_
PART ONE
It is a sin to write this. It is a sin
to think words no others think and to put
them down upon a paper no others are to see.
It is base and evil. It is as if we were
speaking alone to no ears but our own.
And we know well that there is no transgression
blacker than to do or think alone.
We have broken the laws. The laws say
that men may not write unless the Council
of Vocations bid them so. May we be forgiven!
But this is not the only sin upon us.
We have committed a greater crime, and for
this crime there is no name. What punishment
awaits us if it be discovered we know not,
for no such crime has come in the memory
of men and there are no laws to provide for it.
It is dark here. The flame of the candle
stands still in the air. Nothing moves in
this tunnel save our hand on the paper. We are
alone here under the earth. It is a fearful
word, alone. The laws say that none among
men may be alone, ever and at any time,
for this is the great transgression and the root
of all evil. But we have broken many laws.
And now there is nothing here save our one body,
and it is strange to see only two legs
stretched on the ground, and on the wall
before us the shadow of our one head.
The walls are cracked and water runs
upon them in thin threads without sound,
black and glistening as blood. We stole the
candle from the larder of the Home of the
Street Sweepers. We shall be sentenced to
ten years in the Palace of Corrective
Detention if it be discovered. But this matters not.
It matters only that the light is precious and
we should not waste it to write when we
need it for that work which is our crime.
Nothing matters save the work, our secret,
our evil, our precious work. Still, we must
also write, for--may the Council have
mercy upon us!--we wish to speak for once
to no ears but our own.
Our name is Equality 7-2521, as it is
written on the iron bracelet which all men
wear on their left wrists with their names
upon it. We are twenty-one years old. We
are six feet tall, and this is a burden, for
there are not many men who are six feet tall.
Ever have the Teachers and the Leaders pointed
to us and frowned and said:
"There is evil in your bones, Equality 7-2521,
for your body has grown beyond the bodies
of your brothers." But we cannot change
our bones nor our body.
We were born with a curse. It has always
driven us to thoughts which are forbidden.
It has always given us wishes which men
may not wish. We know that we are evil,
but there is no will in us and no power
to resist it. This is our wonder and our
secret fear, that we know and do not resist.
We strive to be like all our brother men,
for all men must be alike. Over the portals
of the Palace of the World Council, there
are words cut in the marble, which we
repeat to ourselves whenever we are tempted:
"WE ARE ONE IN ALL AND ALL IN ONE.
THERE ARE NO MEN BUT ONLY THE GREAT _WE_,
ONE, INDIVISIBLE AND FOREVER."
We repeat this to ourselves, but it helps us not.
These words were cut long ago. There is
green mould in the grooves of the letters
and yellow streaks on the marble, which
come from more years than men could
count. And these words are the truth,
for they are written on the Palace of the
World Council, and the World Council is the
body of all truth. Thus has it been ever
since the Great Rebirth, and farther back
than that no memory can reach.
But we must never speak of the times before
the Great Rebirth, else we are sentenced to
three years in the Palace of Corrective Detention.
It is only the Old Ones who whisper about it in
the evenings, in the Home of the Useless.
They whisper many strange things, of the towers
which rose to the sky, in those Unmentionable
Times, and of the wagons which moved
without horses, and of the lights which
burned without flame. But those times
were evil. And those times passed away,
when men saw the Great Truth which is this:
that all men are one and that there is no
will save the will of all men together.
All men are good and wise. It is only we,
Equality 7-2521, we alone who were born
with a curse. For we are not like our brothers.
And as we look back upon our life,
we see that it has ever been thus and that
it has brought us step by step to our last,
supreme transgression, our crime of crimes
hidden here under the ground.
We remember the Home of the Infants
where we lived till we were five years old,
together with all the children of the City
who had been born in the same year.
The sleeping halls there were white and clean
and bare of all things save one hundred beds.
We were just like all our brothers
then, save for the one transgression:
we fought with our brothers. There are few
offenses blacker than to fight with our
brothers, at any age and for any cause
whatsoever. The Council of the Home told
us so, and of all the children of that year,
we were locked in the cellar most often.
