Anthem Page #4

Anthem is a dystopian fiction novella by Russian-American writer Ayn Rand, written in 1937 and first published in 1938 in the United Kingdom. The story takes place at an unspecified future date when mankind has entered another Dark Age.

• Science fiction

								


      “It is forbidden,” they answered.

      We said: “The Council does not know of this hole, so it cannot be
      forbidden.”

      And they answered: “Since the Council does not know of this hole,
      there can be no law permitting to enter it. And everything which
      is not permitted by law is forbidden.”

      But we said: “We shall go, none the less.”

      They were frightened, but they stood by and watched us go.

      We hung on the iron rings with our hands and our feet. We could
      see nothing below us. And above us the hole open upon the sky
      grew smaller and smaller, till it came to be the size of a
      button. But still we went down. Then our foot touched the ground.
      We rubbed our eyes, for we could not see. Then our eyes became
      used to the darkness, but we could not believe what we saw.

      No men known to us could have built this place, nor the men known
      to our brothers who lived before us, and yet it was built by men.
      It was a great tunnel. Its walls were hard and smooth to the
      touch; it felt like stone, but it was not stone. On the ground
      there were long thin tracks of iron, but it was not iron; it felt
      smooth and cold as glass. We knelt, and we crawled forward, our
      hand groping along the iron line to see where it would lead. But
      there was an unbroken night ahead. Only the iron tracks glowed
      through it, straight and white, calling us to follow. But we
      could not follow, for we were losing the puddle of light behind
      us. So we turned and we crawled back, our hand on the iron line.
      And our heart beat in our fingertips, without reason. And then we
      knew.

      We knew suddenly that this place was left from the Unmentionable
      Times. So it was true, and those Times had been, and all the
      wonders of those Times. Hundreds upon hundreds of years ago men
      knew secrets which we have lost. And we thought: “This is a foul
      place. They are damned who touch the things of the Unmentionable
      Times.” But our hand which followed the track, as we crawled,
      clung to the iron as if it would not leave it, as if the skin of
      our hand were thirsty and begging of the metal some secret fluid
      beating in its coldness.

      We returned to the earth. International 4-8818 looked upon us and
      stepped back.

      “Equality 7-2521,” they said, “your face is white.”

      But we could not speak and we stood looking upon them.

      They backed away, as if they dared not touch us. Then they
      smiled, but it was not a gay smile; it was lost and pleading. But
      still we could not speak. Then they said:

      “We shall report our find to the City Council and both of us will
      be rewarded.”

      And then we spoke. Our voice was hard and there was no mercy in
      our voice. We said:

      “We shall not report our find to the City Council. We shall not
      report it to any men.”

      They raised their hands to their ears, for never had they heard
      such words as these.

      “International 4-8818,” we asked, “will you report us to the
      Council and see us lashed to death before your eyes?”

      They stood straight all of a sudden and they answered: “Rather
      would we die.”

      “Then,” we said, “keep silent. This place is ours. This place
      belongs to us, Equality 7-2521, and to no other men on earth. And
      if ever we surrender it, we shall surrender our life with it
      also.”

      Then we saw that the eyes of International 4-8818 were full to
      the lids with tears they dared not drop. They whispered, and
      their voice trembled, so that their words lost all shape:

      “The will of the Council is above all things, for it is the will
      of our brothers, which is holy. But if you wish it so, we shall
      obey you. Rather shall we be evil with you than good with all our
      brothers. May the Council have mercy upon both our hearts!”

      Then we walked away together and back to the Home of the Street
      Sweepers. And we walked in silence.

      Thus did it come to pass that each night, when the stars are high
      and the Street Sweepers sit in the City Theatre, we, Equality
      7-2521, steal out and run through the darkness to our place. It
      is easy to leave the Theatre; when the candles are blown out and
      the Actors come onto the stage, no eyes can see us as we crawl
      under our seat and under the cloth of the tent. Later, it is easy
      to steal through the shadows and fall in line next to
      International 4-8818, as the column leaves the Theatre. It is
      dark in the streets and there are no men about, for no men may
      walk through the City when they have no mission to walk there.
      Each night, we run to the ravine, and we remove the stones which
      we have piled upon the iron grill to hide it from the men. Each
      night, for three hours, we are under the earth, alone.

      We have stolen candles from the Home of the Street Sweepers, we
      have stolen flints and knives and paper, and we have brought them
      to this place. We have stolen glass vials and powders and acids
      from the Home of the Scholars. Now we sit in the tunnel for three
      hours each night and we study. We melt strange metals, and we mix
      acids, and we cut open the bodies of the animals which we find in
      the City Cesspool. We have built an oven of the bricks we
      gathered in the streets. We burn the wood we find in the ravine.
      The fire flickers in the oven and blue shadows dance upon the
      walls, and there is no sound of men to disturb us.

      We have stolen manuscripts. This is a great offense. Manuscripts
      are precious, for our brothers in the Home of the Clerks spend
      one year to copy one single script in their clear handwriting.
      Manuscripts are rare and they are kept in the Home of the
      Scholars. So we sit under the earth and we read the stolen
      scripts. Two years have passed since we found this place. And in
      these two years we have learned more than we had learned in the
      ten years of the Home of the Students.

      We have learned things which are not in the scripts. We have
      solved secrets of which the Scholars have no knowledge. We have
      come to see how great is the unexplored, and many lifetimes will
      not bring us to the end of our quest. But we wish no end to our
      quest. We wish nothing, save to be alone and to learn, and to
      feel as if with each day our sight were growing sharper than the
      hawk’s and clearer than rock crystal.

      Strange are the ways of evil. We are false in the faces of our
      brothers. We are defying the will of our Councils. We alone, of
      the thousands who walk this earth, we alone in this hour are
      doing a work which has no purpose save that we wish to do it. The
      evil of our crime is not for the human mind to probe. The nature
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