Michael Mitchell: Archive

Keating came to Roark's house on the following evening. He could not say whether he had waited impatiently or not. The bruise had spread. He could act; he could weigh nothing. He stood in the middle of Roark's room and looked about slowly. He had been grateful for all the things Roark had not said to him. But he gave voice to the things himself when he asked:

"This is the Enright House, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You built it?"

Roark nodded, and said: "Sit down, Peter," understanding too well.

Keating had brought his briefcase; he put it down on the floor, propping it against his chair. The briefcase bulged and looked heavy; he handled it cautiously. Then he spread his hands out and forgot the gesture, holding it, asking:

"Well?"

"Peter, can you think for a moment that you're alone in the world?"

"I've been thinking that for three days."

"No. That's not what I mean. Can you forget what you've been taught to repeat, and think, think hard, with your own brain? There are things I'll want you to understand. It's my first condition. I'm going to tell you what I want. If you think of it as most people do, you'll say it's nothing. But if you say that, I won't be able to do it. Not unless you understand completely, with your whole mind, how important it is."

"I'll try, Howard. I was... honest with you yesterday."

"Yes. If you hadn't been, I would have turned you down yesterday. Now I think you might be able to understand and do your part of it."

"You want to do it?"

"I might. If you offer me enough."

"Howard -- anything you ask. Anything. I'd sell my soul..."

"That's the sort of thing I want you to understand. To sell your soul is the easiest thing in the world. That's what everybody does every hour of his life. If I asked you to keep your soul -- would you understand why that's much harder?"

"Yes... Yes, I think so."

"Well? Go on. I want you to give me a reason why I should wish to design Cortlandt. I want you to make me an offer."

"You can have all the money they pay me. I don't need it. You can have twice the money. I'll double their fee."

"You know better than that, Peter. Is that what you wish to tempt me with?"

"You would save my life."

"Can you think of any reason why I should want to save your life?"

"No."

"Well?"

"It's a great public project, Howard. A humanitarian undertaking. Think of the poor people who live in slums. If you can give them decent comfort within their means, you'll have the satisfaction of performing a noble deed."

"Peter, you were more honest than that yesterday."

His eyes dropped, his voice low, Keating said: "You will love designing it."

"Yes, Peter. Now you're speaking my language."

"What do you want?"

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The Fountainhead

Ayn Rand