When we were five years old, we were
sent to the Home of the Students, where
there are ten wards, for our ten years of
learning. Men must learn till they reach
their fifteenth year. Then they go to work.
In the Home of the Students we arose when
the big bell rang in the tower and we went
to our beds when it rang again. Before we
removed our garments, we stood in the
great sleeping hall, and we raised our right
arms, and we said all together with the
three Teachers at the head:
"We are nothing. Mankind is all. By the grace
of our brothers are we allowed our lives.
We exist through, by and for our brothers
who are the State. Amen."
Then we slept. The sleeping halls were white
and clean and bare of all things save one hundred beds.
We, Equality 7-2521, were not happy in
those years in the Home of the Students.
It was not that the learning was too hard
for us. It was that the learning was too easy.
This is a great sin, to be born with a
head which is too quick. It is not good
to be different from our brothers, but it
is evil to be superior to them. The Teachers
told us so, and they frowned when they looked upon us.
So we fought against this curse. We tried
to forget our lessons, but we always remembered.
We tried not to understand what the Teachers taught,
but we always understood it before the Teachers
had spoken. We looked upon Union 5-3992,
who were a pale boy with only half a brain,
and we tried to say and do as they did,
that we might be like them, like Union 5-3992,
but somehow the Teachers knew that we were not.
And we were lashed more often than all the other children.
The Teachers were just, for they had
been appointed by the Councils, and the
Councils are the voice of all justice,
for they are the voice of all men. And if
sometimes, in the secret darkness of our heart,
we regret that which befell us on our
fifteenth birthday, we know that it was
through our own guilt. We had broken
a law, for we had not paid heed to the
words of our Teachers. The Teachers
had said to us all:
"Dare not choose in your minds the
work you would like to do when you leave
the Home of the Students. You shall do
that which the Council of Vocations shall
prescribe for you. For the Council of
Vocations knows in its great wisdom where
you are needed by your brother men, better
than you can know it in your unworthy
little minds. And if you are not needed by
your brother man, there is no reason for
you to burden the earth with your bodies."
We knew this well, in the years of our
childhood, but our curse broke our will.
We were guilty and we confess it here:
we were guilty of the great Transgression
of Preference. We preferred some work
and some lessons to the others. We did not
listen well to the history of all the
Councils elected since the Great Rebirth.
But we loved the Science of Things. We wished
to know. We wished to know about all the
things which make the earth around us.
We asked so many questions that
the Teachers forbade it.
We think that there are mysteries in the
sky and under the water and in the plants
which grow. But the Council of Scholars
has said that there are no mysteries,
and the Council of Scholars knows all things.
And we learned much from our Teachers.
We learned that the earth is flat and that
the sun revolves around it, which causes the
day and the night. We learned the names
of all the winds which blow over the seas
and push the sails of our great ships.
We learned how to bleed men to cure them
of all ailments.
We loved the Science of Things. And in
the darkness, in the secret hour, when we
awoke in the night and there were no
brothers around us, but only their shapes
in the beds and their snores, we closed our
eyes, and we held our lips shut, and we
stopped our breath, that no shudder might
let our brothers see or hear or guess,
and we thought that we wished to be sent
to the Home of the Scholars when our time
would come.
All the great modern inventions come
from the Home of the Scholars, such as
the newest one, which was found only a
hundred years ago, of how to make candles
from wax and string; also, how to make glass,
which is put in our windows to protect
us from the rain. To find these things,
the Scholars must study the earth and learn
from the rivers, from the sands, from the
winds and the rocks. And if we went to the
Home of the Scholars, we could learn from
these also. We could ask questions of these,
for they do not forbid questions.
And questions give us no rest. We know not
why our curse makes us seek we know not what,
ever and ever. But we cannot resist it.
It whispers to us that there are great things
on this earth of ours, and that we can know them
if we try, and that we must know them. We ask,
why must we know, but it has no answer to give us.
We must know that we may know.
So we wished to be sent to the Home of
the Scholars. We wished it so much that
our hands trembled under the blankets in
the night, and we bit our arm to stop that
other pain which we could not endure.
