Anthem Page #6

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

								

      that International 4-8818 would not betray us, and Union 5-3992
      would not understand. So we looked straight upon the Golden One,
      and we saw the shadows of their lashes on their white cheeks and
      the sparks of sun on their lips. And we said:

      “You are beautiful, Liberty 5-3000.”

      Their face did not move and they did not avert their eyes. Only
      their eyes grew wider, and there was triumph in their eyes, and
      it was not triumph over us, but over things we could not guess.

      Then they asked:

      “What is your name?”

      “Equality 7-2521,” we answered.

      “You are not one of our brothers, Equality 7-2521, for we do not
      wish you to be.”

      We cannot say what they meant, for there are no words for their
      meaning, but we know it without words and we knew it then.

      “No,” we answered, “nor are you one of our sisters.”

      “If you see us among scores of women, will you look upon us?”

      “We shall look upon you, Liberty 5-3000, if we see you among all
      the women of the earth.”

      Then they asked:

      “Are Street Sweepers sent to different parts of the City or do
      they always work in the same places?”

      “They always work in the same places,” we answered, “and no one
      will take this road away from us.”

      “Your eyes,” they said, “are not like the eyes of any among men.”

      And suddenly, without cause for the thought which came to us, we
      felt cold, cold to our stomach.

      “How old are you?” we asked.

      They understood our thought, for they lowered their eyes for the
      first time.

      “Seventeen,” they whispered.

      And we sighed, as if a burden had been taken from us, for we had
      been thinking without reason of the Palace of Mating. And we
      thought that we would not let the Golden One be sent to the
      Palace. How to prevent it, how to bar the will of the Councils,
      we knew not, but we knew suddenly that we would. Only we do not
      know why such thought came to us, for these ugly matters bear no
      relation to us and the Golden One. What relation can they bear?

      Still, without reason, as we stood there by the hedge, we felt
      our lips drawn tight with hatred, a sudden hatred for all our
      brother men. And the Golden One saw it and smiled slowly, and
      there was in their smile the first sadness we had seen in them.
      We think that in the wisdom of women the Golden One had
      understood more than we can understand.

      Then three of the sisters in the field appeared, coming toward
      the road, so the Golden One walked away from us. They took the
      bag of seeds, and they threw the seeds into the furrows of earth
      as they walked away. But the seeds flew wildly, for the hand of
      the Golden One was trembling.

      Yet as we walked back to the Home of the Street Sweepers, we felt
      that we wanted to sing, without reason. So we were reprimanded
      tonight, in the dining hall, for without knowing it we had begun
      to sing aloud some tune we had never heard. But it is not proper
      to sing without reason, save at the Social Meetings.

      “We are singing because we are happy,” we answered the one of the
      Home Council who reprimanded us.

      “Indeed you are happy,” they answered. “How else can men be when
      they live for their brothers?”

      And now, sitting here in our tunnel, we wonder about these words.
      It is forbidden, not to be happy. For, as it has been explained
      to us, men are free and the earth belongs to them; and all things
      on earth belong to all men; and the will of all men together is
      good for all; and so all men must be happy.

      Yet as we stand at night in the great hall, removing our garments
      for sleep, we look upon our brothers and we wonder. The heads of
      our brothers are bowed. The eyes of our brothers are dull, and
      never do they look one another in the eyes. The shoulders of our
      brothers are hunched, and their muscles are drawn, as if their
      bodies were shrinking and wished to shrink out of sight. And a
      word steals into our mind, as we look upon our brothers, and that
      word is fear.

      There is fear hanging in the air of the sleeping halls, and in
      the air of the streets. Fear walks through the City, fear without
      name, without shape. All men feel it and none dare to speak.

      We feel it also, when we are in the Home of the Street Sweepers.
      But here, in our tunnel, we feel it no longer. The air is pure
      under the ground. There is no odor of men. And these three hours
      give us strength for our hours above the ground.

      Our body is betraying us, for the Council of the Home looks with
      suspicion upon us. It is not good to feel too much joy nor to be
      glad that our body lives. For we matter not and it must not
      matter to us whether we live or die, which is to be as our
      brothers will it. But we, Equality 7-2521, are glad to be living.
      If this is a vice, then we wish no virtue.

      Yet our brothers are not like us. All is not well with our
      brothers. There are Fraternity 2-5503, a quiet boy with wise,
      kind eyes, who cry suddenly, without reason, in the midst of day
      or night, and their body shakes with sobs they cannot explain.
      There are Solidarity 9-6347, who are a bright youth, without fear
      in the day; but they scream in their sleep, and they scream:
      “Help us! Help us! Help us!” into the night, in a voice which
      chills our bones, but the Doctors cannot cure Solidarity 9-6347.

      And as we all undress at night, in the dim light of the candles,
      our brothers are silent, for they dare not speak the thoughts of
      their minds. For all must agree with all, and they cannot know if
      their thoughts are the thoughts of all, and so they fear to
      speak. And they are glad when the candles are blown for the
      night. But we, Equality 7-2521, look through the window upon the
      sky, and there is peace in the sky, and cleanliness, and dignity.
      And beyond the City there lies the plain, and beyond the plain,
      black upon the black sky, there lies the Uncharted Forest.

      We do not wish to look upon the Uncharted Forest. We do not wish
      to think of it. But ever do our eyes return to that black patch
      upon the sky. Men never enter the Uncharted Forest, for there is
      no power to explore it and no path to lead among its ancient
      trees which stand as guards of fearful secrets. It is whispered
      that once or twice in a hundred years, one among the men of the
      City escape alone and run to the Uncharted Forest, without call
      or reason. These men do not return. They perish from hunger and
      from the claws of the wild beasts which roam the Forest. But our
      Councils say that this is only a legend. We have heard that there
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