Tall and rawboned was Jeremiah Winthrop. Narrow of shoulder and shallow of chest he was, but no matter. There was a dignity to the man that showed itself in every movement. Here was one who still called himself a man, one whose traditions sprang from the rocky New England soil that had nourished his forebears. The mold that produces such a man is not easily bent or broken, not even in a world of three hundred and fifty billion people, not even in a world where the rocky New England soil lies buried and forgotten beneath the foundations of monstrous buildings. Jeremiah Winthrop rode the spiral escalator up, up to the two-part cubicle he called home on the one hundred and forty-eighth floor. He stood swaying slightly as the escalator wound its serpentine way upwards. Others rode with him, tight people, tense people, pushed together, staring straight as they rode the spiral escalator up. And now and then at a turn or a bend a man would elbow his way out. He'd leave the upflowing river of people and step onto a landing as his floor came by. But the escalator was still crowded as it passed the one hundred and forty-eighth floor and Winthrop stepped off. He was not one of the lucky ones who lived high near the roof where it was at least possible to think about the air and the light and the sun.
Winthrop boarded a moving belt that carried him over to his own corridor. He walked down the corridor for ten minutes. It was easy walking, for there were far fewer people now. Finally he came to his own door. He inserted his thumb in the thumbhole, slid the door open and walked in. A tousle-headed youngster sat on the floor playing with a plastic box. The boy looked up as Winthrop entered.
"Daddy!" he shouted. He flung himself to his feet, dashed across the room and grabbed his father around the legs.
"Hello, Davy," said Winthrop, ruffling the curly brown hair. "How's the little man?"
"Fine, Daddy. And Mommy says we can go up on the roof in another month. Will you come with us? This time? You never go with us, Daddy. Will you come up with us in a month from now?"
Winthrop looked over the boy's head at his wife, Ann. The smile faded from his face. He said, "A month? I thought it was our turn again in a week. What happened?"
Ann shook her head and pressed the back of a hand against her forehead. "I don't know. They have had to re-schedule everybody. Another eighteen hundred babies born in the building this week. They all have to get a little sun. I don't know."
Winthrop pushed Davy gently to one side and held the boy to him as he walked over to Ann. He put a hand in the small of her back and held her against his chest. She rested her head against the upper part of his arm and leaned against him.
Ann lifted her head, stood on her toes and kissed Winthrop. She pulled away and led him over to a chair, Davy still hanging on to his leg. "You must be tired," she said. "Ten hours you've been out. Were you able to.... Did you—"
"No," said Winthrop. "Nothing. Not so much as a soybean." He looked at his wife and smiled. "I guess the time has come for us to eat that potato. We've been saving it for a month."
Ann's eyes wrinkled as she looked down at him. "Oh. I—I gave it to the Brookses. They haven't had anything in weeks." The words began to pour out. "We have done so well, really, in the last few weeks that I felt sorry for them. We had those cabbage leaves and three potatoes and even that piece of fish four months ago. I couldn't help myself. I gave—I gave our potato to them. They were so sick of Standard Fare they were beginning to get depressed, really depressed. I—"
Winthrop reached up and put an arm around her hips and said, "Don't think about it, darling." He was silent for a moment, and then he continued, "I think I'll go down and see if John Barlow has some work for me. Let's have a quick dinner of Standard Fare and then I'll go." He got up and walked over to the sink and began washing Davy's hands, talking, joshing, teasing a little as he did so.
Ann took three glasses from the tiny cabinet. She went to the synthetic milk faucet and filled the glasses and then put them on the table. She went to the bread slot and removed six slices of bread. One after the other she dropped the six slices of brown bread through the toaster. She picked up a knife and scooped big gobs of rich yellow synthetic butter out of the butter slot and spread it on the toast. She made a pile of the toast on a plate and then cut the pile in half. "All right," she called. And she put the toast on the table and sat down.
Winthrop helped Davy into a chair and then sat down himself. He bent his head and spoke a brief blessing. And they all ate. They ate Standard Fare, as countless billions of other people did that night, and every night, from birth to death, Standard Fare.
When the meal was done Winthrop got up and kissed Ann and Davy goodbye. He rode down the spiral escalator, down to the ground floor, and below. Great throngs of people rode with him, crowded in on each other. He rode down to the fifteenth sub-level and changed to a belt. He rode past the crowded TV theaters, the amusement halls. He stepped off and went down a narrow side alley where some of the shops were. Immediately the crowds fell off. A little way down the alley Winthrop turned into the door of a tiny store. It was empty except for John Barlow, the owner.
"Nice to see you," said Barlow, springing up and taking Winthrop's hand. "I was just thinking about you. In fact, I was going to come up and see you in the next day or two. Come in and sit down."
Barlow sat in the chair, Winthrop on the small counter. The two men filled the store completely. "That sounds good, John. Do you have some work for me?"
Barlow looked long at Winthrop, and slowly shook his head. "No, Jeremiah. No. I don't even have work for myself any more." He hesitated a moment and went on quietly, "I'm going out of business, Jeremiah. I can't make it work. I don't take in enough money to keep my stock up. People don't need money, what with free movies and clothes and food and everything else. No one buys food. They all live on Standard Fare and they don't seem to care any more. So now I'll have to join them, unless I can find other work."
