Chapter 4 Chapter 4 The Unwavering Motivator

The power of the engine—thought Dagny at dusk, looking up at the Taggart Building—was what was needed first, the power of the engine that held the building up, the power that kept it standing.Buildings rest not on plinths drilled into granite, but on engines that sail across vast continents. She felt vaguely anxious.She had just returned from a trip to Consolidated Locomotive Works in New Jersey, where she had met with the company's president, and found nothing: neither the reason for the delay in deliveries nor a date for the upcoming diesel engine.The president talked to her for two hours, but his answer had nothing to do with her question.Whenever she tried to address specific issues, he acted forgiving, condescending, and non-blaming, as if she had really been unrestrained, breaking rules that were self-evident to everyone else.

On the way through the factory, she saw a huge machine tool abandoned in the corner of the yard.It was a precision machine tool a long time ago, the style is no longer available for purchase.It wasn't broken, it was corroded from idleness and neglect, corroded by rust and dripping dirty oil.She turned away from looking at it.Such a sight would always arouse an indignation so strong that she lost control for a moment.She didn't know why, she couldn't define exactly how she felt.All she knew was that in her feelings there was a cry against injustice, and there was more to it than just an old machine.

When she entered her outer office, everyone else had left, but Eddie Wellers was still there waiting for her.From his demeanor and the silence in which he followed her into the office, she knew immediately that something must have happened. "What's the matter, Eddie?" "McNamara withdrew." She looked at him blankly, "withdraw, what do you mean?" "Let's go, retire, don't do this business anymore." "Mike Namara, our engineering contractor?" "right." "But it's impossible!" "I know." "What happened and why?"

"no one knows." Slowly and deliberately, she unbuttoned her coat, sat down behind the desk, began to take off her gloves, and said, "Start at the beginning, Eddie, sit down." Still standing, he said quietly, "I talked to his chief engineer, who told us on the long-distance call from Cleveland, and that's all he said, and nothing else." "what did he say?" "McNamara has closed his business and gone." "Where are you going?" "He doesn't know. Nobody knows." She noticed that one hand was holding the two fingers of the glove on the other hand, and the glove was only halfway off, and then stopped.She pulled it off and threw it on the table.

Eddie said, "He's left with a bunch of big contracts, and his clients have already lined up appointments for the next three years..." She didn't say anything, and he added in a low voice, "If I could figure this out, I wouldn't be so scared... But, I can't find any reason for this..." She remained silent. "He's the best engineering contractor in the country." They looked at each other and all she wanted to say was, "Oh my God, Eddie!" But she said evenly, "Don't worry, we'll find another contractor for the Rio Norte Railroad .”

It was late when she left the office.She stopped on the sidewalk in front of the building and looked at the street in front of her.She suddenly felt her energy, purpose, and desire disappear, like an engine snapping to a halt. Faint light from the buildings behind melted into the sky, a sky melted with countless unknown lights, reflecting the panting of the electric city.She wants to rest.To rest, she thought, to find some enjoyment somewhere. Her job is everything and everything she wants.But there are times like tonight when she feels a sudden, special emptiness, not emptiness, but silence, not despair, but solidification, like everything in her is intact, but all still.Then, she would develop a desire to find happiness outside, to be a passive spectator in front of a work or a magnificent landscape.Not to get, but to accept; not to start, but to deal with; not to create, but to praise.I need it to support myself to carry on, she thought, because joy is one's fuel.

She had been—she closed her eyes with a comforting, pained smile—the driving force of her own happiness.She used to imagine that she could be propelled by the power of other people's achievements, just like people in the dark wasteland would like to see the bright windows of the passing trains, seeing strength and purpose would make them feel at ease in the wilderness and in the middle of the night-she wanted to too To feel it for a while, just to have a brief hello, to have a quick glance, just to wave her arm and say: Someone's going somewhere... Her hands in her coat pockets, she walked slowly The shadow of the sloping edge of the hat covered half of her face.The buildings around her were so tall that she couldn't see the sky.She thought: Building this city cost so much, it should have a lot to offer.

Above a store door, the black hole of a radio horn blasted into the street, a symphony playing somewhere in the city.It was a long, shapeless shriek, like clothes and flesh being torn indiscriminately; the sound was fragmented, without harmony, without melody or rhythm to sustain it.If music is emotion, and emotion comes from thought, then this sound is chaos, irrationality, and the hopeless scream of man abandoning himself. She continued walking and stopped in front of the window of a bookstore.In the window was a brown jacket embellished with a pyramid of sheets depicting a molting vulture.The poster reads, "A novel of our century, deeply dissecting the greed of merchants and fearlessly exposing the depravity of man."

She passed a movie theater whose lights lit up half a block, except for a giant picture and some letters hanging high in the bright sky.It was a picture of a smiling young woman whose face, even when seen for the first time, seemed bored after so many years.Those letters were: "...an extraordinary play that answers the big question: Should women speak?" She walked past the door of a nightclub.A man and a woman staggered out and walked towards the taxi.The girl was bleary-eyed, sweat dripped from her face, she wore a white mink shawl, her beautiful evening dress slipped off one shoulder like a lazy housewife's bathrobe, revealing most of her breasts, but her expression In the novel, there is no boldness and presumptuousness, but indifference like a coolie.Her male companion grasped her bare arm and led her along, not with the look of a man looking forward to a romantic adventure, but with the sly look of a boy scrawling obscene words on the courtyard wall.

What did she hope to find, she thought as she went on?This is what people need in life, and it is the composition of their spirit, culture and enjoyment.For many years, she never saw exceptions anywhere. On the corner of the street where she lived, she bought a newspaper and went home. Her apartment is a two-bedroom on the top floor of a skyscraper.The large glass windows in the corner of her living room made it look like the prow of a sailing ship, and the city lights shone like phosphorescent spots on the black waves of steel and stone.When she turned on the light, the geometric light was cut by several angular furniture, casting long triangular shadows on the bare wall.

