Anthem
sat on a high dais, and they had but two words to speak to each
of the Students. They called the Students’ names, and when the
Students stepped before them, one after another, the Council
said: “Carpenter” or “Doctor” or “Cook” or “Leader.” Then each
Student raised their right arm and said: “The will of our
brothers be done.”
Now if the Council has said “Carpenter” or “Cook,” the Students
so assigned go to work and they do not study any further. But if
the Council has said “Leader,” then those Students go into the
Home of the Leaders, which is the greatest house in the City, for
it has three stories. And there they study for many years, so
that they may become candidates and be elected to the City
Council and the State Council and the World Council—by a free and
general vote of all men. But we wished not to be a Leader, even
though it is a great honor. We wished to be a Scholar.
So we awaited our turn in the great hall and then we heard the
Council of Vocations call our name: “Equality 7-2521.” We walked
to the dais, and our legs did not tremble, and we looked up at
the Council. There were five members of the Council, three of the
male gender and two of the female. Their hair was white and their
faces were cracked as the clay of a dry river bed. They were old.
They seemed older than the marble of the Temple of the World
Council. They sat before us and they did not move. And we saw no
breath to stir the folds of their white togas. But we knew that
they were alive, for a finger of the hand of the oldest rose,
pointed to us, and fell down again. This was the only thing which
moved, for the lips of the oldest did not move as they said:
“Street Sweeper.”
We felt the cords of our neck grow tight as our head rose higher
to look upon the faces of the Council, and we were happy. We knew
we had been guilty, but now we had a way to atone for it. We
would accept our Life Mandate, and we would work for our
brothers, gladly and willingly, and we would erase our sin
against them, which they did not know, but we knew. So we were
happy, and proud of ourselves and of our victory over ourselves.
We raised our right arm and we spoke, and our voice was the
clearest, the steadiest voice in the hall that day, and we said:
“The will of our brothers be done.”
And we looked straight into the eyes of the Council, but their
eyes were as cold blue glass buttons.
So we went into the Home of the Street Sweepers. It is a grey
house on a narrow street. There is a sundial in its courtyard, by
which the Council of the Home can tell the hours of the day and
when to ring the bell. When the bell rings, we all arise from our
beds. The sky is green and cold in our windows to the east. The
shadow on the sundial marks off a half-hour while we dress and
eat our breakfast in the dining hall, where there are five long
tables with twenty clay plates and twenty clay cups on each
table. Then we go to work in the streets of the City, with our
brooms and our rakes. In five hours, when the sun is high, we
return to the Home and we eat our midday meal, for which one-half
hour is allowed. Then we go to work again. In five hours, the
shadows are blue on the pavements, and the sky is blue with a
deep brightness which is not bright. We come back to have our
dinner, which lasts one hour. Then the bell rings and we walk in
a straight column to one of the City Halls, for the Social
Meeting. Other columns of men arrive from the Homes of the
different Trades. The candles are lit, and the Councils of the
different Homes stand in a pulpit, and they speak to us of our
duties and of our brother men. Then visiting Leaders mount the
pulpit and they read to us the speeches which were made in the
City Council that day, for the City Council represents all men
and all men must know. Then we sing hymns, the Hymn of
Brotherhood, and the Hymn of Equality, and the Hymn of the
Collective Spirit. The sky is a soggy purple when we return to
the Home. Then the bell rings and we walk in a straight column to
the City Theatre for three hours of Social Recreation. There a
play is shown upon the stage, with two great choruses from the
Home of the Actors, which speak and answer all together, in two
great voices. The plays are about toil and how good it is. Then
we walk back to the Home in a straight column. The sky is like a
black sieve pierced by silver drops that tremble, ready to burst
through. The moths beat against the street lanterns. We go to our
beds and we sleep, till the bell rings again. The sleeping halls
are white and clean and bare of all things save one hundred beds.
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 wish 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 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 grill 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 not permitted by law is forbidden.”
But we said: “We shall go, none the less.”
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 built 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 Times 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 hand which followed the track, as we crawled,
clung to the iron as if it would not leave it, as if the skin of
our hand were thirsty and begging of the metal some secret fluid
beating in 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.”