungfacehehadnotpermittedhimselftorecallforyears.Hethought:No,hehasnotreadthisbook,hewon’tseeit,he’sdead,hemusthavediedlongago...Thesharppainwastheshockofdiscoveringsimultaneouslythatthiswasthemanhelongedtoseemorethananyotherbeingintheworld—andthathehadtohopethatthismanwasdead.
Hedidnotknowwhy—whenthetelephonerangandhissecretarytoldhimthatMissDagnyTaggartwasontheline—whyheseizedthereceiverwitheagernessandnoticedthathishandwastrembling.Shewouldneverwanttoseehimagain,hehadthoughtforoverayear.Heheardherclear,impersonalvoiceaskingforanappointmenttoseehim.
