Work Text:
“Survival is our ticket. Forget the poor, silly women…”
Montag takes a breath of biting air. “What does the poem mean? Why did Mrs. Phelps cry? I saw those words with my own two eyes and read them out loud but even then I did not come even close to crying.”
“Montag you are a fool! An utter fool! They will sound the alarms and we will be discovered! If they were curious individuals and noble people your quest could have succeeded! Alas, you were doomed from the start!”
“And what do you suppose I do? Keep going to work like it’s any other day? My wife is suffering! She has been, for a long time now!” Echoes of his voice bounce off Clarisse’s house. “She tried to kill herself with those pills. And I turned her back towards them. Oh my Millie, Millie, I’m –”
“Listen!” The word screeches in his ear. “The damage is done. Now all we can do is minimize effects. Go to work, Montag. Go to the firehouse. I’ll be in your ear the entire time. Go see Captain Beatty. And for God’s sake let me do the talking this time!”
The wind cuts through Montag's shirt. He thought the fire of the books had transformed into a burning flame of passion in his heart, but that extinguished as well. The ashes have long lied wet.
The shivering of leaves roars in his ear.
“What is the poem about? Why can’t I understand it? Oh, I feel so empty inside. I can’t feel even a fraction of their emotions. Mrs. Phelps, Mrs. Bowles, Millie, oh, oh, oh, what did I say that left them in tears? I gained a bit of knowledge and swung it around like an axe.”
“Push the silly women out of your mind,” Faber murmurs. “Forget about their ignorance and destructiveness. What is done is done. But our plan must go on. The world suffers and every second you dwindle the more hopeless it gets. Go to the firehouse. Don’t provoke Captain Beatty. I will deal with him. Learn from an old man’s mistakes, Montag!”
Montag stops walking. “Did you ever have someone you loved?”
No response whispers in his ear.
Montag sits on a bench outside of a dilapidated building. The cold of the concrete seeps through his clothing. “Could you ever forgive yourself if you chose to save the world while leaving them to drown in their deepest fears.”
“Do you ever regret shutting the world out, as full of cruelty as it may be? Do you regret replacing the vapid humans outside with your insightful books? There is someone, I am sure of it! That you would give up all your books and all your safety and all your idealism just to see again! Someone you wished you saved years ago before a rebellious fireman became your only friend.”
“You see no hope for this world. Are you just humoring me with sprinkles of hope while you wait for the bombs to level the city? Is that where your real ambitions begin?”
“Montag,” Faber wheezes, “Please. Go to work. We cannot do anything with Captain Beatty on our tail!”
“You say I was a fool for preaching to silly women who cannot think outside themselves. But in your years of hiding you have lost your empathy. Instead, books are your people. Unchanging and unflinching. And now you can’t imagine that anyone less than heroic is worth saving.”
“Oh what have I become! Consumed by you and Captain Beatty! Rejecting the common masses in favor of an enlightened truth! Oh have I lost all feeling! I could not feel the emotions of that poem. And my wife is veering towards a suicide.”
“Montag!” Faber chokes. “If you give in now it will have all been for nothing! You will brandish your ignorance with pride just as I did so many years ago!”
“And turn my back upon Mrs. Phelps? And Mildred? And spend the rest of my days pondering books I do not have the empathy to understand? It wasn’t the books that taught me to care about them. It wasn’t book that taught me to care about other people. It was Clarisse. Millie is suffering. Too many people are suffering. Those beloved books of yours would condemn me if I stood by and retreated into enlightenment.”