by Ayn Rand
PART TEN
We are sitting at a table and we are writing this upon paper madethousands of years ago. The light is dim, and we cannot see the GoldenOne, only one lock of gold on the pillow of an ancient bed. This is ourhome.
We came upon it today, at sunrise. For many days we had been crossing achain of mountains. The forest rose among cliffs, and whenever we walkedout upon a barren stretch of rock we saw great peaks before us in thewest, and to the north of us, and to the south, as far as our eyes couldsee. The peaks were red and brown, with the green streaks of forests asveins upon them, with blue mists as veils over their heads. We had neverheard of these mountains, nor seen them marked on any map. The UnchartedForest has protected them from the Cities and from the men of theCities.
We climbed paths where the wild goat dared not follow. Stones rolledfrom under our feet, and we heard them striking the rocks below, fartherand farther down, and the mountains rang with each stroke, and longafter the strokes had died. But we went on, for we knew that no menwould ever follow our track nor reach us here.
Then today, at sunrise, we saw a white flame among the trees, high on asheer peak before us. We thought that it was a fire and stopped. But theflame was unmoving, yet blinding as liquid metal. So we climbed towardit through the rocks. And there, before us, on a broad summit, with themountains rising behind it, stood a house such as we had never seen, andthe white fire came from the sun on the glass of its windows.
The house had two stories and a strange roof flat as a floor. There wasmore window than wall upon its walls, and the windows went on straightaround the corners, though how this kept the house standing we could notguess. The walls were hard and smooth, of that stone unlike stone whichwe had seen in our tunnel.
We both knew it without words: this house was left from theUnmentionable Times. The trees had protected it from time and weather,and from men who have less pity than time and weather. We turned to theGolden One and we asked:
"Are you afraid?"
But they shook their head. So we walked to the door, and we threw itopen, and we stepped together into the house of the Unmentionable Times.
We shall need the days and the years ahead, to look, to learn, and tounderstand the things of this house. Today, we could only look and tryto believe the sight of our eyes. We pulled the heavy curtains from thewindows and we saw that the rooms were small, and we thought that notmore than twelve men could have lived here. We thought it strange thatmen had been permitted to build a house for only twelve.
Never had we seen rooms so full of light. The sunrays danced uponcolors, colors, more colors than we thought possible, we who had seenno houses save the white ones, the brown ones and the grey. There weregreat pieces of glass on the walls, but it was not glass, for when welooked upon it we saw our own bodies and all the things behind us, ason the face of a lake. There were strange things which we had neverseen and the use of which we do not know. And there were globes of glasseverywhere, in each room, the globes with the metal cobwebs inside, suchas we had seen in our tunnel.
We found the sleeping hall and we stood in awe upon its threshold. Forit was a small room and there were only two beds in it. We found noother beds in the house, and then we knew that only two had lived here,and this passes understanding. What kind of world did they have, the menof the Unmentionable Times?
We found garments, and the Golden One gasped at the sight of them. Forthey were not white tunics, nor white togas; they were of all colors, notwo of them alike. Some crumbled to dust as we touched them. But otherswere of heavier cloth, and they felt soft and new in our fingers.
We found a room with walls made of shelves, which held rows ofmanuscripts, from the floor to the ceiling. Never had we seen sucha number of them, nor of such strange shape. They were not soft androlled, they had hard shells of cloth and leather; and the letters ontheir pages were so small and so even that we wondered at the men whohad such handwriting. We glanced through the pages, and we saw that theywere written in our language, but we found many words which we could notunderstand. Tomorrow, we shall begin to read these scripts.
When we had seen all the rooms of the house, we looked at the Golden Oneand we both knew the thought in our minds.
"We shall never leave this house," we said, "nor let it be taken fromus. This is our home and the end of our journey. This is your house,Golden One, and ours, and it belongs to no other men whatever as far asthe earth may stretch. We shall not share it with others, as we sharenot our joy with them, nor our love, nor our hunger. So be it to the endof our days."
"Your will be done," they said.
Then we went out to gather wood for the great hearth of our home. Webrought water from the stream which runs among the trees under ourwindows. We killed a mountain goat, and we brought its flesh to becooked in a strange copper pot we found in a place of wonders, whichmust have been the cooking room of the house.
We did this work alone, for no words of ours could take the Golden Oneaway from the big glass which is not glass. They stood before it andthey looked and looked upon their own body.
When the sun sank beyond the mountains, the Golden One fell asleep onthe floor, amidst jewels, and bottles of crystal, and flowers of silk.We lifted the Golden One in our arms and we carried them to a bed, theirhead falling softly upon our shoulder. Then we lit a candle, and webrought paper from the room of the manuscripts, and we sat by thewindow, for we knew that we could not sleep tonight.
And now we look upon the earth and sky. This spread of naked rock andpeaks and moonlight is like a world ready to be born, a world thatwaits. It seems to us it asks a sign from us, a spark, a firstcommandment. We cannot know what word we are to give, nor what greatdeed this earth expects to witness. We know it waits. It seems to say ithas great gifts to lay before us, but it wishes a greater gift for us.We are to speak. We are to give its goal, its highest meaning to allthis glowing space of rock and sky.
We look ahead, we beg our heart for guidance in answering this call novoice has spoken, yet we have heard. We look upon our hands. We seethe dust of centuries, the dust which hid the great secrets and perhapsgreat evils. And yet it stirs no fear within our heart, but only silentreverence and pity.
May knowledge come to us! What is the secret our heart has understoodand yet will not reveal to us, although it seems to beat as if it wereendeavoring to tell it?