Nothing can be heard
The plane, bashful, poked its nose out from the clouds, scoped out the surroundings, did a lazy loop and gently kissed the earth as sweetly as a groom would touch his brides cheek at the altar.
Applause erupted, though the pilots didnt hear it.
Nor did I, Nicholas Cowley, whose ears blocked up midflight and havent recovered since.
I kept pinching my nose and blowing, desperate for relief, but the air escaped every which way except through my ears.
There was nothing but white noise in my head.
I had only just returned from visiting my mother in Oxford, catching the morning so Id have time to get ready for work.
My wife, Emily, hadnt slept a wink, flying around the flat in a panic, frantically moving things from one room to another.
I shuffled into the kitchen and started packing my lunch.
Still deaf as ever.
Im leaving!
Ive had enough!
Im fed up with it all!
Fed up with this life, your pitiful salary, this flat on the edge of nowhere.
Thought I had a chronic case of love for you, turns out I just caught some bug! Emily hurled her confessions at my back as I calmly spooned potatoes from the pan into a thermos.
Im leaving for Alex, you dont know him, he doesnt know you, but hes wonderful.
Ive real feelings for himthe kind one ought to have.
And dont worry, Im leaving with a clean slate: nothing ever happened between us.
So Im off like a respectable woman, so you cant ever say anything behind my back, especially to your mother!
I finished tidying up my lunch, stuffed everything into my bag, and began making coffee.
Nothing you want to say?
Ive just spilled my soul out!
Em?
Could you do me a favour and iron my jeans? I called out over my shoulder.
What?
Jeans?!
Are you Im talking about my feelings and you ask about ironing?
Oh, forget it!
I thought you might stop me!
She snatched up her bagin the rush, mixing her handbag up with the one Id packed for workand stormed out.
Only when the tremor from the slammed door shook the flat did I realise Emily was truly gone.
Wheres she off to at this hour?
And my jeans…
And wheres my lunch? With such thoughts, I digested my sudden morning divorce.
Annoyed that I hadnt managed to find either of my thermoses, I set off for work in crumpled trousers.
Stepping into the lift, I nodded to Mrs.
Brown, our buildings chairwoman and a woman who, judging by her monthly collections, still hoarded money like a medieval tax collector.
Rumour had it her perfumes revived dead horses and smoked intruders out of their hiding spots.
I held my breath, faced the doors, and let the lift descend, feeling like I was trapped in a gas chamber.
You didnt pay the pest control fee.
The exterminators will be here today for the whole building, Mrs.
Browns voice echoed.
I watched in silence as her overpowering perfume seemed to melt the rubber seals along the door.
You need to pay by tonight.
Can you transfer it to my card? she persisted.
I said nothing.
She leaned in closer to my ear and loudly stated, Transfer by the end of the day.
Congratulations.
Where are you being transferred to?
Back to York? I quipped, believing all the gossip about her being Genghis Khans distant cousin.
She spilled a barrage of words at me, but all I heard were fragmentsuck, don, ted, ivesounding exactly like ancient Mongolian.
I nodded along with polite detachment, as if at a contemporary art exhibit.
The lift doors opened, and I hurried out for a gulp of fresh air as Mrs.
Brown strode toward her next collection.
I work as an electrician.
Since last week, Id been at a site for a difficult clientno sense of aesthetics or budget, but dreaming of a palace.
His materials and plans matched his personality: sketchy, at best.
I wasnt alone in my misery.
Alongside me were Dan, the plumber, and the decorators, equally trapped in this creative stalemate.
As I chiselled channels for wiring, the others sweated in separate rooms.
Then the client showed up: hed spent the entire night carousing at his friend’s birthday, and in that artistic mood decided to check on his renovation.
Everythings wrong! he bellowed, stamping his foot.
Sockets should be in a chessboard pattern and the chandelier three degrees right of the Earths axis.
Do as I say or I wont pay you a penny!
He dispensed equally brilliant ideas and threats in every room, then locked himself in the nursery and fell asleep atop bags of plaster.
Seven hours passed.
The client woke, opened the door and found the aftermath of his innovative dictates.
In their diligence, the builders had merged the lounge with the kitchen by a new opening, and even fitted a guest toilet in the bathroom.
His clothes were covered white with plaster, his face pale with horror.
He recalled nothing of his orders and tried accusing the crew of lying, but video evidence put paid to that.
Only I, Nicholas Cowley, hadnt changed a thing, since his new instructions had gone right past my deaf ears.
Whether by sympathy or desperation, the client gave me a small bonus for bravely facing drunken creativity, and sacked the others for being too compliant.
But, pressured by video, he paid for all the work completed.
That evening, famished and drained, I finally went to see a doctor, hoping to rejoin the world of sound.
On the way, a fierce dog stalked me, trying (in vain) to intimidate me with loud barking.
But my world was a silent film, where people and animals merely mimed their parts.
Without dialogue, I couldnt guess what this emotional beast wanted, so I just carried oncalm and assured.
The dog got bored and left.
May the sounds be with you! the doctor declared, as he drilled open my ears.
Back in the land of the living, I hurried home.
On the way, I pulled my surprise bonus from my wallet and bought a sausage rollplus a small bouquet for Emily.
At the door, a downcast neighbour greeted me.
Heard the news? he asked.
I havent heard a thing all day, I replied, sticking a pinky in my ear.
Mrs.
Brownthe Golden Horde onecollected fees from the whole building then vanished into the sunset, moved cities and cut all ties.
Planned it well, the old bat.
Hit all seven stairwells.
Did you pay?
No, I didnt, I shook my head.
She was going on about some transfer this morning, but I never quite caught it.
Lucky you.
I was daft enough to hand over my money.
One thing though: while she made her rounds, the cockroaches croaked from her perfume anyway, he chuckled.
Makes it less annoying, I suppose.
Home greeted me with tempting aromas and an incredibly affectionate wife.
Forgive me, you daft thingI went completely off my head, something came over me, I dont even know what.
Must have been sunspots.
Anyway, I want to take it all back, and trust me, I did nothing wrong.
Theres no Alex; I just went to see my sister, let off steam, and my brain sorted itself out.
You acted just right this morningmanly.
That sobered me up.
Well, will you forgive your fool?
She covered my face in warm kisses and invited me to the laid table.
I didnt hear a thing, I confessed, feeling as if Id been rewarded for nothing.
Thank you! Emily gripped me in a tight embrace.
Well, Ill be, I thought, having done nothing extraordinary all day.
Maybe I should go deaf more often.
Lifed be a lot easier.Dinner had never tasted so rich.
Emily kept laughing, her eyes sparkling across the table.
I felt a strange peacea quiet at the core, a permission to let the world buzz and chatter without me.
The city hummed beyond the window, oblivious.
Somewhere out there, Mrs.
Brown was counting her loot, probably plotting her next conquest, while the client scoured the internet for soundproofing against self-inflicted disasters.
Pass me the salt, darling, Emily said, her voice softer than before.
I slid the shaker over, looking at her anew.
All at once, I realized: hearing was overrated.
There are things best not heard, and others best listened to in silencea gentle meal, a forgiving smile, a heart coming home.
As the night gathered around us, I thought: it isnt what you hear that matters, nor what you say.
Its what you let in, and what you let go.
And, for once, life felt simplejust enough.
