Jesse Ball - Samedi the Deafness

It sounded very far away.

He could hear Grieve reply. She sounded far away, too, but he could feel her hand on his arm.

— Yes, I think so.

The voices came closer together, in a pair, winding and intertwining. He thought of colors in a string, and how light wasn't really what they said, wasn't really a ray, but more a substance, like water, that could be gathered and kept.

— James, James.

Grieve was shaking him.

He opened his eyes again.

— Hello, he said.

— I'm sorry, said a woman's voice. I hit him a bit harder than I should have.

— Next time, said a man, you leave that to me.

— Yes, said Stark. Leave all knocking down of people to Torquin. He is our expert.

— Some expert, said the woman, who he realized was Grieve.

They had really tricked him, he thought, making her up like she'd been knocked around.

— Hey, you, hey.

It was his Grieve now.

— Wake up.

He could feel her lift him up. He drew a breath and opened his eyes again. He looked across the room. Stark was there, and Grieve, the maid, and Torquin.

She mustn't have been a maid at all.

But why would they send me the note about Estrainger? That didn't make any sense. And then he remembered: that note had not been in the pillowcase like the others. It had been under the door. Someone else must have given it to him. Then he remembered the servant who had told him not to trust Grieve. Oh, he should have listened to him. What had he said? Something mean. All along he'd conducted himself in the worst possible way, never thinking about the consequences of things, or who was behind what.

He leaned back against Grieve. Stark had come over and stood now in front of him. He was a large man, especially in that overcoat.

— Why are you going to do it? he asked Stark.

It was a useless question. He knew the answer.

— Come now, said Stark. You've read that book, the one you took down from the ceiling. There's no need for further speech.

He was right. James nodded.

— We've been holding back on you. It hasn't been fair, but we were testing you in some ways, and passing the time in others. You must wonder, why have you been brought here? Why didn't we just dispose of you? If I could order my own son killed, then why would I hesitate with you? It's an interesting question, and one that you must have considered.

Stark picked up a cane that was leaning against a table. He twirled it in his hand. With his long black coat and high collar he looked vaguely like a priest.

— The truth is, there is one major reason you are here, and it is not, as you may have suspected, because my daughter is in love with you, although plainly she is. That was not part of the plan. In fact, she was not to have anything to do with you. Yet Grieve does as she likes. History will observe that my greatest failing was in my tolerance of my own children.

Grieve laughed. He could feel her laughter all through her body, as he leaned against her.

— The reason you were brought here, and entertained, kept here so long, is simple: we were on the brink of making history, and I wanted this period in the life of our house to be recorded. But how to record all the moments of this life, all this time, how to record it in a manner that lends it easily to retrieval? You might say put it down in writing, or film it, photograph it, put it on a disk from a computer. But after that which we intend, it is not clear that any of these methods will be easily brought out of this country into the one to which we go. Any such account could easily be found out. No, no, I decided, having thought long on the matter, that a mnemonist would be the perfect device. You were watched; you were observed. We knew you went on Sundays for your walks to the park. Your seizure had been intended, so that you might accompany us in our last week. Then when Tommy escaped, and Torquin caught him right in that neighborhood, when Tommy became violent in escaping again, and his unfortunate death occurred, the masterstroke occurred to me. We would place you in the midst of it immediately, by dropping Tommy's body close by you in the park.

James felt Grieve's hands, cold for once against his own. He had felt before in his work that others considered him a kind of machine. But events had moved so fast. He had never supposed that it was because of what he could do that they had brought him to Stark's house.

Stark had turned away and was leaning on his stick, thinking of his next words. He was obviously picking them carefully, imagining that James would remember them all.

Grieve whispered in James's ear:

— I love you.

— Don't lie, said James quietly.

Grieve pinched him.

— Does your head hurt?

It was a long, dull pain that came and went.

Grieve kissed him on the back of the head.

Stark twirled his stick, came over, and knelt again by James and Grieve. Torquin and the maid were still by the door.

— I want to explain to you, said Stark, exactly what's to happen.

You must be curious. It has already long ago been set in motion. There's nothing anyone can do to stop it now, so you can give up for good any ideas of heroism. Besides, you should see as I do, as we do, the rightness of our actions.

He smiled. It was a bold smile, full of confidence and majesty.

— The rod. You heard through the door, didn't you? Biscuits, the rod? Yes, we are going to set the rod upon the populace of this nation such as has never been done. Fifteen years ago, I came upon a method, a scientific method for accomplishing a particular design. That design I will reveal in a moment. At the time it seemed too drastic to me, and the consequences certainly unknowable and dire. But as time passed and my ideas progressed, I came to see that what had to happen, what I would cause to happen, would be of benefit, if not to this nation, then to all others.

— I don't understand what you're saying, said James.

— But you will remember it? said Stark, a question in his voice.

— Of course, said James. Of course I will remember it.

— There is a sort of gas, said Stark, that when released in the upper atmosphere creates clouds that will extend outward to cover an assigned distance of geography. These clouds emit a tone, as certain chemical processes occur amidst their gases. The tone is not one that human beings can hear. It is so high-pitched, in fact, that dogs and others who hear high pitches cannot hear it either. It addresses, in fact, a different sonic range entirely. What I discovered was that in this sonic range there was a particular range that complements and mimics the range of our hearing. By creating a cloud that would sing, that would emit the note I wanted, it seemed I could broadcast the tone across whatever landscape the cloud hung then above. The note is so high-pitched that it is not stopped by conventional walls, or even by ordinary soundproofing.

— But what does the sound do? asked James. What's the point of it?

— The point, said Stark, and James could feel Grieve stiff against his back, is that the sound destroys the ability of any human being to hear. Anyone caught beneath this cloud will be made permanently deaf.

Stark rose to his feet. His face took on a faraway countenance.

— Those who have been deaf to suffering will now be deaf in truth.

— But what about airplanes? asked James. What about airports? What about in the cities? People driving cars? No one will understand what's happening. Millions of people will die.

— Millions will die, said Stark. Within a hundred years they would all be dead anyway. And no one has ever proved that a long life is better than a short one. In fact, the evidence is much to the contrary.

— If that's true, said James, then why don't you kill yourself now? Why didn't you go to the White House? Instead you sent others with your warnings, your little notes.