She stands in the middle of the room, alone between the sky and the city.There was only one thing that could give her the feeling she wanted to feel, and that was the only way she could find enjoyment.She went to the record player and put on a Richard Haley record. This is his fourth concerto and his last work.The excitement of the opening strings swept the scene of the street from her mind.This concerto is a cry of rebellion, a "no" thrown to a long torment - a rejection of suffering accompanied by the great pain of the struggle for freedom.The music is like a voice that says: there is no need for pain - why, then, is the greatest pain always given to those who reject it? ——We have the secret of love and happiness, who will give us what kind of punishment for it?The tormented voices became more defiant, the proclamations of pain turned into praises of a distant future for which it was worth enduring the present, even the pain itself.It's a song of rebellion -- a song of search in the face of despair. She sat very still, closing her eyes and listening. No one knows what became of Richard Haley.His life was filled with curses on heroes, and he paid his fair price for it.Those many years in attics and basements, imprisoned by gray walls, but his music overflowed with fervor; it was a dark struggle against the long, unlit steps of the apartment Fighting against the frozen sewer pipes, fighting against the price tags of sandwiches in a pastry shop that exudes tempting smells, fighting against the empty-eyed faces of the audience; The opponent is just a wall without hearing, but it has the best sound insulation performance: indifference.It devoured percussion, harmonies, and screams—a silent battle for a man who could have given voice more expressiveness, and that silence was dark and lonely, at night, when less When some orchestras played his works, he looked up at the night sky, knowing that his soul was rippling in the air of the city with the trembling and spreading waves on the radio, but there was no audience to listen. "Richard Haley's music is heroic, something that no longer fits our age," said one critic. "Richard Haley's music is out of tune with the themes of our time. It has a kind of ecstasy. Now, who cares about such ecstasy?" His life was a microcosm of the lives of all those people.A hundred years after their death they were rewarded with a monument erected in a park, which didn't help—only that Richard Harry didn't die early enough that, by the tacit laws of history, he shouldn't have seen That night, he saw it while he was alive.He was forty-three at the time, and that night he performed the opera Phaedon, which he had written when he was twenty-four.He rewrote this ancient Greek myth according to his own purpose and meaning: Phaidon, the son of the sun god Xilias, stole his father's solar chariot, and boldly attempted to control the sun in the sky. Death, in Harry's opera, Phaidon succeeds.Nineteen years earlier, the opera had been performed once, and it was shut down amidst boos and boos.Richard Harry walked the streets of the city until dawn that night, brooding over the answer to a question, but could not find it. Nineteen years later, the night the play was staged again, the music ended with the loudest applause the theater has ever seen.The ancient walls of the theater could not stop the applause from rushing out of the hall, down the steps, into the street, towards the boy who had walked this street nineteen years ago. Among the cheering audience that night was Dagny, one of the few people who already knew Richard Haley's music but had never met him.She saw him wheeled onto the stage, facing a mob of waving arms and applauding heads.Tall, thin, gray-haired, he stood motionless, without bowing, without smiling, just standing there looking at the crowd with the quiet and serious expression on his face when he stared at the question. "The music of Richard Haley," wrote one critic the next morning, "belongs to all mankind, and is the embodiment of the greatness of the people." "In the life of Richard Haley," said a minister, " Encouraging teaching. He had a miserable struggle, but what did it matter? His nobility and value consisted in enduring torture, injustice, and abuse from his brothers—in order that enrich their lives and teach them to appreciate the beauty of great music." The day after the performance, Richard Haley retired. He gave no explanation, just told his publisher, and his creative career was over.Although he knew that the royalties of his works would bring him great wealth, he sold the copyright of his works to publishers at a low price.He left without leaving an address.That was eight years ago, and no