Not a sound to be heard
The plane timidly peeked its nose from the clouds, surveyed the expanse below, made a lazy wide turn, and touched down with the gentleness of a groom pressing his beloveds cheek at the altar.
The passengers erupted in applause, but the pilots couldnt hear it.
Nor could I, George Wilson, whose ears stubbornly refused to pop after the flight.
All throughout, I pinched my nose and blew, hoping for relief.
Air escaped everywhere but where it needed to, and my mind floated in a hazy white noise.
Id just returned from visiting Mum in Manchester, early enough to scramble for work.
Emily, my wife, was still up, rushing frantically around the flat, moving bits and bobs from one spot to another.
I wandered into the kitchen and started putting together my lunch.
Still, no sign of my hearing.
Im leaving!
Ive had enough!
Im sick to death of it allyour piddling salary, a shoebox flat in the middle of nowhere.
I thought it was chronic love, but I picked up an infection! Emily had begun her litany, tossing her pointed confessions at my back as I calmly scooped potatoes from the pan to my thermos.
Im off to Stephen.
You dont know him, he doesnt know you, but hes wonderful.
I actually have real feelings for him.
The kind I should have, you know?
And dont worry, Im leaving as a proper woman, havent done anything with him yet.
So you cant say a word about me to anyone!
Especially your mother.
I finished packing my lunch, stowed it in my bag, and started up the kettle for coffee.
Anything to say for yourself?
Ive just laid myself out bare to you, she challenged.
Em!
Can I ask you to iron my jeans? I called over my shoulder.
What?
Jeans?!
Im pouring my heart out and you worry about ironing. She stormed out, grabbing her bag and, in her fury, mixed it up with the one Id packed for work, and vanished from the flat.
Only after the shuddering clap of the door did I realise Emily was gone.
Wheres she off to at this hour?
And what about my jeans Blast, wheres my lunch? I brooded as the morning settled over my quiet divorce.
Dejected at the missing thermos, I went to work in my creased trousers.
In the lift, I offered a brief nod to Mrs.
Thornton, chairwoman of the residents associationa woman who still collected monthly fees as if she were paying tribute to some medieval monarchy.
Word was, her perfume could resurrect horses or drive enemies from their hiding places.
I held my breath, stepped inside, and turned to face the doors as the capsule descended.
You havent paid your share for pest control.
Todays the big cockroach cullflat by flat.
Will you transfer me the money by evening? she pressed.
I watched silently as the scent began to melt the rubber door seals.
You must transfer to my card, by tonight, she repeated, leaning close to my ear.
Congratulations.
Which post are they moving you to now?
Back to York? I joked, half believing the rumour shes a descendant of William the Conqueror.
She berated me with a rapid-fire of phrases that sounded like ancient English-ard, -ham, -ford, -ingit all swirled together and I nodded, just as you do when confronted with puzzling modern art.
When the lift doors opened, I fled for fresh air, Mrs.
Thornton heading off to shake down the other tenants.
Im an electrician.
Since last week, Ive worked on a property for a finicky clientsomeone with neither taste nor funds, but with a zeal for something special.
His materials and plans matched his character: dubious at best.
I wasnt alone.
The plumber and decorators found themselves mired in the same creative mess.
While I hacked away at the wall for wiring, my mates sweated in other rooms.
The client popped by, still buzzing after his mates birthday bash, and decidedmid-artistic inspirationthat hed check up on the renovation before sleep.
Everythings wrong! he cried, stomping his foot.
Sockets must be in a chessboard pattern, and the chandelier is three degrees off centre!
Sort it, or youll get nothing!
He made the same fuss in every room, finally locking himself inside the nursery and passing out on bags of plaster.
Seven hours later, he revived, opened the door, and surveyed the fruits of his innovative demands.
By then, the team had joined the kitchen and living room with a grand new archway, and the bathroom boasted a guest loo.
His gear was dust-white; his face, paler with horror.
He remembered nothing and tried to accuse us of fraud, but the others had proof on video.
I hadnt changed a thing since his tips missed my blocked ears.
Perhaps out of embarrassment or frustration, he rewarded me with a small bonus for surviving drunken creativity, and sacked the rest for their lack of resistance.
Still, he paid everyone under pressure of evidence.
By evening, famished and weary, I gave in and went to the doctor to reclaim the world of sound.
A surly dog followed me, barking for attention, but in my silent movie, animals and people just played parts.
Hard to guess what the animal wanted without the soundtrack, so I strolled on, light and confident.
Soon bored, the dog trailed off.
May the sounds be with you! said the doctor, drilling my ears back into orbit.
Restored to the airwaves, I hurried home.
Along the way, I withdrew that unexpected bonus and bought myself a sausage roll, plus a modest bouquet for Emily.
At the entrance, a dour neighbour greeted me.
Heard the news? he asked.
Ive not heard a thing all day! I replied, poking my pinky in my ear.
Thorntonyknow, our Queen of the Associationcollected fees from everyone, then vanished into the sunset.
Moved elsewhere, cut all ties.
Schemed it all in advance.
Seven whole blocks she canvassed.
You pay in?
No, I didnt, I shook my head.
She said something this morning about transfers, but I couldnt follow.
Lucky you.
I, fool that I am, paid up.
Only good thing: with her wandering all the floors, the roaches croaked from the fumes of her perfume anyway, he chuckled.
Guess its not so much of a loss.
The flat welcomed me with delicious smells and a remarkably affectionate wife.
Forgive me, silly old thing, I utterly lost my mind, no clue what possessed me.
Solar flares or something!
Honestly, I want to take it all back and promise you Ive done nothing bad.
And theres no Stephen, just went to my sister to let off steam and got my head straight.
You reacted perfectly this morning, like a proper bloke.
That sobered me up.
So, will you forgive this foolish woman?
She showered my face in warm kisses and beckoned me to the set table.
I didnt hear a word, I admitted, feeling like Id scored an unearned reward.
Thank you! she squeezed me tight.
Crikey, I thought, as someone who had done nothing extraordinary today.
Maybe going deaf now and then makes life easier after all.That night, after the laughter, the meal, and a glance at my still-unironed jeans draped over a chair, Emily and I sat side by side listening to the citys hush, punctuated with distant traffic and, somewhere below, a dogs muffled bark.
Everything seemed to drift into place, as if all the worlds oddities had conspired to reset our little flat.
Emily laid her head on my shoulder.
You know, Ive always envied people who could tune things out.
Maybe you have a gift.
Maybe, I replied, smiling, finally at ease as the clamor of voices and complaints faded into gentle background noisea symphony I could appreciate at last.
Outside, the streetlights glimmered with quiet understanding.
With sound restored, and peace returned, I savored the simple comfort of ordinary things: a warm kitchen, a bouquet perched awkwardly in an old mug, and the unreliable promise of tomorrows breakfast.
For once, not a sound to be heard felt absolutely right.