It was evil and we dared not face our brothers
in the morning. For men may wish nothing
for themselves. And we were punished
when the Council of Vocations came to
give us our life Mandates which tell those
who reach their fifteenth year what their
work is to be for the rest of their days.
The Council of Vocations came on the first day
of spring, and they sat in the great hall.
And we who were fifteen and all the
Teachers came into the great hall.
And the Council of Vocations sat on a high dais,
and they had but two words to speak to each
of the Students. They called the Students' names,
and when the Students stepped before them,
one after another, the Council said:
"Carpenter" or "Doctor" or "Cook" or "Leader."
Then each Student raised their right arm and said:
"The will of our brothers be done."
Now if the Council has said "Carpenter" or "Cook,"
the Students so assigned go to work and they do not
study any further. But if the Council has said "Leader,"
then those Students go into the Home of the Leaders,
which is the greatest house in the City, for it has
three stories. And there they study for many years,
so that they may become candidates and be elected
to the City Council and the State Council and
the World Council--by a free and general vote
of all men. But we wished not to be a Leader,
even though it is a great honor. We wished to be a Scholar.
So we awaited our turn in the great hall
and then we heard the Council of Vocations
call our name: "Equality 7-2521." We walked
to the dais, and our legs did not tremble,
and we looked up at the Council. There were
five members of the Council, three of
the male gender and two of the female.
Their hair was white and their faces were
cracked as the clay of a dry river bed.
They were old. They seemed older than
the marble of the Temple of the World Council.
They sat before us and they did not move.
And we saw no breath to stir the folds
of their white togas. But we knew that
they were alive, for a finger of the hand
of the oldest rose, pointed to us, and fell down again.
This was the only thing which moved, for the lips of
the oldest did not move as they said: "Street Sweeper."
We felt the cords of our neck grow tight
as our head rose higher to look upon the
faces of the Council, and we were happy.
We knew we had been guilty, but now we
had a way to atone for it. We would accept
our Life Mandate, and we would work for
our brothers, gladly and willingly,
and we would erase our sin against them,
which they did not know, but we knew.
So we were happy, and proud of ourselves
and of our victory over ourselves.
We raised our right arm and we spoke,
and our voice was the clearest, the steadiest
voice in the hall that day, and we said:
"The will of our brothers be done."
And we looked straight into the eyes of the Council,
but their eyes were as cold blue glass buttons.
So we went into the Home of the Street Sweepers.
It is a grey house on a narrow street.
There is a sundial in its courtyard,
by which the Council of the Home can
tell the hours of the day and when to ring
the bell. When the bell rings, we all arise
from our beds. The sky is green and cold
in our windows to the east. The shadow on
the sundial marks off a half-hour while we
dress and eat our breakfast in the dining hall,
where there are five long tables with
twenty clay plates and twenty clay cups
on each table. Then we go to work in the
streets of the City, with our brooms and our
rakes. In five hours, when the sun is high,
we return to the Home and we eat our midday meal,
for which one-half hour is allowed. Then we go
to work again. In five hours, the shadows
are blue on the pavements, and the sky is blue
with a deep brightness which is not bright.
We come back to have our dinner, which lasts
one hour. Then the bell rings and we walk in
a straight column to one of the City Halls,
for the Social Meeting. Other columns of
men arrive from the Homes of the different
Trades. The candles are lit, and the Councils
of the different Homes stand in a pulpit,
and they speak to us of our duties and
of our brother men. Then visiting Leaders
mount the pulpit and they read to us the
speeches which were made in the City
Council that day, for the City Council
represents all men and all men must know.
Then we sing hymns, the Hymn of Brotherhood,
and the Hymn of Equality, and the Hymn
of the Collective Spirit. The sky is
a soggy purple when we return to the Home.
Then the bell rings and we walk in a
straight column to the City Theatre
for three hours of Social Recreation.
There a play is shown upon the stage,
with two great choruses from the Home of
the Actors, which speak and answer all together,
in two great voices. The plays are about
toil and how good it is. Then we walk
back to the Home in a straight column.