one has seen him since. Dagny threw her head back, closed her eyes, and listened to the Fourth Concerto.She lay half curled up on the sofa, her body relaxed and motionless.On her still face, the mouth was drawn into a shape by pressure, a sensual shape drawn with longing lines. After a while, she opened her eyes and noticed the newspaper she had dropped under the sofa.She reached for it absently, flipping through the tedious headlines.The paper was open, and she saw a face she knew and a headline, and she snapped it shut and flung it aside. That face was Francisco d'Anconia.The title said he had arrived in New York.What's the matter?she thought.She didn't have to see him, she hadn't seen him for many years. She sat there looking at the newspaper on the floor, don't read it, she thought, don't read it.But that face, she thought, hadn't changed.How can faces remain the same when there is nothing left?She hoped they hadn't caught a picture of him smiling.That smile doesn't belong in the newspaper.It was the smile of a man who could see, know, and create the brilliance of being, the mocking, defiant smile of a brilliant mind.Don't read it, she thought, not now—not in this music—oh, not in this music! She grabbed the newspaper and opened it. According to reports, Francisco D'Anconia was interviewed by the press in his suite at the Wayne Falkland Hotel.He said he came to New York for two big reasons: a girl who worked in the locker room of the Cub Club, and the liverwurst at Moe's Pastry on Third Avenue.He had nothing to say about the divorce case of the Gilbert Weirs, which was about to begin.A few months earlier, Lady Weir, of aristocratic blood and extraordinary beauty, had shot her famous young husband and publicly declared that she wished to dump him for the sake of her lover, Francisco de Ann Konya.She revealed details of her secret date to the media, including that she spent New Years Eve last year at Villa de Anconia in the Andes.Her husband survived the catastrophe and has sued for divorce.And she filed a lawsuit, demanding half of her husband's Wan Guan family fortune, and asking her husband to reveal his private life, which, she said, paled in comparison.All of this has been buzzed about in the newspapers in recent weeks, but Mr d'Anconia was noncommittal when asked by reporters.They asked him if he would deny the things Mrs. Veer said, and he replied, "I never deny anything." At the moment of causing a sensation, he would not wish to come here in person.But they are wrong.Francisco d'Anconia added another note to why he came, "I want to see this farce with my own eyes." Dagny let the newspaper slide to the floor, and she sat bent over, her head buried in her arms, motionless, but the strands of hair that fell to her knees trembled suddenly from time to time. Harry's majestic music continued to fill the room, piercing the panes of the windows and flying over the city.She listened to the music, it was her question, her cry. James Taggart looked around his apartment, not knowing what time it was, but not bothering to find his watch.He sat in an armchair in wrinkled pajamas, barefoot, and finding slippers was too much trouble.The light from the gray sky shone through the window, stimulating his sleepy eyes, which were still dim.He felt that nasty heaviness in his head about to turn into a headache.He was a little annoyed, he couldn't figure out why he ran into the living room, oh yes, he remembered, he was here to check the time. He moved his body to the side of the armchair and saw the big clock on the top of the building in the distance. It was twelve twenty at noon. From the open bedroom door he heard Betty Pope brushing her teeth in the bathroom.Her belt and other clothes were scattered on the floor next to the chair.The pink color of the belt had faded, and the rubber cord was torn. "Come on, will you?" he called impatiently. "I have to get dressed." She didn't answer, she didn't close the bathroom door, he could hear the gargling. Why should I do such a thing?He thought about last night, but it was too troublesome to find the answer. Betty Pope dragged a silk pajamas like a harlequin with purple and yellow checks, and walked slowly into the living room.How ugly she looked in pajamas, thought Taggart, much better in riding clothes in the society pages of the papers.She was one of those lanky women whose bones and loose joints did not move smoothly.She has a plain face and a bad complexion, with a kind of bossy rudeness that only aristocratic families can only have on her face. "Oh, hi!" she said casually, stretching herself. "Where's your nail clippers, Jim? I need a toenail." "I don't know. I have a headache now, you can go home and