第 110 页

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."

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"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?"

"Now listen to me. I’ve been working on the problem of low-rent housing for

years. I never thought of the poor people in slums. I thought of the

potentialities of our modern world. The new materials, the means, the chances to

take and use. There are so many products of man’s genius around us today. There

are such great possibilities to exploit. To build cheaply, simply,

intelligently. I’ve had a lot of time to study. I didn’t have much to do after

the Stoddard Temple. I didn’t expect results. I worked because I can’t look at

any material without thinking: What could be done with it? And the moment I

think that, I’ve got to do it. To find the answer, to break the thing. I’ve

worked on it for years. I loved it. I worked because it was a problem I wanted

to solve. You wish to know how to build a unit to rent for fifteen dollars a

month? I’ll show you how to build it for ten." Keating made an involuntary

movement forward. "But first, I want you to think and tell me what made me give

years to this work. Money? Fame? Charity? Altruism?" Keating shook his head

slowly. "All right. You’re beginning to understand. So whatever we do, don’t

let’s talk about the poor people in the slums. They have nothing to do with it,

though I wouldn’t envy anyone the job of trying to explain that to fools. You

see, I’m never concerned with my clients, only with their architectural

requirements. I consider these as part of my building’s theme and problem, as my

building’s material--just as I consider bricks and steel. Bricks and steel are

not my motive. Neither are the clients. Both are only the means of my work.

Peter, before you can do things for people, you must be the kind of man who can

get things done. But to get things done, you must love the doing, not the

secondary consequences. The work, not the people. Your own action, not any

possible object of your charity. I’ll be glad if people who need it find a

better manner of living in a house I designed. But that’s not the motive of my

work. Nor my reason. Nor my reward."

He walked to a window and stood looking out at the lights of the city trembling

in the dark river.

"You said yesterday: What architect isn’t interested in housing? I hate the

whole blasted idea of it. I think it’s a worthy undertaking--to provide a decent

apartment for a man who earns fifteen dollars a week. But not at the expense of

other men. Not if it raises the taxes, raises all the other rents and makes the

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man who earns forty live in a rat hole. That’s what’s happening in New York.

Nobody can afford a modern apartment--except the very rich and the paupers. Have

you seen the converted brownstones in which the average self-supporting couple

has to live? Have you seen their closet kitchens and their plumbing? They’re

forced to live like that--because they’re not incompetent enough. They make

forty dollars a week and wouldn’t be allowed into a housing project. But they’re

the ones who provide the money for the damn project. They pay the taxes. And the

taxes raise their own rent. And they have to move from a converted brownstone

into an unconverted one and from that into a railroad flat. I’d have no desire

to penalize a man because he’s worth only fifteen dollars a week. But I’ll be

damned if I can see why a man worth forty must be penalized--and penalized in

favor of the one who’s less competent. Sure, there are a lot of theories on the

subject and volumes of discussion. But just look at the results. Still,

architects are all for government housing. And have you ever seen an architect

who wasn’t screaming for planned cities? I’d like to ask him how he can be so

sure that the plan adopted will be his own. And if it is, what right has he to

impose it on the others? And if it isn’t, what happens to his work? I suppose

he’ll say that he wants neither. He wants a council, a conference, co-operation

and collaboration. And the result will be "The March of the Centuries.’ Peter,

every single one of you on that committee has done better work alone than the

eight of you produced collectively. Ask yourself why, sometime."

"I think I know it...But Cortlandt..."

"Yes. Cortlandt. Well, I’ve told you all the things in which I don’t believe, so

that you’ll understand what I want and what right I have to want it. I don’t

believe in government housing. I don’t want to hear anything about its noble

purposes. I don’t think they’re noble. But that, too, doesn’t matter. That’s not

my first concern. Not who lives in the house nor who orders it built. Only the

house itself. If it has to be built, it might as well be built right."

"You...want to build it?"

"In all the years I’ve worked on this problem, I never hoped to see the results

in practical application. I forced myself not to hope. I knew I couldn’t expect

a chance to show what could be done on a large scale. Your government housing,

among other things, has made all building so expensive that private owners can’t

afford such projects, nor any type of low-rent construction. And I will never be

given any job by any government. You’ve understood that much yourself. You said

I couldn’t get past Toohey. He’s not the only one. I’ve never been given a job

by any group, board, council or committee, public or private, unless some man

fought for me, like Kent Lansing. There’s a reason for that, but we don’t have

to discuss it now. I want you to know only that I realize in what manner I need

you, so that what we’ll do will be a fair exchange."

