Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand [331]
She turned away once more, but it was the voice of the gray-haired man that stopped her. “Miss Taggart, this is not an official question, it is only my personal curiosity, but would you tell me your view of the future of the Taggart Transcontinental system?”
She answered, looking at him in understanding, her voice gentler, “I have stopped thinking of a future or of a railroad system. I intend to continue running trains so long as it is still possible to run them. I don’t think that it will be much longer.”
She walked away from the table, to the window, to stand aside and let them continue without her.
She looked at the city. Jim had obtained the permit which allowed them the use of electric power to the top of the Taggart Building. From the height of the room, the city looked like a flattened remnant, with but a few rare, lonely streaks of lighted glass still rising through the darkness to the sky.
She did not listen to the voices of the men behind her. She did not know for how long the broken snatches of their struggle kept rolling past her—the sounds that nudged and prodded one another, trying to edge back and leave someone pushed forward—a struggle, not to assert one’s own will, but to squeeze an assertion from some unwilling victim -a battle in which the decision was to be pronounced, not by the winner, but by the loser:
“It seems to me ... It is, I think... It must, in my opinion... If we were to suppose... I am merely suggesting... I am not implying, but... If we consider both sides... It is, in my opinion, indubitable... It seems to me to be an unmistakable fact .. : .‘.
She did not know whose voice it was, but she heard it when the voice pronounced:
“.... and, therefore, I move that the John Galt Line be closed.”
Something, she thought, had made him call the Line by its right .name.
You had to bear it, too, generations ago—it was just as hard for you, just as bad, but you did not let it stop you—was it really as bad as this? as ugly?—never mind, it’s different forms, but it’s only pain, and you were not stopped by pain, not by whatever kind it was that you had to bear—you were not stopped—you did not give in to it—you faced it and this is the kind I have to face—you fought and I will have to -you did it—I will try . . . She heard, in her own mind, the quiet intensity of the words of dedication—and it was some time before she realized that she was speaking to Nat Taggart.
The next voice she heard was Mr. Weatherby’s: “Wait a minute, boys. Do you happen to remember that you need to obtain permission before you can close a branch line?”
“Good God, Clem!” Taggart’s cry was open panic. “Surely there’s not going to be any trouble about—”
“I wouldn’t be too sure of it. Don’t forget that you’re a public service and you’re expected to provide transportation, whether you make money or not.”
“But you know that it’s impossible!”
“Well, that’s fine for you, that solves your problem, if you close that Line—but what will it do to us? Leaving a whole state like Colorado practically without transportation—what sort of public sentiment will it arouse? Now, of course, if you gave Wesley something in return, to balance it, if you granted the unions’ wage raises—”
“I can.‘t! I gave my word to the National Alliance!”
“Your word? Well, suit yourself. We wouldn’t want to force the Alliance. We much prefer to have things happen voluntarily. But these are difficult times and it’s hard telling what’s liable to happen. With everybody going broke and the tax receipts falling, we might—fact being that we hold well over fifty per cent of the Taggart bonds—we might be compelled to call for the payment of railroad bonds within six months.”
“What?!” screamed Taggart.
“—or sooner.”
“But you can‘t! Oh God, you can’.t! It was understood that the moratorium was for five years! It was a contract, an obligation! We were counting on it!”
“An obligation? Aren’t you old-fashioned, Jim? There aren’t any obligations, except the necessity of the moment. The original owners of those bonds were counting on their payments, too.