get it done." "You don't look very emotional," she said flatly, "as dull as a snail." "Why don't you shut up?" She wandered about the house aimlessly. "I don't want to go home," she said without emotion. "I hate mornings when another day of doing nothing begins. I'm going to Lizzie Boo Oh, maybe it will be fun, because Lizzie is a goblin." She picked up a glass and swallowed what was left in the glass, "Why don't you ask someone to fix your air conditioner? There are Strange smell." "Have you run out of bathroom? I have to change clothes. I have something urgent to do today." "Go ahead, I don't mind sharing a bathroom with you, I hate being rushed." As he shaved, he saw her fully clothed in front of the open bathroom door.It took her a long time to put on her belt, fasten her garters, and put on an ugly but expensive tweed suit.That clown-like pajamas she bought after seeing an ad in a shrewd fashion magazine, she knew that, like a uniform, it would be useful sometimes, and she would faithfully wear it on certain occasions, and then throw away. So it was with this relationship of theirs, without passion and desire, without pleasure, without even a little shame.For both of them, sex was neither pleasure nor sin, it meant nothing.They know that men and women are supposed to sleep together, so they just do it. "Why don't you take me to that Armenian restaurant tonight, Jim?" she asked. "I like kebabs." "I can't," he replied angrily, with a sudsy face, "I've got a lot to do today." "Why don't you cancel it?" "what?" "Whatever it is." "It's important, dear, our board meeting." "Oh, don't be bored with the goddamn railway. It's boring. I hate businessmen, they're so boring." He said nothing. She glanced at him slyly, and there was a bit of liveliness in her lazy voice, "Zoke Benson said you didn't have to work hard on the railway because your sister was in charge." "Oh, he said that, didn't he?" "I think your sister sucks, I find it disgusting - a woman who acts like a dirty monkey and goes around acting like a big boss is so unfeminine. Who does she think she is ?” Taggart stepped out the bathroom door and leaned against the doorframe to study Betty Pope.There was a mocking and confident smile on his face, and he thought to himself that they had something in common. "Perhaps you'd be interested to know, my dear," he said, "I'm going to give her a big tumble this afternoon." "No way?" She became interested, "Really?" "So this board meeting is important." "Are you really going to kick her out?" "No, that's unnecessary and unwise. I just want to embarrass her. This is the opportunity I've been waiting for." "What did you get her for? Scandal?" "No, no, you won't understand. She has gone too far this time, and she will be slapped down. She played an unforgivable trick without consulting anyone. This is Terrible disrespect to our neighbor Mexico. The board hears this, passes a new charter or two for the business unit, and makes it easier to keep her in check.” "You're smart, Jim," she said. "I'll get dressed," he said cheerfully as he returned to the sink, sounding happy, "Maybe I'll take you out tonight and get some barbecue." The phone rang. He picked up the phone, and the operator told him it was a long distance call from Mexico. The hysterical voice on the phone was his eyes and ears in Mexico's political circles. "There's nothing I can do, Jim!" said the voice breathlessly. "There's nothing I can do! . . . We weren't warned beforehand, and I swear to God, no one was suspicious, no one noticed. I did my best. Work hard, you can't blame me, Jim, it was so sudden! The decree was issued this morning, just five minutes ago, they raided us like this, without any notice! The Mexican government has put the San Sebastian mine and the San Sebastian Railroad." "...I can therefore reassure you on the Board that there is no need for panic. What happened this morning is very regrettable, but I have full confidence - based on my knowledge of how foreign policy is handled within Washington — Our government will negotiate a fair deal with the Mexican government, and we will receive full and fair compensation for our property.” Standing at a long conference table, James Taggart addressed the board members.His voice is unmistakable, unwavering and secure. "However, I am pleased to report that I have anticipated the possibility of this transition and have taken every possible precaution to protect the interests of Taggart Transcontinental. A few months ago, I directed the operations department to move the St. The schedule of the Sebastian Railway was reduced to one train a day, and our best power locomotives, raw materials, and every piece of equipment that could