"You need me?"

"Peter, I love this work. I want to see it erected. I want to make it real,

living, functioning, built. But every living thing is integrated. Do you know

what that means? Whole, pure, complete, unbroken. Do you know what constitutes

an integrating principle? A thought. The one thought, the single thought that

created the thing and every part of it. The thought which no one can change or

touch. I want to design Cortlandt. I want to see it built. I want to see it

built exactly as I design it."

"Howard...I won’t say ’It’s nothing.’"

"You understand?"

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"Yes."

"I like to receive money for my work. But I can pass that up this time. I like

to have people know my work is done by me. But I can pass that up. I like to

have tenants made happy by my work. But that doesn’t matter too much. The only

thing that matters, my goal, my reward, my beginning, my end is the work itself.

My work done my way. Peter, there’s nothing in the world that you can offer me,

except this. Offer me this and you can have anything I’ve got to give. My work

done my way. A private, personal, selfish, egotistical motivation. That’s the

only way I function. That’s all I am."

"Yes, Howard. I understand. With my whole mind."

"Then here’s what I’m offering you: I’ll design Cortlandt. You’ll put your name

on it. You’ll keep all the fees. But you’ll guarantee that it will be built

exactly as I design it."

Keating looked at him and held the glance deliberately, quietly, for a moment.

"All right, Howard." He added: "I waited, to show you that I know exactly what

you’re asking and what I’m promising."

"You know it won’t be easy?"

"I know it will be very terribly difficult."

"It will. Because it’s such a large project. Most particularly because it’s a

government project. There will be so many people involved, each with authority,

each wanting to exercise it in some way or another. You’ll have a hard battle.

You will have to have the courage of my convictions."

"I’ll try to live up to that, Howard."

"You won’t be able to, unless you understand that I’m giving you a trust which

is more sacred--and nobler, if you like the word--than any altruistic purpose

you could name. Unless you understand that this is not a favor, that I’m not

doing it for you nor for the future tenants, but for myself, and that you have

no right to it except on these terms."

"Yes, Howard."

"You’ll have to devise your own way of accomplishing it. You’ll have to get

yourself an ironclad contract with your bosses and then fight every bureaucrat

that comes along every five minutes for the next year or more. I will have no

guarantee except your word. Wish to give it to me?"

"I give you my word."

Roark took two typewritten sheets of paper from his pocket and handed them to

him. "Sign it."

"What’s that?"

"A contract between us, stating the terms of our agreement A copy for each of

us. It would probably have no legal validity whatever. But I can hold it over

your head. I couldn’t sue you But I could make this public. If it’s prestige you

want, you can’t allow this to become known. If your courage fails you at any

point, remember that you’ll lose everything by giving in. But if you’ll keep

your word--I give you mine--it’s written there--that I’ll never betray this to

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anyone. Cortlandt will be yours. On the day when it’s finished, I’ll send this

paper back to you and you can burn it if you wish."

"All right, Howard."

Keating signed, handed the pen to him, and Roark signed.

Keating sat looking at him for a moment, then said slowly, as if trying to

distinguish the dim form of some thought of his own:

"Everybody would say you’re a fool....Everybody would say I’m getting

everything...."

"You’ll get everything society can give a man. You’ll keep all the money. You’ll

take any fame or honor anyone might want to grant. You’ll accept such gratitude

as the tenants might feel. And I--I’ll take what nobody can give a man, except

himself. I will have built Cortlandt."

"You’re getting more than I am, Howard."

"Peter!" The voice was triumphant. "You understand that?"

"Yes...."

Roark leaned back against a table, and laughed softly; it was the happiest sound

Keating had ever heard.

"This will work, Peter. It will work. It will be all right. You’ve done

something wonderful. You haven’t spoiled everything by thanking me."

Keating nodded silently.

"Now relax, Peter. Want a drink? We won’t discuss any details tonight. Just sit

there and get used to me. Stop being afraid of me. Forget everything you said

yesterday. This wipes it off. We’re starting from the beginning. We’re partners

now. You have your share to do. It’s a legitimate share. This is my idea of

cooperation, by the way. You’ll handle people. I’ll do the building. We’ll each

do the job we know best, as honestly as we can."

He walked to Keating and extended his hand.

Sitting still, not raising his head, Keating took the hand. His fingers

tightened on it for a moment.

When Roark brought him a drink, Keating swallowed three long gulps and sat

looking at the room. His fingers were closed firmly about the glass, his arm

steady; but the ice tinkled in the liquid once in a while, without apparent