Atlas Shrugged [396]
"What do you mean? And"-her questions had caught up with her-"and what do you know about my torture here?"
"Dagny, aren't you beginning to see that I would know everything about it?"
"How did you . . . Francisco! What were you whistling when you were coming up the hill?"
"Why, was I? I don't know."
"It was the Fifth Concerto by Richard Halley, wasn't it?"
"Oh . . . >" He looked startled, then smiled in amusement at himself, then answered gravely, "I'll tell you that later."
"How did you find out where I was?"
"I'll tell you that, too."
"You forced it out of Eddie."
"I haven't seen Eddie for over a year."
"He was the only one who knew it."
"It wasn't Eddie who told me."
"I didn't want anybody to find me."
He glanced slowly about him, she saw his eyes stop on the path she had built, on the planted flowers, on the fresh-shingled roof. He chuckled, as if he understood and as if it hurt him. "You shouldn't have been left here for a month," he said. "God, you shouldn't have! It's my first failure, at the one time when I didn't want to fail. But I didn't think you were ready to quit. Had I known it, I would have watched you day and night."
"Really? What for?"
"To spare you"-he pointed at her work-"all this."
"Francisco," she said, her voice low, "if you're concerned about my torture, don't you know that I don't want to hear you speak of it, because-" She stopped; she had never complained to him, not in all those years; her voice flat, she 'said only, "-that I don't want to hear it?"
"Because I'm the one man who has no right to speak of it? Dagny, if you think that I don't know how much I've hurt you, I'll tell you about the years when I . . . But it's over. Oh, darling, it's over!"
"Is it?"
"Forgive me, I mustn't say that. Not until you say it," He was trying to control his voice, but the look of happiness was beyond his power of control.
"Are you happy because I've lost everything I lived for? All right, I'll say it, if this is what you've come to hear: you were the first thing I lost-does it amuse you now to see that I've lost the rest?"
He glanced straight at her, his eyes drawn narrow by such an intensity of earnestness that the glance was almost a threat, and she knew that whatever the years had meant to him, "amusement" was the one word she had no right to utter.
"Do you really think that?" he asked.
She whispered, "No . . ."
"Dagny, we can never lose the things we live for. We may have to change their form at times, if we've made an error, but the purpose remains the same and the forms are ours to make."
"'That is what I've been telling myself for a month. But there's no way left open toward any purpose whatever."
He did not answer. He sat down on a boulder by the door of the cabin, watching her as if he did not want to miss a single shadow of reaction on her face. "What do you think now of the men who quit and vanished?" he asked.
She shrugged, with a faint smile of helpless sadness, and sat down on the ground beside him. "You know," she said, "I used to think that there was some destroyer who came after them and made them quit.
But I guess there wasn't. There have been times, this past month, when I've almost wished he would come for me, too. But nobody came."
"No?"
"No. I used to think that he gave them some inconceivable reason to make them betray everything they loved. But that wasn't necessary.
I know how they felt. I can't blame them any longer. What I don't know is how they learned to exist afterward-if any of them still exist."
"Do you feel that you've betrayed Taggart Transcontinental?"
"No. I . . . I feel that I would have betrayed it by remaining at work."
"You would have."
"If I had agreed to serve the looters, it's . . . it's Nat Taggart that I would have delivered to them. I couldn't. I couldn't let his achievement, and mine, end up with the looters as our final goal."
"No, you couldn't. Do you call this indifference? Do you think that you love the railroad less than you did a month ago?"
"I think that I would give my life