be transported were withdrawn from it. The Mexican government could only get a few knots carriages and an obsolete locomotive. My decision saved the company millions of dollars—I'll send you the exact figure when it's done. But I do think shareholders have reason to hope that those involved in this Those who fail to do their duty in investing bear the consequences of their failure. I therefore propose that our economic advisers, Mr. Clarence Eddington, who proposed the San Sebastian Railroad, and our resident in Mexico City Representatives, Mr. Juss Mott, resign from their offices." As everyone sat around the conference table and listened, not thinking about what to do, but about how to explain to the shareholders they represented, Taggart's speech was like a helping hand. When he returned to the office, Warren Boyle was waiting for him.When they were alone, Taggart's demeanor changed, and he leaned limply on the table, his face drooping and pale. "Huh?" he asked. Boyle spread his hands helplessly, "I checked, Jim, and it's obviously okay: d'Anconia lost fifteen million of his own money in those mines. No, it's not made up, he didn't play What kind of tricks, he invested his own money in it, and now, his money is lost." "So, what does he want to do?" "This—I don't know, no one knows." "He wouldn't just let himself be robbed like this, would he? He's so smart that he wouldn't suffer like this. He must be hiding something." "I certainly hope so." "It's not his match to pick out the oldest and most cunning liars in the world. Will he be helpless with the decrees of those dirty politicians? He must have something in their hands, and finally he will say Forget it, we must keep an eye on him and follow him." "That's up to you, Jim, you're his friend." "My friend, I hate his virtue." He pressed the button to call the secretary, and the secretary came in hurriedly, looking unhappy.He was young, but his pallor and upper-class manner made him look much older. "Have you made an appointment with Francisco d'Anconia for me?" "No, sir." "But, hell, I told you to call—" "I can't help it, sir, I've tried." "Then, keep trying." "I mean, I can't make an appointment, Mr. Taggart." "Why can't it be helped?" "He declined." "You mean he refused to see me?" "Yes, sir, that's what I mean." "He won't see me?" "Yes, sir, he won't." "Did you speak to him yourself?" "No, sir, I spoke to his secretary." "What did he say to you? What did he say?" The young man hesitated, looking even more unhappy. "What did he say?" "He said Mr. d'Anconia said you bored him, Mr. Taggart." The proposal they passed was called the "Anti-Dog-Eat-Dog Ordinance."Members of the National Union of Railroads sat in the hall in the darkening late autumn night, looking at no one else as they voted. The National Union of Railroads is an organization that professes to protect the interests of the railroad industry by means of its common purpose to develop means of co-operation, and by its members to ensure that their individual interests are subordinated to those of the industry as a whole.The overall interest is determined by the majority vote of the members, and each member must obey the decision made by the majority. “Members of the same industry or field should unite,” the organizers of the alliance once said, “We all have the same problems, the same interests, and the same enemies. We expend our energies fighting each other , instead of showing unity in front of the world. If we work together, we can thrive together.” “Who is this coalition organized against?” a skeptic once asked.The answer was: "Why do you ask that? It's not 'against' anyone, but if you want to understand it that way, it's against the shippers of the shipment, supply producers, or anyone who wants to take advantage of us. Against whom?" "That's what I want to know," said the skeptic. The anti-dog-eat-dog ordinance was presented to the full membership of the National Railway Union for a vote at its annual meeting, its first public appearance.But all members had heard of the ordinance, and privately it had been discussed for a long time, more intensively in recent months.The people who sat in the conference hall were the presidents of various railroad companies who didn't like the anti-dog-eat-dog law and wanted it never to be mentioned.Once it was mentioned, though, they voted for it. In the speech before the vote, no railway company was named, and the speeches were all about public affairs.The speech said that once the public utility faced the threat of transport shortages, the railway companies would use vicious competition to squeeze each other out under the "cruel dog-eat-dog policy".While there are difficult areas where