The sky is like a black sieve pierced
by silver drops that tremble, ready to
burst through. The moths beat against
the street lanterns. We go to our beds
and we sleep, till the bell rings again.
The sleeping halls are white and clean and
bare of all things save one hundred beds.
Thus have we lived each day of four
years, until two springs ago when our
crime happened. Thus must all men live
until they are forty. At forty, they are
worn out. At forty, they are sent to the
Home of the Useless, where the Old Ones
live. The Old Ones do not work, for the
State takes care of them. They sit in the
sun in summer and they sit by the fire in
winter. They do not speak often, for they
are weary. The Old Ones know that they
are soon to die. When a miracle happens
and some live to be forty-five, they are the
Ancient Ones, and the children stare at them
when passing by the Home of the Useless.
Such is to be our life, as that of all our
brothers and of the brothers who came before us.
Such would have been our life, had we
not committed our crime which changed
all things for us. And it was our curse
which drove us to our crime. We had been
a good Street Sweeper and like all our
brother Street Sweepers, save for our
cursed wish to know. We looked too long
at the stars at night, and at the trees and
the earth. And when we cleaned the yard
of the Home of the Scholars, we gathered
the glass vials, the pieces of metal, the dried
bones which they had discarded. We wished
to keep these things and to study them,
but we had no place to hide them.
So we carried them to the City Cesspool.
And then we made the discovery.
It was on a day of the spring before last.
We Street Sweepers work in brigades of
three, and we were with Union 5-3992,
they of the half-brain, and with International
4-8818. Now Union 5-3992 are a sickly lad
and sometimes they are stricken with
convulsions, when their mouth froths
and their eyes turn white. But International
4-8818 are different. They are a tall,
strong youth and their eyes are like fireflies,
for there is laughter in their eyes. We cannot
look upon International 4-8818 and not
smile in answer. For this they were not
liked in the Home of the Students, as it is
not proper to smile without reason. And
also they were not liked because they took
pieces of coal and they drew pictures upon
the walls, and they were pictures which
made men laugh. But it is only our brothers
in the Home of the Artists who are permitted
to draw pictures, so International 4-8818
were sent to the Home of the Street
Sweepers, like ourselves.
International 4-8818 and we are friends.
This is an evil thing to say, for it is a
transgression, the great Transgression of
Preference, to love any among men better
than the others, since we must love all men
and all men are our friends. So International
4-8818 and we have never spoken of it.
But we know. We know, when we look into
each other's eyes. And when we look thus
without words, we both know other things
also, strange things for which there are
no words, and these things frighten us.
So on that day of the spring before last,
Union 5-3992 were stricken with convulsions
on the edge of the City, near the City
Theatre. We left them to lie in the shade
of the Theatre tent and we went with
International 4-8818 to finish our work.
We came together to the great ravine behind
the Theatre. It is empty save for trees and weeds.
Beyond the ravine there is a plain, and beyond
the plain there lies the Uncharted Forest,
about which men must not think.
We were gathering the papers and the
rags which the wind had blown from the
Theatre, when we saw an iron bar among
the weeds. It was old and rusted by many
rains. We pulled with all our strength, but
we could not move it. So we called
International 4-8818, and together we scraped
the earth around the bar. Of a sudden the
earth fell in before us, and we saw an old
iron grill over a black hole.
International 4-8818 stepped back. But
we pulled at the grill and it gave way.
And then we saw iron rings as steps leading
down a shaft into a darkness without bottom.
"We shall go down," we said to International 4-8818.
"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 of our punishment, if it be discovered,
is not for the human heart to ponder.
Never, not in the memory of the Ancient
Ones' Ancients, never have men done that
which we are doing.
And yet there is no shame in us and no regret.
We say to ourselves that we are a wretch and a traitor.
But we feel no burden upon our spirit and no fear in our heart.
And it seems to us that our spirit is clear as a lake
troubled by no eyes save those of the sun. And in our heart--
strange are the ways of evil!--in our heart there is
the first peace we have known in twenty years.
Content of PART ONE [Ayn Rand's novella: Anthem]
_