Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Part Three

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 which 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 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 frill 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 nor permitted by law is forbidden."

But we said, "We shall go, nonetheless."

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 build 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 Time 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 h and which followed the track, as we crawled, clung to the iron as if it would not leave it, as if the skin or our hand were thirsty and begging of the metal some secret fluid beating it 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 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 nor 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.

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