rail service is suspended, there are also situations in larger areas where more than two rail companies compete for the transportation resources sufficient to maintain only one.In the speech, he said that in areas where railway resources are scarce, new railway companies have great opportunities. Although such places do not have any economic incentives at present, according to the speech, as a railway with public spirit, it should bear the burden of struggling. The responsibility of the residents to provide transportation, since the primary purpose of railroads is public service, not profit. Afterwards, he spoke and preached that a large and established railway system is the foundation of public utility, and the collapse of one system would be a national disaster.If such a system has contributed to international friendship in the spirit of a public cause, but suffers huge losses, it is entitled to everyone's support to help it survive the blow. No company was mentioned by name.But when the chairman of the meeting raised his hand, solemnly signaling the vote, all eyes were on Phoenix Durango's president, Dan Conway. Only five dissenters voted no, yet when the chairman announced the measure was passed, there were no cheers, no sounds of approval, no movement, just a heavy silence.Until the last minute, everyone was waiting for someone to save what happened. The anti-dog-eat-dog ordinance has been described as a "voluntary self-regulation" measure meant to "better enforce" laws already passed by the state's legislature.Regulations propose that members of the National Union of Railways are prohibited from engaging in activities that constitute "destructive competition"; only one railway company is allowed to operate in areas declared restricted; in such areas, the company that has been operating there the longest will be given special privileges , can use unfair competition to infringe on newcomers in the field, who will be disqualified from operating within nine months of receiving the order; the executive board of the National Railway Union has the discretion to decide where the restricted areas are. When the meeting was adjourned, people were in a hurry to leave, there was no private exchange, no chitchat and mingling among friends, and the hall was uncommonly empty in such a short period of time that no one answered or glanced at Dan Conway. In the hall, James Taggart met Warren Boyle.They hadn't made an appointment, but Taggart saw the huge figure against the marble wall and knew it was Boyle without even looking at his face.They walked toward each other, and Boyle said, with less relief than usual, "I'm done, now it's up to you, Jim." "You didn't have to come here, why did you?" Taggart sullenly say. "Oh, I just thought it was interesting." Boyle replied. Dan Conway sat among the empty seats until the cleaning lady came to clear the hall.When she greeted him, he rose obediently and shuffled to the door.When passing her in the aisle, he took out five yuan from his pocket, and handed it over silently and gently, without looking at her face.He didn't seem to know what he was doing, as if he felt he was in a place where he needed a generous tip to leave. Dagny was sitting at her desk when suddenly her door flew open and James Taggart rushed in.It was the first time he came in this way, and he looked excited. She hadn't seen him since the San Sebastian line was nationalized.He didn't talk to her about it, and she didn't say anything more about it.The irrefutable facts proved her right, so she felt no need to comment, and the feeling, half polite, half pity, prevented her from telling him what conclusions should be drawn from the matter.In any case, he could only draw one conclusion from it.She heard what he said at the board meeting and just shrugged disapprovingly, amused.No matter what his purpose is, if her achievements can be affirmed, then from now on, if nothing else, he will let her do it for himself. "Do you feel now that only you can do something for the railroad?" She looked at him in bewilderment.His tone was high, and he stood in front of her desk, nervous with excitement. "So you think I'm ruining the company, don't you?" he yelled. "You're our only savior? Think I can't make up for what I lost in Mexico?" She asked slowly, "What do you want to do?" "I want to tell you some news. Remember that Union of Railways anti-dog-eat-dog proposal I was talking about a few months ago? You don't like it, you don't like it at all." "I remember, what's wrong?" "It's been passed." "What was passed?" "Anti-dog-eat-dog ordinance. Passed at the meeting a few minutes ago. Nine months from now, there will be no Phoenix-Durango Railroad in Colorado!" She jumped up in shock and knocked the glass ashtray on the table to the ground. "You old villain!" He stood there motionless, with a smile on his face. She knew that she was trembling weakly in front of him. This was the scene he admired the most, but she didn't care about it.Then she saw him laughing - and suddenly the irrational anger disappeared without a trace, and she felt nothing.She examined the smile with a cold, objective curiosity. They stood there facing each other.He looked like for the first time he wasn't afraid of her anymore.He was elated.The event meant more to him than beating a rival, and this time, he had won not Dan Conway, but her.