"I'm very sorry, John. I feel I helped drive you out of business. I never gave you money for what I took."
Barlow shook his head. "No, Jeremiah. You always worked for everything. Other people are not as willing to work as you are; they all want something for nothing. Who else would be vaccinated and take the immunization shots so he could go all the way across the city for me the way you do?"
They sat quietly. Winthrop said, "Where is it all going to end, John? What's going to happen to everybody?"
"I don't know. Some people work; there must be jobs somewhere. I suppose they get them through the Ministry of Government Employment, and you know what people say about that. Government workers won't even talk about it; everybody says they're ashamed of it. I don't know what's going to happen. Except—I'm through. I'm going to take my stock home with me tonight, and that ends it."
Winthrop looked at the box that contained all of Barlow's stock. The box measured about one foot on a side.
"Jeremiah, I want you to have something." Barlow reached down to the bottom of the box and brought out an object that he held toward Winthrop.
Winthrop looked at it and gasped. "An egg. A real hen's egg. I recognize it from the pictures." Winthrop looked up. "But I can't take it, John. I can't."
"I want you to have it, Jeremiah. I want you and Ann and Davy to have it. Now don't argue. I'll wrap it up and you take it right home."
Barlow turned and lifted a small box down from a niche. He lined the box with synthetic cotton and gently nestled the egg in the center. After covering the egg with another layer of cotton, he closed the box and wrapped it and tied it with a broad white ribbon under which he slipped a little card of cooking instructions. Then he handed the box to Winthrop. "Take it home, Jeremiah. I'll be up to see you sometime soon. Go on now." And he urged Winthrop off the counter and out the door.
Winthrop went, holding the box in both hands. As he worked his way through the crowds, he held the box to his stomach, turning his shoulders to meet the press of people. He was still holding it with both hands half an hour later when he entered his home.
Ann looked up, surprised. "Jeremiah, I didn't expect you home so soon." Her eyes fixed on the package. "What is it? What have you got?"
Winthrop walked to the table, put the package on it, and carefully began to open it without saying a word. Ann and Davy stood close to him; Davy climbed on a chair to see better. When Winthrop lifted off the top layer of cotton, Ann's eyes widened and she clasped her hands together and stared, silently.
"What is it, Daddy?"
"It's an egg, son. A hen's egg."
"Is it something to eat?"
"Yes, son. It is." Winthrop looked at his wife and said, "Shall we eat it now?"
Ann nodded, quickly read the cooking instructions, and set about preparing scrambled egg. Winthrop got out the cooking pan, wiped off the dust, and set it down near her. She smiled at him and put a large chunk of butter in it and placed the pan on the heater. When the butter bubbled, she poured the beaten egg into the pan; it hissed as it struck the hot butter. She began to stir the egg as it cooked. Winthrop picked Davy up so he could see into the pan as the egg thickened. In a moment it was done.
Ann lifted three small dishes from a cupboard, placed them on the table, and carefully scraped the egg onto the plates. Buttered toast and milk came next, then they sat down to eat. Winthrop said a grace.
They ate in silence.
Davy looked up after his egg was gone and said, "I don't like it very much. I like it some, but not very much."
Winthrop reached over and ruffled his hair, saying to Ann, "It would have been better if we'd had some salt, I guess. But it was good anyway. I've often wondered what an egg tasted like."
He looked down at the empty plates and stared at them. Then he said quickly, "Davy, it's your bedtime. You hop on in now."
Davy's face grew long, but then Winthrop looked at him, and he climbed off his chair and went over and pulled his father down and kissed him on the cheek. "Good night, Daddy."
"Good night, son."
Ann took Davy by the hand and led him into the bedroom. Winthrop listened to the chatter and then to the prayers. He sat and listened as he stared at the three egg-stained plates on the table. The plates pushed into his mind, occupied it, filled it, until there was nothing else. And at that moment the integrity of Jeremiah Winthrop broke.
He was still staring at the plates when Ann came out and sat down beside him. She too looked at her husband, looked, and looked again, closer. There were tears in his eyes.
She leaned toward him and put a hand on his shoulder. "What is it, Jeremiah?" she asked quietly.
He turned full toward her, started to speak, but could not. He pointed to the dirty plates and then cleared his throat. "Ann, that's the last of it. It's getting worse all the time. There's no work for a man. What are we going to do? Is Davy going to live the rest of his life satisfied with Standard Fare? Can we watch him grow up not knowing what it feels like to work? Ann...." He stopped and sat quietly for a moment. "I've got to go to the Ministry of Government Employment."
She said, "Jeremiah, are you sure? We've always been able to manage on our own. We've never needed help from the government."
"Ann—" He stood up and began pacing across the room. "How can we sit and watch this happen to our boy? We can't take him out in all those people very often. We can't take him to the roof. Ann, he's a good boy. We can't let him live like this."
"But how will you feel? You have to make your own way. You've always believed that."
Winthrop's stooped figure bent even more. He stopped pacing and stood with his hands hanging at his sides, his chin on his chest. "I know," he said quietly. "I know. Help me, Ann. What should we do?"
She flew across the room to him and they clung together. After a moment she said, "All right, Jeremiah. I knew this would come some day. We will go down tomorrow to the Ministry of Government Employment and see if they have any work for you. Maybe they have, and maybe it won't be so bad. Maybe it's good............