她不清楚是什么原因，或者是通过什么方式，但她很肯定地感到他已经明白了这一点。 一个念头忽然闪了出来，就在这里，在她的面前，在詹姆斯·塔格特和那个使他笑起来的东西里面，藏着一个她从未起过疑心的秘密，明白和清楚这一点对她是至关重要的。但是，这念头只是一闪而过。 她急急地跑到衣橱前，一把抓过自己的大衣。 “你去哪儿？”塔格特的声调低了下来，听上去很失望，并有些不安。 她没有回答，冲出了办公室。 “丹，你必须和他们斗下去，我会帮你，会尽一切力量来帮你。” 丹·康维摇了摇头。 他坐在桌子后面，面前摆了一个大大的空白记事簿，已经有些褪色了，屋子的角落里有一点黯淡的灯光。达格妮直接奔到了凤凰·杜兰戈在城里的办事处，康维就在那里，从她来时一直坐到现在。看到她进来，他笑着说，“有意思，我想过你会来的。”他的语调柔和而冰冷。他们彼此并不熟悉，但在科罗拉多见过几次面。 “不，”他回答说，“没有用。” “你这么说，是不是因为你签了的那个联盟协议？那不会算数的，这是赤裸裸的盘剥，不会得到法院的支持。如果吉姆想拿强盗惯用的'公共事业'口号当幌子，我会在法庭上作证，塔格特泛陆运输不足以应付科罗拉多的交通需求。如果法庭做出对你不利的裁决，你可以上诉，在今后的十年不断地上诉。” “是的，”他说，“我可以……我不敢肯定我会赢，但我可以那样去做，然后在铁路业多维持几年，可是……不，无论会怎样，我想的不是法律问题，不是这个问题。” "what is that?" “我不想斗下去了，达格妮。” 她不敢相信地看着他，她可以确定的是，他以前从没说出过这样一句话。人活了半辈子，是不可能再退回去的。 丹·康维年近五十，他的脸一点不像一个公司的总裁，却像强悍的货车司机那样，方方正正、倔强而迟钝，像一个斗士那样，有着年轻的、褐色的皮肤，和花白的头发。他接手了亚利桑那一家摇摇欲坠的小铁路公司，当时的纯收入甚至比不过一家经营良好的杂货店。他把它造就成了西南最好的铁路。他沉默寡言，看书不多，从没上过大学，除了对一件事，他对人类所努力的一切都漠不关心。他对人们所说的文化没有任何感觉。但是，他懂铁路。 “你为什么不想斗争下去？” “因为他们有权力那样做。” “丹，”她问道，“你是不是昏头了？” “我这辈子，从没食言过，”他闷声说道，“我不在乎法庭怎么决定，我保证过要服从大多数人，必须说到做到。” “你指望大多数人也会同样对待你吗？” “不，”那张迟钝的脸上有一丝不易觉察的抽动，他的身体仍然无法消化那绝望无援的震惊，他没有看着她，轻声地说，“不，我没指望过。我听到他们谈论这事一年多了，可是我一直不相信，甚至在他们表决的时候，我都不相信。” “你指望什么呢？” “我想……他们说所有人都要维护共同的利益，我觉得我在科罗拉多所做的一切都是好事，对大家都有益。” “哦，你这个傻瓜！你看不出来这就是你受惩罚的原因吗——就因为那是好事！” 他摇摇头，“我不明白，但是我看不到出路。” “你答应了他们要毁掉你自己吗？” “对我们任何人来说，似乎都别无选择。” "What's the meaning?" “达格妮，现在整个世界的情况都很糟，我不清楚究竟哪里出了毛病，但是问题很严重。人们必须彼此依靠，去找到出路，但除了大多数人，谁来决定走哪条路呢？我觉得这是唯一公平的决定方式，也看不到其他的了。我想会有人被牺牲掉，如果那轮到我头上，我没权利抱怨。他们是对的，人必须要团结在一起。” 她气得发抖，努力平静地说，“如果这就是团结的代价，那我要是还想在这个地球上和人类一起生活，就一定是被诅咒了。如果他们当中剩下的人只是靠毁掉我们才能生存，我们凭什么愿意让他们生存下去？自我奉献式的牺牲永远都说不通。他们没有任何权利把人当成动物一样的牺牲品，毁掉最优秀的人是不道德的，好人不能因此受到惩罚，有能力的人不能受到惩罚。如果那样做是对的，我们最好现在就开始彼此屠杀吧，因为这世界根本就不存在什么才是对的！” 他没有回答，无望地看着她。 “如果是这样的一种世界，我们怎么能在其中生活？”她问道。 “我不知道……”他喃喃自语着。 “丹，你真觉得这是对的吗？真的、从内心里觉得这是对的吗？” 他闭上了双眼，说道，“不，”然后望着她，她头一次看到一种被折磨的神情，“我就是因此才一直坐在这里想弄明白。我知道我应该觉得它是对的——可我不能，就好像我的舌头说不出这句话来。我总是看到那里的每一块枕木，每一盏信号灯，每座桥梁，每个夜晚，在我……”他的头垂到了胳膊上，“噢，上帝呀，这太不公平了！” “丹，”她的话从牙缝里挤出来，“和它斗。” 他抬起了头，目光无神，说道，“不，那是错误的，我只是太自私了。” “噢，这是什么老掉牙的废话！你完全知道这是怎么回事！” “我不知道……”他的声音很是疲惫，“我一直坐在这里拼命去想这件事……我再也弄不清楚什么是对的了……”他又加了一句，“我觉得我无所谓了。” 她突然明白，再多说什么话都是没用的，丹·康维不再是一个能行动起来的人了。她不知道是什么让自己如此肯定。她茫然地说，“你以前从来没有在需要搏斗的时候放弃过。” “没有，我从来没有过……”他的语气中带着一种安静和淡漠的惊讶，“我抵抗过风暴、洪水、滑坡、轨道断裂……我知道该怎么做，而且喜欢去做那些……但是这种斗争——是我不能做的。” "why?" “我不知道，谁知道这个世界为什么是这个样子？哦，谁是约翰·高尔特？” 她让步了，“那你打算怎么办？” "I have no idea……" “我是说——”她停住了话头。 他明白她的意思，“哦，总是有事情可做的……”他并不坚决地说，“我猜想，他们只会宣布科罗拉多和新墨西哥州为限制地区，我还可以经营在亚利桑那的铁路线，”他又补充说，“就像二十年前那样……唉，这会让我有事干的。我累了，达格妮，我都没注意到，但我想我是累了。” She has nothing to say. “我不会在他们不景气的地区修铁路，”他依然是那副漠然的语气，“那是他们想拿来安慰我的，不过我想，那也只是说说而已。不能把铁路修在一个方圆几百里没人烟的地方，那儿只有几家入不敷出的农户。在那儿修路，是挣不到钱的。如果挣不到钱，谁会去？根本就说不通。他们纯粹是胡说八道。” “噢，去他们的不景气地区吧！我是在想你的事，”她不得不挑明了，“你自己怎么办？” “我不知道……不过，有许多事我一直没时间去做。比如钓鱼，我一直喜欢钓鱼；也许我会开始读书，一直有这想法。也许我现在可以慢慢来了，也许我会去钓鱼，亚利桑那有些好地方，平安、宁静，几百里都见不到人……”他抬眼看了看她，说，“忘了这事吧，你为我担什么心？” “不是你，是……丹，”她突然说，“我希望你能明白，我并不是看在你的分上才想帮你。” 他笑了，是微微的、朋友之间的笑容，“我明白。”他说。 “这不是出于同情、慈善、或者类似这些丑陋的原因。你看，我是打算让你在科罗拉多为你的生活去拼，我是打算在你的生意里插一脚，然后把你逼到墙边，如果有必要，把你从那里逼走。” 他轻声笑了一下，是感激的，“那你也得花很大的力气。”他说。 “只是我从没觉得那有必要，我认为那里完全可以容得下我们两家。” “是的，”他说，“有足够大的地方。” “话说回来，如果我发现那里没有空间了，就会对付你。如果我能把自己的铁路修得比你好，我就会把你打得粉碎，而且不会在乎你怎么样。可这……丹，现在我不想去看我们的里约诺特铁路了，我……天啊，丹，我不想当一个强盗！” 他默默地端详了她一会儿，他打量的样子很怪，像是从很远的地方。他轻声地说，“孩子，你应该早一百年生出来，那样你就有机会了。” “去它的吧，我想要创造自己的机会。” “那就是我在你这么大时想做的。” "you succeeded." “是么？” 她呆坐在那里，突然僵住了。 他坐直了身体，像下命令一般严厉地说，“你还是看看你的里约诺特铁路线吧，最好把它完成——要尽快。在我离开之前准备好，因为如果不这样，艾利斯·威特和那里其他人的末日就要到了，他们可是这个国家还拥有的最优秀的一群。你必须阻止它发生，现在全看你的了。你和你哥哥去解释什么没有我在那里竞争你就会更艰难之类的话是毫无用处的。但是你和我明白这些，所以你就去吧。无论你做什么，你都不会是强盗，强盗不可能在那个地方经营铁路而且坚持下来。你在那里无论能得到什么，都是你挣来的。你哥哥那样的寄生虫当然不算，现在要靠你了。” 她坐在那里看着他，实在搞不懂究竟是什么能把这样一种人击垮了，但她知道，那不是詹姆斯·塔格特。 她看到他望着自己，仿佛他也在他自己的疑惑中进行着挣扎。随后，他笑了，而她竟然难以置信地看到，那笑容慢慢地凝固成悲哀和同情。 “你最好别替我难过，”他说道，“我想，在我们俩之间，你今后的日子更艰难，而且我觉得你会变得比我更糟。” 她给工厂打了电话，约好了那天下午去见汉克·里尔登。刚刚放下电话，伏到铺在办公桌上的里约诺特铁路线地图的前面，门就开了。达格妮抬起头，吓了一跳，没想到她办公室的门会在没有预先通知的情况下打开。 进来的是个陌生人，他很年轻，高高的个子，似乎笼罩着一层杀气。但她也说不清那是什么，因为他给人的第一印象是近乎高傲的自我控制力。他长着深色的眼睛，头发零乱，他的衣服价格不菲，而穿起来却像是他根本不在乎，或者没注意。 “艾利斯·威特。”他自报了姓名。 她一下子跳了起来，同时明白了为什么她外面的办公室没有人阻拦他，或者说，能够阻拦他。 “请坐，威特先生。”她微笑着说。 “没这个必要，”他说话的时候没有半点笑容，“我从不开长会。” 她慢慢定了定神，坐下来，身体向后靠在椅背上，看着他。 “那么？”她问道。 “我来见你，是因为我觉得你是这个腐烂机构里唯一一个还有点脑子的人。” "Is there a problem?" “你可以把这个当做是最后通牒，”他用少有的清晰口齿，一字一句地说道，“我希望塔格特泛陆运输公司，从现在起九个月后，按我的业务要求来运营货车。如果你们在凤凰·杜兰戈身上使出的卑鄙伎俩就是为了让自己可以不费吹灰之力，那我这就告诉你们，你们别想得逞。在你们提供不出我需要的服务时，我对你们没提任何要求，而是找到了一家可以做到的公司，现在你们想迫使我同你们打交道，让我除了听从你们的条件而别无选择，让我的生意降到你们那种不够格的水平。我这就告诉你，你们打错了算盘。” 她努力控制着自己，缓缓地说，“我能不能讲一讲我对我们在科罗拉多服务的打算？” “不用，我对讨论和打算没兴趣，我只想要运输，要做什么和怎么做是你的事，不是我的。我只是在警告你，和我做生意的人，必须按照我的条件，否则没商量，我从不和不够格的人谈条件。如果想运我生产的石油来挣钱，你就必须做得和我一样好。我希望你明白这一点。” 她平静地说，“我明白。” “我不想浪费时间来证明你为什么非得把我的警告当回事，如果你有管理这个腐败机构的水平，你就能够做出自己的判断。我们两个都清楚，如果塔格特泛陆运输公司仍像五年前那样经营科罗拉多的铁路，就会毁了我，我知道这就是你们想干的。你们想榨干我的油水后，接着再去吃其他的，这就是现在大部分人的策略。所以，我的最后通牒是：你有毁掉我的力量，我或许会死；但我一旦要死的话，肯定会拉上你们所有的人和我一起完蛋。” 她感觉到身体里的某个地方，在支持着她一动不动地承受责骂的麻木后面，有一个痛点，像烫伤一样灼痛。她想告诉他，她很多年来都在寻找像他那样可以共事的人；她想告诉他，他的敌人，也同样是她的，她在进行着的是一场同样的斗争；她想冲他大喊：我和他们是不一样的！但是，她清楚她不能那样做，她承担着塔格特泛陆运输公司以及它名下的一切责任。目前，她没有权利去为自己申辩。 她挺直了身子，带着和对方一样坚定而毫不掩饰的目光，不卑不亢地回答，“你会得到你需要的运输的，威特先生。” 她觉察到他脸上的一丝惊愕，他没料到会是这样的态度和回答，或许，是她没有说出来的东西才最令他吃惊：她没有进行辩解，没有提出借口。他默默地打量了她好一会儿才开口，口气也缓和了一些：“好吧，谢谢你。” 她微微地点了点头。他鞠了个躬，离开了。 “这就是经过，汉克。我制订的十二个月内完成里约诺特铁路线的计划本来已经很难做到，可现在我必须得在九个月里赶完。你的轨道供货时间本来是一年，能否在九个月内完成？尽最大可能去做。否则，我就得想其他办法去完成它了。” 里尔登坐在桌子后面，那双冰冷的蓝眼睛在他瘦削的脸上切了两个平行的口子，它们保持着水平的状态，静静地半闭着。他平平淡淡地说道：“我可以。” 达格妮向后靠在了椅子上。这短短的回答不仅是安慰，更是一种震撼：她突然有种意识，其他的任何保证都没必要了，她不需要证明，不需要问题，不需要解释，这个头脑清楚而负责的人，用三个字就将一个难题安全地化解了。 “别那么如释重负，”他带着嘲弄的口气，“别太明显了。”他狭长的眼睛带着察觉不出的笑意观察着她。“我会认为塔格特泛陆运输公司是攥在我手里了。” “反正你也知道了。” “我知道，而且我想让你因此付出代价。” “我准备好了，多少？” “从明天起发的货，每吨多加二十块钱。” “够狠的，汉克，这是你能给我的最优惠的价格了吗？” “不是，但这是我要的价格，我就是翻一倍你也得付。” “是的，我得付，而且你也可以要，但你不会的。” “我为什么不会？” “因为你想让这条里约诺特铁路线修好，这是你的里尔登合金的第一次亮相。” 他笑出了声，“不错，我喜欢和从不幻想得到恩惠的人做生意。” “你知不知道，在你决定抓住这个机会的时候，我为什么感到了轻松？” "what?" “因为这次，我是在和一个不装作给别人恩惠的人做生意。” 现在，他的笑里有了另一种味道：那就是愉快。“你对此从来不掩饰，对吧？”他问道。 “我注意到了，你也一样。” “我以为我是唯一一个敢这么干的。” “要这样说的话，汉克，我并没有破产。” “要这样说的话——我想我有一天会让你破产的。” "why?" “我一直想这么做。” “你还嫌周围的胆小鬼不够多？” “所以乐于一试——因为你是唯一一个例外。那么，你觉得我应该乘你之危尽量猛赚一笔么？” “当然了，我不是傻子，不会认为你是为了帮我才做生意的。” “你希望我那样吗？” “我不是要饭的，汉克。” “你难道不觉得支付起来有困难吗？” “那是我的问题，和你无关。我就要钢轨。” “每吨多加二十块？” “好吧，汉克。” “好的，你会拿到钢轨，我也许会挣到这笔暴利——或者，塔格特泛陆运输公司也许在我收账之前就垮掉了。” 她收敛了笑容，说道，“如果我不在九个月里把那条铁路线修好，塔格特泛陆运输公司就会垮掉。” “只要你来管，就不会。” 不笑的时候，他的脸看上去无精打采，唯有眼睛是生动的，带着冰冷和敏锐的清澈。不过她觉得，没人可以窥到他那目光后面的想法，恐怕，连他自己都不知道。 “他们已经让你的日子不能再难过了，对不对？”他问道。 “是的，我曾指望靠科罗拉多来拯救塔格特的系统，现在，需要我去挽救科罗拉多了。九个月后，丹·康维就要停下他的铁路了。如果到时候我的还没有就绪，再完成它也就没意义了。那里的人一天的运输都不能断，更别说一周，或是一个月了。照他们发展的速度，不可能彻底停下来，然后再继续下去，这就像要去强行刹住一台两百英里时速的火车一样。” "I see." “我可以管理好铁路，可在一个到处是连郁金香都种不好的农民的地方，我不可能经营好。我必须得有像艾利斯·威特那样的人来生产出东西，装满我的火车，所以我即使要把剩下所有的人都轰进地狱来做这件事，也必须在九个月内给他火车和铁路！” 他感到有趣地笑了，“你是下了决心了，对不对？” “难道你不是吗？” 他不会回答的，但收敛了笑容。 “你难道对此不关心吗？”她几乎是生气地问。 “不关心。” “那么，你没认识到它意味着什么？” “我的认识是我要把钢轨交给你，而你要在九个月内铺好铁路。” 她笑了，轻松、疲倦，又有点内疚，“是啊，我知道我们会的，我知道跟吉姆那样的人和他的朋友生气没用，也没那时间。首先，我要把他们做的改正回来，然后”——她顿了顿，彷徨地摇了摇头，耸耸肩膀说，“然后他们就无关紧要了。” “对，他们就无所谓了。我听说了反狗咬狗那件事，让我觉得恶心，但是，不用理那些混账东西。” 这两个粗暴的词听起来让人惊愕，因为他的面孔和声音非常平静。“你和我会坚持把这个国家从他们行为的后果中挽救回来。”他站了起来，在办公室里踱着步子，“科罗拉多不会停下来，你会拉着它挺过去。然后，丹·康维和其他人就会回来。这种疯狂是暂时的，长不了，那是精神错乱，它自己就会毁了自己。只是你和我得更努力地干一阵子，也不过如此。” 她看着他高大的身躯在办公室内走来走去。这房间符合他的风格，空荡之外，只有几件必需的家具，功能全都简化到了纯朴的地步，而材质和式样却极为考究。这房间看起来像是个发动机—— 一台装在平板玻璃盒内的发动机。不过，她注意到了一个令她惊讶的细节：置于文件柜上方的一只翡翠花瓶。花瓶的薄壁是由一整块深绿色的玉石雕刻而成，平滑的曲线纹理激起人探手一触的欲望，在房间中显得很突兀，与其他物品的严厉气氛反差鲜明：它是一抹感性的色彩。 “科罗拉多是个好地方，”他说道，“它会成为全国最好的地方。你不能肯定我对那里关心？那个州正在成为我最好的客户之一，如果花点时间看看你的运货统计报告，你就会知道了。” “我知道，我读那些报告。” “我一直想几年之内在那里建一个工厂，节省掉你的运输费用。”他瞟了她一眼，“如果我这么做，你会损失一大批钢材货运量。” “尽管干你的，能运你的那些原料、你那些工人的日常生活用品、那些随着你过去的工厂货物，我就满意了——而且我也许根本没时间注意到丢了你的钢材……你笑什么？” "Great." "what?" “你的那种异于目前其他人的反应。” “不过，我必须承认，目前你是塔格特泛陆运输公司最重要的运输客户。” “你不认为我明白这一点吗？” “所以我不能理解为什么吉姆——”她顿住了。 “——竭尽全力地破坏我的生意？因为你哥哥吉姆是个傻瓜。” “他是，但不仅如此，这里还有比愚蠢更坏的。” “别浪费时间琢磨他，让他去吐唾沫好了，他也并不是什么更大的危险。像吉姆·塔格特这样的人只能把世界搞乱。” "I think so." “顺便问问，如果我告诉你不能更快交货的话，你会怎么办？” “我会把副线拆了，或者关闭一些支线，任何一条，然后用这些钢轨按时修好里约诺特铁路。” 他乐出了声，“所以我不担心塔格特泛陆运输公司。不过，只要我还做这个生意，你就不必非要从老的副线上拆钢轨。” 她忽然觉得，自己以前是错误地认为他缺乏感情：隐藏在他表面下的，是欢乐。她意识到，只要他在旁边，自己就会有一种愉快的轻松感；而且她清楚他也有同样的感受。在她认识的人里面，她只有和他才能无拘无束地交谈。她想，这才是一个她尊重的灵魂，一个堪称对手的人。但在他们之间，总有一丝说不出的距离感，那种大门关闭的感觉，他的举止当中有一种超乎人性的东西，拒人千里之外。 他在窗前停下脚步，站在那里望着外面，“你知不知道，今天要给你发送第一批钢轨？”他问道。 "Of course I know." "come over." 她走到了他的身边。他默默地向外指了指。在远处，工厂厂房的另一端，她看到一长串敞篷货车停靠在铁路的副线上，一架塔吊的手臂划过了上方的天空，用它那巨大的磁铁轻轻一碰，便抓起了固定在货盘上的一捆钢轨。灰色的云层密密地遮住了太阳的光线，可是那钢轨却熠熠闪亮，似乎披上了一层来自外太空的光芒，泛着蓝绿色的光泽。巨大的吊臂停在一节货车车厢的上方，降了下去，微微地一抖，便把钢轨放进了车厢。吊车带着一股满不在乎的庞然气势转了回来，看上去像是一幅巨大的几何图形，在人和地球的上方移动着。 他们站在窗前，无声地、全神贯注地看着。直到另一捆钢轨从空中划过时，她才张开口。她说的第一句话并不是关于铁路、轨道或者按时完成的订单，而是像迎接大自然新的杰作一样：“里尔登合金……” 他留意到了，但没说什么，瞟了她一眼，便重又转向窗口。 “汉克，这太棒了。” "right." 他的话平淡而坦然，语气中既没有一点沾沾自喜，也毫不客气。她知道，这是给她的感谢，是一个人能够给另一个人的最难得一见的谢意：感谢对方使自己可以毫无拘束地承认自己的成就，并且知道这是被理解的。 她说道，“我一想到这些金属的那些用途，那些潜力……汉克，这是目前这个世界上发生的最重要的事了，可他们谁都不知道。” “我们知道。” 他们依然望着吊车，并没有去看对方。在远处的火车头前端，她能辨认出“TT”的字样，能辨认出这条在塔格特整个系统里最繁忙的工业运输副线轨道。 “我一旦找到工厂，”她说道，“就会订做用里尔登合金制造的火车头。” “你会用得上的。你们里约诺特铁路上的火车现在能跑多快？” “现在？一小时能跑二十英里就不错了。” 他指着货车，“这个轨道铺好以后，你如果想跑二百五十英里都可以。” “我会的，再过几年，等我们有了里尔登合金的车厢，就会比钢制车厢轻一半，却加倍的安全。” “你要注意一下那些航空公司，我们正在试制一架里尔登合金做的飞机，它没什么分量，却可以承载任何东西。你会看到远程、重载的空运。” “我已经想过合金可以用在发动机上，是任何一种发动机，也想过可以用它设计出来的其他东西。” “想过圈鸡用的钢丝吗？就是用里尔登合金做的普通的鸡栅栏，一英里长的栅栏也就几角钱